A Highlander’s Homecoming (35 page)

The wind suddenly began to howl through the tiny glen and thunder rumbled ominously. The ground around the old laird’s party heaved and shook, and the old laird himself was thrown from his horse to the forest floor. He and his sons watched in horror as boulders pushed up from beneath the earth in the very center of the stream, piling higher and higher, one upon another.
There they formed a magnificent waterfall and a deep crystal pool where only moments before a shallow stream had flowed.

Pol rose slowly from the depths of the pool, choosing to play upon the individual terrors of the men by appearing to each of the mortals as that which they most feared.

“I am Pol, a prince of the Fae. And you”—he swept his arm to include the brothers as well as the father—“have incurred my wrath. Now you will pay the penalty.” His gaze turned to the helpless infants lying nearby, all three strangely quiet and untouched by the tumult around them. “These are my daughters. My blood runs strongly in them.” Pol moved to the infants, gently picking up each one in turn. “I name each of you for your mother, my beloved Rose. For all time, your daughters shall carry a form of her name to ensure that her memory will live on in this world forever. I give each of you my mark and my blessing. Know this glen as the home of your mother and your father.”

Pol turned back to the old laird. “I charge you with the care and the safety of my daughters.”

“Never,” the old laird hissed. “They are yer abominations. You take them. Neither I nor my sons will shelter yer spawn at our hearth.”

“Oh, but you will, old man, and you’ll be grateful to do so.”

The shape of the Fae prince shimmered and grew until it filled the entire glen, surrounding the old laird and his sons, weighing them down with the power and the fury of the being they had angered, blocking everything else from their view and their minds.

Pol smiled with evil satisfaction. Well he knew the weaknesses of mortal men. His voice rang in their minds, all the more terrible for not being spoken out loud. “Should you or any male of the family fail to nurture and protect my daughters, hurt them or allow anyone else to hurt them, prevent them from making their own choices in life, or deprive them of finding their one true love, you shall suffer my curse. You will bear no male offspring. Any sons already living will suffer the same fate. You will be unable to enjoy the intimate company of any female ever again. Your line will die out and your name cease to exist in your world.”

Pol waited for the full impact of his words to sink into their minds. Then he continued. “My blessing on my daughters, and thus my accompanying curse, will carry forward for all time, passed from mother to daughter. As even the smallest drop of my blood flows in their body, so they will have the power to call on me and all Fae to aid them. My mark upon them and upon all the daughters of their line guarantees all men know the penalty they will suffer for harming my beloved daughters.”

As Pol’s terrible voice reverberated in the minds of the old laird and his sons, his form shifted and shimmered around the infants, enveloping them for the first time, and the last, in the emerald glow of his love.

The old laird still lay on the ground where he had fallen, trembling with fear. And although he could not see the infants through the green mist surrounding them, he could hear what sounded impossibly like children’s laughter.

Just before the mist faded, each of the men present felt an ominous warning echo through his mind.

“Never forget.”

Later, much later, the old laird and his sons crept close to the infants to find them sleeping contentedly, each one bearing the mark of the Fae prince. The old laird gently gathered up his granddaughters—for so they must now be to him—and hurried from the glen.

Pol’s daughters grew and prospered and eventually married, having families of their own. In time to come, though many generations of the Fae prince’s offspring traveled and spread to varied parts of the world, all the men of all the lines continued to honor the Legend of the Faerie Glen.

Sithean Fardach

The Highlands of Scotland

1272

The clatter of metal on stone rang through the air even as the goblet spun slowly to a stop on the floor where it had landed.

“Tantrums will no be helping you, laddie.” The old warrior shook his head, warily eyeing his companion sitting at the far end of the great table. “You only waste good ale.”

Connor MacKiernan glared at him. It was a look that had weakened the knees of many a strong man. “Nothing will help me now. I am as the weak, helpless fool, all my options closed save one.” He dropped his head into the crook of his arm on the table. “I am a king’s knight, yet my sword might as well be a woman’s pretty feather for all that I can do.” He spat the words as if they soured and burned his mouth. “I dinna want to
involve Rosalyn. This is no my aunt’s trouble, Duncan, but mine. I am to protect my family, no to place them in greater danger.”

Duncan pushed back from the table laughing. “The Lady Rosalyn would, I wager, see things verra differently, Connor. Dinna she tell you her plan would make everything work out just as you need?”

“Aye.” Connor lifted his head only enough to peer up over his arm. “And that’s what worries me. There is no regular way out of this mess. You ken that as well as I do.” He raised an eyebrow and leaned toward the older man. “She takes a terrible risk.”

Duncan took a long drink from the tankard in his hand and shrugged. “So she’ll use her gift.” It was a statement of fact, not a question, and required no answer from Connor, who simply continued to glare at the older man. “It is what she does, laddie, as did her mother and her mother before her. She disna deny who she is.” Duncan took another long drink and smiled. “’Tis no good reason to waste such fine ale.” Duncan strode to the far end of the table, placing his hand on Connor’s shoulder as he sat down next to him. “It’s no she disna ken the risk to her if she does this, Connor. It’s that well she kens the risk to all of you if she does nothing. You must remain here with yer sister, laddie.”

“Aye, it’s my duty to see her protected and happy.”

Duncan lowered his head, speaking quietly. “You ken there are men who would follow you. Men who would fight for you if you choose to oppose yer uncle. To take back what’s rightfully yers. You do have a choice.”

“And how many would die then, Duncan? How many innocents would be caught in the middle of that
great battle? We’ve been over this many a time. I’m no willing to sacrifice the lives of so many of my people.” Connor groaned, dropping his head back down to his arm. “It disna matter, Duncan. I’ve failed my family yet again. Rosalyn was right. In order to save Mairi without bringing death to my people, I hae no choice but to risk my aunt’s use of the magic.” He shook his head, sighing with resignation, and sat up straight. “Rosalyn bids us leave this night. She’ll be down soon.”

“She’s down.”

Both men jumped to their feet at the authoritative sound of the female voice coming from the entryway. A tall blonde woman, with a bearing equally as authoritative as her voice, strode toward them.

“Quit yer sulking, Connor. We’ve been all through this. You ken it’s the only way out. I promise you, this will be the answer to all yer problems. Do you hae the trinket I requested?” Rosalyn MacKiernan smiled at her nephew, ignoring his glare much as Duncan had. Fully expecting his compliance with her earlier instructions, she held out her hand.

“Aye.” Connor reached into his sporran and handed over a small velvet pouch.

Rosalyn opened the little bag and dumped the contents into her hand. “Oh, verra good, Connor. It’s exactly the piece I had hoped you would choose.” She glowed with happiness as she lifted the emerald pendant, light from the candles reflecting in the facets of the jewel. “I remember when Dougal gave this to yer mother. It was at the dinner when they announced they were to be married.” Her soft blue eyes glazed over with memory for a moment as she began to turn away,
but she quickly turned back. “Oh. I almost forgot.” She smiled at her nephew then, in a way that always worried him. “I need a small something of yers.” Again she held out her hand expectantly. Seeing his momentary confusion, she explained, “Something of yers, Connor. Something personal. The magic willna work without it.” She paused and looked around the great hall. “I know … yer plaid. A piece of yer plaid will do nicely.” At his frown, she sighed. “Just a small bit, Connor. Honestly, nephew, must you make everything a battle?”

Connor shook his head, knowing it would do him no good to argue. He tore a strip of material from the end of his plaid and handed it over to Rosalyn. “I trust that’s the last thing you’ll be needing of me, Aunt.”

“Indeed it is.”

Rosalyn paused and Connor could feel the forces of fate gathering around him.

“Weel, except for yer presence at the glen.” She looked remarkably innocent for someone so devious.

Duncan choked and spit out the ale he had just taken into his mouth. “The Faerie Glen?” he managed to croak. “Och, I should hae guessed that was where you’d be wanting to go.” He looked at Connor. “You may hae had the right of this, laddie. I’ll go see to the horses.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “And just where do I tell the others we’ll be headed? Yer uncle will ask them when we’ve gone, you ken?”

Connor considered this for only a moment. “Tell them we head to the port in Cromarty. We’ll be back within a fortnight.”

Duncan MacAlister, although easily twenty-five years Connor’s senior, was closer to him than any man
alive. The grizzled warrior had served Connor’s father from his youth. Only Duncan could be trusted with the truth of their destination.

Duncan nodded. “Lady Rosalyn”—he bowed slightly in her direction—“I’ll be in the courtyard awaiting yer readiness.”

“I suppose it’s the Clootie Well you’ll be wanting?” Connor’s ice blue eyes reflected his irritation. He shook his head in disgust. “I will regret this, I am sure,” he muttered.

Rosalyn beamed at her nephew. “My things are at the foot of the stairs. You can take them out and see that Duncan has our horses ready. I’ll join you shortly.”

Watching Connor stomp out of the great hall, Rosalyn smiled. How like his father he was. Both of them handsome and strong, just as her own father had been. Both of them clung rigidly to ideals of right, wrong, honor and responsibility to the family. Both held themselves to standards higher than those against which they measured anyone around them.

Those lofty ideals had brought her older brother an early death on a lonely battlefield. She would do anything in her power to prevent that same fate for Connor. Knowing the sacrifices her nephew had already made for his family, and the burdens he carried, she loved him all the more. This one time, however, she wanted Connor to get what he needed.

She carefully tucked the strip of cloth from his plaid into the velvet pouch with the emerald necklace and tied the strings, smiling broadly. She had very special plans for that little piece of cloth. And for her nephew.

When they reached the Faerie Glen she would tap into the source of the power and say the words that would allow the magic to travel within the pendant, guiding it wherever it needed to go to find the very special one it sought.

Denver, Colorado

Present Day

“Damn it. Why couldn’t I do something, say something?” Caitlyn Coryell slammed her front door and threw her keys across the room, where they bounced off the wall.

This is just great.
Now she was talking out loud to herself. Surely just one more thing for Richard to criticize. “‘Just who do you think you are?’ That’s what I should have said to Richard.” Cate shook her head. “I should have said something, anything, to Richard.” Instead she’d just let him usher her out, like she was a small child. Like nothing at all had happened.

Cate walked woodenly down the hall to her bedroom, kicking off her sandals and tossing all her packages onto the middle of her bed. She went back to the living room and flopped onto the sofa, pulling her
legs up until she could rest her forehead on her knees.

“I’m so pathetic.”
Maybe Richard is right.
Wasn’t he always? Maybe it was all her fault. If she could just be more …

“More what,” she mumbled, absently twisting the diamond ring on her left hand. “Not more. Less. Less like me.” Cate heaved a deep sigh and sat up. “Less afraid.” Afraid and powerless to make even the simplest decision.

I sound like a sulky little girl.
She picked up the telephone and dialed.

The hollow echo of the telephone ringing sounded for the third time.
Pick up.
Jesse should be in his room by now. It had to be around midnight in Barcelona. She needed him to answer. Though she was close to all three of her older brothers, she was closest to Jesse. He wasn’t just her brother; he was her best friend.

There was no reason for him to still be out. They had contacted the office this morning. The mission had gone well and the hostages were safe. The team should have been at the hotel long ago.

Fourth ring.
Come on, Jess. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.
Cate paced anxiously across the living room, stopping to tuck a box of tissues firmly under her arm. She’d need them for the good cry she was planning later.

Fifth ring. “PICK UP THE PHONE!” Cate yelled desperately, just as she heard the answering click on the other end of the line.

“Whoa there, no need to … Cate, is that you? What’s wrong?” Jesse’s sleepy confusion was evident.

“Sorry, Jess. I was just being impatient. Nothing’s wrong.”
Unless you count finding my fiancé having sex on
his desk with his receptionist the week before our wedding as something.

“Well, baby sister, you dragged me out of bed at … what time is it anyway? What’s going on?” That was more like her Jesse. He sounded annoyed.

Maybe calling Jesse wasn’t the smartest thing for her to do but she had already started. “Richard said, that is, we sort of had a disagreement, and, well, I’ve been thinking about what Richard said, and … ’’ Her voice trailed off as she vividly recalled the “disagreement.”