Page 57 of An Unlikely Knight

Chapter Eighteen

The men had finally sat down to a hearty meal of the roast boar Tristan and Gavin had killed, potatoes from the cabin’s overgrown garden and cheese they found stored in the larder. Padriag found it increasingly difficult to eat past the lump in his throat every time he looked around the table to the men with whom he’d eaten many a meal over the last centuries.

“I fortified the wards,” he finally said. “My magic is stronger since I returned.”

Niall cut off a chunk of cheese and placed it on his plate. “My healing powers seemed enhanced. I think we are all stronger in our gifts. It must be something conjured by our partners’ spells.”

Tristan who had the power of strength lifted his arms and flexed. “Stand behind me in battle lads. I will protect you.”

Everyone gave him a droll look, except for Liam who nodded as if agreeing. “We will need all of our strength for what comes ahead. I suggest that we spend the time eating and resting. The final test will come soon.”

“In your vision,” Padriag began, “do you see the battle here or elsewhere? Do you remember the surroundings?”

“I saw a stone wall behind us. I believe it is taller than this cottage,” Liam replied.

Niall spoke next. “Erin saw herself looking out of a window to us beneath. So I think it could be elsewhere. The keep perhaps?”

“That is what I was considering,” Padriag added. “Her description of the dreams brought the keep to mind. If it were Meliot’s castle, she would have mentioned the darkness and you Liam would have also felt it.”

But that made no sense. Why would they return to a vulnerable place that Meliot knew well? It had been their sanctuary for centuries and although Padriag wanted to return to where he considered home, it was much too risky.

“Let’s give it a few days,” Tristan said. “We need to practice swordplay. It has been long since I held one.”

The men opened bundles they’d brought from the modern world then changed into leather breeches and tunics they’d bought from someone in the village who made authentic costumes for a local Renaissance Fair held every year.

Gavin twisted at the waist, sword up at chest level. “These clothes are much more comfortable than the ones we wore in the sixteen hundreds.”

“Not the same without some sort of vermin crawling over them at night,” Padriag stated and held his sword up. “Stop delaying your defeat, Gavin.”

Just as the Scot raised his sword, his gaze flicked past Padriag, his grip tightening. “A woman comes,” he murmured, his voice edged with unease.

Padriag turned to see her—a tall, gaunt figure moving toward them. She wore a tattered black dress that trailed behind her like a shroud, the fabric dragging on the ground. Her gait was unnatural, her steps uneven yet deliberate, as if there was a planned destination in mind. She did not falter at the sight of five armed men.

Tristan stepped forward, his hand on his hilt. “Is someone following her?” His voice was wary. “Something is… wrong.”

Niall’s expression darkened as he took a step closer. “Could be a witch.”

The woman halted just feet away, her lips curling into a sneer. Her skin was pallid, mottled with patches of gray, death clinging to her. Sunken eyes—dark, unreadable—fixed on them. She was an unnatural contradiction of ageless yet ancient.

“Honorable men wouldst help a sick woman,” she rasped, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Or do you intend to harm me instead?”

A chill coiled around Padriag’s spine as her gaze locked onto him. A predator assessing prey. He exchanged a glance with Tristan, his fingers flexing at his side.

“I’ll ward myself and speak to her. Stay here.” He handed his sword to Niall but kept his daggers across his chest.

As Padriag stepped forward, the woman tilted her head, studying him as if peeling him apart with her stare.

“What is it you require?” he asked, keeping his voice steady.

Her eyes narrowed. She did not answer at once, her attention flicking past him to the others. Then, at last, she exhaled a slow breath. “I am quite hungry.”

The words had barely left her lips before her body convulsed. In an instant, her face contorted, her mouth stretching unnaturally wide, her jaw unhinging. Her torso elongated grotesquely, bones cracking as she grew taller, her limbs distorting into something monstrous. Dark gray scales broke through her skin. Her fingers lengthened into grotesque claws, wickedly curved talons gleaming in the sunlight.

Padriag stumbled back, cursing himself for not having his sword.

The men lunged into action, Niall tossing Padriag his sword. He caught it, pivoting into a defensive stance as they formed a semicircle, blades raised, muscles coiled for battle.

The creature reared onto its hind legs, throwing back its horned head. A screech tore from its gaping mouth, a piercing, bone-rattling cry that sent a tremor through the ground. When its gaze locked onto them once more, its mouth parted to reveal rows of serrated teeth, each one honed for the kill.