Chloe turned and faced them, primly clasping her hands in front of her. She lifted her chin and stood as tall as she could, calmly surveying all the adults standing before her. “Granny gave me a message for each of ye—the Sinclair daughters of Granny Nia’s heart. She told me t’ask ye t’step forward and stand together as one a last time afore she goes.”
Trulie handed sleeping Ian and wide-eyed Rabbie to Gray, then stepped forward. She turned and motioned for her sisters to join her.
Uneasy about what Granny’s message just might be, Lilia lagged behind Kenna and Mairi. She’d felt Granny was still close but had hesitated to mention it for fear of upsetting the others. Mairi took her hand and squeezed it tight as she lined up beside her.
“Go ahead, Chloe,” Trulie prompted. “Tell us what Granny said.”
“Granny says yer the wise one now, Mama—ye bein’ the eldest of yer generation and all. Said ’twould be no small task keeping this clan in line but she kens ye can do it and do it well.” Chloe smiled at her mother and lifted her chin proudly. “She says that I’m t’be a good lass and help ye since one day it’ll be my turn t’watch over m’kin.”
Trulie acknowledged Chloe’s words with a sad smile and an accepting nod.
Chloe shifted her attention to Kenna, her face growing serious. “Granny said a time will come when ye’ll have the chance t’save many, Auntie Kenna. Ye must be brave and follow yer heart, she said. Ne’er forget that yer instincts will ne’er fail ye.”
“Thank you, Chloe,” Kenna whispered, her chin quivering as tears slipped down her cheeks.
“And Auntie Mairi—Granny said I’m t’remind ye that ye canna heal them all no matter how hard ye try.” Chloe shook her head, looking entirely too wise for one so young. “She said t’tell ye it doesna mean that ye’ve failed. It merely means ’twas the path they were destined t’follow.”
Mairi squeezed Lilia’s hand while pressing her other fist to her middle. “I’ll do my best to remember that, Chloe.”
Lilia held her breath as Chloe turned to her. The child’s face now beamed with a delighted smile. “Auntie Lil. Yers was the best message of them all. Granny said t’tell ye that she’s so verra proud of ye for discovering her greatest secret. She said she kent ye’d be the first t’sort it out.”
Lilia frowned. What the devil was Chloe talking about? “Her greatest secret?”
“Aye.” Chloe nodded with a wink. “Did ye no’ step easily from the time tunnel this time rather than tumble across the ground and nearly break yer wee neck and that of Uncle Graham and little Catriona?”
Realization dawned on Lilia, flashing through her with a giddy rush of the biggest aha moment she’d ever had. It was true. This trip, the time tunnel hadn’t spit them out like an overchewed wad of gum. Lilia and Graham, with Graham holding Catriona, had all three stepped from the twenty-first century to the thirteenth century as though changing floors on a cosmic elevator. Even Graham had remarked on the grace and ease of the usually painful journey.
There was only one difference between this trip and all the other leaps through time that had beaten her senseless with rough landings: Catriona. Lilia had felt a strength and control she’d never known before while maneuvering the time tunnel. That strength had come from her unyielding determination that Catriona wouldn’t be harmed.
Chloe clapped and hopped in place, joy twinkling in her eyes. “Now ye ken Granny’s secret: a mother’s love for her child is the strongest power of all.”
A warm gentle wind blew in from the sea, soft as a brushing caress. A chorus of laughter, light and tinkling as crystal chimes, rose above the sound of the waves shushing against the base of the cliff. A deep rumbling chuckle joined in, and if Lilia wasn’t mistaken, somewhere off in the distance, she could just make out the contented sound of a purring cat.
Lilia lifted her gaze to the deepening blue-black darkness of early nightfall and smiled. All was as it should be. And she could just see Granny now—laughing and vibrant, convincing Tamhas and Kismet that it was time for the next adventure.
To Shanna, Christa, Chloe, and Isaac for making my heart smile when nothing else will.
BY MAEVE GREYSON
Highland Hearts
My Highland Lover
My Highland Bride
My Tempting Highlander
My Seductive Highlander
Highland Protectors
Sadie’s Highlander (coming soon)
PHOTO: CHRISTA SULLIVAN
No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them. That’s MAEVE GREYSON’s mantra. When she’s not working at the steel mill, Greyson’s writing romances about sexy Highlanders and the women who tame them. Tucked away in a five-acre wood, Maeve listens to the wind singing through the trees and hears her characters telling their stories. Her greatest supporter is her long-suffering husband of more than thirty-five years, who’s learned not to throw away sticky notes filled with strange phrases.
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Read on for an excerpt from
Sadie’s Highlander
Highland Protectors
by Maeve Greyson
Coming soon from Loveswept
Prologue
SCOTLAND
TENTH CENTURY
“Above all else, I charge ye with the task of keepin’ yer mother safe.”
The gut-wrenching sound of splintering wood, crumbling stone, and toppling walls filled the air along with the deafening roar of the crazed horde destroying the last remaining barrier between the ravaging men of the north and the tower housing the sacred Heartstone.
“Aye, Athair.” Alec fisted the hilt of the Goddess Danu’s sacred sword even tighter, thumping it against his chest before turning away from the raised altar where his father, warrior druid sworn to protect the great treasures of the goddesses, stood calling out to the divine deities for guidance and deliverance from the angry throng descending upon the keep.
“Nay, husband. I protect m’self. I’ve no need for coddlin’.” The object of Alec’s orders, his heavily pregnant mother, stood poised in front of one of the tower’s tall narrow windows, bow readied with an arrow nocked and drawn.
Sarinda took careful aim, released the missile, then tossed a satisfied smile back over one shoulder at Alec. “Ye will see to the protectin’ of the Heartstone and lead yer brothers in the doin’ of the same. Aye?”
“Aye, Máthair.” Alec took hold of his youngest brother’s arm and turned him toward their mother. There was no use arguing with the woman. She overruled Father every time and wouldna hesitate t’take a stick to his arse even though he be fully grown. “Ross—take the shield and protect her—see that our unborn sister is kept safe as well.”
The young lad of only fourteen summers hefted the sacred shield away from its iron stand beside the altar. The ancient bronze disk shimmered with an eerie glow as soon as the lad clutched it to his chest.
Aye. Scota’s shield hungers for battle as much as I. Alec turned to his other two brothers standing by the last of the hallowed weapons flanking the blessed stone. “Grant—to yer hammer. Ramsay—to yer spear. The stone must be protected at all cost.”
Each brother took up his assigned weapon then looked to Alec for his next order.
The tower shuddered with another hit of the enemy’s battering ram, tightening Alec’s gut with deeper resolve. This was the worst attack he could remember in all his twenty seasons.
Before Alec had come of age, trained for this calling by his warrior druid clan, his father had led all the wars waged to protect the revered Heartstone—humanity’s ancient connection to the goddess’s gifts of creativity, imagination, and love—the very heartbeat of hope itself that made life worth living—or so the legends told.
Now his aged father stood at the altar, gnarled hands wafting back and forth through the strange smoke rising fr
om the smoldering herbs he’d placed in the cauldron. Eyes closed, weathered face lifted to the oiled black irons coated with the dripping wax of three thick stubs of nearly spent candles, Emrys Danann MacDara rumbled a deep monotone chant with barely moving lips.
Metal grated against stone as Ross slammed his shield across the arrow slit just in time to block a blazing spearhead. A heavy thud then a rattling scrape against the outer wall beside the window warned that the invaders were closer to achieving entry into the altar room. Ross raised the shield higher, leaning into it as the unnerving clangs of blades clashed against it. Grant and Ramsay rushed to their youngest brother’s side, flanking their mother and sheltering her behind them.
The barred door at Alec’s back shook with several fast-hitting thumps. Arrow hits. Alec kent the sound well. The acrid scent of pitch and the noxious smell of smoke seeping in around the heavy oaken door burned in his nostrils, fanning the fury already raging in his veins.
This particular battle wasna goin’ quite the way it should but since the men of the north had been so kind as to provide him with a healthy curtain of black smoke in which t’hide, perhaps he could change the course of this wee skirmish.
He spared one last glance back at his family as he took hold of the wide oak beam set across the door. “I go to bid our visitors a more personal welcome. Keep the Heartstone.”
“Keep the Heartstone,” his brothers and mother echoed.
And then the world exploded.
—
The first thing Alec became aware of was the soft shushing sound of leaves rustling somewhere above him. A refreshing breeze brushed a cool touch across his face. The thick cushion of grass on which he rested smelled fresh and sweet as he turned his head into the softness of the earth.
“He is awake, my goddesses.”
Alec forced his eyes open, immediately regretting the decision when the action triggered a thunderous pounding inside his skull. Squinting against the unusually bright beams of sunlight filtering down through the trees, he struggled to focus on the unfamiliar surroundings.
Am I dead? Did the horde kill us all? What in the name of all things holy had happened? He scrubbed both hands across his face, doing his best to realign his addled senses. And then it hit him—by the goddesses—the Heartstone!
Panic surged through him, forcing him to his feet. He staggered sideways, grappling to steady himself against the solid trunk of a massive oak. An oak. This must be a sacred place. He frantically looked about the unknown surroundings. Máthair…Athair…brothers…the precious stone. What had happened to his family? What had happened to the stone?
A brilliant light descended down through the canopy of trees, shining into the center of the small clearing and hovering just above the ground like a star gently lowered from the sky. “We have brought ye—our faithful servants and protectors of the stone—to a place where ye will be much safer.”
The orb of light echoed as though three females spoke in unison—each of their melodic voices perfectly pitched to enhance and complement one another. “And fear not—we’ll no’ be a leavin’ ye without proper guidance. We’ve chosen a fine advisor t’see ye well settled here and ensure that ye thrive. Our blessed line of druids must no’ die away. Ye will prosper here. Multiply. Keep our stone safe for eternities t’come.”
The goddesses themselves. Alec dropped to his knees, bowing his head and bringing one arm up across his face. “My goddesses.”
“Aye…our brave one. Ye have pleased us well—as have yer brothers and yer parents.” The blazing star undulated with a myriad of sparkling colors, growing brighter and then dimming a bit with each word the goddesses spoke. “Yer family rests in the meadow just past the edge of this wood. They sleep upon the land we have chosen to gift ye.”
“Land?” Alec kept his head bowed. They didna need more land. They needed a new keep with thicker walls that could withstand the enemy’s damn battering rams—if memory of the last battle served him. Alec quickly shuttered the thought away and bowed his head lower. One didna question the goddesses and their ways. Those who did…rarely survived the expressing of their druthers.
“Explain it to him, Dwyn. ’Tis best that young Alec hear how it shall be from his new advisor.”
Alec stole a glance up from behind his arm. Who the hell is Dwyn? A slight form, more of a shadow and silhouetted against the blinding light of the goddesses’ star, approached him.
A deep rumbling chuckle—a full hearty sound that in no way looked as though it could come from the thin shadowy figure walking toward him—echoed through the clearing. The laughing silhouette bounced closer—still out of focus against the brilliance of the goddesses’ light.
“I am Dwyn MacKay. The one who shall guide ye through the wonders of this new place and see to it that the MacDara clan does well and continues their legacy to the goddesses and humanity as the protectors of the Heartstone—the sacred stone of hope and love itself.”
“And this place is?” Alec asked, still squinting against the blinding light.
“Twenty-first-century North Carolina. Welcome to the future, m’lad.”
Chapter 1
Forget the roller coaster. Where do I get a ticket to ride him? Sadie Williams peered over the tops of her sunglasses, inching them lower to get an unobstructed view of the man currently flexing all his assets. Damn. What an import. I bet he’s one of Scotland’s finest.
He stood in the center of the outdoor practice ring, glowering at the small group of nervous young men fidgeting in front of him. His impressive physique of totally lickable muscular perfection rippled and pulsed as he swung a monstrous sword in a wide graceful arc overhead. His dark hair was slicked back in a severe man bun, perfectly accentuating his fierce unsmiling face.
The man was beyond drool-worthy, and his modified kilt, a shorter sexier version than any Sadie had ever seen in the movies, only added fuel to his already blazing hot persona. The teasing bit of tartan hung low about his hips, its cropped length barely brushing the thickest part of his corded thighs. With his every fluid, predatory move, Sadie wished for a strong breeze to improve the already impeccable view.
“That’s Alec MacDara? Mr. I Can’t Be Bothered with a Meeting?”
Her sister Delia’s hissed whisper, shrill and dripping with insulted disbelief, interrupted Sadie’s delightful reverie. Pushing her sunglasses back up in place, Sadie nodded toward the dirt arena where Mr. Alec MacDara, CEO and part owner of Highland Life and Legends, was currently sizing up his most recent batch of applicants.
A historically kilted park employee had led them to this private training area. He’d explained that this was where mock-battle interviewees hoped their sword handling would impress Mr. MacDara enough to score them a job.
Not only renowned for its remarkable authenticity, Highland Life and Legends was also known as one of the best employers in the region. The successful Scottish historical theme park encompassed what seemed like an endless expanse of acreage along the Cape Fear River of North Carolina. The sprawling park and its owners ruled supreme in this neck of the woods.
The nearby town of Brady, North Carolina, would’ve disappeared off the map years ago if not for the MacDara clan’s imaginative creation. The theme park based on Highland myths, beliefs, and everyday life in centuries past had been a lifeline for the past fifteen years to the small burg nestled in the rich countryside surrounding the river. Everyone wanted to be a part of Highland Life and Legends.
Alec MacDara strode up and down the line of young men, pausing now and then to squeeze a shoulder or lift one of their arms as though judging livestock at the county fair. He finally selected the smallest of the group, handed him the sword that was nearly twice the young man’s size, and pointed to the center of the ring. “You. Go. Let’s have a look at ye then.”
The scrawny nervous boy that would blow away if a strong wind hit him stumbled to the designated spot, visibly struggling to drag the sword along beside him. He let out a wheezing grunt, fa
ce turning a reddish purple as he strained to lift the blade into the air. The sword wobbled and swayed for a brief moment then finally dove downward, the tip plunging deep into the dirt.
The rest of the anxious wannabes waiting for their turn at the sword tittered with relieved snickering. The beanpole of a boy shot them all a resentful glare, set his jaw, then staggered backward, using his entire body to heave the massive blade from side to side.
Alec angled his way to the boy’s side, clapped a hand on the lad’s bony shoulder, and pried the sword out of his shaking white-knuckled fists. “The sword is no’ the weapon for ye but yer mother tells me ye’ve a fine way with the horses. Is that true?”
“I guess so,” the still red-faced lad huffed out, staring down at the ground as though his entire world had just collapsed. “I just wanted to be one of the fighters—you know—for the girls?” He let out a despondent sigh and kicked the toe of his boot in the dirt.
“Many a fair lass waits in line to ride the fine MacDara warhorses we have stabled here.” Alec gripped the boy’s shoulder and gave him a congenial shake. “I’m thinkin’ they’d be most impressed by a man able to control such mighty beasts and take them for rides through our fine countryside. What say ye?”
The boy’s face visibly brightened. Renewed hope straightened his back and he stood a bit taller. “Really?”
“Aye.” Alec nodded and steered him toward a gated path on the other side of the ring. “Off wi’ ye now to the stables. Old Tom’s expectin’ ye.”
“Thanks, Mr. MacDara!” The boy bobbed his head, his lopsided grin stretching from ear to ear as he loped toward the gate.
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