Highland
Protector
Also by Catherine Bybee
Paranormal Romance
MacCoinnich Time Travels
Binding Vows
Silent Vows
Redeeming Vows
Highland Shifter
The Ritter Werewolves Series
Before the Moon Rises
Embracing the Wolf
Novellas
Soul Mate
Possessive
Erotica Novellas
Kilt Worthy
Kilt-A-Licious
Contemporary Romance
Weekday Bride Series
Wife by Wednesday
Married by Monday
Fiancé by Friday
Not Quite Series
Not Quite Dating
Not Quite Mine
Not Quite Enough
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Highland Protector
COPYRIGHT Ó 2013 by Catherine Bybee
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art by Crystal Posey
Visit the author at www.catherinebyee.com
Publishing History
First Edition, 2013
Published by Catherine Bybee
Print ISBN 978-0985088873
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This one is for The Chatty Cathy’s
The best street team evah!
Acknowledgments
For every whip-cracking fan of this series, thank you! Seriously, all those emails… as in daily emails, about the dark hero that Amber would marry were a welcome sight. At one point my assistant Crystal threatened to start handing out flaming pitchforks if I didn’t finish this book. “You will not write another book before Amber is done, Catherine!” Crystal home schools four kids and she used that voice. So, yeah… I had to finish Amber.
I do realize the wait for you, dear reader, has been long. Imagine the wait in my head once I placed Amber’s hero in the ending of Highland Shifter. Gavin Kincaid eluded me for a time, he’d swing back around and wave, and then run away again. He’s here now and more than ready for all of you to read his story.
I know the minute my whip-cracking fans finish this latest book there will be a mass dump in my inbox asking for the next book. And that fact makes this author squee with delight. So keep the emails coming. Crack that virtual whip and tap those fingers.
Cian, dear reader, will be worth the wait.
Highland
Protector
by
Catherine Bybee
Book Five in the
MacCoinnich Time Travels
Chapter One
1686, MacCoinnich Keep Scotland
Fighting with a sword ranked up there with having sex without an orgasm. Holding the damn thing took too much energy and the end-result was anticlimactic and messy. Kincaid’s free hand itched to pull any one of his hidden weapons from the pockets of his modified seventeenth century clothes and finish off his opponent. The man’s death was inevitable. He had no earthly prayer of taking Kincaid. Even without the use of Kincaid’s gift, the kilted Scot had two fatal flaws working against him. One, he underestimated his opponent, never a good thing in battle. Two, Kincaid’s Druid gift would prevent any fatal blow from reaching his skin. He was damn near immortal.
Kincaid missed being skewered by the Scot’s blade by lunging to his right and placing one foot on the edge of the Keep’s massive stairs. Above him, other men fought, some with powers, a few without. Preventing the ancient Keep from falling into any hands that didn’t belong to descendants of the original owners, wasn’t going to happen. These missions were planned and orchestrated with extreme caution and precision.
The Scot advanced again—sweat falling from his brow with the effort of the fight.
“Kincaid!” He heard his name from the floor above, but didn’t make the mistake of looking up.
“I’m busy.” He blocked his opponent’s sword again, locked the man’s free arm, and attempted to pull it behind his back.
Kincaid was rewarded by taking an elbow in the ribs and having the wind knocked from his lungs.
“Finish him already. We need to move on.”
Moving on was his queue that their time was nearly up.
“I guess…” He shoved the Scot a foot away and lifted his sword high. “That means we’re done here.”
“Your confidence will be your downfall,” the Scot said.
Kincaid motioned the man forward. …said the spider to the fly…
The Scot advanced with a surge of strength and determination.
Kincaid held his ground, threw up his Druid shield, and watched as shock filled the man’s gaze when his sword bounced off the shield and opened him up for Kincaid’s final blow.
Killing never sat well with him. But he was a warrior and killing was part of his soul. Damn shame that.
Kincaid heard his name called again, and he took the familiar stairs two at a time to reach the others. From the corner of his eye, his gaze met a painting on the wall, one he’d not seen before.
His steps faltered as he connected with the haunting gaze of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Didn’t matter that the painting was one dimensional, or that the woman was most likely dead…even in this century. He did a quick inventory of the other images on the walls and recognized only one. The same painting hung in that very space on the wall, so many years in the future. But this one…the picture of the woman with her long dark hair and pained focus as she attempted to smile, beckoned him. This painting he’d never seen.
“Kincaid! Dammit man, get your ass up here!”
Kincaid shook away the woman’s soulful gaze, bounded up the stairs, and trailed his band of men up the spiral staircase of the turret.
As they moved to the privacy of the bricked room, he noticed the small face of one of the Keep’s youngest occupants watching from behind an adjacent door.
Rory moved to close the door when Kincaid motioned toward their witness.
The child, a girl not more than ten years old watched with wide eyes. She didn’t appear frightened in the least.
“Is she…”
Rory lifted his hand, palm up, and from it, a small ball of fire swirled from nothing and hung suspended.
The girl’s wide eyes lifted and a small smile inched at the side of her lips. She lifted her hand and a sputtering of fire sprang from her fingertips.
Kincaid felt his pulse dip as he lifted his finger to his lips “Shh,” he whispered with what he hoped looked like a friendly smile.
Noise from the long staircase met their ears. Rory ushered them inside and closed the door. Before the noise from below became another battle, Kincaid closed his eyes, lifted his shield, and spread it over his small party…then he began to chant and time slid away.
****
Current Day, Los Angeles
Amber MacCoinnich endured the weight of emotional pain that surrounded every moment of her life for as long as she could stand it before slipping from her bath. Though she enjoyed the freedom of a quick shower from time to time, she endured the splitting headache that swam up her spine once she removed her protective cloak. The soothing water
in the hot tub came at a price, but Amber was willing to pay the price at least once a week. As a sixteenth century woman living in the twenty-first century, there were some habits she brought with her.
Unlike MacCoinnich Keep in the Highlands of Scotland, the place she’d grown up, Mrs. Dawson’s Southern California home was virtually empty of inhabitants. Mrs. Dawson herself lived in chambers that had been moved to the bottom floor to aid her failing joints. Although age might be robbing her of her ability to take the stairs as often as she used to, her mind was sharp, and her wit always made Amber smile.
Simon, her cousin of sorts, and Helen, his wife, took over several rooms on the second floor while Amber took one of the many rooms on the third floor. Up here, the weight of emotions from those below only penetrated her mind and her soul when she removed her cloak. Up here, she could manage several hours of sleep if she exhausted herself during her day. Up here, she could breathe. Or so was the case when she’d first arrived in this century. As her days wore on the cloak began to lose its power and Amber began to long for a fourth floor.
Long before she heard her name called, she felt Helen’s intent…an enormous emotional wave of energy surged from below. Though she wasn’t positive what caused Helen’s happiness, she experienced it…and knew Helen’s intention was to share it.
The fall night gave the house a slight chill, which suited Amber well when she covered her pale skin with a long nightgown and the warm cloak that served as a temporary emotional shield.
Instantly, the threads of the magic woven into the long garment muted the outside emotions until they dulled the building headache inside her skull.
A long-winded sigh escaped her lips. “’Tis better,” she whispered to herself.
Helen’s soft knock on the door brought a smile to Amber’s lips. “Come in, Helen.”
She opened the door and bounced in the room like a young child, the smile on her lips lifted the fatigue from Amber’s heart. “I still can’t get over how you know anytime one of us is nearby.”
“I’ve been here for two moons…months,” Amber corrected herself in an attempt to use the proper words from this century. “What has you so joyous?”
Helen’s eyes swept up her frame. “It can wait until you’ve dried your hair. Besides, Simon and I wanted to tell you and Mrs. Dawson together.”
Amber lifted a brush and stroked the ends of her hair. She probably should cut the locks short but she couldn’t bring herself to the task. Every part of her life had changed, and her appearance in the mirror was one of the only things that reminded her who she was and where she came from…of her home. “News worthy of an audience?”
“The best. Ten minutes?” Helen asked.
“If you won’t mind damp hair, I’ll be down in five.”
“Awesome.” Helen moved forward, as if she were going to embrace Amber. She hesitated, nearly tripping over her feet and sighed. “Five minutes,” she said before turning and leaving.
Amber’s own sorrow filled her heart as Helen fled the room. A simple expression of love, of joy, a hug wasn’t something given freely to her because of the emotional attack on her system.
Most Druid gifts were a blessing. If managed, those gifts were used to protect and serve the recipient of the gifts…and their families. Amber’s gift had served a useful purpose for years. Something easily managed and controlled. Until her family battled with Grainna and the power inside her tripled. It was as if she’d drawn in the sinister side of Grainna’s power. The thought left something inside Amber cold and dead. She wanted nothing of the powerful Druid’s essence inside of her. Yet she knew something leaked into her with the woman’s death.
Once Amber ran a brush through her hair, she tied it back in a silk ribbon, placed a pair of slippers on her feet, and descended the stairs.
She found Helen and Simon in the kitchen, a place she seldom visited when living with her parents in the sixteenth century. In this time, it seemed most of their conversations were around the stone island.
Simon stood beside Helen who was perched on the edge of a stool, his arm draped lovingly over her shoulders. The love radiating off the two of them penetrated the cloak and made Amber smile. When he nuzzled the side of Helen’s neck, Amber cleared her throat. “Perhaps I should leave and come back another time?” she asked with a grin.
Helen laughed and pushed Simon playfully away. “Don’t be silly.”
“There you are.” Mrs. Dawson walked into the room. The cane in her hand was a constant companion after the three o’clock hour. Seemed her legs grew weaker as the day grew long.
Simon pulled out a chair for Mrs. Dawson.
“Thank you.” She patted Simon’s hand before folding her hands together in her lap. “So what has prompted this family meeting?”
Amber glanced between Helen, Simon, and Mrs. Dawson, her new family, and waited.
Helen nodded toward her husband. “You tell them.”
Simon stood behind Helen with his hands on her shoulders, his lips pulled back into a huge smile. “Helen is pregnant with our child.”
“Oh, Simon.” Amber moved around the counter, pushed back her worry about touching others, and wrapped her arms around Simon. His strong arms folded her in and his warmth filled her with hope. “I’m so happy for you both.”
Mrs. Dawson moved from her chair to hug Helen before Amber switched places with the older woman.
“I cannot wait for tiny feet to run around the house,” Amber told Helen when she hugged her. “I think I miss the children of my father’s home most of all.”
“I’m going to need some serious help,” Helen said. “I know nothing about babies.”
“The baby will teach you everything you need to know,” Simon said.
Still, Amber could feel Helen’s worry lacing her joy. “I can help,” Amber told her.
Mrs. Dawson sat again. “Will you find out the sex of the baby before you give birth…or wait?”
Helen shrugged. “I see no reason to wait. The doctor said we’ll be able to tell in a couple of months.”
“Would you like to know now?” Amber asked.
Simon pulled in a breath. “I completely forgot that you were able to guess the baby’s sex back home.”
Simon referred to their sixteenth century life as if their mutual family lived in another town and not another time.
“You can do that?” Helen asked.
“I can. ’Tis one of the more useful sides of my gift.”
Helen sent a hopeful smile to Simon, who nodded.
“Let’s do it,” Simon said.
“Shall we move to the living room? I need you to lie down so I can touch your belly.”
Even through Helen’s hopeful smile, a measure of concern pushed beyond the barrier of the cloak. “Won’t that hurt you?”
Amber swallowed and offered a convincing lie. “’Tis not that bad today. I’ll be fine.”
She followed the others into the larger room and instructed Helen to lie on her back and bare her abdomen so she might search out the newest member of their family.
Helen used Simon’s lap as a pillow while Mrs. Dawson sat in a chair on the other side of the room.
“Is this good?” Helen lifted her shirt and slid the edge of her jeans down.
“Perfect.” Moisture gathered on Amber’s forehead even before she reached to remove her cloak. Moving slowly at first, the cloak slid off her shoulder and the first wave of emotions of those in the room hit her. Excitement radiated from Helen. That joy kept Amber in motion. She didn’t need Helen worrying about her. Simon agonized under his pretend smile. He, of all people, knew this caused her pain. Mrs. Dawson, the dear, had a unique ability to feel like a gentle wave upon the ocean. Amber knew she was there…that she cared…but her emotions only truly shot through Amber when the woman didn’t think Amber was near.
Amber gathered the cloak in her hands and kept it close to her body as several waves descended upon her from every direction. Someone close by emitted th
e pain of loss, their heart was broken and nearly made Amber whimper. Another neighbor fretted over money and a child was frightened of the darkness. She closed her eyes for a moment and sat.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine. I just need a moment.” Amber thought of Mrs. Dawson’s gentle wave and attempted to mute the neighbors’ misery. Her attempt to beat the emotions surrounding her into silence only muffled them slightly. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled and rubbed her hands together with fake confidence. “Ready?”
Helen nodded and reached for Simon’s hand.
Amber knelt at the side of the sofa and gently lowered her hands to Helen’s stomach.
So much love and happiness helped deafen the unpleasant thoughts of all the others. Once again, Amber closed her eyes as she envisioned the tiny life blooming inside her friend.
“Try and relax,” Amber told her. “I can do this.”
“Reading minds now, Amber?” Helen asked with a laugh.
“You’re worried I won’t be able to do this and that it will hurt me too much. Let that go. Help me connect with your child.”
Come now little one… Where are you?
Helen’s tension eased and a flicker of another soul radiated. “Ahh, there you are.”
Amber hushed those in the room before they could ask questions.
So comfortable and loved. How an unborn child felt loved Amber couldn’t guess, but this child knew he was coming into a world of unconditional love and devotion. Then the strangest thing happened, he sensed Amber’s probe and kicked against her as if to say he was very happy where he was, thank you very much, and to leave him alone until he was ready for the world. All right, lad…I’m leaving now. But before Amber let the connection completely go, she searched for anything dark…anything of concern.
Highland Protector (MacCoinnich Time Travels Book Five) Page 1