Dragon Knight's Medallion (9 page)

Journal of Stephen Malcolm MacKay

January, in the year of our Lord, 1205...

Cold…so verra cold.

Then below the words was a drawing of a snowy landscape, partially done. Without thought, Aileen started to move down the sandy beach turning each page carefully. Pictures of the foliage jumped out at her, their Latin names coming to life before her eyes. Sometimes they would be followed by a personal observation, others just a passing scribble.

Her footsteps brought her to a small cave. Looking up, Aileen noticed she had wandered far from the castle. The sun streamed down near the entrance beckoning her to come forward. Closing the journal, she stood in front of the opening, hesitant to enter. The darkness was not her friend, yet something winked at her within its depths.

She blinked several times, thinking it nothing but a trick of light, but there it was again, a flash of something inside. “By the Goddess, get a grip, Aileen,” she muttered. Walking carefully over the rocks, she glimpsed an object just inside the moss-covered opening. Stepping gingerly past a sand crab, she made her way inside the cave.

The briny smell assaulted her senses as she bent to look at what had caught her eye. It was a dazzling green stone lodged between the crevices of a boulder and the sand. Reaching out, she gradually eased it away from the confines of the wall. The stone warmed in the palm of her hand.

“Holy crap!” Aileen stumbled out from the cave and into the sunlight. The green stone was just not any green stone, but a medallion. The heavy chain attached was stunning in its craftsmanship. She blew across the top to remove some of the sand particles, and then her heart froze. Recognition flared in her mind, realizing where she had seen this.

Aileen was trying hard not to shake. However, in her trembling left hand, she held the journal of Stephen MacKay, and in her right hand...his
medallion
.

“No! Impossible. Isn’t it?” She swallowed the bile coming forth, glancing at her hands in disbelief.

“I need help,” she uttered looking around in desperation.

Clutching both items against her, she walked as quickly as her feet could carry her across the beach and back home.

When Aileen pushed through the front door, she was still running, and in an effort not to collide with her aunt, they both succeeded in tripping past the entry table, spilling the contents in Aileen’s hands across the entryway.

Aunt Lily was the first to start laughing. “What the hell! Are you okay?”

“Physically or mentally? At the moment...I don’t know,” she exclaimed in frustration.

Her troubled remark put a stop to her aunt’s laughter, and she looked at the items strewn along the floor. Bending, she picked up the journal and medallion. “What are these?”

Aileen backed up slowly, pressing herself against the wall. “In your hands is the journal and medallion of Sir Stephen MacKay.”

“Aileen,
where
did you find these?” Lily said in a hushed tone.

Now it was Aileen’s turn to laugh. “Well, you see, the journal was in my father’s possession, but I came upon the medallion down by the ocean this morning.” Pushing away from the wall, she took the items from her aunt. A shadow of something passed over her aunt’s face.

She rubbed the medallion’s cool surface infusing her with strength, her gaze directed at her aunt. “Tell me something...have you always known about the vision my mother had of me coming to Scotland, and meeting some untimely ending?”

Aunt Lily’s shoulders slumped, which told Aileen all she needed to know.

“So your father’s finally told you.” She reached out a hand, but Aileen took a step backwards. “You don’t understand, dear.” Her hand fisted. “I made your mother a solemn vow—a promise not to say anything to you.”

“There are so many secrets locked into each of you that it makes me wonder whose truth is real.” Turning away, she headed back outside. She needed distance...distance from everyone.

“Aileen?”

She paused, refusing to meet her aunt’s gaze. Aileen had enough of her own emotions without seeing the anguish in Aunt Lily’s.

Her aunt’s voice carried an edge of steel when she spoke. “You are descended from magical people, Aileen, and magic is at the core of who you are. There is still so much you need to comprehend
and
learn.” Her tone took a more ominous turn. “Do not close yourself off to the possibilities of it all. To do so will only bring you destruction.”

Aileen drew in a long breath and held it, holding back a terse retort. She would not give her the satisfaction of an acknowledgement. Holding her chin high, she deftly walked away from her aunt, seeking consolation away from the people who had called themselves
family
.

****

Aileen had traveled far, her steps leading her to their own destination. She didn’t care where they went or what they were in search of. Peace and solitude was what she sought, and she kept moving. Something skittered past her, and she came to an abrupt stop, glancing around at her surroundings.

The ruins of Arbroath Abbey loomed in front of her.

They were majestic with the sunlight dancing off the red sandstone. She cast her gaze to the distinctive round high window at the south end. Thoughts of long ago pierced her thoughts wondering what it would have looked liked lit at night. Aileen knew this window was used as a beacon for mariners, and known locally as the
Round O
.

Seagulls cawed in the distance, and she moved toward the ruins. She felt empowered with the sea behind her. Marveling at the foliage of various plants, Aileen stopped and touched them, mentally cataloguing each for a later time. As she stepped through the arch’s entrance, it was as if time stopped and a hushed silence descended.

“Is this where you once stood, Sir Stephen?” Her gaze touched on the medallion—expecting him to appear and answer her.

She continued to stroll slowly across the damp ground, and choosing a sunny location, sat down with her back against one of the walls. The warmth of the stones infused her body. Her hand rested over the top of the journal, hesitant to open it again.

Taking the medallion, she shoved it into her coat, and opened the book. “Tell me who you are.”

Her first thought was to turn to the last page again, yet, she wanted to know more of the man who had written her name on the page. There were copious notes on the daily building and repairs of the abbey. Then on some pages, there would be a mixture of plants drawn along the borders. At times, she could tell when he was frustrated. His notes would be curt and scribbled, and sections of drawings were scratched out, or partially completed. On one of the pages, Aileen saw a detailed account of a tisane. From the combination of the herbs, she could only deduce their mixture as one used for treating headaches.

“Eight hundred years has passed, and we still haven’t deviated much from the treatment of headaches.”

The sound of voices brought Aileen out of her thoughts and the journal. How dare someone invade her peacefulness? Standing, she brushed off bits of leaf and pebbles, and moved silently toward their conversation. The voices sounded terse and low, as if arguing.

She crept up against the wall, but recognized instantly one of the speakers. Her father was here. Then she recognized the other one more clearly and realized it was Liam.

Blast!
Why did they have to be here?
She looked around trying to figure out an escape plan without either noticing her.

Until...

“I order you not to utter one word about her involvement with the MacKay,” her father hissed. “If anyone is going through the veil, it will be me!”

Aileen moved closer until she could see their faces.

Liam gave him a skeptical glance. “Really? Remember, you are no longer a Fenian Warrior of the Sidhe. How do you propose to cross over?”

“I may have given up my powers, but not my
heritage
,” Aidan said in a guttural voice.

“Aye, that may be, but you cannot travel the veil without me, and I won’t let you go.”

Aidan’s eyes blazed with fury. “You will not take my daughter through! Do you hear me, Liam?”

“Bloody Hell, Aidan! It is her destiny!”

Aileen felt as if all the air from her lungs had been sucked from her body. Her legs trembled as she emerged from her hiding place.

“Wh...
what are you
?”

Her father and Liam both turned at the sound of her voice.

The former was the first to speak as he stepped toward her. “Aileen?”

“Stay back,” she ordered with a wave of her hand.

He froze. Raking a hand through his hair, he nodded to Liam. “I think I would like to be alone with my daughter.”

Liam gave him a curt shrug, yet before he could move away, they heard someone yelling in the distance.

Both men turned away from her, their focus elsewhere.

Aileen had to escape—
now.
She did not want to be alone with this stranger from God knows where. Taking a few steps back, she crept along slowly until she felt the side wall, silently disappearing from her father and Liam.

Lily was running hard, waving at them frantically.

Something was wrong. Aidan could see it in her eyes.

“Has Aileen been to see you?”

“Aye, she’s here, but—”

“She’s gone,” uttered Liam.

Lily grabbed Aidan’s arm. “Aidan, she has Stephen’s medallion.”

Panic seized him. “By the hounds—nae! Aileen!” he roared.

“Damn!” Liam hissed out, before taking off through the abbey.

“My God, Aidan,” sobbed Lily. “If she has the medallion here within the walls...” Her voice trailed off.

“Then I will kill Liam with my bare hands, if she crosses the veil of time without him.”

****

The more she ran, the deeper Aileen went within the abbey. She gave no thought as to her direction, and at times, she could have sworn she heard Liam yelling her name. “Like hell I’m going to stop and talk to you.” She cringed, slinking quickly along the walls.

Then Aileen had a thought. Perhaps if she stayed hidden in one of the smaller buildings they would think she went back to Balleycove. Casting a furtive glance behind her, she took note of her surroundings. Off to one side was dense shrubbery. After pushing through it, she found a wooden door built into the wall. Silently thanking the Goddess, she gently lifted the latch and opened it slowly.

She let out a groan. “It would have to be shrouded in darkness.”

Hearing Liam call out her name again was all the incentive Aileen needed. Gathering her courage, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

The first odor to assault her senses was musty and metallic. Wisps of light from the door filtered around her, but she could barely see a few feet in front of her.

“Aileen, where are you?” Liam’s shout had her moving rapidly away from the door. “It’s now or never,” she mumbled.

Touching her pendant for strength, she took a few shaky steps forward. Aileen moved along the wall, bracing herself against its surface for support, absently touching the medallion inside her coat. With each step she took, a piece of her fear seeped away. Her breathing became steady.

A gentle breeze flitted past her, its warmth caressing her face. She moved away from the wall propelled by some force. It was as if something or someone needed her desperately.

A tingling sensation wrapped around her skin and prickled her senses. Bright lights danced before her eyes. She blinked once, then twice, and stopped. Heat cascaded from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Aileen felt empowered and within seconds, everything exploded in an array of brilliant colors and her body seemed to fly apart.

Chapter Eleven

“Do not sing to me of your praises, nor accolades. Give to me a song bejeweled in violets.”

Stephen kept within the dark corridors of the cloister—waiting. He would bide his time until he saw the one man who could lead him to Betha. Osgar had told him about an old cellar, no longer used for storage. It was the only place he could think of that they could hide someone from the prying eyes of the others. Stephen’s frustration at not being able to locate the cellar grew each hour that passed.

Time was his enemy.

He could not fathom what means of questioning they would inflict on Betha. His instincts did not bode well when it came to this particular man from Rome. Nae—they screamed at him. As a warrior, Stephen relied on his gut, and it was churning at the possibilities. Betha had referred to a cleansing. Was she the first?

Low voices emanated along the north side, and Stephen pressed himself further back within the darkness. They were low, but he recognized the one instantly as Brother Timmons.

“Can we not give her some ale?” asked Timmons.

“No!” snapped Bishop Augustus. “I can see you have no belly for this. I do have a man who will oversee her questioning. Do you think you can handle the brothers? Will they stand with us? By the right hand of God?”

“Of course! We will do all in our power to wipe the heathens from Arbroath.”