Highlander Avenged

by Laurin Wittig - Guardians Of The Targe 02 - Highlander Avenged

  She must have gasped or said something, for Malcolm was splashing into the water now.

  “Nay, Malcolm! Go back. There is nothing wrong, I was only surprised.”

  The splashing stopped, but she didn’t hear him returning to dry land, either. She looked behind her and found him up to his knees, his expression tense, concerned.

  “I am fine,” she said. “Go back before your feet turn to icy blocks.”

  “I shall wait here, lest you need me.”

  She nodded, realizing just how good a man he was, realizing again that she loved him and she was certain he loved her, too. She would tell him, today, here, in this beautiful place they had discovered together, what her feelings were, but not yet. First she must figure out why this symbol was—

  And then she saw a second symbol, just at the edge of the stone, directly in front of her—the symbol her mum had called a mirror, one of the three symbols painted on the inside of the ermine sack that protected the Targe. She ran her finger over it, as she had done with the deer carving, and as she had done with the Targe stone the first time her mother had shown it to her.

  She sat back on her heels, closed her eyes, and repeated the prayer of protection and blessing that she had been trying to teach Rowan. Even though Jeanette was not the Guardian, did not have the Targe stone, nor was she trying to use any gift, still she felt it was necessary. Her hands moved through the air in tandem with the words she chanted and a sudden whooshing feeling swept through her as if it rose from the stone itself. Tingling ran under her skin, surging upward through her until she felt the need to raise her arms over her head, hands open to the sky to release it. With that release, a torrent pulsed through her, faster and faster and faster, wrapping her tightly in a maelstrom of images and sensations that enveloped her so completely, she struggled to breathe, struggled to stop them, struggled to hold on to her sanity.

  MALCOLM COULD NOT move as he watched Jeanette in all her naked glory as she sat upon the stone, her long pale back to him, saying something to herself as she moved her hands gracefully through the air. It looked to him as if she swirled them in circles, over and over, occasionally throwing them out as if tracing a spike—or the bent antler of their stag guide. This glorious, passionate, smart woman had given herself to him and it had been . . . He did not have words to describe what feelings had rushed through him as they’d coupled.

  “Jeanette?” When she did not respond, a spark of worry lit within him. “Angel?” he called again, but she did not seem to hear, and then she rose up onto her knees, her arms stretched over her head. A breeze began to circle in the grotto, lifting Jeanette’s pale hair that had come free from its braid sometime while they made love, making it dance about her more and more wildly until, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. Jeanette collapsed back onto her heels, her arms falling limply to her sides. And then she tipped sideways, and fell into the water.

  For the longest moment he thought she had done it on purpose, but when she did not stand up he raced toward her, fighting his way through the deeper water, cursing his numb feet, calling her name, louder and louder. When he got to her, he pulled her into his arms, shoved her heavy, wet hair out of her face, and hurried back to the shore. Once there, he laid her on the moss, and checked to make sure she was breathing.

  Thank God, she was.

  He chafed her freezing hands in his, talking to her all the time, trying to rouse her, warm her. He grabbed her arisaid and his plaid from where they had been abandoned such a short time ago, then pulled her into his lap, pressing her shivering form against his skin, cradling her in his injured arm as he struggled to draw her arisaid around her and his plaid about them both. He tucked her head against him, pressing his cheek to her crown as he tried to rub some warmth into her skin with his good hand and whispered fervent prayers that she would recover quickly from whatever had happened to her.

  Slowly, her skin grew less icy against his, but still she did not rouse. Malcolm didn’t know when, but the sun had been covered over by thick clouds, leaving the two of them wrapped in the dim coolness of the grotto. He looked toward the narrow fissure and knew he could not carry her out of here, for he had barely fit through himself. If she did not wake soon, they would have to stay the night, and for that they needed shelter, lest it rain, and a fire. But he would not leave her, even for those necessities, until he was sure she was warm.

  After what felt like hours, Jeanette finally stopped shivering, though her skin was still icy to the touch. With the clouds thickening and the light dimming, he could wait no longer. He laid her on the soft moss carpet with her arisaid beneath her and his larger plaid carefully wrapped about her, as far away from the water’s edge as he could, next to the wall that sloped gently up and inward, giving them at least a little shelter if it rained. She sighed and turned on her side, tucking a hand under her cheek as if she but slept. The vise that had been tightening about his chest loosened slightly as he laid a kiss upon her brow.

  “I shall return as soon as I can, angel,” he whispered to her, though he doubted she heard him. Quickly, he donned his tunic, securing it with his belt, and slid his dirk into its sheath.

  He did not have to go far for ample wood but with the narrow fissure, it took him far too many trips to get enough fuel inside to start a fire. But once it was burning well, he returned to the forest for more deadwood just in case they had to stay the night there, piling it up outside the grotto, where at least it would be easy enough to fetch if they needed more in the night. His stomach grumbled as he laid more wood upon the fire, but he saved the bannocks they had brought with them for Jeanette. It would not be the first time he had spent a day with an empty stomach, though the first he had done so with a heart so heavy.

  When he was satisfied the fire would burn for a while, he dropped his belt and dirk nearby, and lay down between Jeanette and the stone wall, snuggling close enough to cradle her back against his chest. Her skin was still cool to the touch, but not icy, as it had been earlier. He prayed his heat, added to that of the fire, would be enough to warm her, enough to hold off a fever. There was little else he could do for her until she awoke. And if she did not awaken soon? He would have to leave her here to get help from someone more able-bodied than himself. He would have to get someone else to rescue his angel when he should be the one to keep her safe. Frustration had him cursing the hand that would not do as he commanded, stopping just short of bashing the offending thing against the stone wall.

  He struggled to calm himself but his thoughts kept catching at him, pulling him this way and that. Was this some punishment for their having lain with each other without marriage first? Nay, ’twas not the first time he had done such a thing, though his feelings for this lass— He closed his eyes as he realized that his life would be forever dark if she did not wake up, if she never looked at him again with those summer-sky eyes, if he could not hold her in his arms, if he could not rouse her passion. If he could not simply talk to her, share his meals with her . . . make a family with her.

  She belonged to him. She had said it herself, and he belonged to her.

  He took a long, shuddering breath as he realized his future had shifted the moment he’d seen her at the healing wellspring. He knew that keeping Jeanette MacAlpin in his life was the thing he wanted most, and once his hand was fully healed, once he was a whole man once more, he would make her his wife. He also knew he could wait no longer to tell her his feelings or to get her promise that she would wed him.

  “Jeanette, love? Angel? Please wake up.” He rubbed her back between them, hoping just a little more warmth would rouse her. “I have something important to tell you. Do you hear me?”

  She slept on, showing no sign of waking, so Malcolm pulled her as close as he could and began to pray.

  JEANETTE’S EYES POPPED open and for long moments she could not remember where she was, nor how she had come to be here.

  Nor why
her head felt as if someone had taken a hammer to it.

  And then it all came rushing back to her—the deer, the grotto, making love with Malcolm.

  It was then she realized that she sat in his lap, cradled in his arms. She looked up and found herself face-to-face with the man, his face lined with worry.

  “You’re awake.” His voice was soft, as if he did not wish to startle her. “Are you well?”

  She took a long moment, searching inside her for the answer.

  “Well enough. I feel a bit like I’ve been . . .” She couldn’t decide how to describe the achy, almost bruised feeling that ran beneath her skin and deep in the middle of her body. “What happened?”

  “You were on the rock, then you fell in the water. ’Tis all I know.”

  “The rock?”

  He pointed toward the pool and she remembered walking into it, its icy water numbing her limbs, climbing up onto the stone—then nothing.

  “How long?”

  “How long have you been sleeping? Half the day but ’twill not be dark for a few hours yet.”

  “Peigi and the others must be worried for us.” She started to rise, but he held her in place, pulling her into a fierce embrace.

  “I thought I had lost you when I had only just found you.” His voice trembled with his emotions. “Another little while will not make much difference in how much the others worry. You need to eat, and I would make sure you are well enough to travel before we leave this cursed place.”

  “Cursed?” Something felt wrong about his assessment of the beautiful grotto. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to calm her racing heart but it only raced faster as she remembered what had toppled her into the water. This was a sacred place. Even more powerful than the wellspring near the castle. But what had happened to give her such certainty? She retraced her actions this day—the stag, finding the grotto, making love with Malcolm. Her entire body flushed at that memory.

  “What is it, Jeanette?” His warm hand smoothed over her cheek and cupped the back of her neck. “Open your eyes and look at me. Whatever bedevils you is not real. Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes to find lines of worry creasing his handsome face. She waited for the twinkle to return to his eyes, but it did not.

  “I remember lying in your arms,” she said.

  “And that causes you worry?”

  “Nay. I have no worries, nor regrets, Malcolm.” She kissed him, letting the strength of this man envelop her and support her. She took his face in her hands and looked him in the eye. “I love you. I know it has not been long since we met, but in this I am certain: I am yours and you are mine.”

  “I love you, too,” he said, kissing her again. “And I share your certainty.” He brushed her tangled hair back from her face. “Will you wed with me, Jeanette?”

  “Are we not already?”

  He grinned at her then, and she could not help but grin back at him.

  “It would seem so. We have declared ourselves, but I think your family would prefer to be present to witness our union. Do you not think so?”

  “I do.”

  “Then we shall wait until we can get your father’s blessing. Perhaps I can send word to my kin so they may be here to witness our marriage and share our joy, too.”

  “Aye, that is the proper way to wed, but I do not want to wait long. I think I shall like sleeping in your arms every night.”

  “Sleep might not be exactly what you get in my arms.”

  She snuggled into his embrace where she could feel the low rumble of his teasing laughter reverberate through her body, and gave thanks that such joy had come to her, reminding her that even in this time of such sorrow there was hope for a better future. The moment she thought of the word “future” she remembered what had happened upon the rock.

  “Jeanette? What is it? What ails you?”

  She scrunched her eyes closed to shut out the images that bombarded her once more, but it did not help, for they had nothing to do with her eyes. Her breaths came fast and hard, as if she were running for her life over rough ground. She tried to push the images away, to stop them, to bottle them up and send them back from whence they came.

  “Can you tell me?” Malcolm’s voice cut through the onslaught and she reached for it, for him, until she could feel the strength of him surrounding her, protecting her, loving her. His arms pressed her to him. His lips brushed her forehead.

  “Visions,” was all she could say around the lump that filled her throat and the trembling that overtook her body.

  “You are safe with me, Jeanette,” he said quietly. “Do not fight them and perhaps they will come more gently. I’ll not let anything happen to you.” He waited, gently massaging the base of her skull as if he knew that that’s where all her tension gripped. Gradually, lulled by his silent ministrations and the need to calm his worry over her, she pushed aside her apprehension and let herself remember.

  Visions stormed through her, though this time it was just the memory of them. She took another deep breath and burrowed into his arms. She needed to be grounded in the real as she relived what had occurred. He wrapped his arms around her, one more tightly than the other, and snuggled her against his chest, her head tucked under his chin.

  “Tell me, angel. Whatever it was, I’ll not let it hurt you again.”

  She actually chuckled, just a little, at his avowal.

  “I swear it.”

  “I know, Malcolm, but I do not think this is something you can protect me from.”

  He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “I will do everything I can to keep you from harm. Do you doubt me?”

  “Nay.” Now she reached up and laid her palm against his scratchy cheek, then kissed him lightly and whispered against his lips, “I do not doubt you.”

  “Then tell me why you do not think I can protect you from whatever happened.”

  “Because it was all visions—nothing physical—though I feel as if I’ve been in a battle.” She remembered his injury earned in real battle, and amended her words. “A fight. Malcolm, as soon as I finished the prayer of protection—”

  “With your hands in the air?”

  “Aye. As soon as I finished, ’twas as if a dam broke within me. Visions flowed through me so swiftly, I could not focus on any one of them.”

  “They hurt you?”

  “Not exactly. ’Tis more like they rubbed the inside of my skin raw from passing through so quickly.”

  He ran a hand down her arm as if he searched for injuries, but he did not look away. “Has this happened before?”

  “Like this? Nay. But you said yourself you think I am a seer, and we were led here by the stag for a reason. I think the reason was to release my gift. On the stone, out in the water, there is a symbol I have seen on the Targe stone, and another I have seen painted on the inside of the sack it is carried in. Mum always called it the mirror—a symbol for visions, for seers.”

  He stilled. “What did you see?”

  She shook her head. “I do not ken exactly. The visions all went through me so fast, as if they had been trying to get out for a long time. I cannot separate one from the other enough to understand what I was being shown.”

  “ ’Twas the future?”

  She shook her head again. “I cannot say that, either, though I think it likely.”

  She could see the calculation happening within him as he weighed what she had said.

  “ ’Twould be a powerful weapon against the English if you could see into the future, if we could ken, ahead of time, where they would be, or how many of them gathered to attack Dunlairig—or King Robert.”

  Jeanette swallowed hard. “I will have to learn how to use it before it will be of any use to anyone.”

  “Aye.”

  She pulled herself out of the comfort of his lap and faced
the pool, only then realizing that all she had was her arisaid to wrap about her nakedness.

  “What are you doing?” Malcolm asked, standing beside her. “You are not going back into that pool, not this day.”

  “But what if this is the only place the visions will come to me?”

  “Then we will return here tomorrow, or the next day.” He pushed a bannock into her hand. “Eat, angel, then we must head back to the caves before it gets too dark to do so safely.”

  She could feel Malcolm watching her as she nibbled on the bannock and considered everything that had happened in this grotto and what could be learned from it. She had given herself to Malcolm, and of all that had passed this day, that was the one thing she understood completely. Yet part of it was not so clear, for it was as if they needed to become lovers, as if she needed his strength, before she could even see the stone in the pool, before she could open up her heart enough for her gift to flow through her as she perched upon the stone. And if the symbols on the stone in the pool were also on the Targe stone and its sack, and she had been led here to discover this, to discover her gift of second sight . . .

  Her gift. Impossible. Never in all the studying she had done with the Guardians’ records had there been mention of more than one Guardian at a time. Never. The power shifted from one Guardian to the next. It was never shared. Did that mean Rowan was no longer Guardian? That Nicholas would no longer be the Protector and chief? Would her gift work better with the Targe stone, as Rowan’s did? And was that rush of visions that almost burned up through her feet and out through her body really the power of the Targe claiming her as a Guardian, or simply the next stage of the second sight coming upon her?