Searing pain lashed through Stephen’s heart. He was crouched against the back of a pine tree with his hands clasped on either side of his head, rocking back and forth. The dragon’s words were like knives, and he understood. It hit him with such force it blinded him. How could he stand in her presence when he had renounced his own heritage? He was asking for magic, when magic was what he was rejecting. Foolish and heartsick, Stephen realized the stone was no longer his. He might as well have Aileen toss it into the loch. “Sweet Brigid! I’m here, Stephen,” she blurted out trying to catch her breath. “Here, take your medallion,” placing her hand on his shoulder. Eyes that mirrored a stormy day looked into hers. “I cannae.” “Why? Did you not have a vision?” she asked, slumping down next to him. “Nae. It is no longer mine.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, leaning his head against the rough bark. “I have been proud believing she would help me. I had no right to ask.”
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