Page 1 of Sadie’s Highlander (Highland Protector #1)

PROLOGUE

Scotland – Tenth Century

“ A bove all else, I charge ye with the task of keeping yer mother safe. I fear our allied clans willna reach us in time.”

The gut-wrenching sounds of splintering wood, crumbling stone, and toppling walls filled the air, then were drowned out by the deafening roar of the crazed horde destroying the last remaining barrier of stone and bloody clansmen attempting to hold them back. The ravaging men of the North appeared unstoppable this time. The tower housing the sacred Heartstone would soon be breached.

“Aye, Athair .” Alec fisted the hilt of the goddess Danu’s sacred sword even tighter, thumping it against his chest before turning away from the raised altar where his father, chief warrior druid of Clan MacDara, sworn to protect the great treasures of the goddesses, stood calling out to the divine deities for guidance and deliverance from the angry throng destroying the keep.

“Nay, husband. I protect m’self. I’ve no need for coddling.” The object of Alec’s orders, his heavily pregnant mother, stood poised in front of one of the tower’s tall, narrow windows, bow readied with an arrow nocked and drawn.

Sarinda took careful aim, released the missile, then tossed a satisfied smile back over her shoulder at Alec. “Ye will see to the protecting of the Heartstone and lead yer brothers in doing the same, ye ken?”

“Aye, Máthair. ” Alec took hold of his youngest brother’s arm and turned him toward their mother. There was no use arguing with the woman. She overruled Father every time and would not hesitate to smack a stick across his arse even if the enemy was breathing down their necks. At twenty seasons old this past spring and so broad-shouldered he couldn’t walk through the doors of the keep without turning sideways, Alec no longer feared his mother’s stick but he was sorely concerned for her welfare—especially at this time, in her delicate state. He pulled his brother back a bit and spoke low and close to the lad’s ear. “Ross, take the shield and protect her—see to it that our unborn sister is kept safe as well.” The goddesses had answered Máthair’s prayers for a daughter and told her such in a dream.

The young lad of only fourteen summers solemnly dipped his chin in an obedient nod, then hefted the sacred shield away from its iron stand beside the altar. The ancient bronze disk shimmered with an eerie glow as soon as the gangly boy clutched it to his chest.

Aye, Scota’s shield hungered for battle as much as they did. Alec turned to his other brothers standing by the last of the hallowed weapons flanking the blessed stone. “Grant—to yer hammer. Ramsay—to yer spear. The stone must be protected at all cost.”

The tower shuddered with another hit of the enemy’s battering ram, tightening Alec’s gut with deeper resolve. This was the worst attack he could remember since they had erected the double-blocked skirting wall around the keep. This particular horde from across the sea was fiendishly dedicated, more intent than any of the previous pillagers from the North. Greed and bloodlust to claim the tower and all the treasures it held shone upon their faces with an unholy light. They feared nothing and fell aside only when death claimed them. The stubborn marauders had decimated the outer wall as though it was made of dried dung.

But the MacDaras and the other druid clans were just as stubborn. Before Alec had come of age and trained for this calling, his father had led all the wars to protect the revered Heartstone—humanity’s ancient connection to the goddesses’ gifts of creativity, imagination, and love, the very heartbeat of hope itself that made life worth living—or so the legends said.

Now his aged father stood at the altar, gnarled hands wafting back and forth through the strange smoke rising from the smoldering herbs he had placed in the cauldron. With his eyes closed and his weathered face lifted to the oiled black irons coated with dripping wax from three thick stubs of nearly spent candles, Emrys Danann MacDara rumbled a deep monotone chant with barely moving lips.

Metal grated against stone as Ross slammed his shield across the arrow slit just in time to block a blazing spearhead. A heavy thud, then a rattling scrape against the outer wall beside the window, warned that the invaders were closer to achieving entry into the tower altar room. Ross raised the shield higher, leaning into it as the unnerving clangs of blades clashed against it. Grant and Ramsay rushed to their youngest brother’s aid, flanking their mother and sheltering her behind them.

The barred door at Alec’s back shuddered with several fast-hitting thumps. Arrow hits. Alec knew the sound well. The acrid scent of pitch and the noxious smell of smoke seeping in around the boards of the heavy oaken door burned his nostrils, fanning the fury already raging in his veins.

This particular battle wasn’t going the way it should, but since the men of the North had seen fit to provide him with a thick curtain of black smoke in which to hide, perhaps he could change the course of this wee skirmish.

He spared one last glance back at his family. “I go to bid our visitors a more personal welcome. Keep the Heartstone.”

“Keep the Heartstone,” his brothers and mother echoed.

And then the world exploded.

The first thing Alec became aware of was the gentle shushing sound of the soft green leaves dancing above him. A refreshing breeze brushed a cool touch across his face, tickling his senses with the beguiling scent of a newly dawned spring day. No sound of battle. No smell of burning pitch. Nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees and a sense of peace. The thick cushion of grass on which he lay smelled fresh and sweet as he turned his head into the softness of the earth.

“He is awake, my goddesses.”

Alec forced his eyes open, immediately regretting the decision when the action triggered a thunderous pounding inside his skull. Squinting against the unusually bright beam of sunlight filtering down through the trees, he struggled to focus on the unfamiliar surroundings.

Where the hell was this? Had the horde killed him and his family? What in the name of all things holy had happened? He scrubbed the heels of his hands against his temples, doing his best to realign his addled senses. And then it hit him — by the goddesses—the Heartstone!

Panic surged through him, forcing him to his feet. He staggered sideways, grappling to steady himself against the solid trunk of a massive oak. An oak. This must be a sacred place. He squinted at the unknown surroundings. Máthair . . . Athair . . . his brothers . . . the precious stone. What had happened to his family? What had happened to the stone? The sacred weapons?

A brilliant light descended through the canopy of trees, shining into the center of the peaceful glade. It hovered just above the ground like a star gently dangled low from the sky. “We have brought ye—our faithful servants and protectors of the stone—to a place where ye will be much safer. More at peace. We grew tired of the repeated attacks. There is no need for such violence.”

The orb of light echoed with three females speaking in unison—each of their melodic voices perfectly pitched to enhance and complement each other. “And fear not—we’ll not be leaving ye here without proper guidance. We’ve chosen a fine advisor to see ye well settled and ensure that ye thrive and guide our other druids of this time. Ye will find several druid clans here, already well established, and at the ready to help ye.” Quiet laughter rippled through the glade like the tinkling of delicate bells. “The MacDaras—our most blessed line of druids—must not die away. Ye must lead the others once ye’ve learned this place. Prosper here. Multiply. Keep our stone safe for eternities to come.”

A shocking awareness jolted through him as though his senses had finally decided to kick in. Holy mothers of all. It was the goddesses themselves. Alec dropped to his knees, bowed his head, and covered his face with his arm. “My goddesses.”

“Aye . . . our brave one. Ye’ve pleased us well—as have yer brothers and yer parents.” The blazing star undulated with a myriad of sparkling colors, growing brighter and then dimming a bit with each word the goddesses spoke. “Yer family is well, resting in the meadow just past the edge of this wood. They sleep on the land we have chosen to gift to ye.”

“Land?” Alec kept his head bowed. They didn’t need more land. They needed a new keep with thicker walls that could withstand the enemy’s battering rams. Alec quickly shuttered the thought away and bowed his head lower. One did not question the goddesses and their ways. Those who did sometimes paid dearly for expressing their druthers.

“Explain it to him, Dwyn. ’Tis best that young Alec hear how it shall be from his new advisor.”

Alec stole a glance up from behind his arm. Who the devil was Dwyn?

A slight form, more like a flickering shadow silhouetted against the blinding light of the goddesses’ star, approached him.

A deep, rumbling chuckle—a full, hearty sound that in no way looked as though it could come from the figure walking toward him—echoed through the clearing. The laughing silhouette bounced closer—still out of focus against the brilliance of the goddesses’ light.

“I am Dwyn MacKay. Yer neach-teagaisg. The teacher who shall guide ye through the wonders of this new place. I am guardian and tutor to all the druids here. I shall see to it that the MacDara clan does well and continues their legacy to the goddesses and humanity as the protectors of the Heartstone—the sacred stone of hope and love itself.”

“And this place is?” Alec asked, still squinting against the blinding light.

“Twenty-first century North Carolina. Welcome to the future, my lad.”