The Charm Stone

by Donna Kauffman

  “Charm stones were no’ so unique in that time, however the special gifts attributed to this particular stone were detailed to Ranulf with great care and caution. So taken was he with Mairead that he didna doubt her powers, nor those of the stone.”

  “I suppose having you pop up was rather a strong reason to believe, huh?”

  Bagan nodded, oblivious to the gentle teasing note in her voice. “But that was only part of it. Ran-ulf was a man who believed in defending his own with power, might. Loss of life amongst his clansmen was not only accepted as a way of life, it was anticipated, calculated. However, his possession of the stone changed that. He quickly learned that the stone did indeed fulfill its promise. His love for his wife changed him and when they had a son—”

  “Connal's grandfather?”

  “Aye, Domhnall. When he came into the world soon after their union, Ranulf was a changed man, wanting do what he must to preserve life, rather than cast it so quickly into battle. He learned the powers of strategy and politics as means to gain what he wanted, resorting to war games only when necessary. The clan did prosper and all believed in the stone's promise from then on.

  “His son, Domhnall, was raised with this knowledge. His wife, Rowena, was chosen with the stone. His heart was hers and together they saw the clan's prosperity continue. Domhnall and Rowena had several daughters, then a son. Connal's father, Alasdair. He married Eilidh, the stone's choice and that of his heart as well. Connal and his brothers were raised to revere the stone and its powers.”

  “He had brothers?”

  “Aye. Two older, two younger.”

  “Then how was he clan chief?”

  “His oldest brother, Ramsey, was somewhat the headstrong renegade. He had left the island to be educated on the mainland. He returned when Alasdair passed on, to claim his rightful place as MacNeil laird, but he was filled with notions that his family was heretical for their beliefs in ancient Druid ways. He cast the stone aside and made his own decisions, which was the beginning of the downfall of the

  Glenmuir MacNeils. He abandoned the strategy and political mediation that had kept the island peaceful. Greedy to expand their wealth, he took up the sword and the shield once again and led the MacNeils back into bloody battle.”

  Bagan fell silent and Josie didn't know what to say. He painted a vivid picture, that sitting here, on the very land where it had taken place… it was as if she could feel the clash and clang of battle resonating in the misty sea air around her.

  “What happened then? How did Connal become the chief?”

  Bagan smiled briefly, clearly pleased by her curiosity, then his expression tightened as he resumed the story. “Ramsey fell in battle quickly. He'd never married, nor sired any children. So the next in line, Edmund, became laird. Edmund was quite close to his brother and he too shunned their mother's desperate urgings to return to the beliefs that had brought them so much happiness. Eilidh kept Connal close to her, even as her younger sons took up arms with Edmund and headed into battle.”

  “Connal was a mama's boy?” She shook her head. “I'm having a hard time with that picture.”

  Bagan stared hard at her, not at all amused by her input. “With Edmund and his youngers off warring, he was the only one with the sense to remain behind to defend Winterhaven. Connal had always held to his parents’ beliefs, much to the chagrin and very public tongue-lashings of his older brothers.” His expression changed from fierce to empty in the blink of an eye.

  Josie found herself holding her breath. Finally, she could stand it no more. “What happened?”

  He looked at her, immeasurable sadness in his eyes. “War claimed them all, with naught to show for it but the decimation of most of the clansmen along with them. Connal was left as chief to a clan made up of women, children, and aged men. Hardly the legacy his father, and the fathers before him, had dedicated their lives to building. His guilt knew no bounds.”

  “But he wasn't to blame! It was his brothers’—”

  “He was The MacNeil,” Bagan said quietly. “All responsibilities were laid onto his shoulders and he took the mantle without question. With that mantle came the responsibility for the desperate times the clan had fallen on. He wasn't much more than a lad then, and took his role very seriously. Stronger clans were gathering their strength, preparing to take Glenmuir and what was left of its prosperous fields and farms. He had no warriors, no might, no armor. He had only one thing, and it was the one thing he'd been raised to believe in.”

  “The stone.”

  “Aye. He'd seen firsthand, suffered firsthand, the consequences of no’ following the ways of his ancestors. So he did what he believed best. He sent the stone away—”

  “To Elsinor.”

  Bagan nodded. “She was betrothed to Connal by Ramsey when the stone's legacy had been cast aside. The MacLeods would have been a powerful alliance. But with the MacNeils’ downfall, the MacLeods broke the betrothal. Connal had me take it to her anyway, praying the legacy and promise of the stone would sway Elsinor. It was all he had to offer and his clan's one chance for survival.”

  Josie tried to imagine the decisions he had to make, the crushing obligations thrust on him. “How impossibly difficult that must have been for him.”

  Bagan nodded, the gleam leaping to life in his eyes once again. “Aye, that it was. His beliefs were strong and deeply seated. He knew there was no other way. He felt that after his brothers’ abandonment, the gods were testing him and he had to prove his belief to them, his faith. He knew the stone would return, his faith absolute. But when the Fates punished him anyhow and time finally ran out, he offered his own soul in exchange for his clan's last and only hope.”

  “What if he had looked for another bride sooner—” Bagan shook his head. “Ye still dinna understand. He had nothing but the stone to offer and it was lost to him. It wasna as if he sat and waited, leaving what was remained of his clan unaided. He did what he could, mustered what strength he could, and when they came to take from him as he knew they would, he fought valiantly and bravely. But it was for naught. And upon his death, he still would no’ give. The gods granted his spirit would remain here, in a sort of purgatory, given time to wait on the stone, as only Fate could guide it back to him. It was the only hope for redemption. Perhaps no’ that day, or that year, or even a hundred years hence. But the last MacNeil was no’ going to simply allow his people to disappear for all eternity. His soul was all he had to offer them… and he gave it willingly. He couldna change how his story was told upon his death, nor did he care. If he looked the coward or the fool, so be it. He knew otherwise.” He looked to Josie. “And now, so do you.”

  Chapter 13

  She must come to him.

  Connal paced his rooms. He would not go to her again. It had been difficult enough watching her charm yet another pair of old men early this eve. Bagan had only bothered to make a brief appearance, and that had merely been to tell him that Josie planned to stay on Glenmuir, but just long enough to teach the aged ones about surfing. As if he needed reminding that she wasn't fully his yet.

  That was about to change.

  Visions of appearing in her bed, right now as she slept, of pulling her body beneath him, bringing her to full alertness as her need grew to match his, watching her come apart again, hearing the pleasure screams ripping through the night-

  “Enough!” He threw himself into the chair fronting the fire, then just as quickly stood again. His imagination needed no further stimulation. He was going mad and she was completely at fault. Never had he been so preoccupied with thoughts of a woman. Yet, she was never more than a wisp away from his fevered mind. It was almost a sorcery of some kind, the way he couldn't stop thinking about her.

  He had endured three hundred years of abstinence… and yet he knew that had nothing to do with it. “Bloody hell and damnation, I dinna even know her,” he muttered. His sole and only purpose was to see his bargain fulfilled, which could only happen if he sired an heir who would follow
through on the stone's promise to see Glenmuir thrive once again. Knowing her beyond her fitness as mother to that heir mattered naught. So why this obsession with her? One that was going well beyond the siren call of passion.

  And yet, passion was all that was needed. His only concern should be that the stone had brought her to him and his faith in the ancient promise was about to be fulfilled. Or he'd bargained his soul for nothing.

  A cheerful voice filled the room behind him. “Perhaps ye should stop thinkin’ with what dangles beneath yer kilt and begin thinkin’ to seduce her with what lies up here.”

  Connal spun about to see Bagan tapping his forehead. If he'd had his sword, he'd have run the little bastard clean through. He turned his back on him. “Leave me if ye know what's good for ye, Little Guardian. I'm in no mood for yer guidance this eve.”

  “She doesna know you either, ye know. Not the man himself. Tis her mind ye should be targetin’, my lord, no’ her body. If ye wish to win her heart—”

  Connal spun back around. “I've no intention of winning her heart. 'Tis only her womb I'm interested in conquering.” The dwarf flinched and he felt a slight twinge for his crudeness, but hard was what he had to be to make decisions for the good of all… no’ for the good of one. Especially when that one was himself. “If ye've no stomach for it, yer welcome to leave. But dinna paint this up to be anything pretty. It's an alliance, a promise to fulfill, nothing more.”

  Bagan's expression smoothed, his blue eyes unreadable. “Fortunate it was for your mother then, and your grandmother, and her mother before her, that their men didna think on them so coldly.”

  Connal did flinch then. He'd not thought of it like that, nor did he care to have it put to him that way. Not at all. “That was different. They had the great fortune to select their alliances and the gods blessed them with matched hearts. I'm no’ so greedy as that. I realize I'm fortunate enough to find absolution for Glenmuir. I canno’ hope for personal joy as well.”

  “What of her joy? Are ye so callous then?”

  “I'm willin’ to do what I can for her, but that canno’ be what drives this, Bagan.”

  The dwarf shook his head. “Now 'tis you who dinna see. I've spent much time thinking upon this since my return. I believe it was their willingness to risk their hearts to one another, no’ simply blind faith, that caused the stone to lend its prosperous charm to their causes. Perhaps 'tis why the stone failed with Elsinor—”

  “She never wore it.”

  “True. But you insist on thinking of this as an alliance only, and it might fail again. Until you realize that your heart must be as committed as your mind, you willna succeed in yer mission, Connal.”

  He was gone before Connal could respond.

  “Daft is what he is,” he grumbled, pacing once again. The room was suddenly too close, too stifling, too filled with visions he'd be better off forgetting. “As if there were a hope of that.”

  He stalked out from the tower, crossed the causeway to the beach, and began what had become a nightly trek along the shore. Midsummer nights rarely darkened beyond twilight, but the clouds had come in, which was fine with him as black skies matched his mood. As he walked, his thoughts skipped to that rare occasion when, as a child, his father would walk with him along this very strand. In the winter he would point out the stars, naming them for Connal so that he felt a certain kinship with them, always above him, a celestial chaperone of sorts. In the summer they'd look for the solstice lights that flashed and streaked across the skies, the sight so wondrous it was as if some fairy magic were at work.

  Tonight there was nothing above, no celestial chaperone, no fairy magic. Only endless dark… and the doubts that naturally came to be when faced with such an endless abyss.

  He smiled dryly and shook his head. “Morose MacNeil,” he murmured, thinking the name was far too apt of late. He turned and headed back to the tower that, even in the dark, loomed ominously on the horizon. Yet his gaze was pulled to the croft, though he couldn't quite see it. Had Josie ever spent a night naming stars? His lips quirked again, as he thought it likely that she'd spent a great number of nights exploring some folly or other. It was her nature. An adventuress she was. One he had to tame if he were to prove himself worthy of the bargain he'd made.

  With that thought in mind, he shifted his destination to that of the croft, and her bed. The one way proven to him so far. No matter Bagan's claim of hearts and such. If he began where he'd met with success, surely the rest would follow. Still, he strode the beach rather than leap directly there. Patience. Best he harnessed that particular trait of his, one she'd sorely tried of late, before dealing with her again.

  As he neared, he spied a light in the tower. His tower. Bagan? His instincts told him otherwise. This time he did take advantage of his spectral powers, disappearing from the beach and reappearing a blink later in the shadowy corners of the tower. It was dark now, and empty.

  He crossed to the stairwell that led directly to the causeway, but no light flickered in the depths below. He turned and faced the only other exit from the tower. At least the only obvious one. He silently descended the short, curved stairwell, rewarded almost instantly with a pale flicker of light just before it winked out as the lightbearer turned a corner.

  And he knew who that lightbearer was… and where she was heading.

  He grinned. So, she'd come to him after all. Aye, just as he'd known she would! It was only Bagan, filling his head with needless worries, who had caused him to doubt himself. He popped on ahead, lighting enough torches that she'd find her way, then paced his bedroom waiting for her.

  Should he await her in bed? Och, too eager. Perhaps he should pretend slumber. Aye, being awakened by her could be a pleasurable thing. Or, perhaps he should pretend to catch her as one would a thief, demand to know why she'd intruded on his privacy, as if he'd given her nary a thought since their last conversation. Not that he wanted to do battle with her, quite the opposite. But there was no denying that when riled, Josie Griffin was a sight to behold… and harnessing all that independent energy of hers could be advantageous to his pleasure as well…and hers.

  There was a rustling in his antechamber. She had arrived. His body leaped at the mere thought of her here once again, alone with him in the privacy of his own chambers.

  “Dammit,” came her furious whisper from the next room.

  Connal frowned. What was she about? He returned to his spectral self, invisible to her as she cautiously entered his bedchamber.

  She heaved a brief sigh of relief upon finding the room empty. Or so she thought. “Okay, where would they be?”

  His temper flamed now, dousing his passion. She hadn't come here to beg him to take her to his bed. Nay, she was the thief in the night he'd been willing to pretend her to be. And he knew precisely that which she sought.

  His first instinct was to make himself visible to her, preferably in such a way as to give her a good start, then presume her intentions to be amorous in nature. Let her explain her real reasons. But then he had another thought.

  Why would she be looking for that pink packet unless she was concerned about needing it? The only reason she could be concerned with keeping her womb barren… was if she feared there were to be an assault on it in the first place.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she sang softly.

  Connal's skin prickled with a quite visceral sense of awareness, though he knew it was not him she called for. He wanted it to be. And be damned the reasons why.

  She doesna know you. Bagan's words came to him, despite his unwillingness to hear them. Nor do I know her, he thought. Though, looking at her now, as she gingerly poked about his room, he thought perhaps he knew her better than he suspected. Aye, there was much he'd learned of his close observations of her. She was tenacious, both in his arms and upon that board of hers. She was generous, at least with others. All who met her seemed taken with her in some way. He'd told himself his interest was decidedly carnal, but why bother to
continue observing her laughing with her guests? If his only purpose was to get between her legs once again, then why watch her assault the waves for hours on end? Why wonder what she was about when she was out of his direct sight?

  And why are you standing here pondering questions that have no answers when she is directly within your grasp?

  He reappeared that instant, leaning casually in the doorway to his bedchamber. “Perhaps you are snooping about for these?”

  She let out a short scream and spun about just as he pulled the small pink wallet from the folds of his kilt.

  “Surely you dinna think I'd leave something of such import lying about.”

  “Surely I didna think you'd stoop so low as to steal it in the first place,” she shot back, her temper quickly usurping her surprise. “And I wasn't snooping. I came here to demand my property back face-to-face. You weren't here, so I took it upon myself to retrieve it.”

  “You must be concerned about needing them if you're worried about recovering them.”

  “It doesn't matter what you took,” she insisted. “It's the point of it. You had no right.”

  He straightened away from the doorframe and strode to her. To her credit, she didn't back away from him. “So,” he said quietly, “you had no concerns regarding the possibility that we'd end up here…again.”

  He held her gaze directly, challenging her to respond to him honestly, already knowing her well enough to understand that a direct challenge would be next to impossible for her to ignore. He saw this clearly, perhaps because it so closely mirrored his own temperament.