Highland Shifter

by Catherine Bybee

  “Reality has a way of jump starting the brain, Cian. Tell your Dad to take a chill-pill. Helen needs this and Simon shouldn’t have kept her in the dark this long.”

  “An army of men wait his word.”

  “And a few minutes isn’t going to change a damn thing. Check on Amber. See if she’s okay, and then take your time going back to Ian. It won’t feel that long.”

  The last word Helen heard was Cian saying “Women!” Then, because she wasn’t going to ask for an explanation, she bounded up the stairs repeating Liz’s directions in her mind. All the while praying the stupid candle wouldn’t die.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Through the eyes of a falcon, Simon swooped behind a tree and silently slid past the guard posted on the western turret of the Keep. Not that a knight would consider a falcon a threat, but Simon didn’t need to call any attention to any animal form he might take. He enjoyed the final blast of air that ran along his wingspan as he dove for the dark window that served as his refuge.

  Before his talons could reach the floor, he willed his form to shift. Familiar pain popped every vertebra into place, skin stretched and feathers retreated. No matter how liberating it felt to sprout wings and soar above everyone and everything, having arms, legs, and an appetite for human food always welcomed him more.

  Shaking his body from head to foot, Simon stood from a crouched position and took a deep breath.

  A shuddering breath filled the room.

  He wasn’t alone.

  The sky had grown dark and the moon hadn’t yet risen. Without a candle, it was hard to see who welcomed him. He thought he heard the rustling of skirts. “Mom?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t she. Something about being a full-grown man standing in front of his mother naked was just wrong.

  “Oh, God.”

  Not his mom.

  He could feel Helen’s panic long before he saw her face. A kilt skidded to the floor at his feet, and he heard Helen’s back as she hit the door.

  “Helen.”

  She turned and ran her hands along the wall, searching for the handle of the door. Simon grabbed the plaid, shifted it over his hips, and caught the door before she could open it.

  “Wait.”

  “Let me go.”

  Simon kept a firm hand on the door and attempted to surround Helen with the other to calm her down.

  She ducked below his arm and fled to the far side of the small room. “Get away from me.” Her voice shook. The shock of seeing him shift must have been horrific. Why was she waiting for him anyway? Who sent her?

  “Helen, it’s okay.”

  “Okay?” she hissed. “Y-you just… Oh, God.”

  She moved again in the dark, shadows played on the walls from the torches lit outside. He willed a sconce on the wall to light with only a thought, and soon a warm glow lit up one very distressed Helen. Her beautiful blue eyes were owl-wide, her body rigid and poised to run. She shifted back and forth between her feet, and her fists clutched the fabric of her dress.

  “How did you know to come here?”

  “Your mom sent me.”

  He’d have to have a word with her. And not a pleasant one. This wasn’t the way he wanted to reveal his gift to Helen.

  “What’s going on, Simon?”

  “I should have told you on my own.”

  “Told me what? That you’re not human?”

  “I am human,” he said lowering his voice and glancing to the open window beyond her back.

  She took the hint and lowered her voice. Her clipped whisper no less effective in displaying her anger. “You flew in here. That isn’t human in my book.”

  Simon raised his hands and turned them over a couple of times. “Does this not look human to you?”

  A quick glance to his arms and her eyes darted back to his face. “I thought you were an animal whisperer. You didn’t say you became them.”

  “Would you have believed me if I’d said I did?” He took a step closer.

  She leapt back. “I don’t know what to believe any more.” Her hands were clearly shaking.

  Dammit! His mother had some serious explaining to do.

  “I discovered my gift shortly after we came here. I never asked for it, but I’m not ashamed of it either.” Which was true, though he wished he could erase the past few minutes from Helen’s mind and tell her when he felt she was more ready to accept it.

  “S-so, what are you? A bird-man?”

  He shook his head. “A falcon is convenient. I’m able to scout without detection.”

  Her face softened a small margin. “They told me you were scouting alone. It sounded like a suicide mission.”

  “Hardly. Only the family knows what I can do. Certainly, our enemy is clueless. My safety, all of our safety, depends on secrecy.”

  “Good. I guess.” Her fingers flexed and her brow creased. “You’re okay, then?”

  “I’m fine, ’tis you I worry about, lass.”

  Helen started to pace, which Simon took as a good sign. Every time she paced she was working a puzzle out in her mind. “Birds? Only birds?”

  A lie by omission waited on his lips, but to keep up the disguise now was pointless. “And other forms.”

  She stopped. “What other forms?”

  “A wolf.”

  “Like the one in the woods that first day.”

  “Aye. That was me.”

  She started the restless walk, again. “The gorillas?”

  “No, but I’ve not tried. I’ve taken the form of a shark. Damn uncomfortable breathing underwater.”

  She stopped her intrepid pacing and let out a tiny, forced laugh. Her body started to tremble as the stress of the past days clearly caught up with her. Helen buried her face in her hands as she tilted toward the floor.

  Simon caught her before she fell, enveloping her in his arms.

  Shaking, she buried her head into his bare chest. Simon soothed her cries and offered words of comfort. She’d been through too much. Holding her while she cried was becoming routine. Not that he minded her in his arms, but he’d prefer it be on better terms. The floral feminine scent of her filled his over-enhanced olfactory senses, the ones he had whenever he took on an animal form. A faint scent of lavender he knew the women put in the soap had him pulling in a deep, refreshing breath.

  Helen’s palms flattened out over his chest and started a slow inspection. Maybe she was determining if any feathers remained. A simple slide of her fingers over his nipples made them pebble, brought his cock to attention.

  He needed to stop her assessment of his frame or he’d end up taking advantage of her fragile state. Grasping her hands, he held her still until she moved away enough to look deep into his eyes. Desire leapt up his spine as she tilted her lips to his and lifted on her toes.

  A whisper of a kiss met his lips, willingly given by a woman he’d desired from first glance, and he was powerless against it. Dropping her hands, Simon pulled her tiny waist close to him and slanted his lips over hers. They were hot, moist, and open to explore. This wasn’t a stolen kiss, or one born of shock, it was delicious and giving, fulfilling on levels beyond sensation. Want quickly morphed into need as she willingly pressed her body closer. The firm swell of her breasts met his chest and Simon lifted his hand to touch even more of her offering. Her breath caught as the first swipe of his thumb made her breast pebble.

  Helen kissed him harder and ran her hands down his bare back. She stopped at his waist and moved back up, her nails dug in.

  He lingered over her mouth, tasting every inch until they were both breathless and in need of air. In the back of his mind, Simon knew he needed to stop this seduction but his body had different plans. A tender spot on Helen’s neck pulsed and Simon nibbled and licked his way lower. He tugged away the loose bodice of her dress, and explored the creamy expanse of the top of her breast. He half expected her to push him away, was elated when she arched back giving him room to take more. The deep rose of her nipple slipped free of her gown and Simon c
overed it with his mouth. He smiled over her breast as her knees gave way, nearly pulling them both to the floor.

  The floor.

  He needed to end this or he’d end up taking her on a damp, stone floor. He drew her nipple between his teeth and licked its end one last time before reluctantly releasing it and pulling back.

  God she was beautiful. Her lids half closed, her lips opened in invitation. But now wasn’t the time.

  Soon.

  “W-why did you stop?”

  “I care too much for your comfort to take you here in this dingy room.”

  He tucked her breast away but kept her close. If he’d learned one thing about the woman in his arms it was that she ran away whenever they stopped holding each other. Simon didn’t want her running.

  Like clockwork, she tugged back, but he didn’t let her go. Instead, he dipped his lips to hers for a promising kiss. When she relaxed, he released her lips again.

  “You’re making me crazy, Simon.”

  He smiled. “Someone is bound to come looking for us. A war rages, or have you forgotten?”

  She sighed and dropped back to her flat feet. “Your family catching us kissing once is enough for one lifetime.”

  “Aye. Makes it difficult to face my mother without a childish blush.”

  “Right.”

  “Mayhap when things calm we can explore each other further.”

  The blush he spoke of, now filled her cheeks. “I’d like that.”

  Simon kissed her forehead and took her palm in his. When he opened the door, they noticed Cian leaning against the outer hall, a smirk played on his lips.

  * * * *

  Helen hadn’t seen Simon for three days. Three long, nerve-racking days and sleepless nights. While he scanned the Highlands as a falcon, spying on his enemies, the MacCoinnichs rearranged their home to accommodate the growing number of knights flowing in. Laird Ian had many allies and few enemies, which meant the Keep exploded with bodies. The more people who entered, the farther Amber receded into herself. They attempted to begin work on reconstructing the necklace but gave up after only a few hours. Although Helen had only known the woman for a few days, she worried about her health. Each day she grew more pale and said very little.

  When she found a moment alone with Myra, Helen asked what she could do. “What’s wrong?”

  “’Tis her gift. Her empathy for others reaches beyond those she touches. The weight and worries of the impending battle is on everyone’s minds.”

  “And Amber feels everyone’s anxiety?”

  “Grief, sorrow, hate—she feels it all. ’Tis worse in the past ten years or so. She’s careful not to touch others, but she doesn’t need her hands to channel her gift.”

  “Can’t she turn it off?”

  Myra shifted a long strand of her coal-black hair over her shoulder. “Nay.”

  “What about creating a buffer? Something to quiet the empathy she feels for others?”

  “Like placing your head under a pillow to dull the noise?”

  “Yeah. You guys have told me some fanciful stories about how you’ve read other peoples’ minds or kept the noise inside a room so no one would learn the truth about you. There has to be something we can do.”

  Lora returned to the room with Tara and Lizzy. Most of the kids were already asleep in the two rooms set aside for them, boys in one, girls in the other. The women would take turns watching over the children since the men were often unavailable. Only when the kids were down for the night did the news of the day spill for Helen to hear.

  “Selma, Briac, come here children,” Lora told the oldest.

  Once the teenage kids were at her side, she graced them with a smile. “I need you to watch over the others so I might have a word in private with your aunts.”

  Briac, who clearly felt he was too old to be cast aside as a child puffed his chest out. Tara stopped her son before he said a word. “Your father asks that you keep your sword at your side in your task, son.”

  Briac’s mouth quickly shut and he stood taller. He reached a hand out to his sword perched against the wall by the fireplace. The broadsword flew into his palm safely.

  Helen swallowed. She’s seen Myra open a door with her mind when her hands were full, but she’d never witnessed one of the kids do something so powerful. Ya kinda had to have a little respect for a teen with a sword, an attitude, and the ability to knock you on your ass with a thought.

  “They’ll be safe with me.” He sauntered out the door and to the boys’ room.

  “What about me?” Selma asked Lizzy.

  Lizzy reached for her daughter and smiled. “Myra and I’ll be in there soon. We don’t expect trouble tonight.”

  The girl nodded and kissed her mother before following Briac from the room.

  Alone, Helen asked. “So, what was that all about?”

  “Briac needs to know he’s helping or he’ll seek trouble. Cian was exactly that way as a teen. Best he stays with the others. His training isn’t complete to stand on the field with the men.”

  “He’s just a kid.”

  “At sixteen, men are often placed in battle here.”

  “That’s too young.”

  “Mayhap,” Lora said.

  “What news do you bring?”

  The five of them moved closer to the fire and made themselves comfortable. “We’ve learned one of the clan names who fight against us.”

  Helen wouldn’t know any clan names, so the answer wasn’t one she had any anxiety in hearing, but the other women in the room jumped at the news. “Who?”

  “McNeil.”

  Tara and Lizzy shrugged their shoulders. Myra pitched her brows together in thought. “Do I know that name?”

  “I hardly know it,” Lora said. “Been many years since their name was whispered here. Long before our search for Grainna.”

  That name Helen knew. All of the MacCoinnichs spoke of the evil Druid witch who sought to destroy every last MacCoinnich. She lost, thankfully, but not without cost.

  “Why do they attack?”

  “We do not know. To fortify this region with their own men? ’Tis hard to say.”

  “So what, whoever has the biggest knife wins the house?” Helen tried to grasp why men fought in this time.

  “In years past this happened more often. Seems with the shift in power in both Scotland and England this land and others that surround us have become worth the risk to take over.”

  Helen wished more than ever that she’d paid attention to her European history. Staying in school was hardly possible where she grew up. She dropped out and later earned her GED as an adult. Even took a few semesters at a community college. European art she knew something about. If a piece was forged during a particularly turbulent time the piece would be more valuable, but outside of those dates, she was clueless of the political climate.

  Lizzy shook her head. “I don’t get it. There isn’t any talk about a war in this region on the books.”

  “The books, what books?”

  “When we sent Myra forward in time I asked her to bring a few things back with her. History books were on the list.” Tara leaned forward as she spoke. “Not that we planned on changing history, but we thought it would help to keep the stones safe if we kept them out of war zones.”

  “Not to mention a little self preservation,” Lizzy added.

  “We’d not abandon MacCoinnich Keep even if we came under attack,” said Lora.

  “But we wouldn’t risk a total wipeout of the family by lying in wait for a bomb, either.” Lizzy didn’t believe in going down with a sinking ship. There was comfort in knowing someone in the house was willing to retreat if the fight was useless. Helen had survived a rather lousy childhood and didn’t desire a bloody death in the sixteenth century.

  “We’ve been fighting off small bands of men for nearly a year. There are several known mercenaries we’ve brought down, which proves whoever is behind the attack doesn’t have a strong loyal following.”


  “Then how are they organizing such a grand scale attack? Seems to me all those beefy guys downstairs could easily overpower small search parties.” Helen tried to imagine a small rebel attack on an army. There had to be something she was missing. “How do the McNeil’s inspire this fight?”

  “That is the question. One I hope Lizzy might be able to find an answer to in her books.”

  Helen turned to Lizzy. “I take it you’re the resident historian?”

  “Because I loved school so much.” She rolled her eyes.

  Helen laughed.

  “I’ll look up the name, see what I can find. It would help to know exactly where the family is now.”

  “I’ll show you on your maps when we retire.”

  “Simon should be back by tomorrow with more news.”

  Helen had heard he was off again, but did her best to curb her worry for his safety. “Tomorrow? I thought he was back every night.”

  “He needed to go further to see how far away the enemy is staged. We’ve already spread our men beyond the eastern flank of the enemy.” Lora explained Ian’s strategy.

  “He’ll be back.” Lizzy covered Helen’s hand with hers.

  “It’s the waiting that sucks,” said Helen.

  “I’d much rather be out there kicking ass.”

  “But exposing our gifts would bring more than the McNeil’s. All of Scotland and most of England would join the fight to rid the region of witches.”

  Lora glanced around the room. “Where’s Amber?”

  “Sequestered in her room,” Myra told her mother.

  “I should have guessed.”

  “She’s not well. If I didn’t know what plagued her, I’d worry about an illness.” Tara walked over to the fire and placed another piece of wood on top of the flames.

  “Helen and I were discussing Amber’s plight. Helen thought maybe there was some type of blanket we could place over her to dull the onslaught of empathy.”

  “A magical one?” Lizzy asked.

  “I guess,” Helen said. “Not that I have a clue how to achieve it, but it seems like you guys might.” Helen pointed to a ratty cord draped over the handle on the door. Myra explained that the cord kept their conversations and noise within the room silent to anyone on the outside of the door. It was something Myra and Lizzy had come up with years ago to avoid the servants discovering the MacCoinnich secrets. The cord was kept handy, but only used when private matters needed discussing. “The cord you did your MoJo on works. Why not do the same to something else for Amber?”