“I am going to try to call upon my gift.”
“Steps, Rowan.” He looked about and spied a well-worn brogue, the leather soft and formed to one of the women’s feet. He put it on the stool next to her. “See if you can move that shoe.”
She chewed on her lower lip and for a moment he was distracted enough to lean in and kiss her.
“What worries you?”
“I do not want to hurt you, or myself, though I seem adept at protecting myself.”
“What do you want me to do?”
She looked from the shoe to Nicholas and back. “If I cannot control my gift, you must stop me. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She swallowed hard then closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like the blessing prayer Jeanette had been teaching her all afternoon. She raised her hands and moved them through the air as he had seen Elspet do at the blessing and her lips still moved.
And nothing happened.
“What use is a gift if I cannot even call it!?” She shoved her fingers into her hair and gripped her head. “Elspet made it look so easy. Jeanette says the Guardians before me have always naturally called upon and controlled their gifts. Why cannot I?”
“Perhaps you are trying too hard? Or perhaps Elspet’s way is not your way? How far back do Jeanette’s chronicles go?”
She still held her head in a white-knuckled grip.
“I do not ken how far back, or how many Guardians are part of the record. I do know she found none with anything like what I do.”
“Which means that the way you use and control your gift is not in the chronicles either.”
“True.”
“So what has brought your gift forth in the past?”
“Emotion—strong emotion,” she said without hesitation. “Fear, anger.”
“And with those the gift was destructive, aye?”
“ ‘Defensive’ is a better way to describe it. It protected me.”
Nicholas considered that information for a moment. “Then let us start with that.” He leapt to his feet, grabbed the shoe and flung it at her. She threw up her hands and the shoe flew back at him. It happened so fast he did not have time to duck. It hit him square in the chest. He burst out laughing at the shocked look on her face. “You did it!” He leaned over and gave her a smacking kiss.
Wonder shined in her eyes. “I did not think, I just acted. ’Tis how Jeanette said the other Guardians wielded their gift, by instinct more than training.”
“You, love, have a very well-honed instinct for defending yourself. I imagine ’twill be the same when the clan is in trouble.” He squatted in front of her so he could be eye to eye with her. “ ’Tis a formidable gift”—he rubbed the spot on his chest where the shoe hit him—“if a bit dangerous,” he added with a grin.
“Thank you,” she said, reaching out to cup his cheek in her palm. “At least now I know I can call upon it under attack, but I still need to be able to protect the clan before the danger arises.”
He placed a kiss in her palm and stood, looking about the chamber for inspiration until his eyes landed back on the amazing woman sitting on her bed. Other, more emotional activities for a bed sprang to mind. “You said ‘strong emotion’ drove your gift, aye?”
“So far.”
“Strong emotion is not all negative or dangerous, Rowan.” He had no intention of bedding her, but there were ways, without going so far, to raise strong emotion in a lass. He retrieved the shoe and placed it on the open windowsill this time. He held out his hand to her. She pulled the sack up around the stone, tying it to her belt as she joined him.
“Face the window,” he said, moving up behind her as she did so. He put his hands at her waist and felt a shiver run through her. He stepped closer until he could nuzzle that place where her shoulder met her neck, leaving a trail of tiny kisses up her neck until he reached the shell of her ear. “See if this sort of emotion works, Rowan.” He nipped at her earlobe. “See if you can push that shoe out the window.”
She took a shaky breath and lifted the ermine sack into her hands. She also tilted her head a little, as if asking for more. He obliged her, kissing along her neck again as he slowly ran his hands up her sides and back to her waist and up again, letting his fingertips lightly brush the sides of her breasts. His own breathing was growing ragged.
“I can feel… ’tis different, not sharp but softer, the energy,” she whispered. “I cannot move the shoe, though.”
“Keep trying,” he said. Shifting his kisses to her other shoulder, he gently pulled her back against him, letting his hands brush from her sides to her belly and up, just under her breasts.
Her breath caught and the shoe twitched. “Dear God, ’tis working, Nicholas. Do not stop.” The last words were barely more than a throaty sigh.
He smiled, happy to oblige her. He slid his hands over her belly again, brushing lower until she gasped, then up again, this time allowing himself the almost painful pleasure of lifting her breasts in his hands. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest, could feel the quick shallow breaths she took. And he could feel a breeze growing around them, a breeze that did not seem to come from the open window.
“That is it, love.” He caressed her breasts, laid tiny kisses on her neck, and still the shoe did not do more than twitch a time or two.
He did not know how much more he could take of this seduction. His erection ached with his harshly controlled desire. The heady scent of her passion played havoc with his resolve, as did the little feminine noises she made as he touched her, and the way she leaned into him. He moved one hand back down, skimming over her belly and lower. He let the pressure of his hand rest at the apex of her thighs as he rubbed his other thumb over her taut nipple. She moaned and pressed into his hands, her head leaning back on his shoulder. The wind grew stronger, but it was not the angry wind of that morning. This one was more like a warm spring wind, strong enough to keep anyone from disturbing them, but not strong enough to hurt anyone, either.
“The shoe, Rowan,” he reminded her before they both became lost to sensation.
She lifted her head from his shoulder with a jerking motion and the shoe went flying out the window as she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him down into a fervent kiss.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AS SOON AS Jeanette had returned to Elspet’s chamber she had sent Scotia for fresh soup and wine, as well as food to be brought to Rowan and Nicholas. Elspet slept fitfully, and Jeanette was glad, once Scotia had left, for a few moments by herself.
She closed her eyes, shutting out all the signs of change around her. She sighed around the ache that had been lodged in her heart, growing bigger, more painful ever since Rowan became the Guardian. She wanted to scream, to cry, to rail at whatever it was that chose a Guardian. It was her place. Her blood right. Her future.
But not anymore.
Now she must pass on everything that she knew, everything she’d thought she would be, to Rowan. It was her duty not to be the Guardian, but to train the Guardian, to protect the Guardian. It was not fair. But she could almost hear her mother’s voice, as she’d said so often to Scotia: Life is not fair.
She pulled the blanket up over her mother’s shoulders and left the chamber, carefully leaving the door open. She needed to move, to pace, to let the emotions that she usually managed so well take over. Normally she was the calm one, the serene one, sure of herself and her position within her world, her clan, and her family. She was the one destined to become the Guardian, to take an important place in her mother’s line. She was the one who had a calling, a clear path for her life but now…
Now she had nothing.
She passed the guard who stood outside the chamber she had shared with her sister and cousin for years. She remembered the rows between the willful Scotia and the protective Rowan. She remembered her place between them as the peacekeeper, the voice of reason, always explaining the mot
ives of one to the other, her place as the future Guardian requiring them to listen, to heed her warnings and her advice. They were so very different from each other, the three of them, and yet they had found a way to fit together. She had bound them together.
That, too, would change.
Jeanette paced further down the corridor to a narrow window and glanced out over the ben, then paced back to her mother’s door. She was cold outside her mother’s overheated chamber, so cold, but she did not think it had aught to do with the ever-present chill of the thick stone walls.
What was she to do now? Her whole life had been defined by whom she would be when her time came to take up the mantle of the Guardian. Everything she’d ever done, wished for, thought about, was bounded by the knowledge that she would always be here at Dunlairig, would always be bound to the clan. The lore she had studied, postponing her choice of a husband, how she comported herself—all had been founded on her future role as Guardian.
She would do what she must. Tend her mother, guide her sister, train her cousin. What else was there for her?
ROWAN’S PASSION NEARLY drove Nicholas over the edge. Her bed was there. The wind she drew around them would keep anyone from entering the chamber.
He buried his nose in her hair, gripped her backside in his palms, pulling her against him. She moaned and drew his mouth back to hers. Nicholas struggled against instinct, against need, against desire. This was madness. He had promised to protect her, even if that meant protecting her from him.
Once he would have taken what she clearly wanted to give and thought nothing more about it. But this was Rowan. He wanted so much more than a quick tumble from her. He wanted a life with her. He put his hands on her waist, where all this had started, and pushed her gently away, breaking the almost overwhelming contact with her, but she continued to kiss him.
“Rowan,” he whispered. “Rowan, we must stop this.” Those were the hardest words he’d ever spoken. “Love, this is not the way.” He released her and took a small step back. The wind immediately began to die down until it was but a sigh around the edges of the chamber.
A deep pink stained her cheeks and she would not look him in the eye.
“Love?”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Ah, Rowan, I am not.”
She looked at him, her eyes the brightest green he had ever seen. “Nay?”
“How could I be?” He reached for her hand, wanting to lay his heart bare to her, but he could not burden her. She was the Guardian, and no matter how much he knew he had been changed by his time here in Dunlairig, by her, he knew he would never be allowed to have her for his own. And he would have her no other way.
“I was as wanton as Scotia.” She looked away from him, toward the window, the charming pink of her cheeks growing rosier. “I did not want to stop.” Her attention shifted abruptly. “Where…” She hurried to the window. “The shoe. ’Tis gone!”
Nicholas grinned. The sweet torture had been worth it to hear the wonder and pride in her voice.
“I did it!” She leaned out the window, looking downward where the shoe must lay. She looked across the bailey at the same moment the scent hit his nose.
“Saints and angels,” she gasped. “Fire!”
ARCHIE JOINED THE stream of people flowing into the castle. The fire was roaring, just as he’d planned, pulling everyone’s attention to the immediate problem of containing it, putting it out. As he entered the bailey he could barely see through the thick smoke that swirled inside the walls as if the wind sought to hold it all there. The sun was blotted out and but a faint glow compared to the golden flames that rose from the great hall. His nose burned and his eyes watered.
Thatch made for great tinder.
He could make out a bucket line forming by the well near the center of the bailey, but he’d set the roof of the large hall aflame and there was little they could do until it collapsed, bringing the fire closer to those who would put it out. He grinned on the inside, carefully keeping concern upon his face.
He kept away from the well and the bucket line, needing to see where everyone was before he moved to the next stage of his plan. A command bellowed from his right. The chief, unmistakable as much from his air of command as from Archie recognizing the steely haired man from that first day here. The day Nicholas made a fool of himself rescuing the women from the falling wall.
The day Nicholas had changed everything.
If the chief was here, his second—that great black-haired man—was sure to be close by. Ah, there he was. Now, where was Nicholas? The fool would no doubt be lending a hand to put out the fire, rather than working with Archie as his loyalty should dictate.
No matter. This way Archie alone would have all the glory of completing the mission. Archie alone would have the goodwill and appreciation of the king. And Archie alone would have the riches such appreciation would provide.
He was better off on his own. He didn’t need Nicholas to take what they had been sent for.
But he did not see Nicholas anywhere. A screech from near the burning building had the chief and the bear surging into the thickest part of the smoke. Now was his chance.
He made his way quickly to the tower, grateful for the thick, swirling, choking smoke that cloaked his passing. He eased the door open and slipped inside. Shouts sounded from above, moving toward him. He melted into the deep shadow beneath the stair as Nicholas, Rowan, and another man rushed out the door. As soon as it closed again, he was up the stairs.
The Targe and the woman who kept it would soon be his.
ROWAN SKIDDED TO a stop halfway across the bailey. Nicholas managed to get around her without knocking her over and when he stopped and looked up she heard him gasp.
The fire had increased in the time it had taken them to alert Jeanette and race down the tower stairs. Flames licked high into the sky, the base of them obscured by thick, black smoke. Rowan dashed by Nicholas, running full out toward the inferno. Nicholas grabbed her arm, stopping her from racing into the chaos.
“Let me go!”
“Wait, Rowan!” he said.
“But Scotia… Jeanette said she had gone to the kitchens. The whole hall is aflame. We must find her, make sure she is safe!” Frantic, she pulled the edge of her arisaid up, holding it over her nose and mouth to keep out the choking smoke. “I cannot see her.”
Nicholas reached for her hand, and she was grateful for the strength she could feel, the concern that communicated itself in such a simple touch. “Is there aught you can do to stop the fire?” he asked.
His thought mirrored her own. “I do not know, but I must try.”
He nodded stiffly, his whole body leaning toward the fire. “I will stay here then.”
Gratitude and shame washed over Rowan. She was not a weak person and yet she had forsaken her strength, giving herself to the fear of the power invested in her as the Guardian, and Nicholas was trapped by his promise to keep her from hurting herself and others. How could she do her duty if she was afraid of it?
“Go,” she said, pushing him toward the fire. “I will do what I can. Find Scotia, please!”
“I will find her and bring her to you, here.” He pointed at the ground. “Do not leave this place unless the fire threatens you.” He gave her a quick kiss and sprinted toward the inferno.
Smoke swirled about him, swallowing him like some mythical beast. “Be safe,” she whispered, almost like a prayer.
Quickly she pulled the ermine sack into her hand, opening it so that it lay over her palm, the stone exposed, settled over the center symbol. She closed her eyes and reached for the energy, finding it easily this time, pulling it into her as she muttered the blessing prayer Jeanette had tried to teach her, determined that even if she didn’t get it exactly right, it might still help.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, and again, nothing happened.
Her eyes popped open. The fire burned hotter than even a few moments before. She had not changed
anything. Frustration had her in its grip and Jeanette’s words came back to her. She needed to guide the power of the stone, not try to control it or force it. She focused on the fire and allowed the energy to flow through her. The wind rose around her, clearing the smoke from the bailey but also fanning the flames that roared over the great hall. They needed rain. She scanned the horizon, spying storm clouds in the distance. Could she bring them here? Clouds moved on wind. She could raise wind.
Holding the stone high, she opened herself to the energy, letting it flow through her without resistance, guiding it through the Targe stone, directing the wind to rise, to widen its reach. She focused on the distant clouds but could not see any change in them. She fed the energy, determined to bring the rain to the fire.
A shout went up, a woman’s voice, screeching, sharp with fear. “She is still inside! Mistress Scotia is still inside!”
Rowan looked away from the clouds, to the crowd near the blaze. She stared in horror as Nicholas disappeared into the undercroft that led to the kitchen. Smoke billowed out around him, swallowing him whole.
ARCHIE FOUND THE tower was empty on the first two floors. Clearly any able-bodied person who might have been here was fighting the fire. When he reached the top floor he stopped at the top of the stair, hugged the wall, and listened.
A rustling sound came from his right. He carefully peered into the corridor. The door to his right was open and he could see a bed. A frail older woman lay there, her eyes closed. A younger woman moved into view. Her blond hair and slender build told him this was the one called Jeanette, the one who had been summoned to see to Rowan’s hurts the day the wall fell. The younger daughter, the hellion, did not appear to be here. He pulled his dagger and slipped into the chamber.
Jeanette was folding a blanket, her back to him. He grabbed her, setting his dagger to her pale neck.
“Do not move or call out or I will slice you open ear to ear.”
She did not move.
Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) Page 23