Dragon knights shield or.., p.1
Dragon Knight's Shield (Order of the Dragon Knights Book 4), page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Mary Morgan’s
Dragon Knight’s Shield
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Author’s Notes
A word from the author…
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Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
His look was predatory, lustful, inviting,
and she took a step backward. Words failed her as she took another step back.
He arched a brow and his smile became seductive. “Do I frighten ye?”
“No!” she lied. Like hell you do! You’re as gorgeous as sin standing there, and I want to rip your clothes from your body.
Pushing off from the wall, he stepped into the room and silently closed the door behind him, his eyes never leaving hers. His hair hung in soft waves past his shoulders, and her fingers itched to twine within them. Her body ached in places so deep—longing for even the slightest touch.
“Are ye unwell, my lady?”
The burr of his voice so low—so sexy, she could only stare at him until his words resonated in her mind. “No,” she replied softly, feeling the flames of desire heat not only her face, but also her entire body.
This time when he took another step closer, Deirdre didn’t back away. Now he stood so close she could feel the warmth of his breath across her face—a mix of wine and pure male.
She watched mesmerized as he reached for a lock of her hair, twining it around his finger. “So verra soft.”
Deirdre couldn’t breathe, as he let the curl unravel and cupped her face in his hands. “Ye confuse me. Ye torment me in my dreams,” he whispered against her cheek, sending a wave of pleasure down her spine.
Without thought, she groaned and leaned into him—his beard grazing her cheek. She no longer battled her mind for the man. “Kiss me, Angus.”
Praise for Mary Morgan’s
DRAGON KNIGHT’S SERIES
“…a tale of fierce heroism, passion, romance, intrigue, and legends. One of the best time travel stories. I couldn’t put the book down!”
~Duchess of Romance
~*~
“Mary Morgan has outdone herself…I recommend this book to anyone that enjoys a good romance, with time travel, paranormal elements, great story telling, and a strong H&H.”
~Romance with a Book
~*~
“Fans of historic time-travel romances will fall in love and devour this second installment to the series and can rest assured that while no prior knowledge is required, one will eagerly double back to read prior works!”
~InD’Tale Magazine
~*~
“Well, all I can say is Mary Morgan has done it once again. I know that’s no surprise because she always seems to leave us breathless and panting for more. More of what you say? More of the dragons, action, adventure, addictive witty banter that happens between the characters, romance, and the fantasy is spectacular.”
~Secret Realm Book Reviews
~*~
“…full of adventure, excitement, mystery, suspense, Fae, Fenian warriors and a dragon. Is it a combination that intrigues you? Do indulge. What a world, what a series and what a great story! Lassies, meet your brawny highlanders who will NOT disappoint.”
~Booktalk with Eileen
Dragon Knight’s Shield
by
Mary Morgan
Order of the Dragon Knights, Book 4
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Dragon Knight’s Shield
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Mary Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2016
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0541-7
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0542-4
Order of the Dragon Knights, Book 4
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my children, Noelle, Amanda, and Nicholas.
You have taught me how to listen
and follow my dreams.
Love you each to the stars!
Prologue
They were an ancient order, descended from the great Tuatha Dé Danann, the Sidhe, or in simpler terms: the Fae. Half-human and half-fae, each was blessed with mystical powers. Given to them were holy relics from the Fae and guardianship over their Dragons.
They were known as the Dragon Knights.
With the dawn of Christianity, the Dragons were systematically hunted down and slain, leaving only one. She was taken from Ireland to a land across the sea, settling in the Great Glen near Urquhart with the MacKay clan, descendents from the MacAoidh.
Yet, there were those who believed the Order had too much power and they tried to possess it for themselves. They were evil and twisted, and their plan succeeded one fateful night.
The brothers of the Clan MacKay—Dragon Knights, fought a battle. Blood spilled onto holy ground, bringing forth the wrath of the Fae. Their relics were taken and the Order was banished—each name stricken from the hallowed halls of the Fae.
However, not all was lost, for the Fae loved these men.
Therefore, a quest for redemption was given to each. Duncan, Stephen, and Alastair have already fulfilled their mission.
Now it is time for the last brother to step forward.
As the oldest, Angus MacKay had worn the cloak of responsibility most of his life. Yet, in one swift blow, he witnessed the death of his sister. And upon doing so, he discarded the mantle of leadership.
The Fae may have cursed him, but he relinquished everything about his former life and embarked on his newfound freedom.
No longer does he fight for justice.
His battle is to win the prize—be it coin, food, or land.
And with each new encounter he fights, Angus slips deeper into the abyss.
It will take a love more powerful than he can imagine to return his soul to the Knight he was destined to become.
Nonetheless, once he claims the ultimate prize, the question remains, will his love consume them both, or will he walk away, leaving only ashes of what could have been their destiny.
Chapter One
Rouen, France—October 1206
Blood and sweat trickled down Angus MacKay’s arm, but he would not relent. He could easily switch to his other hand at any time. However, he did not want to show the man his strength. It was a strategy he employed often in battle, letting them be fooled by a sense of false weakness—and there was no time for weakness. It showed a lack of control and Angus MacKay always remained in control. When others failed, they were always doomed. Had it not been so with his brothers?
“I told ye all to let me go after Margaret and the MacFhearguis!” yelled Angus. “Ye knew better, Duncan. By all the saints, why could ye not listen?” Angus shook with rage and despair, as he held his dead sister in his arms.
“Ye ken why, Brother,” Duncan replied tersely. “She would not listen to us, Angus. And after the last quarrel ye had with her, I thought it best to handle the matter without ye.” Waving his fist in the air, he spat, “Did ye want her to marry the bastard? Would ye have seen the marriage of two feuding families tear apart the sanctity of the Order?”
Angus glared at his brother. “Would ye have seen the death of our sister in this?”
His brothers’ foolish and reckless zeal to do harm to the MacFheargu is cost them the life of their sister. Guilt plagued Angus daily—gnawing at his gut and haunting his dreams. As the oldest of his clan, it was his responsibility to lead—a badge of honor he once told them. He had failed to teach his brothers to control their demons.
He alone, had brought shame on his clan, the Order—the Dragon Knights, and Angus grew weary. Each day—each battle, his soul sank deeper into the black void of anguish. The voices of the past haunted him constantly, walking alongside him during his waking days, and weaving their way to him in his nightmares.
I should have died on that bloodied ground, not Margaret.
Hearing the taunts of his foe, Angus cleared his thoughts and gritted his teeth against the pain. The fire danced along his blood, pushing his tolerance. The power begged to be released, and the dragon on his arm burned to lash out at his adversary. As the man wielded his sword and tongue, Angus battled for control and strength—fighting his instinct to burn the piece of flesh out of the man. Or perchance, he should allow his foe’s blade to pass through his own heart and end his misery.
Climbing out of the abyss of his dark thoughts, he pushed the pain to the far reaches of his mind, and his father’s words blazed forth within his memory. No matter the past, ye will stand and fight! Discipline, Angus. Dinnae lose yourself to the burning rage.
Slowly, Angus ambled toward the warrior, watching as the man’s eyes flashed to his hand where the blood now dripped onto the ground.
“You are wounded, MacKay. It would be a pity to cause you more injury,” chided the man and wielding his sword in a mock display of power.
“I will forfeit when my life is over. Until that day, I shall continue to fight any and all who cross my path.”
The man laughed and lowered his sword. “You are a stubborn knight. Are you willing to lose your arm over a trinket?”
Angus paused. “This bauble is of gold and rubies—a valuable prize for the victor of this tournament.” My future.
“The gems cannot buy you another arm.”
With a feeble attempt, Angus lunged at the man, only to be knocked away. The pain seared up his arm and radiated down his back. He would have liked to continue the bantering, but he sorely needed his arm treated, and wanted to end this skirmish. As Angus charged forward, his foe stepped swiftly aside and landed a blow to Angus’s back, causing him to fall to the ground.
“I deem it wise to sit this one out, MacKay. I will call for the healer. You are done in this tournament.”
The man’s words taunted the fire dragon within Angus, and his hands scorched the ground beneath him. Nae! I will not fail ye, father! I will retain my honor. I will control the burning beast!
His eyes blazing, Angus stood slowly, shifting his sword to his right hand. Removing his helmet, his stance became predatory. “Ye are in error, Durward. Did ye not consider I might have two sword arms?”
Durward blinked in obvious confusion, and then his anger surfaced. Lunging forth, he swung fiercely. However, Angus was fully prepared for the attack, blocking it and shoving him out of the way. The man charged, and the clash of blades resounded. This time, Angus controlled the battle as the man continued to weaken with each swing of the blade.
Durward’s sword sliced Angus’s chin, and his fury rose to a higher level—his fire dragon howled. “Time to end this, Durward,” he growled.
“Never,” Durward hissed, landing a blow against Angus’s injured arm.
“By the hounds,” roared Angus. Ducking another blow, he gathered the energy within his body and let it quickly move down his arm. Sparks of fire danced across his fingertips and traveled along the steel of his blade. When they reached Durward, the man screamed, instantly dropping his sword.
Holding his hand, his gaze hardened on Angus. “You are a monster!”
Angus quirked a brow. “Better a monster than dead.” His voice resonated cold as the steel he held in his hand.
Striding away, he heard Durward cursing him in French. He laughed bitterly. If only the man realized he could understand every word. Shaking his head, he continued past the others, some lay on the ground waiting for any passing healer. Scanning the hill, his vision caught sight of the last remaining men who had won. Good. Only a handful.
Tomorrow would determine the champions. And by the gods, he would be one of them.
“Ye are a mess, MacKay,” snarled Robert Sinclair, striding forth. “I lay odds ye battled with the Durward.”
“If ye were not my friend, I would knock ye for that remark.”
Robert rubbed a hand across his beard. “Tell me, did ye win fairly? Or was it won with,”—his eyes crinkled with mischief—“fire?”
Angus smirked, giving Sinclair a dark look. “It was a fair fight with only a wee bit of scorching.”
Robert shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. Ye could not hold back?”
Looking away, Angus took a count of tomorrow’s competition, including the man standing beside him. Hearing Robert’s groan, he cast him a sideways glance. “To answer your question, the man intended to mutilate parts of my body. It was time to put an end to our battle.” And I was losing control of the fire beast.
“Just remember, tomorrow, I will be one of those ye will be fighting, and I wish not to be caught in your fire storm.”
“Then best ye stay far from my reach.”
Robert grimaced, shifting slightly.
Holding up his arm, Angus bellowed, “Healer!”
Instantly, a small wiry looking man covered in blood and grime appeared. Wiping his hand across his face, he frowned. “You will need to remove your hauberk before I can tend to your wound. I have to see to a severed leg, but will return shortly.”
“Is there a river nearby?”
The healer blanched. “There is a trough with water against the tree where Sir Philip is standing.”
Angus followed the direction to where the healer pointed. The trough was covered with mud, blood, and God knows what other bodily fluids. Clenching his jaw, his gaze returned to the stoic man. “I require clean water. Again, I ask, is there a river or stream nearby?”
Raising his chin, the healer narrowed his eyes. “If you choose to bathe in the stream, I will not be blamed for your condition should you suffer from any fever.”
“I relieve ye from any blame.” His tone gruff.
“That is what they all say, right before I remove one of their limbs. You will find the stream past the trees over the hill.” Grumbling, the healer continued his rant as he scurried away.
Glaring after the man, Angus turned around. Seeing the smirk on Robert’s face, he clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Ye knew?”
His eyes light with humor, Robert shook his head. “Ye could have asked me, first.”
“Bastard,” he stated, pushing him away and walking toward the hill. He could hear Robert keeping stride with him, and he glanced over his shoulder.
“Ye will need someone to help ye out of the hauberk. Besides, I could use a good drenching in clean water, too.”
Angus grunted, but realized his friend was correct. What he truly required was a druid trained in the art of healing. Not an unskilled healer who would probably take one look at his arm and want to slice the limb from his body. Shaking the mental picture from his mind, his steps quickened. Passing through a copse of trees, he ascended the hill, nodding to a few of the men.
When he reached the bank of the stream, he tossed his helmet and sword to the ground. Robert proceeded to help him out of his hauberk. Once free of the chain mail, he let out a long sigh.
“Sweet Brigid,” hissed Robert. “Your arm will require mending.”
Angus let out a snort. “Unless ye can find me a druid, none of the healers present will be of any use.”
“Ye risk fever if not tended properly.”
“Nae. Will heal quickly.” Angus waved him off. Looking at the gash in his arm, he grimaced. Part of his tunic and bits of steel were embedded in the wound. Realizing there was no saving his tunic, he sat on a boulder, removed his boots, and then stripped off his trews. Taking his dirk, he slashed at the bloodied fabric ripping most of the material from his body. Walking into the water, he ignored the icy shards stinging his legs. Submerging the rest of his body, Angus let the water wash away the last of the muck. Wiping the water from his eyes, he glanced at his arm where the blood continued to flow freely.
Striding quickly from the stream, Robert tossed him a fresh plaid. Snatching his dirk from the ground, he eyed his friend. “Fetch me some ale or wine.”
