Free Dragon Knight's Medallion by Mary Morgan

He took a coat from a nearby chair, and draped it around her. “There’s no heat in this room. It would destroy most of the items, especially the scrolls.”
    “Is this where you work most of the time?” she questioned as she made her way to a table.
    Her dad followed her gaze before he answered. “At the moment we are focused on a particular dig near the abbey, but I find solace in being down here.”
    Aileen knew without asking her father that the leather bound book lying on the table was the one he wanted to show her. Its coloring was dark and simply made, and she reached out a trembling hand to touch it. A warm rush of heat filled her senses, and she pulled her hand back, as if she had been burnt. Her sight blurred, and she leaned against the table for support.
    “This is the book,” she whispered.
    Her father’s arms went around her shoulders, “Aye, Aileen. This is the journal of Stephen MacKay. He was a Dragon Knight who came to live at the abbey for some months in the thirteenth century. Most of the pages contain the daily progress of the building of the abbey, which is a boon for us. Then on others, there are partial drawings.” He released his hold and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “He would start a drawing and then cross it out, as if he was not content with what he had drawn.”
    “I want to see the picture of my pendant.” Reaching out to open the journal, the contact sent heat throughout her body. The pages were so thin, and she trembled with each turn. Why did she feel this way?
    “On the last.”
    She gently folded back the pages to the last one. There in all its glory, was a drawing of her pendant, every nuance of hers mirrored on this page. However, what truly had her gasping was not just the drawing, but also her name...her full name, Aileen Rose Kerrigan .
    “It’s…it’s impossible,” she stammered. She looked up into her father’s face—a face filled with certainty that this was indeed real. “How can this be?”
    His brows furrowed. “Anything is possible, Aileen.” He sighed and moved away from her to lean against the table.
    Laughter bubbled forth and burst free. She hugged the journal against her chest and let the mirth subside.
    “Honestly, Dad? I may believe in magic and healing, but what you are suggesting is preposterous! It’s not possible for me to travel to the—” She waved her hand in frustration.
    “Thirteenth century,” interjected her dad.
    “Right,” she said, pointing a finger at him.
    Then a thought occurred to Aileen. Her dad had connected the drawing within the journal with her mother’s vision. She was astounded that a man of his intelligence would come to this kind of conclusion. There had to be a rational explanation—not this insane one.
    “You cannot believe it, Dad.”
    “Believe what, Aileen? That it’s real ?”
    Exasperation filled her and stepping in front of him, she held the book up. “You can’t possibly think this journal and mom’s vision are connected. It would only mean one possible theory.”
    Arching a brow, he countered, “That your mother’s vision of your life ending here in Scotland, and the journal of Stephen MacKay could only mean you will indeed travel back to the thirteenth century?”
    The look in her father’s eyes frightened her.
    Standing to his full height, he placed his hand upon her cheek. “Aye, my dear daughter, it is precisely what I mean.”

Chapter Ten
    “The Dragon mixed together henbane, belladonna, hemlock, and aconite to deaden the pain, yet she was helpless without the angel of Death. ”
    Aileen fled the room with the journal still in her clutches. Fear and nausea clamped a hold on her body with its icy fingers around her heart. She heard her father yelling her name, but she refused to listen any further. It was not that his words had frightened her; no, it was his unfathomable belief it was indeed a possibility. A belief backed up with evidence, now held firmly against her