Legends of the Fenian Warriors, Book 2
"You met them in the Order of the Dragon Knights. Now, journey to the realm of the Fae and witness their legends!"
Fenian Warrior, Rory MacGregor’s love conquests are legendary, but he has never spoken of the one mortal female who captured his heart. After his dark secret is finally revealed, he is ordered to return and seal the wounds left open by her death. Yet, he finds the timeline altered and swears an oath to rewrite fate, even if it brings about his own death.
Erina MacIntyre is known for her healing herbs and love charms. Determined to aid others, she refuses to listen to the whispers that call her a witch. When a Highlander steps forth into her path, he ignites a thread of strange familiarity and sparks a flame of desire she is unable to control.
Can the destiny of two lovers find love once more among the ashes of death and betrayal? Or will history repeat itself, leaving a scorching path of destruction for both mortals and Fae alike?
Page Count: 398
Word Count: 97511
“In the twilight moments before one wakes, be wary of the fragmented dreams of truth.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Beneath the Hill of Tara, Ireland, Mid Autumn—the season of harvest and feasting in the Fae Realm
Smoke filled his lungs, strangling his pitiful cries for mercy. Dust coated his mouth, and his eyes burned, reminding him of the flames of dragon fire during raging battles. Repeatedly, they continued to pummel his face, while his hands and feet remained bound as he knelt on the ground. Some threw stones at his head and others spouted vile obscenities and spat on him. He choked back the copper taste of blood and attempted to reason with any one of his captors.
Did they not understand who he was? Did they not know he could boil the blood within their bodies and peel the skin from their bones? He, a great Fenian Warrior could obliterate their entire city!
But he would not. Death would come far more quickly if he harmed so much as a hair on their pathetic bodies. In truth, he was honored bound by an oath to these deplorable humans.
“Bind…me to…the stake,” he pleaded in a choked voice. “Take me.” Fighting the wave of panic and the pain slashing his body, mind, and soul, Rory blinked in an attempt to focus and faced his tormentor.
His captor grabbed a fistful of hair, forcing Rory to view the scene in front of him. “Your time will come, ye spawn of the devil. But ye will first watch how your witch shall die.”
“Nae a witch,” he hissed.
“Liar!” the man shrieked, spittle flying. “Did she not tell wee Alan the charms came from the faeries?”
“A lad’s tale to amuse his friends,” he argued, during fits of coughing spasms.
“Nae!” A woman protested, pushing through the crowds of people. She charged forward and delivered a slap to Rory’s face. “Ye are bewitched by the lass and spout lies about my son.”
She wagged a finger. “Ye should burn with her. Ye have the painted markings of the devil on your body.”
“Leave and go tend to your son,” ordered the man.
Hastily making the sign of the cross, she quickly departed.
“Please, have mercy,” begged Rory.
“Mercy,” he echoed. “So that she may return and cast her evil ways upon us? Nae. She has been found guilty of her crimes.” Releasing his hold on Rory, the man nodded to another.
Rory uttered a curse and looked at the woman bound to the burning stake. Eyes wide with fear gazed back at him as the flames took hold of her dress, licking a path up her body. Not once did she let out a scream of terror. Choking on the scent of burning flesh, he swallowed the bile threatening to heave and attempted to stand. He would not let her die like this. She had done nothing wrong.
Yet, the effort cost Rory when his captor shoved a blade into his side. Pain dulled his senses, and he fought to move forward.
He broke free from his bindings and heard the crowd gasp in horror. No longer caring if any witnessed his power, he lifted his arms, only to have another bash him over the head.
Rory’s last glimpse of the woman he had forsaken were her screams of his name before he succumbed into the dark abyss, praying death would take them both swiftly.
Awakening on a guttural cry, Rory turned and emptied what little he had in his stomach onto the ground. Gasping for breath, he waited for the spasms to settle within his body and rolled on his side. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he leaned against the cool crystal wall of his prison, and let his head drop back. Gazing upward, he watched as the stars glittered like diamonds against an inky velvet night sky.
The dream had once again come unbidden to him during his time spent in the Room of Reflection. Never once had he dreamt of her until he entered his imprisonment. Nae. He had banished the memories—tucked them away to a remote part of his being. Hardened himself against any emotions. Struck her name from any thought and vowed never to reveal to his fellow Fenian brothers his involvement in her capture, imprisonment, and death.
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