Sadie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  Sadie’s Highlander is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2017 by Maeve Greyson

  Excerpt from Joanna’s Highlander by Maeve Greyson copyright © 2018 by Maeve Greyson

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Joanna’s Highlander by Maeve Greyson. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  Ebook ISBN 9780399594830

  Cover design: Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs

  Cover photographs: Hot Damn Stock (couple), Andrejs Pidjass/Depositphotos (background)

  randomhousebooks.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Dedication

  By Maeve Greyson

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Joanna’s Highlander

  Preface

  Long ago, in ancient Scotland, there was a time when druids held power. Contrary to the godlike perceptions their closely guarded teachings and warlike prowess created, these druids were nothing more than ordinary mortals—dedicated ordinary mortals. They honored the old ways of the land. Served the mighty goddesses. Carefully selected clans more willing than the average Scot to die for their beliefs.

  Their lore was sacred, so guarded that it was never committed to text, never recorded in history’s annals. Instead, their traditions were taught and passed down orally. Father to son. Mother to daughter. Druid chief to chosen successor.

  Of all the druid clans, the strongest and most cherished by the goddesses was the MacDara bloodline. More devoted than any other and trained by the warrior goddess Scota herself, the MacDara men and their sons mastered the goddesses’ four sacred weapons: sword, hammer, shield, and spear. No better archers could be found than the MacDara women.

  The MacDara clan became the goddesses’ mightiest champions. And with this honor came the task of guarding the most hallowed gift to all of humanity: the blessed Heartstone—the ancient relic filled with the unexplainable energy that made every mortal life worth living.

  The sacred Heartstone was fabled to fuel humankind’s most basic instincts: the need to love, hope, and evolve. Without the Heartstone’s subtle nurturing of humanity’s desire to achieve a brighter future, civilizations would cease to better themselves. Progress would stagnate. Life would be nothing more than dreary mediocrity until snuffed out by death. Humans can survive without many things, but love and hope—the urgent expectancy that circumstances will get better—are essential ingredients to survival.

  The blessed stone and its lore were known and revered by the druids and the followers of the old ways. It was a precious gift from the goddesses. But as centuries passed and beliefs changed, the knowledge of the Heartstone and the legends of the druid clans faded into barely remembered myth, then finally were forgotten, abandoned by mankind.

  Except by those who knew the cost: the druid clans.

  Scattered to the winds by history and walking among society as though the tales were never more than fanciful stories of a long-ago time, the descendants of the clans now live double lives, upholding their families’ ancient oath: protect those who protect the Heartstone. Their ancestors failed the chosen MacDara clan once. They’ll not fail again. Not only for the sake of the MacDara clan but for the sake of all mankind, even though mankind is oblivious to the reality of the stone and its powers.

  The Heartstone—and humanity’s evolution—must be protected at all cost, and the MacDara druid clan and their descendants are the ones deemed worthy enough to do it. Selected by the goddesses and the sacred stone itself, the MacDaras are the only bloodline courageous enough for the task.

  And the MacDaras must do more than survive. They must thrive. Their bloodline must never die out…no matter what century the goddesses place them in to save them.

  Prologue

  SCOTLAND – TENTH CENTURY

  “Above all else, I charge ye with the task of keepin’ yer mother safe. I fear our allied clans willna reach us in time.”

  The gut-wrenching sounds of splintering wood, crumbling stone, and toppling walls filled the air, then were drowned out by the deafening roar of the crazed horde destroying the last remaining barrier of stone and bloody clansmen attempting to hold them back. The ravaging men of the North appeared unstoppable. The tower housing the sacred Heartstone would soon be breached.

  “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, chief warrior druid of Clan MacDara, sworn to protect the great treasures of the goddesses, stood calling out to the divine deities for guidance and deliverance from the angry throng destroying 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 her 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 if the enemy was breathing down their necks. At twenty seasons old this past spring and so broad-shouldered he couldna walk through the doors of the keep without turning sideways, Alec no longer feared his mother’s stick but he was sorely concerned for her welfare—especially at this time, in her delicate state. He pulled his brother back a bit and spoke low and close to the lad’s ear. “Ross, take the shield and protect her—see to it that our unborn sister is kept safe as well.” The goddesses had answered Máthair’s prayers for a daughter and told her such in a dream.

  The young lad of only fourteen summers solemnly jerked his chin down in a quick nod, then 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 gangly boy clutched it to his chest.

  Aye. Scota’s shield hungers for battle as much as I. Alec turned to his other brothers standing by the last of the hall
owed weapons flanking the blessed stone. “Grant—take to yer hammer. Ramsay—to yer spear. The stone must be protected at all cost.”

  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 since they’d erected the double-blocked skirting wall around the keep. This particular horde from across the sea was fiendishly dedicated, more intent than any of the previous pillagers from the North. Greed and bloodlust to claim the tower and all the treasures it held shone upon their faces with an unholy light. They feared nothing and fell aside only when death claimed them. The stubborn marauders had decimated the outer wall as though it had been made of dried dung.

  But the MacDaras and the other druid clans were just as stubborn. Before Alec had come of age and trained for this calling, his father had led all the wars waged to protect the revered Heartstone—humanity’s ancient connection to the goddesses’ 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 from the smoldering herbs he’d placed in the cauldron. Eyes closed, weathered face lifted to the oiled black irons coated with dripping wax from 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 tower 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 aid, flanking their mother and sheltering her behind them.

  The barred door at Alec’s back shuddered with several fast-hitting thumps. Arrow hits. Alec knew the sound well. The acrid scent of pitch and the noxious smell of smoke seeping in around the boards of the heavy oaken door burned 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 seen fit to provide him with a thick 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. “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 gentle shushing sound of soft green leaves dancing somewhere above him. A refreshing breeze brushed a cool touch across his face, tickling his senses with the beguiling scent of a newly dawned spring day. No sound of battle. No smell of burning pitch. Nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees and a sense of peace. The thick cushion of grass on which he lay 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.

  Where the hell am I? Did the horde kill us? What in the name of all things holy had happened? He scrubbed the heels of his hands against his temples, 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 squinted at the unknown surroundings. Máthair…Athair…brothers…the precious stone. What had happened to his family? What had happened to the stone? The weapons?

  A brilliant light descended through the canopy of trees, shining into the center of the peaceful glade 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. More at peace. We grew tired of the repeated attacks. There is no need for such violence.”

  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 not be leavin’ ye here without proper guidance. We’ve chosen a fine advisor t’see ye well settled and ensure that ye thrive and guide our other druids of this time. Ye’ll find several druid clans are here, already well established, and at the ready to help ye.” Quiet laughter rippled through the glade like the tinkling of delicate bells. “You—our most blessed line of druids—must not die away. Ye must lead the others once ye’ve learned this place. Prosper here. Multiply. Keep our stone safe for eternities t’come.”

  A shocking awareness jolted through him as though his senses had finally decided to kick in. Holy mothers of all. ’Tis 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’ve 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 is well, resting in the meadow just past the edge of this wood. They sleep upon the land we have chosen to gift to 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 battering rams. Alec quickly shuttered the thought away and bowed his head lower. One didna question the goddesses and their ways. Those who did sometimes paid dearly for 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 like a flickering 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 slight 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. Yer neach-teagaisg. The teacher who shall guide ye through the wonders of this new place. I am guardian and tutor to all the druids here. I shall 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 his assets. Damn. What an import. I bet he’s one of Scotland’s finest.

  The tempting Scot stood in the center of the outdoor practice ring, glowering at the small group of nervous young men fidgeting in front of him. His tanned, muscular physique of totally lickable perfection rippled and pulsed as he swung a monstrous sword in a wide, graceful arc. He wore his dark hair slicked back in a severe man bun, perfectly accentuating his stern, unsmiling face.

  The man was better than any photoshopped action hero Sadie had seen in a while. His modified kilt, a tighter, sexier version, more like a gladiator’s short toga, 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 solidly corded thighs. With every fluid, predatory move he made, Sadie wished for a strong breeze to impr
ove the already impeccable view.

  “You’re telling me 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. Thumbing her sunglasses back up in place, Sadie barely nodded, Delia’s tone triggering a one-sided grin. Yes, sister dearest. That’s the man himself.

  Sadie hugged her electronic tablet to her chest and turned her attention back to 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. Delia needed to be quiet. She was ruining the view.

  When they’d arrived at the park for their hard-won appointment, a historically accurate 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 part of the country.

  The nearby town of Brady, North Carolina, would have 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.