Born of Mist and Legend (Highland Legends Book 3)

by Kat Bastion

  One of her slender brows arched. “And mock.”

  “A little. Not to dishonor. To build rapport. Gain trust.” Insomuch as the two of them ever could. “You share a truth. I share a truth.”

  Brigid’s inscrutable gaze held his for a few seconds. Then she turned and resumed her course down the trail she’d been navigating, albeit at a much slower pace.

  Without further comment, he followed. But he noticed every teetering bob and subtle sway, how her body reacted to its growing need for energy. Of particular note was her perseverance, in spite of those undeniable demands.

  Yet with no real threat, his role remained the same. Support only, on the one thread. Swift eradication, on the other. Monitor in the meantime. Until either forced decisive action.

  Mandate required Skorpius’s assistance for his charge, but not force-fed. She had to be receptive to guidance. And her stubbornness had quarantined him to an unhelpful distance.

  With slower strides, she trekked another fifty yards. And as she placed each trudging step, her gaze darted back and forth; she scanned along dirt-exposed parts of the trail and examined the extended ends of tree branches and other overgrowth.

  You’re tracking something. He considered the most logical possibilities. Your horse. Because no matter how powerful Brigid had become in so short a time, no Highlander in their right mind—nor even a determined female some might label insane—would leave on a long journey without a reliable mount. And with the last of her magick all but snuffed out, hurting as she had to be, it shocked him that she pressed on.

  By sheer will. A mighty force to be reckoned with.

  Brigid paused at a fork in the trail. On a slow inhale, she closed her eyes and reached out with a brush of magick so faint, he suspected she had no idea she’d wielded it. But her depleted body knew. She swayed a little, then chose the right-hand path.

  “In truth, my most pressin’ need…” She stretched out the syllables and took a few more measured steps. Then she turned to face him. “’Tis retrievin’ my horse.” Her tone dropped, flat.

  “Well done.”

  A tiny wrinkle furrowed between those slender brows. “Weel done, what?”

  “Sarcasm. Not a bad attempt. But you’ll need to work on your subject matter. Obvious statements of fact are good. But a dry tone when you say one thing yet mean the exact opposite? Better.”

  “Och!” She shook her head, threw her arms halfway up, then dropped the tired limbs as she propped her hands on her hips. “You’ll be drivin’ me mad before long.”

  Who says you’re not already there? Internal sarcasm. Which he wisely kept to himself. What he needed more than anything was for Brigid to let her guard down. Not armor it up.

  So instead, he said nothing and stared at her.

  But in spite of his control, or maybe because that weak part of his heart continued to hairline fracture, he freed a hint of mirth: the minor crinkles bracketing his eyes, a slight lift at the corners of his mouth.

  Brigid twitched her lips, fighting a return smile.

  But then she sighed, shoulders relaxing down. “I’m huntin’ my horse because I doona wish to march across all of Scotland.” She flung those fatigued arms wide to emphasize the enormity of it all. Or in case he’d forgotten on what ground the two of them stood.

  Her stomach growled. “And I’m hungry.” Deadweight arms dropped to her sides again. “Now, your truth.”

  Perfect timing. For her surrender, and the topic segue.

  “I’ll give you two. First, you’re not just hungry. You’re ravenous. You’ve used massive amounts of energy—you still are—and it’s drained you to a near-unrecoverable level. If you don’t eat soon, you’ll lose consciousness again. At any moment.”

  Tenacious to her core, she scowled. “Nay. Tough blood flows through my veins.”

  Clearly. But that’s beside the point.

  “Yes, you will. Stone-cold pass out. Total face-plant.” Maybe some of Isobel’s twenty-first century words will break through your stubbornness and brain fog. Even so, he added a physical demonstration: raised a bent arm to chest level, rested his other elbow on those fingers, then, with a descending whistle, slow-toppled his arm to an explosive crash, complete with a puff of his cheeks when he slapped down that last inch. “Down. Whether or not you find a good landing place.”

  Brigid swallowed hard at his grim prognosis. Held her breath for a couple of absorbing seconds. Pegged him with a shrewd look.

  Then, as if seeing through her mental haze for the first time, she scanned her surroundings, eyes widening as she noticed all the miniscule sparkling items she’d cast aloft with her magick. At once, every single thing dropped, leaving behind a dissipating cloud of glittering gold.

  Without a word, she strode off trail.

  Along the southern edge of a nearby grove of saplings, Brigid scooped raking hands over bobbing yellow dandelion blossoms, yanked the fluffy tops off their gangly stems, and popped one after another into her mouth. Even the plant’s young tender leaves got stuffed in, chewed. Other broadleaf plants caught her eye, and she made quick work of harvesting, then devouring. For a solid five minutes, she plucked and ate, stuffing her cheeks, chewing nonstop, swallowing as fast as she could, to make room for more. Herbs, edible wildflowers, weeds, each was expertly identified by a Scot familiar with foraging. And what she consumed delivered a powerhouse of dense phytonutrients and protein.

  Afterward, following some innate sense, she wandered out into the bright sunshine, face tilting upward, eyes drifting closed. She raised her bare arms toward the life-giving radiation and soaked up its pure energy.

  Skorpius simply watched, pleased and impressed that she followed her intuition.

  A visible calm had settled over her by the time she turned back toward him.

  But through the further lens of a fine wave of his own magick, which filtered her brilliance with his smoky hue, he determined her reserves had already been topped off. Skin that had begun to turn pallid flushed a healthy pink once again. Clouded silvery eyes brightened, white and observant. Even her hair glowed with renewed radiance, her aura pulsing with fresh energy.

  Then that astute mercurial gaze locked on to his. “And the second?”

  Very well, truth. As promised. But not everything.

  “I’m not sent to merely guard you.” Aside from guarding time itself… “There’s a caveat to my guardianship.” Brigid needed to understand the parameters, would find out at some point regardless. “I cannot interfere in which path you take, you must decide. But I’m at your service to assist, when needed. Guardian angels are only able to guide.”

  The first sign of joy alighted in her gray eyes, turning them to quicksilver in the sunlight. “Escort and advise.” She peeked over her shoulder, toward the bottom of her satchel.

  His gaze tracked to its slight bulge, his thoughts turning toward what she’d stowed there.

  “So, you’re like a knight sent to protect me.” She glanced back at him with a beaming smile. “Like Sir Galahad.”

  Skorpius coughed out a laugh. “No. Not a knight. Not even a little like Galahad.” That unique leather journal—which she’d somehow acquired—had filled her head with romantic notions. Idealism had no place in her world. No place in any world he’d come to know.

  She huffed out a light snort at his ready dismissal. “How will you protect me?”

  “The same as I assisted you with your magick. Like I am master”—he arched a brow and dipped a pointed nod toward her—“and you are apprentice.”

  Brigid gave a heavy blink, then rolled her eyes at his not-so-subtle reminder.

  Nice. In spite of their opposing roles, he began to like her. A little. Only enough for them to tolerate one another. Not enough to endanger the delicate situation they’d stumbled into.

  Dread tripped through him. That damned weak spot in his heart.

  Skorpius had sought to have Brigid bond with him, like him. Not the other way around.

  He couldn’t
afford to like her. The risk for a misstep loomed too great.

  So he redirected back to the task at hand. “Only after your horse?” He suspected more. Because she’d been tracking with great skill on ground-born signs. But she also darted an occasional glance skyward with a sharp inhalation, then panned along the hidden horizon line, searching. Or listening.

  “Nay.” But she didn’t elaborate.

  And he didn’t need her to.

  Magick itself, and whatever role she played with it—for or against time remaining whole—was leading her toward some unknown destination.

  They walked onward at a slower pace, side by side, in almost companionable silence.

  Almost, Skorpius thought.

  No daggers had been drawn or thrown, no verbal barbs had been flung, and no magick had been summoned, not even inadvertently. Plus, he’d graciously muzzled the sarcasm. So “almost” counted for a lot between two inharmonious companions.

  He also noticed that Brigid had casually allowed him into her personal space. Noticed, but wisely chose not to comment on the recent development.

  When the sun dipped another few inches closer to the horizon, his focus flashed inward, toward the two threads that bound him. The one tied to her guardianship vibrated a degree faster. Which meant some unseen force nearby threatened her person or mission. And although he couldn’t interfere, at the very least he needed to offer guidance.

  A quick mental inventory drew his attention toward where Brigid had come from…and when. He glanced over at her. “Iain will come after you.” If he isn’t already on his way.

  Brigid’s easygoing pace slowed a fraction. A slight frown tugged at her lips. Then she gave an imperceptible headshake. “Isobel will hold him off.”

  “From protecting his own sister?” He laughed. “Not even a remote chance.”

  “I’m safe.” Brigid squared her shoulders, confident and relaxed. “She’ll sway his opinion.”

  Something about her absolute faith in that gave him pause. Denial? Or something more. Something powerful. To conduct another subtle test of her status, he pulsed an undetectable wave of magick her way. A low hum of magick radiated from her core out into the ether, so slight in energy it seemed to be a baseline constant.

  Could she have tapped into the unified field?

  Would such a subtle low-level vibration be enough to disrupt or alter anything she wished? Even Iain?

  Manifestation worked in mysterious ways.

  But Skorpius doubted she’d mastered magick to that level. To become that proficient? Would require decades of practice to achieve that kind of pinpoint accuracy over such distance and time.

  Which meant her brother’s interference remained a factor that Isobel would be hard-pressed to circumvent. Therefore, they needed to address the issue in a real-world way.

  Skorpius strode farther ahead, then turned and angled in, cutting into her path to gain her full attention. “Not regarding your safety, she won’t.” Iain was almost as stubborn as he.

  Brigid continued with a few more steps, then stopped, inches away from him. Curiosity sparked in her pale eyes. “If I’ll be askin’ your assistance, you’d be duty bound to prevent Iain from stoppin’ me?”

  He leveled a hard stare down at her. “My duty to you only goes so far. No guardian can go to war for his charge. I cannot harm another who has virtuous intent to enable you to have your way. Fighting for you is not the same as protecting you.”

  Waging battle? Going to war? Those actions fell soundly into the realm of protecting time. So, he would fight, if the situation demanded it. Whether or not the act gained Brigid her wish.

  “But I’m needin’ to see this through.” Her voice softened. Her gaze held a quiet plea.

  “See what through?” Here it is. The big question and its elusive answer. The reason for his being there. And she’d relaxed her guard enough, finally trusted him enough, to confide in him.

  After a few second’s pause, she blinked, shook her head, then wandered beyond him. Under the canopy of a great tree whose leafy boughs stretched over the trail, she turned, then leaned against its trunk. Her slender brows twitched down before she relaxed back against the bark. Then she stared up into the giant’s many branches.

  The late afternoon sun dipped below the treetops behind them, and a slight breeze rustled through the leaves overhead. Varying patterns of leafy shadows played over her fair face.

  But as a creature relegated to darkness—whose very essence charged from the chilling absence of light—he discerned each slight nuance, the parting of her peachy-pink lips, her breathy sigh. Then her skin began to illuminate, a faint golden light.

  Recognition struck.

  His brow furrowed. Impossible.

  Yet, there she stood, impossible as ever.

  I stand, as well. And many would utter the same of him.

  Every little clue pointed toward the fact. But in all of millennia, it had never happened.

  No. Not supposition. Fact.

  Skorpius wiped the suspicion from his brain. Because he had to be sure.

  Brigid’s face tipped back down and a weary smile wobbled her lips as her gaze landed on him again. “It calls to me. ’Tis the greatest task.” She clenched a fist over her heart, eyes drifting closed, chest expanding on a slow inhale. “But…I doona know,” she whispered.

  Well, great. That made two of them.

  “And somethin’”—her eyes narrowed as she pulsed a probing wave of magick toward him, then gave a solid headshake—“some other presence with magick is tryin’ to interfere.”

  Another clue. One he’d not given enough weight to before.

  “Disturbing your dreams.” Which she had earlier accused him of. Yet some differentiation had suddenly taken place. Her ability had evolved to a level where she sensed the distinction.

  Brigid swallowed hard, then nodded. “Aye.”

  “Good?” Skorpius had to ask, needed her gut reaction.

  Her stronger headshake tossed those long copper curls behind her shoulder. “Nay.”

  “Of course.” He frowned. Not good. On every level. For her. For the rest of the worlds.

  She shoved off from the tree, expression grave. “Mayhap, ’tis the one who’s huntin’ my magick?”

  “One. There could be others.” Other entities, myriad potentialities. “When you use your magick, the energy signature echoes out, a beacon to anyone searching for power.” He stared at her while he puzzled out all the clues. With no clear instructions of how they fit into the bigger picture, his two tethers were all he had to go on. And neither tugged with any great urgency.

  Her hard gaze remained locked on him. “Those who’ll be wishin’ to kill me.” Besides you.

  Brigid’s unsaid sentiment filtered into his brain, crystal clear. Vague as her thought was, whether or not she’d intentionally directed it toward him, her strong emotion cast it aloft. And bolstered with the special elixir of magick he suspected she had somehow acquired, telepathic communication had been added to her emerging abilities.

  Yet with her innocent expression, she appeared unaware that her accusation had been broadcasted.

  And Skorpius didn’t acknowledge hearing it. Because his presence was a mortal threat to her. But dragging that morbid topic out into the open served no purpose and stood in direct conflict to his gaining her trust.

  “Or take you captive,” he redirected. Aloud.

  Her assessing gaze held his. At the same time, a gentle golden magick probed at him as her chest rose and fell on steady deep breaths.

  Skorpius allowed her slight energy access. A wave washed over and through him, warm, but subtle. So subtle, only a being attuned to magick would notice. No mere mortal could.

  “Ask what you wish to know of me.” With a spark of energy, he shook her nascent magick free of his system. “No need to probe for it.”

  Brigid’s chin lifted. Defiance sparked in her eyes. “I’ll be demandin’ the same from you.”

  Ah, so you’
ve sensed my magick testing you? he mentally asked. Time to strip away the pretense.

  Aye, she mentally replied. “You’ve been searchin’ for answers.”

  Answers like this, your action a clear admission that you’d known about your telepathy. “And other secrets even you may not be aware of.”

  Just discovered, now known, she countered. “And you’ll only breach my mind when I give you permission.” An unyielding gaze brooked no argument.

  Skorpius dropped her a brief nod. “When I’m able to request it.”

  “And these ‘others’?” she asked.

  Besides who she’d sensed, disturbing her dreams. “Any being who dares. They won’t ask. They’ll take. With whatever means they see fit. Barbaric, not humane. The easiest way, for most.”

  A wounded expression flashed over her features. “But why?”

  Even raised during times of war, Brigid remained innocent to the vicious greed of others. Human cruelty was the tip of the iceberg compared to entities in other realms. However, she had charged into the game of power with eyes wide open and a passion for some unknown cause blazing.

  Her kingdom’s bards spouted tales of mortal fragility, subject to the callous whims of wizards and gods. Better for Brigid to understand reality now than suffer by experience later. “To use you. Harness your power, your will.”

  “Och! I’d rather die.”

  “You might not have a choice.”

  Those astute eyes widened, then narrowed. “They’ll be usin’ trickery?”

  Possibly. As he mentally sent the reply, a sudden suspicion had him burst out a wave of energy to ensure they weren’t being monitored as they spoke. Yet at that moment, he detected no presence other than their own, along with the native flora and fauna.

  Brigid winced. “Aloud, please. I doona like all the talkin’ in my head.”

  “Enchant you.” All he ventured.

  Because he didn’t like stating all the darker possibilities. Didn’t want to even think them. With all the power sparking in both of them, they ran the very real risk of their magick amplifying words and thoughts into suggestions or demands, bringing them forth into the realm of matter. “And you need to practice mental communication. The skill needs to be second nature if you’re under stress. And you’ll be grateful for the talent, particularly if it’s the only means of communication you have.”