Highland Mist

by Donna Grant

  * * * * *

  “I’m not sure why you came today. Your mind sure isn’t here.”

  Glenna ducked her head. Moira was right. Her mind was elsewhere, and that was in the forest making love to Conall with the sun’s rays falling around them. “I’m sorry.”

  She had snuck away again that morning or had thought so until she spotted Angus watching her from the battlements. They had started her training as soon as she had arrived in the circle.

  Moira wrapped an arm around Glenna’s shoulders. “Don’t fash yourself. All will work out.”

  “What do you know that I don’t?”

  Moira shrugged. “Just keep the hope in your heart. Conall is right. You are his and he is yours.”

  Glenna was mortified. Somehow Moira knew what had transpired in the woods last eve. “Please don’t think less of me.”

  “Nay,” Moira said, and held up a hand. “There’s no need for you to say anything. I’m not your judge. You let your heart guide you, and it guided you to your mate.”

  They shared a smile, and Moira cleared her throat. “Now let me tell you the prophecy. Most only remember a part of it but there’s much more.”

  “Why don’t people know all of it?”

  Moira shrugged. “For whatever reason they might have thought it wasn’t important. MacNeil is one of those. He only knows the beginning.

  In a time of conquering

  There will be three

  Who will end the MacNeil line.

  Three born of the

  Imbolc, Beltaine and Lughnasad Feasts

  Who will destroy all at the

  Samhain, the Feast of the Dead.

  “The rest says:

  One who refuses the Druid way

  Inherits the winter and in doing so

  Marks the beginning of the end.

  For the worthy to prevail fire will

  Stand alone to vanquish the Inheritor,

  Water will soothe the savage beast, and

  Wind will bow before the tree.”

  Glenna blinked. “I don’t understand. What does it mean?”

  “We have our theories.”

  “But you won’t tell me,” Glenna surmised. “If it’s about us, then I must be fire and Conall the inheritor.”

  Moira merely stared at her.

  “You must be wind,” Glenna continued. “But how will you bow before a tree?”

  Moira shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Have you asked Frang?”

  “Aye.”

  When Moira didn’t say more, Glenna sighed. “He refused, didn’t he?” At Moira’s smile, she laughed. “We have to figure it out on our own?”

  “Aye. If we know ahead of time things might not work out like they’re supposed to.”

  “But if we don’t know, then how can we make the correct decisions?”

  Again Moira shrugged. “We must do our best.”

  Glenna thought for a moment. “If I’m fire and you’re wind, then our sister is water. What’s her name?”

  “Fiona.”

  “I can’t wait to meet her. How long until she comes?”

  “Not long now,” Moira said prophetically.

  Suddenly she remembered Moira urging Conall to recall the prophecy. “Does Conall know the prophecy?”

  “Aye. He and Iona were told as children. He just doesn’t recall all of it.”

  “What if he doesn’t remember in time?”

  Moira raised sad, green eyes. “Then all will be for naught.”

  “Then I’ll help him remember,” Glenna vowed.

  But she found it more difficult than she thought. Conall didn’t wish to discuss anything Druid and in fact refused.

  “What are you afraid of?” she asked him that evening after their meal as they sat before the hearth.

  He jerked his head around to face her, his eyes leveled and in control. A warrior’s stare. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Then talk to me.”

  His nostrils flared, showing his anger. He rose and strode to her chair until he was standing over her. “Just because we shared our bodies doesn’t mean I’ll spill my secrets.”

  A knife plunged into her heart at his cruel words. She watched silently as he strode away. She had been a fool to think she could reach him, a fool to think she mattered at all to him.

  After all she was the very thing he hated.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Conall tossed and turned, the bed much harder and smaller than before. He couldn’t get the image of Glenna’s soft brown eyes full of hurt out of his mind. It hadn’t been his intention to lash out at her like that, but he had become angry when she had continued to ask questions about his past and the Druids.

  She wanted something from him, but he couldn’t give it to her, whatever it was. The part of his past that involved the Druids was closed off and would never to be opened again.

  Never. She had to understand that if there was to be anything between them.

  The wind howled viciously outside and soon swirled in his room. He tried to rise but found he couldn’t move. His eyes grew heavy and the urge to sleep was strong. He couldn’t resist whatever pulled him under.

  He was falling. Blackness surrounded him when he chanced a glimpse. The world tilted and swayed until he couldn’t tell if he was sitting or standing. Then everything came to a halt.

  He opened his eyes to find his mother sitting beside two small children. The scene brought back a flood of memories on that sun filled day. He walked closer, wanting, nay, needing to hear what she said to him and Iona for he recalled the day but not her words.

  And somehow he knew those words were very important.

  “Now listen very carefully,” his mother said, and looked around to make sure others weren’t listening.

  He strained to hear what she said, but she had bent her head next to the children. He walked until he stood next to her, but by that time she was finished telling her secret.

  “That prophecy will come to pass during your lifetime. You, my children, will be a part of it. It’s important that you never forget what I’ve told you.”

  Suddenly his mother’s image dimmed. He reached out for her. “Nay,” he yelled, but it was too late. She was gone, and when he opened his eyes, he was back in his chamber.

  He leapt from the bed, his breath coming in gulps as he struggled to understand what had just happened. He searched his mind for that memory but still couldn’t recall her words.

  Many times his mother had sat them down and told them great stories of Druids and what they had done for the good of people. Oh, he knew the prophecy that Moira spoke of, the one that frightened MacNeil, but there was more. Moira had said as much. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t grasp the threads of that memory.

  His head began to ache at the base of his neck. He ignored the pain, the need to find that memory overcoming everything else.

  * * * * *

  Moira collapsed against Frang, her body limp from using her powers. “I showed him the memory, but I don’t think it helped.”

  “You did all we can do,” Frang said, and helped her to sit up as he wiped the sweat from her brow.

  “This may all come to naught if he turns Glenna from us.”

  “Your sister is strong.” He handed her some wine. “Drink. You’ll need your strength.”

  She took a sip and set the wineskin down. “It’s not enough. I need to see what’s going to happen. If only I could’ve foreseen Effie leaving.”

  Frang sighed deeply. “We all want that, but that isn’t something we have power over. We see what is shown to us, and the rest we’re left to wonder about like other people.”

  “I have a very bad feeling Effie is involved deeper than we’d like her to be.”

  “Aye, lass,” he said, and nodded sadly. “I’m afraid that’s the truth of it.”

  She sat up, ignoring her weakened body, at hearing his words. “You’ve seen something. What is it?�
��

  He looked at the ground for several moments before he spoke. “I’m not sure exactly. It’s all very unclear.”

  Her stomach constricted. If Frang couldn’t determine his visions, then they were worse off than she imagined. With so many enemies lurking around Glenna and Conall, it was hard to know where to start.

  * * * * *

  Glenna looked at the sky from her window to see dark clouds gathered overhead, ominous in their numbers. Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning streaked across the gray morning sky. The fog was so heavy and damp it nearly choked her. She stuck her hand out the window and a fat raindrop landed on her open palm.

  She had lain awake for most the night as images so fleeting she couldn’t name whether it was night or day, haunted her. A storm was coming for sure, and it wasn’t the clouds gathered in the sky.

  “MacNeil,” she said.

  Fear grew in her belly. A prickling sensation settled along the back of her spine. Something had happened. She whirled around and ran from her chamber to Conall’s.

  She pounded her fists on the door. “Conall.”

  The door flew open with him glaring down at her in his naked glory. She forgot to breathe. The prickling along her spine reminded her why she was here. She jerked her eyes from his body to his face. “Something’s happened.”

  “Let me get dressed,” he said.

  But she couldn’t wait. The fear continued to grow until she thought her heart would burst. She ran, letting her instincts guide her. To her astonishment it led her to Ailsa’s chamber. She took a deep breath and flung open the door.

  “Saints help us.”

  The bed was empty. The small chest at the foot of the bed had been opened and its contests thrown around the chamber. Chairs were overturned and the tapestry hanging on the wall was now in two pieces.

  Conall ran up behind her.

  “Nay,” he roared, and strode to the bed. He kneeled beside it and laid his head on his arms.

  Footsteps fast approached. Angus was the first to reach them. “Not wee Ailsa,” he said as he surveyed the chamber.

  Conall didn’t move as more of his men filled the chamber. “I thought she was with her grandmother all day,” Conall said. “I never thought…”

  His grief and the look of utter helplessness sparked something within Glenna. She knew she could help, to find out anything so Conall would stop blaming himself.

  She fled down the stairs and out the castle. Rain drenched her and nearly blinded her it came down so heavily, but she forged on until she came to the cave entrance. This time fear of the darkness and spiders didn’t slow her. She didn’t stop running until she came to the stone circle and found Frang and Moira waiting for her.

  Moira wrapped a blanket around her and brought her inside the circle where, amazingly, it wasn’t raining. “I was hoping you’d come.”

  “You know what’s happened?” Glenna asked.

  Frang shook his head. “We know something has happened, but we’re not sure what.”

  “What good are the visions if they can’t help?” Glenna asked, anger making her voice shake.

  “Even I can’t call a vision forth,” Frang said. “As much as I’d like to control them, I can’t.”

  Glenna let the tears fall unheeded. “Someone’s taken Ailsa.”

  Moira wiped at her tears. “We’ll do what we can to find her. Won’t we,” she said, looking pointedly at the high priest.

  “Aye, we will,” he agreed.

  They watched as Frang walked a few paces away. He closed his eyes and held his arms wide.

  “What’s he doing?” Glenna asked.

  “He’s trying to find Ailsa. It doesn’t always work though,” she warned.

  They sat quietly for what seemed like ages before he fell to his knees, and they rushed to him.

  He looked at Glenna, his blue eyes shining bright. “MacNeil has her.”

  Glenna turned to Moira as determination filled her. “And I know what must be done.”

  “MacNeil will come here for you,” Moira said after a moment. “There’s no need for you to go to him.”

  Glenna no longer wondered how her sister knew her inner thoughts. “I must warn Conall.”

  Frang put his hand out to stop her. “Whatever you do, don’t tell him you plan on trading yourself for Ailsa.”

  “Why?”

  “He won’t let you go, Glenna. You’re his now.”

  She mulled over his words before she gave a nod of acceptance. She looked at her sister. “You’ve taught me well. I’ll be ready.”

  * * * * *

  Glenna found Conall with his head in his hands in the great hall, a goblet of mead in front of him. She sat in the chair next to him and touched his arm. His head jerked up and the emptiness in his eyes tore at her heart.

  “You’re wet,” he said, looking at her gown and hair.

  “I went to talk with Moira and Frang.”

  “I talked with Frances MacBeth. She said Ailsa never came this morning. She thought I had changed my mind about allowing Ailsa to see her.”

  “MacNeil has Ailsa,” she said, hating to bring him such news.

  He closed his eyes. “Why did they take her? She’s just a child.”

  “You know why.”

  Slowly his eyes opened. “I promise you, MacNeil will never get near you.”

  She smiled at his disregard to the vow he made to his mother. Frang had been right. She would have to devise a plan herself if Ailsa was to come home alive. “I know.”

  His face twisted with anger and grief. “I’ll kill him this time,” he bellowed, and slammed his hand on the table, causing the goblet to overturn.

  Red liquid poured over the table, and Glenna stared at it, transfixed as he barked orders to his men. It was then she noticed the absence of someone.

  “Where’s Gregor?”

  Conall rubbed the back of his neck. “No one has seen him.”

  She knew what he was thinking, couldn’t help thinking it herself. “I can’t believe he was involved in Ailsa’s kidnapping.”

  “There’s no other explanation,” he hissed. “I’ve tried to think of anything that would put Gregor in a good light, but there just isn’t one. When I saw Ailsa gone, I knew he did it.”

  The rest of the day Glenna spent in her chamber, devising her plan. She would have to deceive Conall, but if Ailsa and Iona would be returned to him it would be worth it.

  Everyone mourned the loss of another clan member and stayed in their homes. She was surprised when a knock sounded on her door. “Enter,” she called, and turned to find Conall leaning against the doorframe.

  He hadn’t shaved and two days’ growth of beard covered his face, shadowing his jaw. He strode to her, stood her up and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her until she could barely breathe.

  His pain seeped into her, and she knew of one way to ease the ache. She rose up on tiptoes and brought his mouth to hers. She nipped his lips and ran her tongue along his mouth until he moaned and slanted his mouth over hers.

  The kiss was ferocious in its intensity and it scared her a little. His hands found her nipples through the gown and tweaked them until they hardened and her breasts swelled.

  Hunger, hot and demanding enveloped her. She needed to have him fill her again, to have them become one. His hard body against her was gentle and insistent as he touched her.

  He was her savior, her champion…her mate. Aye, and for the love in her heart she would give up her life for him.

  She became mindless with desire as his mouth pillaged her lips. His hands ran down her back to cup her buttocks before he picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  Her hands helped him shove her gown out of the way before his fingers found her. She cried out when he slipped a finger inside her. Her body surged around him and she moved her hips, desperately seeking the release he promised.

  “By the saints, you’re ready for me,” he said into her ear, his warm breath on her
skin doing crazy things to her.

  She hung on while he shifted their clothing, her mouth licking and kissing his neck and face, his spicy scent sending her senses into a riot.

  “I must have you now,” he said, and pressed her against the wall.

  With one shift of his hips he filled her. She threw back her head as rapture surrounded her. Her heart and body soared, welcoming his strength, his passion.

  Conall buried his face in her neck as he pumped in and out of her. Her soft body pressed against him heightened his awareness of her, and her heavenly mouth drove him to distraction.

  But it was her hands that had the most power. They skimmed across his heated skin, her touch light and urgent, and left a trail of need in their wake. She touched every part of him, even his soul.

  He couldn’t get enough of her touch, indeed he longed for more while he still had her in his arms. Her nails dug into his back as she climaxed and raked across his shoulders. He lost what little control he had when she spasmed around him.

  With one thrust he buried himself to the hilt. He threw back his head and let her drain him. He stumbled to the bed and fell back on it while still inside her. She lay atop him and lightly ran her fingernails down his arm. She had managed to soothe the beast within him, and she didn’t even know it.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, and moved her head to look at him.

  He smoothed her unbound hair from her face. “You. I love your dark hair.”

  She laughed. “You’re brooding.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, and rolled until he faced her. “There’s something I need to talk with you about.”

  Her smile died at the seriousness of his tone. “What is it?”

  “I…we…” He never knew it would be so hard to tell her he wanted her for his wife. “You’re mine.”

  Her golden-brown eyes twinkled in the candlelight. “You keep saying that. Just what does that mean?”

  “It means I want you for my own. I want you for my wife.”

  Her eyes grew large and her mouth opened and closed several times before she leapt off the bed. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I do, lass.” He slowly rose and watched as she struggled to lower her gown that had gotten tangled around her waist. “Let me help you.”