Page 24 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

The truth was, though, he was comforted by her presence. He needed her there with him.

To put her at ease, he said, “Hamish…his last words were of ye.”

Her eyes flew wide with surprise. “Me?”

“He asked me if I believed in the prophecy.” He curled his fingers around the end of the chair arm, peering into the fire to avoid looking into her eyes.

“And do you?” she asked finally.

“I think I have to,” he said. “Then he told me to protect the stone and protect ye, too. And…” He turned to look at her, at last meeting her lovely gaze. “That ye would do the same for me.”

*

Callum’s words made her heart thud hard in her chest. “Hamish said that?”

“Aye, he did.”

He looked as though something else was on his mind by the way he pressed his lips together.

There was contemplation in his eyes. Something had shifted in him to accept her for who and what she was, though she was uncertain what that something was.

Had Hamish said something to him on his deathbed that had made Callum change his mind about her, the stone, and the prophecy?

There was also the matter of him asking her to visit the clan leader with him.

Why he wanted her with him, she had no idea.

She could barely sit a horse, much less ride.

When they saw the men riding toward Dundale earlier that day, it had taken everything she had to keep the mare under control while they galloped back to the keep.

“There is more,” he said at last.

She took that as a sign that he wanted her to stay. He needed someone to talk to who had a different perspective. Someone who was not of his family. She was definitely an outsider.

She relaxed in the chair, resting her hands on the arms and waiting while he collected his thoughts. And for a brief moment, sitting there with Callum seemed so right, so perfect. As if she had done it before. As if she had always been a part of his world and would forever be.

That thought terrified her. Despite being out of her element with no running water, no electricity, and certainly no toilet paper, there was something comforting about being here with him in Dundale in the past.

“What is it?” she finally asked when it seemed as though he wouldn’t continue.

“Something Da said before he passed haunts me.”

That got her attention. She sat straighter in the chair and leaned toward him, reaching her hand to him. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He took her hand in his, his fingers curling around hers with a firm yet careful grip.

His roughened palm was against hers. She liked the way his hand felt against hers—warm and grounding.

His thumb traced a leisurely line across the back of her hand.

Slow, soft, sensual. It sent a ripple of delight through her.

Though they were from two different worlds, when they were alone, together, it didn’t seem to matter.

“He said there was something else about the Shattering.” He paused, meeting her gaze. “Ye understand what that is?”

She nodded. “Hamish told me the story, yes.”

“He said there was someone else who wanted the stone. Someone who would kill for it.”

The blood drained from her head. She gripped his hand tight as the thought skittered through her mind. That someone else was Bruce MacDonald. She was sure of it.

“MacDonald?” she asked, her voice wavering on a whisper.

His eyes held hers, those blue depths so full of pain and angst with the underlying hint of questions and disbelief.

“Ye told me his name when ye first arrived,” he said.

“I did,” she said. “You said it mattered.”

“It did. It does. But I dinnae want to believe the MacDonald clan was interested in the keystone.”

“This feud between your clans…it started because of your brother, Jamie?”

“It started because of him, aye,” Callum said. “But I wonder if it continues because of something else.”

“The keystone,” she guessed. “Do you suppose Bruce MacDonald from my time has anything to do with what’s happening here and now?”

“I dinnae ken,” he admitted. “It doesna make sense to me.”

She dropped her hand from his and thought of the tapestries hanging in her room.

The one that was changing and morphing with Moira and the army in the lower corner.

Then the other one that looked much like her sister with a shadowy figure behind her.

She got to her feet. He gave her a questioning look.

“I think we should go look at the tapestries,” she said.

He gave her a look as though she’d gone mad. “Why?”

“Because I think we need to see if the images have changed again.”

Slowly, he got to his feet and motioned her toward the door without a word.

She nodded and pulled it open. He followed her from his bedchamber through the great hall to the other side of the keep where she shoved open the door to the guest bedchamber.

The hearth was devoid of a fire and it was chilly in the room.

Likewise, there were no candles lit. Light slashed from the hallway in an odd angle, illuminating the wall hangings.

The first one depicted Moira and the other two women, the light all around them.

In the corner the army had grown, nearly covering the lower half.

Evie stared at it in abject horror. Callum walked over to it, pausing in front of it.

His hands clenched into fists. She joined him and peered up at him. Anger lined his face.

“Someone who would kill for it,” he muttered.

“Someone like Clan MacDonald?” she asked.

“Aye.”

He reached a hand out, tracing the lines of the finely woven fibers that seemed to shift and change as if the events were happening in real time. His finger traced the lines of a weapon that was clearly held aloft by the leader of the army. Light glinted off the blade.

“Do ye see this, lass?”

She eyed where his finger was and nodded. “It looks like some type of weapon.”

“’Tis a great axe. I’ve seen this weapon before. It belongs to Rory MacDonald. The man who killed my father.”