by Laurin Wittig - Guardians Of The Targe 02 - Highlander Avenged
“You sent for her?”
“Aye, I did not wish for you to make the trek after yesterday. Besides, she’ll want to see the grotto where you came into your gift.”
She considered all he said and could do naught but agree.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, tipping her chin up so she was looking at him.
She had to think about it. “Nay, not really,” she said at last. “I want to look at the chronicles again, to see if there is any mention of multiple, simultaneous Guardians, or at the very least to see if there is more I can learn from those who held the gift of second sight.”
“ ’Tis a good place to start. Perhaps you shall find something about how to call the visions to you so you do not have to wait for dreams.”
“Aye, or roebuck in the forest.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “By Peigi’s estimation, the lad should have made the other camp before sunup. Rowan and the others could be here as early as midday, if they left immediately.”
“And aren’t slowed down—or harmed—by the English I saw.”
“Did you see Rowan hurt?”
She shook her head. “Nay. In fact, the English ran away from her. They called her witch.”
“What did she do to them?”
“Dropped trees all around them with naught but her wishes and the Targe stone.”
“Remind me not to get on Rowan’s bad side.”
“Aye, ’twould be good for all of us to remember that.”
“You do not truly fear your cousin, do you?”
“Nay. She has ever had a level head.”
“Good. Now, get you to your scrolls. I will fetch you at least a bannock or two to break your fast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you’ll eat. You’ll need your strength if yesterday is anything to go by, angel.”
She smiled at him, warmed all the way through by his easy endearment and his care of her. She would not dwell on how they must part if she really were a Guardian, not until she had to.
MALCOLM BROUGHT THE bannocks and a cup of cool water to her at the back of the cave, but then left her to the chronicles on her own. He returned what seemed like hours later with a bowl of porridge and another cup of water.
“Have you learned anything?” he asked as he put the bowl and cup down next to her.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen the ever-tightening muscles there and in her back. With each scroll she despaired a little more of discovering anything useful. She rubbed the heel of her hand against a sore spot on her chest, just over her heart. She could not decide if ’twas good that there was nothing here to prove she was a second Guardian, or if ’twas a terrible gap in the chronicles.
“You need to eat, then perhaps get out of this dank cave for a bit,” Malcolm said. “It might help you to see things more clearly.”
“Do you make a jest, my Malcolm?”
At her endearment his eyes went soft and his breath grew shallow. He reached out and ran a finger softly from her forehead, down the side of her face, to the point of her chin, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. “I did not make it on purpose, but if it made you claim me for yours again, I will endeavor to do so on purpose in the future.”
She pulled his hand to her and placed a kiss in the middle of his palm.
He knelt beside her and pulled her palm to his lips. “I can think of no one but you, Jeanette,” he said against her sensitive skin.
She regretted that she could not say the same, at least not in the same way. For her it was not the pleasure they could find together, or even the strength of their feelings for each other that she dwelt upon, but rather the pain she was sure to deal him if her suspicions, that she was a second Guardian, were true. She could not ask this man to give up his destiny for her.
Unless . . . If she could look into the future on purpose, divine his future, perhaps she could discover if she was in it . . . or not. Did she really want to know? Aye, if it meant she could lighten the blow she feared was inevitable, she did, most fervently, want to know.
She kissed him, relishing the feel of his lips on hers, the heat of his fingers threaded into her hair at the nape of her neck, the need and desire that burned between them. How could she ever give him up now that she had found him?
The despair that threatened her made her lay her fingers over his lips before she lost herself completely in his arms again. She knew she must try to discover what their future held for them, good or bad.
AFTER JEANETTE FINISHED her porridge, Malcolm led her out of the cave. He knew Peigi watched as he all but carried Jeanette across the narrow clearing in front of the cave and into the wood. He had no idea where he was taking her, but he knew this sudden onset of second sight troubled her and he would do whatever he could to lessen her worries. Learning how to use it was the only thing he could think of at the moment. It was a place to start.
“Where are we going?” Jeanette trailed behind him, tugged along by their clasped hands.
“I do not ken,” he said without stopping. “Not far from the caves, for Rowan should arrive soon. Either the roebuck will show us or we’ll figure it out ourselves.”
“Malcolm?” She tugged on his hand but he did not slow his trek through the trees. “Malcolm, stop.”
At her calm but determined words he did, turning to face her but not releasing her hand.
“There is a burn that runs just over this way,” she said, pointing to her left. “The chronicles mention that water is one of the things a seer can use to call visions. If the grotto, or the stone in the pool, were what triggered my visions yesterday, a simple burn might not work, but it is at least worth a try.”
“ ’Tis a good thought. Lead the way.”
Before too long they could hear the burn and shortly after they found the fast-running water where it rushed headlong over rocks and tree roots for the bottom of the glen.
“Now what?” Malcolm asked.
Jeanette went still and her eyes lost focus and Malcolm knew now that she was searching her memories and all the things she’d read or heard that might pertain to her current need.
“Seers use still water to scry in, or mirrors, or crystals, or sometimes nothing at all.” Her words were dreamy, as if she wasn’t completely aware she said them, but then her eyes focused on him again. “I should have brought a bowl with me to collect the water.”
“You have a cup in your arisaid, do you not?” he asked, remembering how she had used it that first day to pour water over his wound. It was healed now, he suddenly realized, and so quickly after months of pain and festering. At least it was healed on the outside, bless the saints. His hand still refused to grip well enough to hold his claymore, but even that was getting better day by day.
“Aye.” She pulled the cup from the fold in her arisaid where she always carried it. She dipped it so full of the crystal-clear mountain water, it almost overflowed. She set it on a flat rock near the burn, then scooped more water into her cupped hands and let it trickle into the cup until the water bulged at the rim, but did not spill over.
“What can I do?” Malcolm asked.
“Come, sit beside me. I know not what will happen, if anything.” Her hands were trembling despite her best efforts to still them.
Malcolm took them into his own and caught her gaze. “I’ll not let anything bad happen to you, Jeanette, I promise. I will protect you, keep you safe, no matter what. I vow it.”
His words echoed the oath of a Guardian’s Protector so closely, they stole her breath. It was the second time they had made oaths that should bind them together, yet they could not. Not until she knew for sure if she was a Guardian or not, for she would not hold him to oaths given without understanding exactly what they would mean for him.
“I know you will,” she said when she could breathe again. “For now, just
watch over me.”
He nodded and she took a deep, steadying breath, as her mother had taught her to do. She made the prayer of protection, gliding her hands through the air in tandem with the words she spoke but did not understand, even though she did not have the Targe stone, nor did she call upon its power. Still, she called upon some power, so protections seemed wise. Malcolm would watch over her, but the protections were for more than just the human sort of trouble. Calling upon any power could awaken other magics . . .
She closed her eyes and went back to that awful day when her mother had been killed. Rowan had called upon the power of the Targe to bring the rain and to hold up the burning hall so Nicholas, Scotia, and wee Ian could escape. She had not known the prayer of protection, and wouldn’t have taken the time to say it anyway. Had Rowan brought other magics into the world? Is that why Jeanette’s gift had awakened at last? And if it had happened for Jeanette, would it do so for Scotia, or others? And what did that mean Jeanette’s gift was? Was it from the Targe or just a rogue magic that had been unleashed by Rowan?
Jeanette rubbed the heel of her hand against her chest and slowly opened her eyes to ground herself in the present. The past was done and could not be changed. She had enough to worry about now without letting anger muddy her mind. Once more, she called upon her training to calm herself, pulling fresh air deep into her lungs, over and over again, until the steady rhythm of the air moving in and out calmed her body and her mind. Working on instinct, for she had found precious little in the chronicles about how to call a vision on purpose, she lowered her gaze to the cup of water, noticing how it mirrored the trees and specks of blue sky above her. She let her gaze move deeper, past the reflection. At first she saw only the darkness of the wooden cup, but slowly what she saw began to swirl, as if a whirlpool were gathering, moving faster and faster, sucking her down into its depths. Jeanette resisted the sensation. Her stomach roiled and her head pounded, but when she realized she could not pull herself free, she quit fighting it and let herself be swept up into the current.
Images pressed against her, almost as rapidly as had happened in the grotto yesterday, but this time Jeanette let them fly by until Scotia’s scowling face came into view. Jeanette reached for that one—perhaps with her hand, or perhaps only in her mind, she didn’t know—and pulled it from the flow so she could examine it.
Anger, outrage, and fear assailed Jeanette as she tried to understand what the vision held. In it, Scotia sat at the base of an ancient standing stone, tied there, her emotions rolling over Jeanette again and again until she had no choice but to wrench herself from the vision, flinging it away like a leaf into the storm of visions that still rushed past her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MALCOLM COULD SEE nothing change in Jeanette except for the pace of her breath, but then she cried out and he grabbed her fist. “Jeanette? Jeanette, can you hear me? Come back, angel. ’Tis only a vision you see. There is no harm for you here, Jeanette.” The last he said more firmly. If she did not awaken from her visions, he would knock over the cup of water but he did not know what that would do to her, so he pried open her fist and wove her fingers with his, clasping her hand and repeating her name once, twice, thrice, and at last her lashes fluttered and her fingers bit into his hand.
“She is in trouble.” Her voice shook.
“Who?”
“Scotia. I saw her. I felt her emotions. She is angry . . . and frightened.”
“Was Duncan with her?” The man had watched over her for so long, he was like Scotia’s shadow, seldom far from her side, and always pulling her out of trouble.
“I do not ken. I could not see anything but her.”
“You could not tell who had taken her or where she was?”
She got that faraway look in her eyes, then excitement lit up within her, quickly chased away by worry and a furrowed brow. “She’s at a clearing down Glen Lairig from the castle. There is a standing stone in the middle of it.”
“Hellfire.”
“Aye, and damnation. We must get back to the caves. We must send someone to rescue her quickly. Her tongue is sharpest when she’s afraid and that is not a good thing when you are held by an enemy.”
“The English scouts?”
She hesitated, her eyes going soft again. “I cannot tell, but I think so.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “But I do not ken why I think so.”
“Are you sure this has already happened?”
Her hands fell back to her lap as she shook her head and narrowed her eyes. “Nay. Curse it all. What good are visions if I cannot tell if they are in the past, the present, or the future?”
Malcolm gazed up at the sky, a crystal-blue sky just visible here and there through the trees. “It is getting on to midday. Perhaps Rowan will know where Scotia is. Perhaps she’ll even travel here with Rowan, so you can warn her.” Malcolm looked down at the still overfilled cup, then back at Jeanette. “It would seem you can call upon the second sight when you wish.” Pride in her accomplishment filled him. “Is there something we need to do with the cup?”
“I do not ken . . . I hate that.”
“Hate what? The cup?”
“Nay, not understanding what it is I need to do. Not understanding this gift that I suddenly have. I do not like feeling stupid.”
Malcolm rose and used their still clasped hands to pull her up, too. “You are not stupid. Do not ever say that. Look what you just did with little guidance. Perhaps you are blazing a trail the Guardians have not trod before because you can figure it out without guidance.”
In her way, she considered his words carefully. “Perhaps, but I still do not like it.” He laughed and she smiled up at him. “We must get back. I do not know how far into the future I have seen, if indeed it is the future, and I would keep Scotia from being captured by those southern vermin.” She picked up the cup and carefully walked back to the burn, where she returned it to the flow with a few muttered words that he could not make out.
“Do you think it works that way?” he asked as he followed her back toward the caves. “Do you believe you are shown a possible future that can be changed?”
“ ’Tis another thing I do not ken, but I cannot sit idly by and wait for Scotia to be captured. If I can see something of the future, is it not so that I may act on that information?”
“ ’Tis an excellent question, but now I am the one who does not ken the answer.”
“At least I have company in my confusion.” She paused long enough for him to draw even with her, then she hooked her arm around him and they continued side by side.
“Always, angel. Always.”
THEY MADE THEIR way quickly back to the caves. The first thing Jeanette saw was Rowan’s coppery hair, with Nicholas next to her. Duncan stood nearby, speaking with Peigi. While Duncan had not been proclaimed Nicholas’s champion yet, he acted in that capacity, just as Uilliam had been Kenneth’s champion, which was probably why he had come with them.
“You are safe!” Jeanette rushed to Rowan and hugged her hard, only then realizing that despite what she had told Malcolm, she was very worried for her cousin. “Is Scotia with you?”
“We are safe,” Nicholas said from his wife’s side. “And Scotia is not with us. She refused to return to the caves.”
“ ’Tis a good thing, too.” Rowan’s hands trembled as she grasped Jeanette’s hands. “We were nearly caught by English soldiers not an hour past. I stopped them, Jeanette.” There was a quiver in her voice, but a look of wonder lit up her face. “I used the Targe and I—”
“Dropped trees around them,” Jeanette said, knowing now that she had dreamt of the future, for her dream had come to her before the event had taken place.
“How did you ken that?” Rowan asked.
“Aye, how did you?” Nicholas echoed.
Jeanette looked at Malcolm and his nod warmed her
. “I had a dream early this morn. I saw Rowan, with the Targe stone raised, facing twelve English soldiers who stood in a small clearing, swords drawn. I saw you toppling trees around them until they fled,” she said, still holding her cousin’s hands tightly in her own.
“You saw?” Nicholas asked, his eyes wide. “Like a vision?”
Jeanette nodded as she looked about to see who might be close enough to hear, and found Duncan staring at her. Peigi pushed him toward the two couples, then shooed the weans away and set them to chores that would keep them busy for some time to come. Bless her.
“You dreamt it . . . saw it . . . exactly as it happened,” Rowan said, her eyes as wide as her husband’s. “A dream? Like when you were little?”
Duncan shifted on his feet but said nothing, though his attention was rapt.
“Aye, like when I was little, but just now I tried to call the visions while awake.”
“And?” Rowan prodded as she leaned a little closer to Jeanette.
“And I did.” There was a collective intake of breath with that answer. She looked at Nicholas and Duncan. “Scotia is in trouble, or will be soon. I do not ken how far into the future I am seeing, or if ’tis even the future.”
“That one has been out of trouble for too long,” Duncan muttered. “ ’Twas inevitable.”
“Are you sure you are seeing something real, Jeanette?” Nicholas asked. “Something that will indeed happen?”
“Aye. I have reason to believe I am seeing things that will happen, or that might already have happened. This time the English take her.”
“You saw this?” Duncan asked before anyone else could react to her revelation. He did not wait for her to answer. “I must get back to the warriors’ camp. I shall drag her back if I have to. She will stay here until we can rid ourselves of the English once and for all.”
Nicholas grabbed Duncan’s arm and held him in place.