Page 10 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

T he blood whooshed out of his head so quickly he returned to the chair. He rubbed his forehead, trying to will away the sudden throbbing pain that took up residence upon hearing the man’s name.

MacDonald.

The MacDonald Clan was their sworn enemy.

They were determined to gain more power in the region by pushing out the MacLeods.

They had a long-standing feud that continued even after they tried brokering peace, peace that was shattered by his youngest brother, Jamie.

But something she said made him take note.

The man told her the stone called to him.

When his da talked of the prophecy—which he still did not believe—he said the stone would call to the one who would come to help them guard and protect it.

“I fear my sister is in danger from him,” she said. “I need the stone back to return home.”

His gaze flickered to her. Her face was lined with worry and there was a bit of fear in her eyes. As much as he wanted to give her back the stone, he couldn’t. Not without knowing more about the MacDonald and the stone itself.

Not only that, but the fact she had come in contact with the one she called the shopkeeper was a clear sign she may belong in the past. He had to find out why, though. What purpose did it serve? And did he believe that as truth?

“Callum,” she said, his name a demand. “I need the stone.”

“I cannae give it to ye,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Ye dinnae understand the power of it,” he said. Nor did he, but he intended to find out.

“Yes, I do. It brought me here. It can take me home.” There was an insistence in her voice that was unmistakable.

“Nay.”

“Not nay.” She dropped her arms to her sides, her hands fisted. “It has to take me home. I have to get back to my sister to make sure she’s all right!”

“I cannae let ye go.”

She charged him, the worry morphing into fury. When she flung her small body at him, her fists raised as if to beat him, he caught her. His hands wrapped around her wrists, and he held her steady.

“You have to let me go. Please.”

She tipped her head up to his. There were tears pooling in her eyes.

“God’s teeth,” he swore and released her. He stepped away from her, turning away. He could stand anything but a woman’s tears.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself,” she continued. “We grew up together. She’s my best friend and the only real family I have left.”

Och, that nearly did him in. He understood the bonds of family, for he was bonded to his two brothers.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, taking in a deep breath.

While he wanted to help her, wanted to send her back home, he simply could not.

He needed answers first. There was one place to get them.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” she said, imploring.

Finally, he turned to face her. “I do, lassie. But I cannae give you back the stone.”

At least not yet.

Furious, she grabbed her gown in her fists and stomped out of the great hall. He watched as she disappeared through a doorway, her fading footsteps going up the staircase.

Likely she had returned to his chamber. He sighed. He’d send Roslyn to look after her. He had his own tasks to tend.

Malcolm sauntered in then. “That went well.”

“Ye heard?”

“Aye.”

“How much?”

“All of it.” His brother flashed a grin. “She has a temper, brother.”

“Aye, she does. But I cannae give her the stone. Not until I ken what the true power of it is.”

“Oh, are ye starting to believe what Da has been saying all these years?” When he said nothing, Malcolm continued. “This shopkeeper sounds like—”

“Aye, I ken who she sounds like. It cannae be.”

“Ye dinnae believe it, do ye?” There was a ghost of a grin on his face. “Even after all Da has told us.”

Callum swiped his hand over his face, his stubble bristling against his callused palm. No, he didn’t want to believe it. The stories Da told them growing up he assumed were merely that—stories. But with the arrival of Evie, mayhap there was something more to them.

Also, it was hard to shake the feeling he had seen her before.

As though he dreamed of her. He didn’t want to believe that she stepped out of his dream.

Yet, he could not deny recalling the dream of her walking toward him in a white chemise while he lounged in the chair by his hearth, the fire blazing bright and hot and wild.

Like her. She pulled off that chemise and—

He quickly shoved away the memory. Now was not the proper time to think about that.

“I need answers,” he said.

“And where do ye think ye’ll get them? We already ken the stories of the Shattering and the Night of Shadows.” Malcolm plopped down in one of the chairs at the long table, propping his booted feet on the edge.

It didn’t do that his brother looked smug, as if he already had all the answers and believed all the stories.

Even the youngest, Jamie, seemed to believe and would likely tell him so when he returned to Dundale in the spring.

Currently, he was traveling with their uncle learning to read, write, and fight.

He was sent away after the incident with the MacDonald lass.

They needed every hand available when and if the MacDonalds decided to invade, something Callum was determined to fight against.

“I’m goin’ to see Da,” he said as he stomped out of the great hall.

Malcolm said, “He’s in the armory.”

Callum made his way through the keep to the armory in the south tower which was situated close to the front of the castle to allow quick access to the weapons. The thick door was open as he approached, indicating his da was indeed there. He heard him humming an old Gaelic tune.

Weapons lined one wall, a gleaming arsenal of death and power—swords, battle axes, spears, and dirks.

Each one with a whisper of battle long past or yet to come.

Opposite that, armor stood proud and imposing—helms, gauntlets, vambraces, and hauberks.

Even the padded shirts stacked neatly along the wall held the promise of preparation.

Every inch of space exuded readiness, a testament to their resiliency and pursuit of survival.

They were well stocked and prepared for anything.

The room stretched wide and long, the flagstone floor beneath his boots cold.

The solid stone walls rose up to the soaring ceiling, at the top of the walls, narrow slit windows hinting at the outside world.

The air was thick, heavy, trapped behind a thick, reinforced door.

Flickering light from the candelabras did their best to chase away the shadows of the imposing room.

A massive wooden table dominated the center with chairs scattered around it, one in which his da sat holding his sword in his steady grip as the whetstone scraped along the blade’s edge.

“Da,” Callum called. “A word?”

“O’course, lad.” He waved him over as he finished with one last swipe down the shiny steel.

“We have an apprentice for that, Da.”

Hamish replaced his favorite claymore in the holder as he turned to his son. “Aye, but ye ken I like to take care of me own steel.”

“I do,” he said.

He eyed the weapons lined up along the wall. Though they had never been to battle, Hamish insisted they remain ready in case the MacDonalds or any other warring clan wanted to try to sack the castle. They were lucky to have one of the finest blacksmiths to forge their weapons and armor.

“Ye wanted a word?” Hamish asked, peering up at him. Curiosity lined his face.

Callum pressed his lips together in a thin line.

He hated asking him about the Shattering or the Night of Shadows or even the Triple Goddess, for he knew Hamish would be all too happy to regale him once again with the tale and remind him of the prophecy.

A tale he had heard his entire life growing up.

A tale he refused to believe. A prophecy he never thought would come to fruition.

“Well?” he pressed.

“’Tis about the Shattering,” Callum began.

“Och, ye’ve heard that tale, laddie.”

“I have,” he said. “But how do we ken the tale is true? And this prophecy—”

“’Tis true,” Hamish said as he slowly got to his feet. “ Warrior’s heart and maiden’s grace will unite to shield All Time .”

Callum stared at him. His da had mentioned the prophecy and the woman from the future arriving with a keystone before, but never those words. When she arrived, they would be bound to her to keep the piece of the stone safe.

“’Tis true, laddie,” Hamish said. “The maiden arrived as was foretold.”

As he looked at his da, it occurred to him he didn’t know where this prophecy or tale had originated. For all he knew, his da made it up.

“It isna a fiction,” his da said, as though he’d read his thoughts.

Mayhap he’d read his expression, for he was never one to keep his emotions in check. “Where did ye learn of this prophecy, Da?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Even through his thick beard, he could see it. “Come with me and I’ll show ye.”