Tempest in the Highlands (The Scottish Relic Trilogy)

by May McGoldrick

  Miranda didn’t want to stab the giant, but once she saw Hawk in danger, she attacked with her knife. Her blade barely punctured the heavy animal skins, but it must have pricked his skin, because her knife came away red. He bled just like any man.

  Their assailant turned, shoving her backward with a sweep of his hand and sending her tumbling into a patch of low shrubbery. As she rolled, her knife fell out of her hand and disappeared in the high grass.

  Miranda was back on her feet in an instant and leaped again into the fray. Hawk, held at arm’s length, was aiming his blows at the man’s face. Even as Miranda kicked at the giant’s legs and pummeled his back with her fists, she knew she might as well be landing her blows on the trunk of a tree. There was no moving him.

  She was no match for the man. She couldn’t fight him, couldn’t stop him. But she wouldn’t run away, either. She wouldn’t leave Hawk alone.

  The vision from last night came to her. The standing stones. The giant had been there. Red Beard’s words came to mind. Rob Hawkins had served his purpose.

  “Stop!” she screamed, continuing her assault regardless of the futility. “He’s with me. Do you understand? He stays with me. Let go of him.”

  Suddenly, Hawk was on the ground, swinging the giant’s club with both hands. The blow to his leg staggered the giant, and he let out a cry of pain.

  Hawk flew past her. When he struck the tree with a sickening crack, she ran to him.

  Looking over her shoulder, she found their attacker hobbling off across the field, watching them over his shoulder.

  “He’s with me,” she screamed again, not knowing if he understood.

  Miranda turned back to Hawk. His eyes were unfocused, but she was relieved to see him blink and breathe. She lifted his head and her fingers came away with blood. The side of his head was shiny with it. His eyes became clearer and they focused on her face. He tried to sit up but couldn’t.

  “Are there two of you now?” he joked.

  “Stay still.” She glanced back toward their attacker, but there was no sign of him. He was gone.

  She saw Hawk’s dagger by the river. She picked it up and recovered her own knife. With a weapon in each hand, she backed toward him.

  The circle of standing stones in her vision wouldn’t fade from her mind. She’d seen others like it in her travels—ancient places that always drew her mother. Muirne said they filled her with a strange stillness. “A place of the old religion,” she used to call them. But now Miranda had seen one in a vision. She’d stood inside the circle. If she could find this one, if she could bring Hawk inside, then Miranda thought perhaps they would be safe.

  She turned around again, realizing the birds in the trees had suddenly grown quiet.

  “Where did he go?” Hawk was trying to sit.

  “I don’t . . .” Realizing she was still half-naked, Miranda scurried to where she’d left her tunic and pulled it on. By the time she returned to him, he’d managed to sit up with his back against the tree. He held out his hand, and she laid his dagger in it.

  “So, did we whip him? Did the bastard surrender the field?”

  “You hurt him.” She crouched next to him. “He ran off.”

  “Oh, a coward. I should have thought as much. Bullies generally are.” He touched his head and winced. “No doubt when he saw how hard my head is, it terrified him.”

  “No doubt.”

  “And those terrible wounds you inflicted on his backside, he’ll carry those scars till his dying day.”

  “Aye, he’ll be thinking of me each time he sits down, I’m sure.”

  Hawk turned his head, flexing his neck. He surveyed the area around them.

  “How many of me do you see now?” she asked.

  His eyes focused on her, and for a long moment she held her breath as he studied every inch of her face. Miranda hadn’t been wearing her tunic when he first came to her rescue. With the giant coming toward him, had Hawk even seen her?

  “One,” he finally announced.

  “I want to look at the wound on your head.”

  “Only if I can look at your shoulder.”

  When she shook her head in response, Hawk nodded and slowly hauled himself to his feet. Miranda moved to his side to support him.

  “I’m feeling my stomach a bit. I need to get to the water.”

  He stumbled as he took the first step toward the river, but she caught him. “Let me help you.”

  “Was he the same one who stuffed you in that crevice yesterday?” he asked, draping an arm around her shoulder.

  “I believe so. I hope so,” she added, supporting his weight while helping him take the steps. “I don’t want to think there might be more like him on this island.”

  “Oh, giants are like mice. You see one and you can be sure there’s a nest of them about.”

  “I’m so glad you’re an expert on the subject.”

  “Aye, I had at least a hundred of them living in my attic.”

  “Mice?”

  “Nay, giants. The south of England is infested with them.”

  Miranda wished she could laugh. But she was too worried. The way the man had lifted Hawk in the air, the ferocious way he’d thrown him . . . It was a miracle that Hawk was alive.

  At the river’s edge, he eased himself down on one knee. She needed to see—to find out what other dangers awaited him. Her life was about reacting. To react, she needed to be prepared. The relic showed her a possible future, and Miranda then had the chance to change the journey and its outcome. She took hold of Hawk’s hand.

  Hawk stood at the edge of the bluffs, looking out at the fog beneath him.

  She heard the sudden shrieks only an instant before a flock of birds rose up around them, sending him—arms flailing—off the cliff into the misty air.

  Snatching her hand away from his, Miranda stood up quickly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. Yesterday, whenever they caught a glimpse of the sea, Hawk looked out at it, checking for any break in the fog. She had no doubt he would do the same thing this morning. But he was weak from the fight. He would be unsteady on his feet. They had to wait and let him recover.

  She helped him wash the blood out of his hair. The wound continued to bleed, but not as badly. She ripped a piece from the bottom of her shirt, soaked it in the water, and pressed it against the gash. She poured more water on his neck and wiped away the blood.

  Regardless of the danger and the feeling that they were being watched right now, her fingers tingled, touching the powerful muscles of his neck and shoulders.

  “This must have been a first for you,” she told him. “Facing an adversary the size of that one.”

  He laughed and winced, holding the cloth to his head. “I’ve been on the losing side of many a fight in my life, but that oversized cabbage ranks as one of the biggest and toughest foes I’ve ever faced.”

  He was studying her face. She’d never had a chance to rub dirt on it after washing it this morning. She looked away and pulled up her collar.

  “You put up a good fight,” he told her. “I’m certain that’s why he ran away.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I was no more trouble than a flea.”

  “What were you shouting at him?”

  Miranda had been hoping Hawk hadn’t heard her. There were so many lies that she was hiding behind. She was a woman. She possessed a powerful relic. A vision told her there was a ring of standing stones on this island. But she could reveal none of this to him.

  “You were saying something about you and me being together,” Hawk persisted. “Why do you think that would make any difference to him?”

  Miranda shrugged again. “I don’t know. I couldn’t think of anything else.”

  He started pushing himself to his feet. She took his arm, helping him as he turned back to their camp.

  “We drove him off for the moment, but I suspect he’ll be back,” he said.

  Back by the cold fire, she helped him put
on his jerkin. “What you said about him coming back. I believe you’re right. Maybe we should stay here until you regain your strength.”

  He ignored her suggestion and turned his steps toward the sea. Miranda had no choice but to follow.

  Hawk wanted to stay close to the cliffs. Miranda knew he was impatient to find his crew and ship. She wanted the same thing. She wanted the damned fog to disappear.

  He missed a step, stumbled. She reached for his arm, taking it. Propriety be damned. She held on.

  “You’re weak. We should stop. Stay away from the cliffs until you’re stronger.”

  He straightened up and kept moving. “We can’t stop. My head is pounding, but I can’t think about it. We’ve got to get off this island.”

  He wouldn’t be reasoned with, and she wasn’t physically strong enough to stop him.

  As they climbed, Hawk seemed to grow stronger. Miranda kept an eye open for any sign of the giant. He didn’t appear to be following.

  Soon the land fell away toward the cliffs. The unbroken mists still spread out for as far as she could see.

  He moved to the ledge, looking down.

  “There’s no need to stand that close. You can see from back here that nothing is visible beyond. Please, Hawk.”

  “I was hoping this would be a good place to work our way down. Maybe the beaches are passable to the south.”

  Miranda’s gut clenched with worry. He leaned down and felt the face of the cliff. She stared at the matted blood on his head and neck.

  She couldn’t stand it any longer. As soon as he rose to his feet, she was beside him, pulling him back by the arm. “Come away from that ledge. Now.”

  The sudden shrieks that followed were an echo of what was already in her mind. Miranda didn’t hesitate. Looping her leg around the back of his calf, she shoved him away from the cliff as scores of birds rose around them in a tumult of beating wings and frenzied cries.

  Hawk landed on his back, and she fell with a thump on his chest. The air around them pulsed with darting birds and deafening shrieks.

  She waited as the flock moved away. Looking into his face, she was relieved she’d been able to avert another disaster. Miranda didn’t want to imagine what life would be like if something were to happen to him. And it wasn’t the passage to Duart Castle that she worried about. It was Hawk. Her gaze moved over his face. Emotions welled up in her chest. Down by the river, she would have done anything to tear that giant away from him. The helplessness she’d felt, knowing Hawk was being hurt, was almost devastating.

  Miranda looked into his eyes and she saw her own reflection in them. She gasped in surprise when he rolled them on the ledge until he was on top.

  “No more of this.”

  The breath caught in her chest before she could get the words out. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “It’s time we got past the lies, Miranda.”

  Chapter 12

  Sir Ralph Evers stared out the open windows of the ship’s stern cabin. He hated boats. He hated the confinement. He hated the constant rocking motion. He hated being away from land. But anchored where he was in the sound to the north of Mull, he knew he was perfectly positioned.

  All he needed to do now was wait for Miranda to come to him.

  She would come. He’d ridden the hunt perfectly. He had the twin brother for bait. His Lowland lackeys, in place around Duart Castle, would send word when she arrived. And when she came, the final stone would be his.

  “Enter,” he called out, hearing a knock at the door.

  Flint, the ship’s master, came in, his shifty eyes looking everywhere but at Evers. A conniving little Welshman, the man was as hard as his name, and he should have been hanged years ago for smuggling. But that suited Evers perfectly. Flint knew every cove and inlet from Blackpool to the Orkneys, and he’d sell his mother for piece of gold . . . even a small piece.

  “Is the lad secure?” Evers asked, remaining by the window.

  “Aye, he’s chained in the hold. He won’t be going nowhere.” Flint hesitated.

  “What is it? Out with it.”

  “The old hermit. They won’t find his body, but they’ll put two and two together. The lad is missing and so is the old man. They’ll come looking.”

  “We’ve discussed this. There’s nothing that ties us to either of them. There’s no reason for them to come to us looking for this Gillie, as they call him.”

  “Aye, but—”

  “You’ll follow my orders,” Evers barked. “We wait here until the girl arrives. That shouldn’t be long.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  The ship’s master backed out, and Evers followed him to the door and locked it. He stood for a moment, listening until the sound of Flint’s boots faded.

  Miranda MacDonnell had left Tarbert Castle weeks before Evers arrived. She should have been at Duart Castle by now. But he wasn’t worried. Who knew what means she had available to her to make the crossing?

  And he had what she was coming for. Her twin brother.

  Evers moved to the table in the center of the cabin. With one more glance at the door, he opened a leather pouch he carried at his waist.

  He took out three pieces of stone and laid them on the table. Studying the shape and markings of each one—as he had done scores of times—he positioned them, forming a wheel.

  “I raise the dead, speak to their spirits,” he murmured, tracing the carvings on his own piece. “They obey my commands.”

  He recalled the souls rising at his command in the crypt at Tarbert Castle. It was the laird’s long dead mother who had told him what he wanted to know . . . and more.

  Muirne delivered two children, a son and a daughter, on the same day. Within an hour of their birth, the boy began to develop hideous sores on his body. The midwife attending backed away, refusing to touch the bairn, believing they were a sign of bad luck—or worse, the mark of the devil. Knowing her husband, Muirne feared for the bairn’s life, and the laird’s mother respected her desire. She helped Muirne send Gavin away, telling the laird that the bairn died soon after birth.

  The child was spirited away, taken and left on a field of gillyflowers on the Isle of Mull near Duart Castle. There he was found and raised under the protection of Wyntoun MacLean.

  Evers stared at the swirling lines and woven patterns carved into all the relics. The small figures could be letters or words, and it infuriated him that he could not read them. The tablets were ancient. Individually, they held power. Together, they wielded great power.

  One piece was missing to complete the Wheel. Miranda MacDonnell’s relic.

  “I’ll get the final tablet,” Evers said aloud. “And then the power of the four will all be mine. The entire Wheel will be mine, and then no one will stop me from claiming my kingdom.”

  A strong wind blew in through the open windows, and he felt the ship begin to swing on its anchor. He turned to shutter the window when a raven swept in, just missing his face as it passed.

  The black bird sailed across the cabin, slamming into the far wall and dropping to the floor.

  Evers went over and stared down at it. The raven’s black eyes gleamed in the light from the windows.

  He picked it up. The ebony feathers were sleek and shining, the body warm. And as he stood up, a vision filled his head.

  A tall, red-bearded man in a cloak, holding a staff, stood with a slight, blond-haired lad in a circle of standing stones. As Evers looked, he knew it was Miranda. She was holding the stone tablet in her open hand.

  Mists swirled about them, and chasms in the ground opened and closed, emitting flames that exploded, leaped high in the air, and then subsided, only to flare up again. The earth shuddered and rolled in waves beneath his feet. The smell of sulfur and charred flesh burned his lungs, and the metallic taste of blood was in his mouth.

  Jagged mountain peaks rose in the distance beyond them. The highest looked like a head with two horns above and a single eye in place of the face.


  The Druid with the red beard struck his staff on the ground. Mists cleared, revealing a barren windswept meadow that fell away to an inlet of gray waters flecked with whitecaps.

  Along the shoreline, the spirits began to appear, rising from the ground in increasing numbers until scores of the ghostly figures hovered above unmarked graves. Warriors—armed with the weapons they carried to their deaths—faced him now.

  An army of the dead awaited his commands.

  The vision disappeared and Evers was back in the ship’s cabin, staring at the dead bird in his hands.

  Dropping the raven onto the table, Evers gathered up the stones, putting them back in the leather pouch at his waist. He went to the door and summoned the ship’s master.

  Flint stood before him, eyeing the dead bird.

  “A harbor beneath a peak that looks like the head of a devil with a single eye,” said Evers. “Do you know it?”

  Flint slowly nodded. “Aye. That’s Balor’s Head on the Isle of the Dead.”

  Evers picked up the raven and carried it to the window. Tossing it out, he closed the shutters.

  “Set your course. We sail for the Isle of the Dead.”

  Rob thought of the old salts, hardened men of the sea, crossing themselves as they told their tales of the Isle of the Dead. He had to admit, this was an interesting place. But that giant was no mythical creature. He was merely an oversized man. Flesh and blood, just as Rob was.

  And the blow to the head had rattled Rob enough to realize he could no longer carry on this pretense with Miranda.

  He stared into the flecks of gold in her beautiful eyes. “I’ve had enough of this sham.”

  The little warrior pushed at his chest and he rolled, allowing her to get to her feet. He joined her.

  She backed away, and he knew she was stalling, trying to conjure up some plausible tale.

  “Don’t try to come up with some story, denying it. You are a woman. I know, and I’ve known it since yesterday when you went swimming in the loch.” The prettiest of colors bloomed in her cheeks. He admired the skin, as flawless and soft looking as the finest silk.