Her hand fanned out over the stone she was lying upon. “Why is it here?” she asked, changing the subject, because now she was confused.
“We brought it here.”
“Why?”
Callum weighed his answer.
There was something about the look in her eyes that compelled him to speak the truth. “The stone is cursed,” he said. “We hid it for the good of men.”
She turned her cheek against the cold, hard stone, caressing it with her soft face in a manner that made him envious. From the instant he had first laid eyes upon her, she had been honest with him. The stone was what she had sought. Now he prayed to the gods—old and new—that she would not betray him with the knowledge he had given her. He wanted to trust her, but he surely didn’t intend to allow her to leave here now with her precious Winter Stone. He wasn’t so naive as to allow her to see the Destiny Stone and then set her free with the one possession she seemed to value above all.
And yet…he dared to hope…
Sensing she wanted to hear more, and feeling a need to re-affirm their mission for himself, he told her. “Clach-na-cinneamhain belonged to the Gaels first. ’Twas their holy relic, brought to us from Erin. Once our nations were joined with MacAilpín upon the throne, the Destiny Stone was blessed by one of our priestesses so that any chief who sits upon it and wields the sword of the Righ Art—the consecrated blade of the High King and Chief of Chiefs—will rule undivided lands. Our councils chose a new name for a new nation—a name neither Gael nor Pecht. And for a time there was peace…”
“Then what?” she asked, her green eyes luminous by the light of her keek stane, which glowed far brighter than a simple rock should. Only Biera had knowledge of such things.
“Then…MacAilpín murdered the sons of seven nations in order to secure his right to his precious throne. He broke our blood truce. Now the stone that was meant to bring unity must curse any mon who sits upon it without right to war against his kin. Clach-na-cinneamhain is no longer a blessing to men. To leave it in their hands is to ensure Scotia’s rivers always run red.”
She was quiet for a time, and as she lay there, the light from her Winter Stone waned…
“What if it’s not the stone’s fault?” she asked. “What if it’s simply…destiny?”
Annie turned her gaze to his face, her thoughts reeling.
How much should she tell him?
Should she say that even without the stone, the sons of Scotland would continue to war against one another…until finally they were defeated? From history, she knew the grandsons of Kenneth MacAilpín would return from Ireland, more Gaels than Picts, and they would defeat the usurper Giric and take back the Scottish throne. However, once those boys returned, the legacy of Callum’s people would come to an abrupt end. No matter what they did with this stone, brother would continue to kill brother and the Picts would soon be gone…nothing left but a memory.
The man she was talking to was literally the last of his kind…
She took a deep breath and turned away, wanting to know more about Callum…wanting to know where, precisely, these people were fated to go…once she was gone.
The cave went completely dark. Her Winter Stone was no longer illuminating the grotto, and Callum must have sensed her withdrawal, because he quietly broke their union, repaired her dress, and then said, “Your keek stane will be safe here…until we decide what to do w’ ye.”
Annie’s gaze snapped up to meet his. She sat up, pulling down her skirt. “What to do with me? What do you mean?”
He nodded soberly, his expression grim though she could barely see him through the shadows now. A single torch sat within a brace on the far wall, but it left his face in shadows. “Aye. Ye’ll have a proper trial once Biera returns.” His voice was no longer warm. “Until then, ye’ll have free reign to do as ye will. But take heed, lass…if ye leave the vale, an’ we dinna take your head for it, I will destroy your keek stane, make no mistake.”
So much for whatever sense of closeness she had felt.
His mood changed as abruptly as her Winter Stone—and she sucked in a breath as she realized why. She tried to recall what she’d said, but couldn’t pinpoint the instant during which the stone had grown dark and cold.
She wasn’t too worried about losing her head, despite that there wasn’t any chance she would leave without the Winter Stone. However, she was very concerned about the idea that her fate was in the hands of someone she had never met. “Who is this Biera?”
“Our priestess…the one who led us here…the one who cursed the Destiny Stone. My father trusted her counsel without fail.”
“And you don’t?”
“I believe in what I see,” he told her. “Nothing more.”
But Annie didn’t any longer—and maybe she never had. Because if that were true she would never have gone searching for the Stone of Destiny. She would never have found hope in an obscure newspaper article, or stubbornly set out into the hillside all on her own, because while all those things made perfect sense to Annie, they were hardly things that made sense to anyone else. Still she didn’t know where to go from here…
She turned to peer at the crystal that was no longer radiating in the corner and then looked up at Callum, advising him, “Sometimes, Callum, you’ve got to go on faith.”
Chapter Eleven
Following her own advice, as the days passed, Annie held onto faith that she could find a way home. However, stuck for the time being, she made the most of it, learning as much about these people and their customs as they would allow. To Annie they seemed little like the accounts from Bede and his contemporaries. But, alas, history wasn’t objective. She found these people to be gentle and in tune with nature, but protective of themselves and their kin, and clearly ready to do battle for the things they believed in. As with any society there were cliques, and she later realized why they seemed to be so pronounced here. These were the last remaining of seven Pict tribes. The elders that had gathered around the fire on her first night in the vale were their representatives. It also explained why some of them wore different animal figures painted upon their bodies. She thought it might be a sort of family association—the wolf being Callum’s association.
Brude also sported a wolf, while all of the other elders that night had worn different animals, one for each tribe. Later, she learned why there had been two wearing the wolf insignia that night around the fire: Apparently, Callum’s tribe was torn between giving the leadership of his clan to Finn’s brother Brude and Callum, the son. For her sake, she hoped Callum won the honor, and apparently this was also something Biera was supposed to decide…along with Annie’s fate.
Callum assured her that the old priestess would be fair and that her heart was true, but Annie needed to find a way to leave long before she arrived. So while she took mental notes about everything she saw, she also set her mind to devising a plan to get her crystal back.
There must be a way.
To that end, Dunneld was her greatest ally, even though he didn’t realize it. Callum had assigned the braw warrior to look after her, and with him at her side she had free reign over the entire vale. He went about the task amiably, if a little distractedly, following Annie around like a curious puppy. He explained things when she asked, but more often, he would become distracted by his own shadow. If she had ever seen a textbook case for ADHD, he was it.
Once she caught him staring at her breasts as he was showing her the new storehouse. But as it turned out, it wasn’t her breasts he was ogling. His gaze had been drawn to the safety pin she had hooked on her blouse. So she took it off and gave it to him and he walked around staring at the shiny metallic invention as though it were the greatest puzzle. Callum too had been curious over things like zippers and socks. She couldn’t imagine what he might think about televisions or airplanes.
“Ow!” Dunneld exclaimed, every so often, and Annie smiled to herself, knowing why. The pin wasn’t one of those flimsy copper safety pins. It was new
and tight and she had pricked her own finger while trying to get it pinned the first time.
That day she learned the crannog was an old structure they were rebuilding, while all of the other buildings were being constructed from the ground up. They had hauled the timber from the old forests, only as much as they required.
While Dunneld was pre-occupied with her pin, Annie inspected the hillside, searching for fissures in the mountain that might hint at another access into the caverns. So far, nothing was apparent, and hoping to get closer, she dragged Dunneld up the hillside—still fidgeting with her pin—and talked him into escorting her into the outermost cave. But that’s as far as he was willing to go. He refused to take her deeper, and stubbornly planted himself between Annie and the rope ladder that led down into the grotto. But even from there, Annie could feel her crystal calling to her—a sort of energy that silently compelled her—like that day in the shop, although she hadn’t realized the connection as yet.
An entire week passed and Annie was able to get no closer to her crystal…but the same could not be said for Callum.
Despite his warning that he would “take her head,” he treated her like a guest of honor, seating her beside him at supper, after they finally had a proper table built inside the great hall. She slept in his chamber “for her protection,” he said. But Annie knew better. The bond between them grew stronger while her desire to return home grew weaker. She couldn’t help herself. He drew her as inexorably as her Winter Stone.
She made love to him every night, despite his reluctance after that first encounter in the caverns. Something she had said must have upset him, because he tried to keep his distance, but Annie persisted. If he regretted their lovemaking after that first time, she found a way to make it up to him…waking him with her mouth, loving him with her body. She took him into her hands, worshipping him with her mouth and tongue. If he doubted her, all he needed to do was feel the emotion in every kiss she gave him.
She didn’t understand any more than he did why that crystal and room had gone black. She hadn’t lied to him. And it wasn’t because she didn’t want him. To the contrary, she wanted him enough that even the thought of conceiving their child didn’t stop her. In fact, she couldn’t imagine any greater bliss than carrying his baby home with her. She knew it couldn’t stop her from leaving. She had her own destiny to fulfill, and maybe, if she was very, very lucky, she could take a piece of him home with her to cherish.
For Callum’s part, he showered her with small gifts—things he fashioned with his own two hands—for one, a brooch carved out of ash wood that bore the symbol of his house. He made it to keep his cloak fastened tightly around her shoulders—to cover the plummeting neckline of Kate’s blouse. Many of his kinswomen were dressed in far less, so she suspected it was his way of controlling his own temptation, and that knowledge pleased her. For once in her life, it felt good to be a bit of a temptress, and she had a sense for why Kate so often wielded her own sexuality like these men did their swords. This was the first time in Annie’s life she had ever cared about such a thing, and it was as though he spoke to some primal instinct in her. Even so, just when he could have had any time to create the brooch when he was supervising just about everything else in this valley, she had no clue. But there it was. Beautiful, delicate and probably the finest gift Annie had ever received.
She watched the moon anxiously: It was waning, not waxing.
By the end of the week, she looked much more like the other women of Callum’s clan. Dressed in her skirt, her untucked white blouse, she wore Callum’s cloak instead of her cheap poncho, clasped by his brooch at her throat. She was thinking less and less of the Winter Stone and more and more of what it might be like to spend her life with a man like Callum. There was something quite satisfying to waking up in his arms and seeing him go to work and return to her each and every night. There was no wondering about his intentions, no niggling suspicions about late nights at work, or sultry meetings of eyes that made her question his loyalties. He made himself clear in every aspect of his life. Annie was not to be disrespected, he’d demanded of his clansmen, and no one dared defy him—and his seductive looks were all for her and no one else.
In the room they shared, she kept all her gifts from him in a single place, as though to keep them together so she could quickly pack them—as though she could take anything once she left this place. The truth was that Annie had arrived with nothing except what was on her person, the crystal included—and she suspected she could take nothing back. Absently, she touched her flat belly, and caught herself in the act, shocked by the wistful gesture. But she shook her head, forcing her thoughts back to the crystal. Somehow, she had managed to hold onto it during her nap—if in fact it had been a nap, because she still wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t dead and this wasn’t truly heaven.
Because it felt like heaven.
Literally everything she had ever envisioned for herself was right here. She was surrounded by history, showered with the attentions of a truly good man. The more she learned about Callum, the more she liked everything about him. He was a man of strong principle, great kindness and loyalty to his people. He wanted to do the right thing by them all, and it was clear in every aspect of every decision he made—including his willingness to allow Biera to name his father’s successor.
Annie might have been a little worried about her own pending trial, but by everything she saw from these people, they held Callum in great esteem.
Brude, on the other hand, was crude and overbearing and didn’t inspire the same respect. But at least he had softened a bit toward Annie as well.
Callum walked in on her one morning while she was staring at the brooch he’d made her. “What are ye doing, lass?”
“Thinking…”
He sauntered in, and Annie stood to face him, feeling awkward. More often than not, lately she found herself staring at her boots, because every time she looked at Callum, she worried about leaving.
“Ye think too much,” he said.
Annie’s chest constricted as he stepped toward her, reaching out to gently take her chin. “If ye’re worrying over Biera’s return, dinna. I swore I’d let naught befall ye and I meant it, mo chroí.”My heart.
Annie’s heart squeezed. She nodded, and he bent to kiss her tenderly. And then without another word, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his pallet.
Chapter Twelve
Callum worried about Annie.
After their encounter in the cave when her Winter Stone had grown cold, darkening the grotto, doubts began to plague him.
She had lied to him…but about what?
Over and over, he considered each word they had spoken. There had been nothing she had said that would reveal any answers. Nothing he could point to that might give away her intentions…unless, the stone did not need words—which made sense to Callum, for what use could a stone have for words? Mayhap her intentions had changed while in that grotto? Mayhap the stone had sensed something words could not conceive?
Biera had told him once that all things were born of love or fear.
Truth and lies, Annie had said—the Winter Stone could sense these things and by them foretell the destinies of men. But a lie could be told for the good of all, and a truth might be an evil thing. Mayhap truth and lies were simply words that did not tell the entire story? Mayhap her stone sensed paths that were either true or false? Decisions that were good and bad?
As he worked alongside his clansmen, he tried to recall each of their conversations…searching for clues while he watched her slip up the hillside yet again, toward the rocky terrain that blanketed the area around the caverns. She ventured there nearly every day, seeking something.
But what?
Dunneld was shadowing her. If she attempted to leave the vale, Callum would hear of it at once, but she never seemed to try. Each day she returned to his arms and loved him as though she never meant to leave…
Or mayhap as though each time would
be their last?
Callum had made a promise to her, and he meant to keep it…so long as she didn’t betray him. Biera would return soon enough, and he knew the old priestess well enough to know that she would look for the good in Annie, though if Annie attempted to flee before Biera returned, there would be naught Callum could do to convince the rest of the clan that she meant them no harm.
There wasn’t much chance she could hie away with the Destiny Stone itself, but if she chose to leave and then lead Giric back to the vale, there was naught he could do to stop her, for that then must be their destiny, and it was his people’s belief that all things must come to pass as they should.
Which was precisely why he had been against bringing the stone here in the first place. He’d damned his father for convincing him otherwise for if that death stone—that sacred relic of those Dalriada kings—was destined now to bring war to those whose blood was not pure enough to rule two nations as one, then perhaps as Kenneth MacAilpín had begun his reign, so too would he and all his forebears live and die.
But now…now Callum had begun to believe that he had been brought here to this vale for a reason. That reason was Annie Ross. She was his mate for life, he sensed, and he would wed her now if he could…without Biera’s blessing, even. But alas, he must be certain of Annie’s intentions…for the wellbeing of his people. Now that his Da was dead, if Biera declared it must be so, then his life would no longer be his own. All he could do was wait…and watch…and hope.
Avoiding her decision was not going to work, Annie realized. Simply by not deciding, she was deciding. Clearly, though time wasn’t as linear as one might suppose, it didn’t seem willing to stop altogether. Tonight she could see no moon in the night sky.
Her memory was a bit of a trap. Everything she had ever read was rattling around in there somewhere, and she searched the stores of her brain for info on the moon. She had read somewhere that it took about 27.3 days to orbit Earth, but the lunar phase cycle was about 29.5 days. She had no idea at what point in the cycle she’d come to be here, but she did know that in as little as twenty four hours, she could see the new moon pop up in the night sky—sometimes longer when there was pollution involved, but there was no pollution here. The sky was as clear as she had ever witnessed it, with a beauty that was unsurpassed. Her eye scanned the lower heavens, knowing that’s where the moon would appear, rising parallel to the horizon. So this was it. She calculated she had about twenty-four hours left—maybe thirty-six if she was very lucky.
The Winter Stone: One Legend, Three Enchanting Novellas Page 8