Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) (31 page)

He could hear frustration in her voice, feel it in the iron grip she had on his hand. “Wheesht, love, we’ll figure it out.” He ran his free hand over her hair, down her back in a gesture that seemed to soothe her as much as it did him. “Perhaps Jeanette understands the symbol.”

“I think it unlikely. She has not mentioned anything about them. If there was lore to guide us, she would have read it in the manuscripts she has. She would have called upon that knowledge to help me already.”

Shock coursed through him at her words. “Jeanette can read?”

“Aye. When she was little and learned of her destiny… of what she thought was her destiny,” she amended, “she begged her da to find her a tutor to teach her to read the scrolls Aunt Elspet had in her keeping. Kenneth denies Jeanette nothing and so she learned to read and write. She has been adding to the scrolls, keeping a record of everything Elspet taught her, everything Elspet has done as Guardian.”

A written record. In the Highlands. Indeed, thought Nicholas, these people were not the barbarians Edward believed them.

“The king must never know of these documents,” he said. “We must not let them fall into Edward’s hands.”

“I had not thought of that. You are right. We must secure them.”

She took her hand from his and ran her finger over the circular symbol in the center of the sack. Within the circle were three intermingled circles swirling into and out of each other as if they were all one, though they looked like three.

“Do you ken what that symbol means?” he asked.

She shook her head, studying the painted symbols in front of her and idly turning the stone in her hand.

“Perhaps,” she said after a long while, “the symbols show the different sorts of gifts that come to Guardians? But I do not see one here that makes me think of Auntie’s gift.”

“What was her gift?” he asked. “I ken she blessed things, but what was the gift?”

“That was her gift: the gift of blessing. Everything she blessed thrived. It was a good and gentle sort of gift. She never hurt anyone with it… unlike me.”

“You are not in control of your gift yet, Rowan. Perhaps yours is stronger because that is what is needed in these troubled times. Elspet was able to ensure the prosperity and survival of the clan. You must defend it against outside attack, against me and the troubles I have brought to your gates.”

She turned and looked at him, rather than into some middle distance of thought. “It is Edward that brings these troubles to our gates. If it had not been you, ’twould have been Archie or someone else.”

He could not refute that, but still he felt responsible for the troubles coming to her clan.

“Perhaps if I returned to England with news that there is no Highland Targe…”

“Archie knows that Elspet is the Guardian. We cannot undo that knowledge, though he does not know that I have taken her place. He will return, won’t he?”

“Aye, and with some of the king’s men, no doubt.”

“Then I must figure out how to use my gift to defend my family and my clan.” She turned her attention back to the stone in her hand, turning it about, turning it over, and turning it about again. “This stone is the key to the gifts, mine and these others.” She gently
touched the symbols on the stone. “Three… three symbols, three circles in a circle.” She placed the stone on the center circle of the opened sack, turning it until the symbols on the stone lined up with the symbols on the sack.

“Nicholas,” she whispered, still staring at the arrangement in front of her.

“Aye?”

“I am going to try to call upon my gift.”

“Steps, Rowan.” He looked about and spied a well-worn brogue, the leather soft and formed to one of the women’s feet. He put it on the stool next to her. “See if you can move that shoe.”

She chewed on her lower lip and for a moment he was distracted enough to lean in and kiss her.

“What worries you?”

“I do not want to hurt you, or myself, though I seem adept at protecting myself.”

“What do you want me to do?”

She looked from the shoe to Nicholas and back. “If I cannot control my gift, you must stop me. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

She swallowed hard then closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like the blessing prayer Jeanette had been teaching her all afternoon. She raised her hands and moved them through the air as he had seen Elspet do at the blessing and her lips still moved.

And nothing happened.

“What use is a gift if I cannot even call it!?” She shoved her fingers into her hair and gripped her head. “Elspet made it look so easy. Jeanette says the Guardians before me have always naturally called upon and controlled their gifts. Why cannot I?”

“Perhaps you are trying too hard? Or perhaps Elspet’s way is not your way? How far back do Jeanette’s chronicles go?”

She still held her head in a white-knuckled grip.

“I do not ken how far back, or how many Guardians are part of the record. I do know she found none with anything like what I do.”

“Which means that the way you use and control your gift is not in the chronicles either.”

“True.”

“So what has brought your gift forth in the past?”

“Emotion—strong emotion,” she said without hesitation. “Fear, anger.”

“And with those the gift was destructive, aye?”

“ ‘Defensive’ is a better way to describe it. It protected me.”

Nicholas considered that information for a moment. “Then let us start with that.” He leapt to his feet, grabbed the shoe and flung it at her. She threw up her hands and the shoe flew back at him. It happened so fast he did not have time to duck. It hit him square in the chest. He burst out laughing at the shocked look on her face. “You did it!” He leaned over and gave her a smacking kiss.

Wonder shined in her eyes. “I did not think, I just acted. ’Tis how Jeanette said the other Guardians wielded their gift, by instinct more than training.”

“You, love, have a very well-honed instinct for defending yourself. I imagine ’twill be the same when the clan is in trouble.” He squatted in front of her so he could be eye to eye with her. “ ’Tis a formidable gift”—he rubbed the spot on his chest where the shoe hit him—“if a bit dangerous,” he added with a grin.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching out to cup his cheek in her palm. “At least now I know I can call upon it under attack, but I still need to be able to protect the clan
before
the danger arises.”

He placed a kiss in her palm and stood, looking about the chamber for inspiration until his eyes landed back on the amazing woman sitting on her bed. Other, more emotional activities for a bed sprang to mind. “You said ‘strong emotion’ drove your gift, aye?”

“So far.”

“Strong emotion is not all negative or dangerous, Rowan.” He had no intention of bedding her, but there were ways, without going so far, to raise strong emotion in a lass. He retrieved the shoe and placed it on the open windowsill this time. He held out his hand to her. She pulled the sack up around the stone, tying it to her belt as she joined him.

“Face the window,” he said, moving up behind her as she did so. He put his hands at her waist and felt a shiver run through her. He stepped closer until he could nuzzle that place where her shoulder met her neck, leaving a trail of tiny kisses up her neck until he reached the shell of her ear. “See if this sort of emotion works, Rowan.” He nipped at her earlobe. “See if you can push that shoe out the window.”

She took a shaky breath and lifted the ermine sack into her hands. She also tilted her head a little, as if asking for more. He obliged her, kissing along her neck again as he slowly ran his hands up her sides and back to her waist and up again, letting his fingertips lightly brush the sides of her breasts. His own breathing was growing ragged.

“I can feel… ’tis different, not sharp but softer, the energy,” she whispered. “I cannot move the shoe, though.”

“Keep trying,” he said. Shifting his kisses to her other shoulder, he gently pulled her back against him, letting his hands brush from her sides to her belly and up, just under her breasts.

Her breath caught and the shoe twitched. “Dear God, ’tis working, Nicholas. Do not stop.” The last words were barely more than a throaty sigh.

He smiled, happy to oblige her. He slid his hands over her belly again, brushing lower until she gasped, then up again, this time allowing himself the almost painful pleasure of lifting her breasts in his hands. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest, could feel the quick shallow breaths she took. And he could feel a breeze growing around them, a breeze that did not seem to come from the open window.

“That is it, love.” He caressed her breasts, laid tiny kisses on her neck, and still the shoe did not do more than twitch a time or two.

He did not know how much more he could take of this seduction. His erection ached with his harshly controlled desire. The heady scent of her passion played havoc with his resolve, as did the little feminine noises she made as he touched her, and the way she leaned into him. He moved one hand back down, skimming over her belly and lower. He let the pressure of his hand rest at the apex
of her thighs as he rubbed his other thumb over her taut nipple. She moaned and pressed into his hands, her head leaning back on his shoulder. The wind grew stronger, but it was not the angry wind of that morning. This one was more like a warm spring wind, strong enough to keep anyone from disturbing them, but not strong enough to hurt anyone, either.

“The shoe, Rowan,” he reminded her before they both became lost to sensation.

She lifted her head from his shoulder with a jerking motion and the shoe went flying out the window as she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him down into a fervent kiss.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A
S SOON AS
Jeanette had returned to Elspet’s chamber she had sent Scotia for fresh soup and wine, as well as food to be brought to Rowan and Nicholas. Elspet slept fitfully, and Jeanette was glad, once Scotia had left, for a few moments by herself.

She closed her eyes, shutting out all the signs of change around her. She sighed around the ache that had been lodged in her heart, growing bigger, more painful ever since Rowan became the Guardian. She wanted to scream, to cry, to rail at whatever it was that chose a Guardian. It was her place. Her blood right. Her future.

But not anymore.

Now she must pass on everything that she knew, everything she’d thought she would be, to Rowan. It was her duty not to
be
the Guardian, but to train the Guardian, to protect the Guardian. It was not fair. But she could almost hear her mother’s voice, as she’d said so often to Scotia: Life is not fair.

She pulled the blanket up over her mother’s shoulders and left the chamber, carefully leaving the door open. She needed to move, to pace, to let the emotions that she usually managed so well take over. Normally she was the calm one, the serene one, sure of herself and her position within her world, her clan, and her family. She was the one destined to become the Guardian, to take an important place in her mother’s line. She was the one who had a calling, a clear path for her life but now…

Now she had nothing.

She passed the guard who stood outside the chamber she had shared with her sister and cousin for years. She remembered the rows between the willful Scotia and the protective Rowan. She remembered her place between them as the peacekeeper, the voice of
reason, always explaining the motives of one to the other, her place as the future Guardian requiring them to listen, to heed her warnings and her advice. They were so very different from each other, the three of them, and yet they had found a way to fit together. She had bound them together.

That, too, would change.

Jeanette paced further down the corridor to a narrow window and glanced out over the ben, then paced back to her mother’s door. She was cold outside her mother’s overheated chamber, so cold, but she did not think it had aught to do with the ever-present chill of the thick stone walls.

What was she to do now? Her whole life had been defined by whom she would be when her time came to take up the mantle of the Guardian. Everything she’d ever done, wished for, thought about, was bounded by the knowledge that she would always be here at Dunlairig, would always be bound to the clan. The lore she had studied, postponing her choice of a husband, how she comported herself—all had been founded on her future role as Guardian.

She would do what she must. Tend her mother, guide her sister, train her cousin. What else was there for her?

R
OWAN
’
S PASSION NEARLY
drove Nicholas over the edge. Her bed was there. The wind she drew around them would keep anyone from entering the chamber.

He buried his nose in her hair, gripped her backside in his palms, pulling her against him. She moaned and drew his mouth back to hers. Nicholas struggled against instinct, against need, against desire. This was madness. He had promised to protect her, even if that meant protecting her from him.

Once he would have taken what she clearly wanted to give and thought nothing more about it. But this was Rowan. He wanted so much more than a quick tumble from her. He wanted a life with her. He put his hands on her waist, where all this had started, and pushed
her gently away, breaking the almost overwhelming contact with her, but she continued to kiss him.