Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson Book 2) (2 page)

In the meadow near the ancient House of Clan Matheson, Scotland, the very night of the battle on the Isle of Skye, 1187.

In the misty, night-shrouded meadow, Garia fell to her knees on the grass as pain gripped her belly and shuddered through her. The cloying mist surrounded her, the air thick and heavy. Mayhap she shouldn’t have left the sanctuary of the keep this eve, but she’d awoken with such an ache in her lower back and walking had helped to ease the discomfort.

“Och, child, you cannae be born until after your father has returned to us.” Fingertips numb from the icy cold, she rubbed her swollen belly and her babe kicked underneath her palm. “Gregor would no’ wish to miss out on your birth. You must wait, wee one.”

“Garia!” Nessa, her aunt and their clan’s fae-blooded seer, tore through the foggy tree line and hurried across the meadow toward her. “I saw a vision. Your babe wishes to come, willnae wait another moment.”

“Nay, my bairn will wait. I’ve demanded it be so.” Tearing pain clawed at her and panting, she fisted the grass, her back arched as the need to push roared to ferocious life within her. “If only my babe would listen.”

“I’m so sorry, my dear. I wish I’d seen what ailed you sooner.” Nessa knelt before her. “Lie down.”

“Your vision. What did you see?” She slumped onto her side and rolled onto her back.

“Your child will be born hearty and hale. I saw her.” Nessa flipped the hem of her own gown, tore a strip of cloth from her shift and wiped Garia’s sweaty brow. “Your daughter shall hold one of the most coveted of the fae skills, the ‘power of thought,’ just as her father does. She’ll be able to manipulate whatever she wishes, to levitate or move objects if she so desires.”

“We have so few in the fae village with that skill.” Sheer joy rose within her, right along with another wracking pain. She rocked to alleviate the pressure, only it rose tenfold. “I shall name her Layla, after my mother.”

“If your mother and my sister still lived, she would be greatly honored.” Nessa swept down her body and knelt between her legs. She lifted Garia’s skirts and nodded. “I can see the babe’s head. When the next pain comes, I want you to push.”

“What else did you see in your vision?” Another pain. Fierce and unrelenting. Breathing hard, she bore down as Nessa had urged her to.

“I saw your daughter as a young lass of mayhap seven or eight. The cherry tree you planted which is just a sapling now at the edge of this meadow shall grow tall and strong, and Layla shall plant a cherry stone from your tree which will take root beside yours. All your hopes and dreams for her, I too shall hold.”

“I hold only one hope. That she will be gifted with a soul bound mate, just as I have been gifted with Gregor.”

“Aye, I too wish for her to know such a deep and wonderful love. Hold fast and remain strong. Gregor would demand it, and so do I.”

“I—” Something gushed from between her legs, hot and sticky and with the rush of fluid it sapped her strength.

“Nay, there’s so much blood.” Nessa gasped. “This I didnae see.”

Black spots danced before Garia’s eyes, her lifeblood pooling underneath her body and coating her fisted hands. “There is little time.”

“Stay with me, Garia.” Nessa’s red locks wisped with gray fluttered about her face. “One more push. Your babe is almost here.”

“One more push.” For her daughter’s sake she would do all she could to bring her safely into this world. She heaved. More pain. So fierce. Her belly tightened and she shoved her elbows into the wet grass, bore down and pushed hard.

A wail rent the air. Hers or her babe’s, she wasn’t sure.

Stay. She must do as Nessa had bid her.

Only the all-consuming darkness that arose took her swiftly away.

The year 1210, twenty-three years later.

A prophetic poem, as written by Nessa, the fae seer, addressed to her goddaughter, Layla, and dispatched by messenger from Nessa’s guest chamber at Stirling Castle, Scotland, 1210.

Child of Gregor and Garia.

One day there shall come a warrior,

no’ from another land,

but from another place far beyond our time.

He is a fierce steward and shall sail from sea to sea.

Child, you are to remember to whom you are betrothed.

Time is of the essence.

Always look to your heart,

and trust only the man to whom you truly desire.

Where the cherry tree stands, one encounters mystery.

The fates do speak and now is your time.

Dinnae cast aside that which is freely given,

for your happiness is all I seek.

Much love, Nessa.

Near the ancient House of Clan Matheson, led by Gilleoin, the Chief of Matheson, Scotland, 1210, the day the prophetic poem from Nessa arrives for Layla.

Layla thumped the lush green grass where she lay in the meadow dotted with tiny yellow flowers under the leafy umbrella of the cherry tree her mother had planted so many years ago, the prophetic poem Nessa had written and dispatched to her via messenger from Stirling Castle fisted tight in her hand. If only her godmother was here and not halfway across the Highlands with their chief, Gilleoin, as they visited the king. This poem raised more questions than it did answers.

Her betrothal to Donnan MacDonald, the Chief of MacDonald’s son, had been settled upon this past month. Father had wished to ensure she wasn’t soul bound to another first and so he’d waited three long years following her coming of age. A soul bond hadn’t formed for her amongst her own kind though, a fact she was quietly thankful for. Her parents had been soul bound and following her mother’s death after she’d labored with her, Father had mourned Mother to the depths of his soul, would have taken his own life so he might join Mother if it hadn’t been for her. He’d chosen that day he’d returned from the battlefield on Skye to raise her with all the love her mother would have, yet had been cruelly denied of. Aye, guilt, in a way, had always gnawed at her over the years, that her birth had brought such heartbreak to Father. She’d witnessed his sorrow throughout her childhood, had no intention of wishing for such a bond when the death of one could bring such pain to the other. Although never could she have asked for such loving parents, that both in their own way had given their lives for hers.

She gripped the thick parchment and traced one finger along the line which haunted her the most.

Dinnae cast aside that which is freely given,

for your happiness is all I seek.

Cast aside what exactly?

She thumped the ground again, breathed deep and forced her mind from the missive back to Mother. During her life, she’d honored her lost parent however and wherever she could, and ’twas in this most sacred place, underneath the cherry tree Mother had planted, that she felt closest to her, wished for that connection, and a moment to silently thank her for all she’d done.

In the canopy high above, the deep red of the ripening cherries bobbed jewel bright against the glossy green leaves and a gentle summer breeze blew. “I miss you, Mother.” She sniffed, tears close to the surface, just as they often were when thoughts of her lost parent consumed her as they did this day. “Father misses you too. I wish you were here.”

“I miss your mother as well, and wish she were here too.” Cherub’s voice wisped about her within the breeze then she appeared from the mist and took her full form, her white fur hooded cloak flapping back from her shoulders over top of her regal red gown, her blond hair whipping about her waist. The air settled and the Fae Angel of Love walked toward her with a soft smile, her sparkly skin catching the sunlight and reflecting it back with stunning brilliance. Cherub was an immortal time-walker and the faerie king’s daughter. She’d lived over a thousand years and during that time had aided those of her fae-blooded kind who walked this Earth, no matter what century or time that drew her toward. Never had they had such a dedicated guardian to their people as Cherub.

“I cannae believe you’re here.” She pushed up from the grass and grasped Cherub’s hands, her heart a heavy weight in her chest. “I’m sorry if I’ve called you away from your duties.”

“I will always come when you need me. What has you feeling so sad this day?”

“Sometimes there is great pain in having never known someone, of having missed a lifetime of being with them, that I cannae help but be sad. I miss my mother, miss having never known her, miss her touch, seeing her smile, learning at her knee and a thousand other little things I’ve been denied of. That is what brings me such sadness.”

“Aye, yet we must also embrace all that we have been given, including those who love us, and ensure we never let them go. Is it no’ better to have loved than to have never loved at all? Your mother, while she walked this Earth, loved you dearly, from the moment she conceived you to the day she brought you into this world. She will love you forever, even though she resides beyond the veil.” Cherub pulled her into a hug, her warmth and love encompassing her. “What else worries you? Your need calls to me on the very deepest level, and I sense there is more.”

“This morn I received a prophetic poem from Nessa, one she sent by special messenger all the way from Stirling Castle. It has me quite confused.”

“Nessa would never have sent you one of her prophecies without good cause. Would you like to share it with me?”

“I’ve already approached Father about it. He simply nodded and said only time would tell, so aye, I would love some more insight if you have it to offer.” She handed the thick piece of folded parchment across.

Cherub unfolded the missive and read, one finger trailing along the words of the first verse. “This speaks of a warrior coming from another place far beyond our time. Nessa must be referring to those unmated warrior shifters from my mate’s future clan, although out of Kirk’s clansmen from the twenty-first century whom I’ve brought here, only Tor currently remains unmated.” She frowned, her brows pinching together as she eyed her. “Do you feel aught toward Tor? I ask because the very air itself brings to me the secrets it holds, including the call of those who are soul bound. Weeks ago I caught Tor’s soul’s need for another in this time which is why he is here, although I’ve yet to be led to exactly whom he’s mated to.”

“Tor intrigues me, although naught more. I am betrothed to Donnan, have given him my oath that we will wed, and afore the week’s end. I have a mere five days afore I speak vows. I certainly cannae forsake my duty to my clan, or the betrothal agreement Father signed.”

“Your argument is strong, although I’d like to hear more of this exact ‘intrigue’ you feel.”

“I cannae be Tor’s mate, if that is what you’re asking.”

“I see.” Cherub lifted her nose, breathed deep and scented the very air itself, the element she controlled.

“What do you sense?”

“The full moon rises this night and once it does, Tor will finally be able to sense exactly who his chosen one is. No more will she be able to hide from him.” Cherub patted her hand then returned her gaze to the missive. “This third verse speaks of this very place, where the cherry tree stands, and that the fates do speak.”

“I was drawn here this afternoon, hoped that by coming to my mother’s sacred place that I’d get a little more enlightenment.” She leaned back and rested her back against the wide trunk of her mother’s cherry tree, its solid presence comforting and surrounding her. “Do you have any more thoughts on the poem?”

“I agree with what Nessa has written.
Dinnae cast aside that which is freely given.
” Smiling, Cherub folded the missive in half and passed it back to her. “And as your father said, only time will tell
.
That too I wholeheartedly agree with.”

“Wonderful.” Smiling, she shook her head, tucked the poem into her gown’s pocket. “You, Nessa, and Father are so very helpful at times.”

“Aye, well, we do try to do our very best when it comes to you.”

“Cherub! Layla!” Tor strode through the trees across the far side of the meadow, his hands curved around his mouth and his gaze on the move as he searched for them.

“Over here!” Cherub waved out then rubbed Layla’s arm. “I wonder what’s brought Tor back so early from the fae village?”

“I’ve no idea. When he left a couple of days ago, I saw him off and wished him the best of luck. He said he’d remain there until after the full moon rose.” The fae village was where he expected to find his chosen one, hoped that he might even be able to sense who she was before the full moon rose, a distinct possibility since two of his kinsmen had recently sensed their mates in such a way. Finlay had known Arabel was his, and from their first meeting. Tavish too, Tor’s twin brother, had known Julia was his from the moment they’d met.

“Tor told me the same too.” Cherub winked at her, her blue eyes twinkling, and rather mischievously. “Have I ever mentioned that part of mated male’s journey in finding his chosen one is in what he must overcome in order to be with her?”

“Aye, a number of times.” As Cherub had told their entire clan.

“Good, because that journey is one that builds the foundation for their bond and all that ’twill be. Hold onto those words. Your happiness too, is all I seek.”

“You are turning into Nessa with your prophetic words.”

“Well, I thank you for the compliment.” Cherub chuckled as she hugged her. “When I see your mother next beyond the veil, I shall tell her you miss her.”

“Tell her I love her, with all my heart and soul, and so does Father.” She hugged Cherub back. “Thank you for your aid, for coming to me and for looking over the poem.”

“Of course, and dinnae forget.
Time is of the essence
.” Cherub dissolved into a mist and streamed around her, kissed her cheek then swept away.

“Where’d Cherub go?” Tor loped toward her under the tree, his billowy white tunic’s ties loose at his neck and his black hair sweeping his shoulders. He pressed one hand to the bobbing hilt of his side belted sword and steadied it.

“To the castle, I believe, or wherever Kirk is.” Cherub never traveled far from her soul bound mate, and thankfully at the moment Kirk and his brother, Finlay, were in charge of Gilleoin’s castle and his lands until their chief returned from Stirling. Which she hoped would be soon. She missed Nessa terribly. Gently, she brushed a scattering of pine needles from Tor’s shoulders. “It looks like you’ve been rolling around on the ground. Have you shifted recently?”

“Aye, my bear is riding me hard, always demanding I make the Change and search for my chosen one. It looks like you’ve been rolling around on the ground as well.” With a grin, he plucked a leaf from her hair and passed it to her.

“I may have.” She set the leaf he’d passed her in the center of her palm and touched a finger to one crinkly edge. “Did you have any luck at finding your chosen one at the village?”

“None whatsoever. I didn’t sense even an inkling of desire for one of the lasses who might be the one I’m looking for. I also felt driven to return. I thought I’d speak to Cherub about it, see if she could offer me any advice since she can sense when two are mated. Except she has a terrible habit of disappearing at the wrong time. I’ll have to head back to the castle and track her down.” He stepped closer, curled his hand over her shoulder, his fingers brushing lightly over her gown and his thumb stroking wider and gliding over the skin of her neck. “But first, I also need to speak to you.”

“About?” She lifted the leaf to her lips and blew on it. It fluttered free and with a swish of her fingers and one thought from her mind, she sent the leaf twirling high and whisking away on the gentle afternoon breeze.

Tor watched the leaf flutter high and smiled. “That’s an incredible skill you and your father have. The ‘power of thought.’ I love seeing you move things without any need for touch.”

“’Tis a skill we consider a gift, and one we dinnae take advantage of.” As it would be so easy to do. She picked up the swaying ends of his tunic’s loosened neck ties, the deep V of his neckline exposing a smattering of dark chest hair. “You were saying you wished to speak to me.”

“Aye, Gregor mentioned you received a prophetic poem this morning from Nessa. It’s the reason why I had to track you down as well.” He wrapped his hands around hers as she played with his ties, his palms so warm and big and fully enveloping hers.

“Did Father speak of the details within the poem?” She hadn’t asked Father to keep the poem’s contents to himself, but she expected he would have all the same.

“He told me only that I should seek you out and take a look at the prophecy Nessa sent you.”

“Honestly, I’ve no desire to share Nessa’s prophecy with anyone else yet. I’ve already shown Cherub and she has offered a little advice. ’Twill do for now.” Certainly if the first verse was about him as Cherub believed, then she needed more time to consider all Nessa had shared.

“I promise I’ll keep whatever’s contained within it between us.” He inched closer, until the tips of his black leather boots touched her slippered feet. “Show it to me.”

“I know you would, but Nessa has a habit of raising more questions than she does answers with her prophecies. Later. I’ll show you another time.” She tightened his loose laces, made a bow at the top and as she did he leaned in, touched his nose to her neck and breathed deep. A low rumble vibrated in his chest and she laughed at him. “Are you trying to smell me again, Tor Matheson?”

“My bear loves your scent, has since the first day we met. I’ll never forget that moment when you walked into the chief’s solar wearing a deep red gown, your golden curls bouncing down your back and a circlet headpiece of pretty red flowers with red and white ribbons fluttering down from the top. You held a tray of ale and oatcakes in your hands, set it down on the chief’s desk then walked toward me and proceeded to loosen the ties on my tunic with your mind alone, right before you tightened them in the same way. That was the first time I’d ever come across someone with your fae ability.”