Highlander Avenged

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

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “WHY, ANGEL? ’TIS what you have prepared for your whole life,” Malcolm said. Jeanette could not make herself look up at him lest she cry. She was about to break his heart and it was breaking hers first.

  “Is it because of Malcolm?” Rowan asked.

  “I need to speak to him alone,” Jeanette said. “He does not ken what this means, Rowan.”

  “What is it I do not ken?” he asked, his voice rough now. “What have you not told me, Jeanette?”

  “We will return to the caves,” Rowan said, pulling Nicholas by the hand, back the way they’d come. “Do not be too long, my cousin. We must decide how best to use two Guardians.”

  Jeanette nodded, waiting as long as she could before she had to tell Malcolm the truth of her new status, but he was impatient.

  “What is it you have to tell me?” His voice was gruff but she could not tell if it was from anger or concern.

  She turned to face him. “I love you, you ken that, aye?”

  “I do, and you ken I feel the same?”

  She nodded, swallowing hard against the lump that rose in her throat. “I cannot marry you, Malcolm.”

  “Because you are now a Guardian?”

  “Aye.”

  “But Rowan is a Guardian and she is wed to Nicholas. We are no different. You said you were mine, and I was yours.” He took her hands in his iron grip as if he knew he was losing her. “In the old way, we are married already.”

  “But you did not know, we did not know, that I would be a Guardian of the Targe. I am no longer simply a member of the clan, free to make my own choices.”

  “There is another you must wed now?”

  “Nay, never. There will never be anyone but you in my heart. You are my heart, but I will not hold you to vows given without understanding what you would have to give up.”

  “I give up nothing to marry with you, Jeanette, my angel. I only gain.”

  “Nay. To marry me now, you would have to give up everything you want for your life. You would have to give up your birthright, your destiny.”

  “But you are my destiny. Can you not feel that?” She could hear the confusion and the knife edge of anger in his voice now and see it in the tense lines around his mouth. “You dinna want to be my wife now that you are a Guardian? Is that it?”

  “Oh, Malcolm.” She reached up to touch his beloved face but he flinched away from her, anger now clear in the sharpness of his glare. “I want nothing more than to be your wife, to live by your side for the rest of our years. I want to have your bairns, and watch them grow up strong and wise, like their father. That is what I want above all else. But I will not have my wishes at the expense of yours.”

  “I do not understand, Jeanette. What are you not saying?”

  She stood as tall as she could, girding herself against the pain she was inflicting on both of them. ’Twas best to just say it straight out, ’twas kindest, though she longed for one more kiss, one more precious moment between them. But that was a selfish desire. She would have to satisfy her aching heart with what they had already shared. What she must say to him now would end everything between them. It must.

  “As a Guardian, whomever I marry must forsake his own clan, his own home, and bide with me at Dunlairig. He must swear allegiance to the MacAlpins and forswear all other allegiances. As Guardian I cannot leave this land, for now I am truly a guardian of it, holding it safe for all the generations that have come before me, and all who will come after. I cannot even offer you the traditional role of the Guardian’s Protector, for the Protector is also the chief, and I will not ask Nicholas to step down from that post. The Targe chose Rowan first for a reason, most likely because her gift is a powerful weapon. Her chosen Protector is chief.”

  She waited for him to say something but when the silence grew too heavy to bear, she said, “You see I have nothing to offer you that mitigates the loss of your birthright. You were born to be the chief of the MacKenzies. You cannot be the chief of the MacAlpins. If you marry me, you must renounce your family. You will simply be a warrior of the MacAlpin clan and I will not let you do that.”

  “You will not let me? What if I wish to give up my birthright?”

  A flicker of hope sparked in her heart, but was quickly extinguished. “You would come to hate me, I fear. Malcolm”—and this time she did not let him flinch away as she took his beloved face between her palms—“I love you with all my heart, but I cannot let you throw away your own destiny simply because mine has changed. If I were not a Guardian, I would be free to wed you and live amongst your people. I would be free to be your Lady at Blackmuir Castle and I would gladly make that choice, though I would miss my family. I do not have that choice.”

  “And you would make my choice for me?”

  She reached up on her toes and kissed him lightly. “I do not wish to hurt you more than I already have. Your arm is healed. Your hand is getting stronger every day. Soon you will be ready to resume your place in King Robert’s army, and then you will become the chief of your clan. It is what you have wanted all along.”

  “But now I want you, too.” He took her lips in a bruising kiss that spoke of the love and loss that battled in both of them. “I want you, too,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.

  “But you can’t have both. Neither of us can. Not now. I am sorry.” She kissed him on the cheek, and felt a tear trickle down her own. “I do love you,” she said, turning away quickly before the single tear turned into a torrent.

  MALCOLM WATCHED HIS future walk away from him, too stunned to follow. He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. The pain of his battle wound had been easier to bear than this. Why had she not told him sooner? He had known Nicholas had changed sides to wed Rowan, but he had not understood that the man had no choice. That Rowan had no choice. And now Jeanette would take all choice away from him. He fisted his hands, the right one now almost closing completely, and, for the first time, found himself wishing Jeanette was not such a gifted healer, that his arm would never fully heal. If he could never wield a claymore again, he would not be worthy of taking his father’s place as the chief, and he could stay here, with her. He could be her husband, her protector, even if he was not the chief.

  But his arm was healed. His hand did grow stronger every day.

  There must be a way. Malcolm had never given up a battle, and he would not give up this one, either. Jeanette would be his. ’Twas only a matter of figuring out how.

  Figuring out how . . .

  His hand was not fully functioning yet, so he had time before he must decide his fate. Perhaps there was some compromise that could be found, some way to allow them to be together without giving up their duties to their clans.

  Malcolm had to laugh at himself with that thought. Compromise. ’Twas what his father had been trying to teach him all along, and all it had taken to teach him the value of it was for him to fall in love. He hurried back to the caves. Jeanette might believe there was no way they could be together now, but he’d not give her up without a fight.

  JEANETTE QUICKLY PACKED her few things in a leather travel sack as the events of the day preoccupied her: the joy of that moment when the power of the Targe surged through her, the visions coming fast but somehow under her control this time, and the despair that swept all the joy away when Rowan confirmed what Jeanette already knew—she was a Guardian of the Highland Targe and her future was no longer hers to decide. Did any of the visions contain happiness or was her gift only the bringer of pain?

  She swiped an errant tear from her lashes. She had no time to wallow in self-pity. She had become what she had always wanted, though not in the conventional way. As a Guardian of the Highland Targe, she would be able to help her clan in far more important ways than seeing them settled in the caves. She should be elated, as she had always imagined she would be. But never had sh
e seen Malcolm in her daydreams.

  And she knew she would not see him much more. As soon as he could wield his claymore again, he would be gone. If she could go back to the stream and change what had transpired there . . . if he had not reminded her of the water’s role in her visions . . . would she?

  She knew the answer. She would not. This was her birthright and she could not give it up, any more than she could ask him to give up his.

  “Enough,” she said out loud, needing to hear it. She stuffed the last kirtle into the sack, then looked around to see what else she needed to take with her to the warriors’ camp. She was a Guardian now. She must participate in the plans to fight back the English, and if what she saw in her vision came true, if Scotia was held hostage by their enemies, what then? She prayed Duncan had returned to the camp fast enough to prevent that, but even so, Scotia was headstrong and often did not listen, especially not to Duncan. “Enough,” she said again. There were only so many things she could worry about and at this moment, packing to leave the caves needed her full attention. She headed toward the mouth of the cave, grabbing an empty waterskin as she passed a small pile of them.

  Water. It seemed she needed water to call the visions to her. She grabbed three more waterskins and called for a lad as she stepped into the dappled sunlight outside the cave. Quickly she told him what she needed, and sent him off at a run.

  Rowan looked at her oddly.

  Jeanette shrugged. “If I need water for the visions, ’twill do me no good to be without a ready supply.”

  “Do you think ’tis that water specifically?”

  “I do not think so. It did not look like the water in the grotto spilled out of there. ’Tis possible there is something about the water in this glen, but it does not seem likely to me. Water, mirrors, some crystal stones—those are the tools used for scrying.”

  “You have learned this from the chronicles?”

  “Aye, but little else of use. There is no mention of there ever having been more than one Guardian at a time. Nor any mention of more than one Protector, either.”

  “Malcolm did not like what you told him.”

  “He did not. Is it that obvious?”

  “He is like a bear with a thorn in his paw, growling at everyone about everything.”

  Jeanette closed her eyes, pushing the grief she held over hurting him, and over her own loss, as far down as possible into the blackness where all her other grief lived, but still it clogged her throat and lay like a stone in her belly. The lad sprinted back into the clearing just then, skidding to a halt in front of Jeanette and handing her the four heavy, wet bags without a word.

  “We should go,” she said to Rowan.

  The hike to the warriors’ camp went swiftly and silently. Nicholas had instructed the six warriors who had been keeping watch at the pass into the Glen of Caves to surround them as they traveled, but to keep out of sight of the group, making it easier to surprise any English soldiers they might run across. Then he set a fast pace that Rowan and Jeanette had trouble keeping up with. Malcolm walked just behind them, his claymore drawn for the first time since Jeanette had known him. The men were all positioned to protect Rowan, but then Jeanette remembered that now she, too, was a Guardian. It was both women they protected.

  After a couple of hours they reached the camp, which was little more than a large cooking fire, out now in order to limit the opportunity for them to be found by its scent or smoke. There were scattered piles of belongings here and there amongst the trees, and a few tents. But no people. Jeanette knew there had been scouts watching their approach, for she had heard the owl call they all used as a signal as they drew near the camp.

  “Where is everyone?” Jeanette asked.

  Nicholas let out a shrill call like that of a hawk and Denis, the old gatekeeper, stepped from behind the trunk of a huge pine tree.

  “What’s happened?” Nicholas asked as the rest of his party came to a stop behind him. Their six warrior escorts fanned out to keep watch around them all.

  Denis limped forward. “Duncan arrived with the warning for Scotia but she was not here. We do not ken if she left on her own, or was somehow taken from our midst without any of us knowing.”

  Jeanette’s breath caught in her throat.

  “Duncan found her tracks, and only hers, leaving her tent and heading into the wood that way.” Denis pointed in the direction of the castle. “Uilliam went with Duncan to track her and took about half the men who were here with him.”

  Jeanette did a quick figuring and decided that was probably seven or eight men.

  “He told me to stay here and await your return. He sent the women deeper into the wood with a couple of the older lads, and set the rest to watching for you in case this was some sort of ploy by the English to set up a trap here and capture Rowan upon her return.”

  “So far that does not appear to be the situation,” Nicholas said. “Though we definitely need to see to the safety of the Guardians.”

  Denis looked from Nicholas to Rowan and back, his eyes full of questions that he did not ask. Nicholas pointed at one of the warrior escorts. “Go and join the watchers in the wood. Tell them to spread out around this camp so they may warn us upon anyone’s approach, friend or foe. The rest of you”—he indicated the five warriors left standing with them—“spread out and keep watch just beyond the camp, in case someone slips by the watchers.”

  “Should we not abandon this camp, Nicholas?” Jeanette asked.

  “Aye, we will.”

  “But . . .” Rowan’s brows were drawn down, and she held the ermine sack in her hand, stroking the soft fur with her thumb. “What if . . .” Nicholas, Jeanette, and Malcolm waited for her to finish but she didn’t.

  Jeanette wondered if this was what she looked like when she was lost in thought. Her curiosity got the better of her. “What if what, Rowan?” she said, more sharply than she’d intended, earning her a scowl from Nicholas.

  Rowan looked up at her. “What if we could set a barrier around this camp? Like Auntie Elspet did when the curtain wall fell?”

  “Can you do that?” Jeanette asked. “ ’Tis a variation of the blessing I was teaching you.”

  “You were trying to teach me. I have not mastered that yet.” She rolled her eyes. “I have not even practiced it. But you ken it already and now you are a Guardian.”

  Jeanette was startled by the idea, and a little ashamed that she had not thought of this herself. Her ideas about the Guardian and what she could or couldn’t, should or shouldn’t do, were so strong, she had not considered that she might now take up some of the things her mother did for the clan that Rowan and her unusual gift could not, at least not yet.

  “Perhaps this is why I’ve been made a Guardian,” Jeanette said, now lost in her own thoughts as she considered whether she could do it or not. “Someone must know the prayers and rituals, or perhaps it is only something the line of MacAlpin can do?”

  Rowan nodded. “Perhaps that is why the ways of the Guardian, the traditional ways of the Guardian, are so hard for me. We have always made a good partnership, Cousin. Now we shall see if that remains true for us as Guardians. What do you need to create the barrier?’

  Jeanette let her travel sack slide off her shoulder. Malcolm grabbed it before it hit the ground and laid it at the base of a nearby tree, leaving his own there, as well as the four water skins he had insisted on carrying himself.

  “I shall need the Targe stone. I do not ken if I will need any of the water, but it could not hurt.”

  Before she could even ask, Malcolm was filling the wooden cup she pulled from its carrying place in her arisaid. “My thanks,” she said. He nodded, his face now a scowl that was so at odds with her grinning golden warrior, he seemed a stranger to her. Sadness wrapped around her. She already missed him and he wasn’t even gone yet. What would she do when he did leave? Would she be
required to choose another as her champion?

  “Jeanette?” She was grateful that Rowan drew her attention back to the task at hand. Jeanette took the ermine sack from her cousin, loosened the thong that cinched it closed, and set the wide-open bag on the ground with the stone centered on the sack. Although she couldn’t explain why, she felt compelled to turn the sack until the mirror symbol was closest to her. She noted that once more Rowan stood where the inverted V symbol lined up, leaving that third symbol, the broken arrow, without anyone near it. Once more the question of exactly what the symbol meant drifted through her thoughts, but she set that aside to be pondered later.

  “I was not able to draw the Targe’s power on my own this morning,” Jeanette said, now setting the cup of water between her and the sack, though she knew not how she would perform the blessing properly if she needed to touch the water at the same time. “But I’d like to try now. If I shake my head, I want you to draw it and focus it through me as you did at the burn.” She turned to tell Malcolm to stand near to catch her if necessary, but he was already there.

  “I am ready,” he said.

  “As am I,” Rowan said.

  Jeanette performed the basic blessing first, letting herself sink into the ritual of unknown words and graceful hand motions, but she felt nothing unusual, nothing powerful as she had when Rowan had focused the Targe through her this morning. She knelt and gazed into the water as she repeated the blessing. Again, nothing happened. She placed the fingers of her left hand so they just touched the rim of the cup. Nothing. She stood, shook her head, and prepared to start the blessing yet again.

  As Rowan lifted the stone in her hands, holding it between them, a surge of pure joy and light rushed into Jeanette, through her, swirling up and over her, around her. She began the blessing and euphoria swept her up. When she moved on to the barrier ritual her mother had used to protect the castle, it was as if she could see the power as she released the words from her mouth, one by one, moving them through the air with the motions of her hands, until she could see the words she did not understand and the power of the Targe weaving together like an ethereal basket of light turned upside down, arching over the entire camp.