by Donna Grant
The Druid’s Glen 3:
HIGHLAND DAWN
By
Donna Grant
© copyright September 2006, Donna Grant
Cover art by Jenny Dixon
© copyright September 2006
ISBN 1-58608-955-2
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
For my husband, son and daughter who are my world. Thank you for allowing me to shut myself in my office and let my worlds come to life. I would never have made it this far without your love and support.
For my friends Robyn, Robin, Mary and Georgia, thank you for being there through thick
and thin.
To the fans – Thank You! You make it all worthwhile.
May God bless and keep you all.
XO
In a time of conquering
There will be three
Who will end the MacNeil line.
Three born of the
Imbolc, Beltaine, and Lughnasad Feasts
Who will destroy all at the
Samhain, the Feast of the Dead.
One who refuses the Druid way
Inherits the winter. In doing
So marks the beginning of the end.
For the worthy to prevail, the fire
Must stand alone to vanquish the inheritor,
Water must soothe the savage beast, and
The wind must bow before the tree.
Prologue
Sinclair Castle, Highlands of Scotland February 3, 1607
Time was running out.
Moira ran as fast as her little legs would carry her as she brushed aside her tears. Her sister’s cries still rung in her ears as she found the hidden door and slipped inside the castle to run the length of the long, dark tunnel alone.
She had to find her parents and her new baby sister. It was her duty as the eldest to make sure both of her sisters were safe and sound. Her da had drilled that into her for as long as she could remember.
Never mind the fact she disobeyed him now. She had made it with Fiona into the forest as the castle was attacked. His orders had been to stay there once she had reached the haven of the trees, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the new babe. Her new sister, only a few hours old.
The babe was an innocent and Moira wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t get the babe to the forest with Fiona.
Moira reached the door that would open into the hallway by her chamber. With shaking hands she eased it opened and listened. Cheers rose up from below in the bailey.
The castle had been taken, and even though she was only a child, her young mind grasped that her life at Sinclair Castle would forever be changed.
After looking down the darkened hallway, she slid out of the tunnel and quietly shut the door behind her. She pinned herself against the wall and slowly made her way to her parent’s chamber.
She finally reached the chamber, but couldn’t make her legs obey her. She didn’t need to look inside to know her parents were dead. She knew it as surely as she knew that her life would most likely end this night.
Just as she was about to turn away, she heard Fiona’s screams in her mind. For her sisters she would face the horror inside the chamber. For her sisters she would do anything so long as they got to stay together.
With her resolve in place, Moira took a deep breath and stepped into the chamber.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she saw her parents lying motionless on the floor. She looked down and found herself standing in blood. Her parent’s blood.
Run, her mind screamed, but she couldn’t. She had to find her sister.
She blinked away her tears and searched for the babe. Her mother had kept the babe with her since the birth, so Moira knew she would be here.
Yet she wasn’t.
It didn’t matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find the infant. She went to the wooden cradle that her da had built and kneeled beside it. The blanket her mother had knitted was still inside, but it was no longer wrapped so lovingly around her sister.
Tears Moira had refused to shed blinded her as she stared into the empty cradle. Not only had she lost her parents and her baby sister, but she also knew she had lost Fiona. She closed her small hand around the only thing she had left of her family, the silver cross that hung beneath her gown.
When she heard footfalls she didn’t bother to look up. Death would be welcome. She had failed her da and failed in her promise to protect her sisters with her own life. Yet, it wasn’t a blade but strong arms that lifted her into a safe embrace.
“Shhh, little one,” the deep voice whispered in her ear. “You are safe now.”
She tried to look at her savior through her tears but could only see eyes such a bright blue they glowed in the darkness. His voice soothed her. With a nod, she leaned her head against his shoulder, the soft and unfamiliar texture of his vest rested against her cheek.
“Where are you taking me?” she finally asked as he hurried down the hallway.
“To your destiny.”
When they emerged from the secret door that a short while ago she had led Fiona through, she found another man waiting for them. She recognized him instantly. He was Frang, a Druid High Priest that had visited her parents often.
“I’ve come to take you home,” Frang said.
“My home is here.”
His blue eyes were sad as he looked up at the castle. “Not anymore, lass.”
“I have to find Fiona,” she said and tried to wiggle out of her savior’s arms.
“Nay, little one,” his deep, calming voice said near her ear.
Frang touched her arm. “Stay, Moira. ‘Twill do you no good to go looking for Fiona. She is safe with Cormag MacDougal.”
“Gone?” she whispered, though she knew it to be true. “She cannot be gone. I promised her I would come back.”
“’Tisn’t safe,” Frang said, but he was speaking to her savior. “We must get her to the Druid’s Glen immediately.”
“I’ve lost everyone,” she said and let the tears fall again.
She didn’t struggle when her savior held her a little tighter, as if giving her his strength. She welcomed his warmth and power for she had neither at the moment and wondered if she ever would.
Chapter One
Western Highlands August 1625
“Now that’s a man I'd lay claim to.”
Moira jerked her head up from examining an apple, but the old crone who she thought had spoken began to mumble to herself as she set out more fruit from beneath tables. Moira looked around the open marketplace to find herself alone.
Except for the crone.
She looked at the old woman once more, but the crone went about stacking fruit and waving to people as they passed in front of her wobbly shop. Moira shook her head and went back to her examination of the fruit.
After many weeks of travel she and Dartayous had finally arrived at the small fishing town that belonged to the MacLeod’s. They were on the last stage of their journey, or at least she hoped that was the case.
“Aye. A man like him could warm even these old bones.”
This time when Moira raised her eyes the woman stared at her. Gone was the appearance of a doddering old woman, and in her place stood one with wise brown eyes. She followed the crone’s gaze to Dartayous.
Moira had been ignoring her traveling companion for weeks, but witnessing him smiling and talking to a village girl did little to ease her. His rugged, almost harsh face was transformed with that s
mile. His wide, thin lips were actually tilted up in a wide grin, showing white, even teeth.
“Is he yours?”
She turned back to the crone. “Nay.”
“I would say he was,” the crone said and reached out gnarled fingers to touch Moira’s hand. “I spotted the two of ye as ye entered the village. He watches ye like ye belong to him.”
“You are mistaken.” Yet her eyes sought out Dartayous again. His shoulder length wavy brown hair blew gently in the sea wind. “He is my guide. Nothing more,” she replied and went back to examining the apple.
“’Tis not good to lie to oneself. Ye have done it far too long.”
Moira narrowed her eyes at the woman. There were few people she took advice from, but every fiber of her being urged her to listen to the crone.
“You have a long journey ahead of you.”
Moira laughed. The woman was a fraud. “You are the one mistaken, crone. I have been on a long journey. ‘Tis about to end.”
“So you think. In reality, yer journey has yet to begin.”
Her words halted Moira. She searched the woman’s brown eyes. “You have the sight.”
“I do, and you’d be wise to heed me. Listen to your heart. It will guide you when the darkness comes.”
“What do you know? Tell me,” Moira said and grabbed the crone’s arm.
The curtain behind the crone parted and admitted a young girl with hair the color of fire and eyes so green they would rival emeralds.
“My granddaughter,” the crone said after the girl sat.
Moira raised her eyes to the old woman. “Tell me what you know.”
“I sense immense power in you, child. Ye have a great destiny to fulfill, and there is little doubt ye will fulfill it.”
Moira stood in awe. The sight was always a gift she had wanted. Both of her sisters had received it. Glenna had visions whereas Fiona had dreams, but that gift had not come to Moira.
“Does your gift reside in your granddaughter?” Moira asked to change the subject. Whenever she encountered someone who had the sight, it put her off guard.
“Nay, thank the saints. She does however have the gift of healing, but nothing that compares to ye.”
Moira once again found the woman’s gaze on her. “What makes you think I have any healing ability?”
The old crone barked with laughter. “It fairly glows in ye. A person with the right eyes can see it. ‘Tis been many years since I’ve come across a true Druid.”
Moira quickly looked around to see if anyone had overheard the crone. “You will have me hung with your loud ramblings.”
“It isn’t likely. No one pays me any attention unless they have a sickness they cannot cure. Then they seek me and my granddaughter.”
“What is her name?” Moira asked the crone. There was something about the child that drew her interest.
“Isobel.”
The child looked up at her name. There was no mistaking the sad eyes that gazed at Moira. “And what of her future?”
The crone turned until her back was to Isobel. “The road ahead of her is full of peril. I fear she will not survive it.” The crone’s face, which had been lined with worry suddenly blossomed into a bright smile.
Then Moira heard the voice that always made her heart flutter. “Did you locate some fruit?”
She turned to find Dartayous beside her. She was taller than the average woman, but still he towered over so that he blocked the sun. The urge to ask the crone about Dartayous was almost overwhelming.
“Moira?”
She jerked and turned her head away from him. “I did.”
“Good. The boat leaves tomorrow morning at the tide.”
Moira found herself staring at the crone who was in turn staring at Dartayous.
“Mistress,” Moira heard him address the crone. “Did my companion refuse to pay you? Is that why you stare at me?”
“Not at all, warrior. I simply don’t see such fine specimen come across these old eyes any more. If only I was younger,” she said with a cackle.
Moira glanced up and found his lips turned in a smile. He smiled so rarely that it always surprised her to see his handsome face turned almost boyish with that smile.
“I have never been one to let age stop me.”
Moira’s mouth dropped open. She had known Dartayous almost her entire life, yet this is the first time she heard him tease someone.
The crone laughed. “I bet ye leave many a broken heart behind ye.” She winked and touched his hand. Her smile slipped until sadness clouded her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
For several heartbeats Moira looked from the crone to Dartayous as they measured each other.
Finally, Dartayous spoke. “You should be around others like yourself.”
“Each of us has a road to journey. Mine ended here. My granddaughter’s is about to begin. Ye and yer companion,” she said and glanced at Moira, “are about to embark on a long adventure. Whether ye will come out of it is yet to be seen.”
“You know of the prophecy?” Dartayous asked.
The crone nodded. “One cannot claim to be a Druid and not know of the prophecy.” She turned her brown eyes to Moira. “You are one of the three, the eldest. For many years we thought ye dead.”
“My sisters and I were hidden.”
“And rightly so,” the woman said. “Remember my words. Arduous choices are ahead of both of ye. Choose wisely.”
“If Scotland wants to remain the way it is, we don’t have any choice but to come through it,” Moira said. Her nerves were tingling from the intense magic radiating from the woman.
Few people exuded that type of magic, and mostly it was the Fae with the exception of Frang, the Druid High Priest. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes but found herself struggling to see.
“Our magic is clashing. Ye must take her away from me.”
Moira heard the crone’s voice as though from a distance even though she knew the woman was but paces from her.
“Dartayous?”
“I’m here,” he said and wrapped an arm around her.
She didn’t like the fact she enjoyed his strong arm around her. She was a Druid priestess, one of the chosen three to fulfill the prophecy. She was strong and didn’t need anyone, let alone a man, to help her.
Before they left, the basket Moira held became heavier as the crone put fruit into it. Moira pulled away from Dartayous. He hastily paid the woman as Moira began to slowly walk away. With every step she began to feel normal.
“Better?”
She smiled at Dartayous and nodded. “I have never encountered anyone whose magic affected me so.”
“She’s more than what she seems.”
“Aye, I thought as much myself. But what, I don’t know.”
No more was said as they traveled back to their small camp they had made the night before near the city. It was a comfortable silence between them though. In the weeks since they had departed from the Druid’s Glen and her sisters, she had come to know Dartayous a little better.
Though they rarely talked, there was mutual respect. At least that’s what she told herself when there was no conversation.
A sound drew her attention. She stopped and listened.
“Moira? What is it?” Dartayous asked as he came to stand beside her.
“A sound.”
They stood in silence as she strained to hear it. Just as she was about to give up she heard it again. Without a word to Dartayous she dropped her basket and ran into the forest.
“Moira.”
She didn’t have time to answer him for she knew it was imperative that she reach the sound. She came upon it unexpectedly and nearly passed it.
Her hands shook as she pushed aside the bushes and found herself staring into the precious face of an infant. She was about to reach for it when Dartayous pulled her to her feet.
“Don’t touch it. It was left for a reason.”
She turned and glared at him. “What
are you saying?” she said and jerked out of his arms. “’Tis a helpless infant that is about to die because someone has abandoned him.”
His face smoothed into his regular emotionless face. “Do what you will then.”
Moira fell to her knees and reached for the infant. She was afraid to touch him because she had never held an infant and she was afraid she was too late, even with her healing powers.
As gently as she could, she lifted the tiny infant in her arms. He fussed and snuggled against her as he weakly grasped her finger.
Tears stung her eyes as she felt his life force leaving his frail body. She opened the blanket and saw why his parents had left him to die. He had a club foot. Nothing that would hamper his living, but it would hamper the parents. Instead of having another hand to help with the chores, they would have another mouth to feed.
“How can anyone do this?” she said as the baby stopped crying, pleased to be held again. “It isn’t his fault he was born this way. With proper instruction he could live a normal life.”
“Some people would rather not have to give the proper instruction.”
“Then they should never have children,” she said and looked over her shoulder at Dartayous.
Despite his attempt, finding the baby had affected him as well. “We are too late. He’s all but dead.”
“So young. Only days old,” Moira said she blinked away more tears.
Then a thought occurred to her. She hadn’t tried it, but it was worth the risk. She gently laid the baby down and his whimpering started anew. With a deep breath, she placed her hands palm down over the infant.
“Moira, nay. It's too late for him.”
“He still breathes. It isn’t too late. You won’t change me from the course. I have to try.”
She closed her eyes and gave herself to the power surging through her, the power that could heal almost anyone.
The power grew until she was blinded from anyone and anything except the infant. The ancient words of the Druids filled her mind as she chanted them, bringing her power under her control. With a slight move of her hand she brought the power through her hand into the infant.