Once Upon A Highland Legend (8 page)

Brude was right: Callum
was
far more motivated to finish the crannog now, and it was because of Annie Ross. If he had to work until the torches gutted tonight, he vowed not to stop until he had a private place to woo the woman he intended to make his bride.

And yet…no one else seemed to have noted the changing colors of her stone, so while he believed her, he realized the others might not, so until Biera returned, he must keep the lass at bay…a task that might not prove so simple if she continued to look at him that way—with that incredible look of longing that made him want to taste the nectar of her body.

Aye, he wanted her, but for now, it was enough to know that wherever she had come from—faerie or nay—the gods had surely sent her to settle his restless heart.

“D’ ye wish to kiss me, lass?”

Those sensual lips were branded in Annie’s memory. To emphasize her lie, the Winter Stone remained dark—no longer red, green or milky white.

“D’ ye wish to kiss me?”

No.

Yes.

The crystal’s color brightened suddenly, revealing shards of pink.

Damn it.

She
did
want to kiss him. It was true. The way he had looked at her set her heart to racing, even now that he was nowhere near. He wasn’t immune to her either, despite his claims to the contrary. She only wished she had known how to use the crystal better, so she could have made a liar out of him as he had done to her.

Bloody hell, he’d used her own stone against her.

But why was it that only the two of them could see its colors, aside from the shopkeeper? Annie wondered.

Curled beneath her cheap poncho, she tried to make herself as small as she was able so she might better fit beneath the fringed garment. It was pointless. It was cold and she was restless. Once the sun went down, the temperature plummeted and her teeth might have begun to chatter except that the object of her newest obsession appeared long enough to dump a heavy woolen cloak over her. He gave her a wink—as though they were long-time allies—and then walked away.

“Wait!” Annie grabbed her stone, eager for an opportunity to redeem herself. “Wait!” she called after him, but he ignored her, marching deliberately away, without looking back, his shoulders shaking with what she suspected was mirth.

He was toying with her.

Did he realize what he had done to her?

Damn him.

Frustrated, Annie turned, giving grumpy Morag her back.

Embraced by Callum’s cloak, she realized how thin and poorly made her modern poncho was and she was heartily grateful for Callum’s thoughtful gesture…except that now…she could smell him on her covers—the scent of man, sun and sweat. It was entirely disturbing and it sent her thoughts skittering to places they shouldn’t wander. Nor could she stop imagining him working out there…somewhere…bare-assed. She stared into the Winter Stone, admitting the truth—she wanted him—and the rosy color of the stone heightened.

“Okay, yes,” she confessed to the stubborn rock. “Yes, damn it! I do!”

Over by the fire Morag muttered something crossly beneath her breath and continued to stoke the flames. Thankfully, after awhile, one of the men came to take her place. The two exchanged words Annie couldn’t quite make out and then she was alone again with a new guard—thankfully, whose temperament wasn’t half so grim. But if she had thought Callum a tall man, this guy loomed over her like a lumbering pine. He sat—or more like, folded like an accordion to his knees. “
’S thoigh le Callum Annie às Ross,”
he said with a lopsided grin.

Annie couldn’t be certain, but she thought he had uttered some third-grade proclamation, something like, “Callum likes Annie Ross.”

She smirked. It gave her a curious sense of satisfaction to know that someone else had noticed as well, even if Callum refused to confess it. Seriously, if the situation wasn’t so…bizarre…she might have laughed. What in God’s name was she supposed to say to that? Except that, apparently, she kind of liked Callum back. She smiled tentatively at the man, and he rewarded her with his flask, handing it over after taking another hefty chug.

Thirsty, tired, cold and grateful for his show of kindness, Annie didn’t hesitate. She greedily accepted the flask and took a quick drink.

Liquid fire poured down her throat and she swallowed as she choked. She thought it might be whisky, but she couldn’t be sure. It tasted more like gasoline. Good lord! She might have realized water wasn’t a thing here—they probably didn’t know how to boil yet, she thought sardonically. And despite her sour face, her new companion laughed amiably. “
Is ainm dhomh Dunneld,
” he said, offering up his name.

For a moment, Annie could barely speak past the burn in her throat. She handed the flask back, and said, “Good to meet you, Dunneld.”

He took another turn with the flask, putting the homemade whisky down as easily as though it were milk. “Ye as well, lass.” His grin widened. “If ye ask me,” he proffered, “ye’re a gift from the gods, fae or no’.” He nodded when she furrowed her brow. “Until ye appeared, Callum was all set to go. Puir lad. He dinna take his da’s passing well. In truth, he’s never been quite convinced of…our…” He averted his gaze suddenly, looking a bit disconcerted as he finished, “mission.” But then he peered back at her, grinning once more, and he shook his head with what appeared to be genuine wonder. “Ye’d best be getting’ yourself some rest,” he advised with a wink, and chased his warning with another swig of whisky. “Ye’re just the thing tae keep the chief settled, I warrant.”

Annie blushed. It probably wouldn’t do much good to assure the man that she didn’t intend to remain here all that long. Once her curiosity was appeased over the Stone of Destiny, she’d be applying herself twenty-four-seven to finding a way back home—no matter how much Callum invaded her thoughts.

Why?

The question popped into her head, like a disembodied voice, unsettling her.

She lay back on her elbow against the ground, pulling the cloak up nearly to her chin. These people had not harmed her, despite that they had questioned her motives. So why not explore whatever this was she was feeling? What was there to get back to anyway?

Everything
, she mentally replied.
Everything
. Then again,
nothing.

That thought made her glum.

“Come near the fire, Annie Ross,” Dunneld demanded, not unkindly. “The night’s cauld.”

“Thank you.” Annie said.

“’S e do bheatha.” You’re welcome
.

Annie considered the man sitting in front her—and Callum as well—both far more polite than most guys she knew. And for a time, she lay watching him draw pensively with his stick in the ash, wondering who would miss her if she didn’t return home. Maybe Kate? She only saw her cousin once every year or so. She did have friends, but everyone was busy with their own lives, raising babies and trying to crash glass ceilings. Annie had always felt a bit like a fish out of water—something she was, inconceivably, not feeling at the moment. She ought to be questioning why. “Where exactly are we, Dunneld?”

The giant’s brows collided. “Ach, now, ye walked here w’ ye’re ain two legs. How is it ye dinna know where ye be?”

Faced with such a common sense question, and having absolutely no answer, Annie furrowed her brow. “I don’t know.” Everything she’d thought she’d known was upside down.

The night was dark, but the firelight cast a warm glow over Dunneld’s face, highlighting the red in his beard. He took another swig from his flask, nodding. And he must have decided he believed her, because he waved a hand over the entire expanse and said, “’Tis a sacred vale…MacAilpín himself brought together seven kings here to sup as friends.” His voice took on a somber tone. “Black Tolargg, Drust, all of them…slaughtered like lambs upon an altar.”

He tossed his stick into the fire and watched it burn. Intense sadness entered his eyes, revealed by the flickering of the flames. Lost in thoughts she could not glean, he drank more of his whisky, his tongue loosening a bit as he continued. He said the words as though he had held them in far too long. “The bastard said his minny was a Pecht,” he recounted bitterly. “Though he was naught but a wolf in sheep’s clothing—a faithless Gael…”

“Who?”

“MacAilpín—the bastard.”

Annie suddenly remembered Callum’s words:…
there’s no’ a one of us who would benefit by siding with the sons of MacAilpín.
Her heart tripped a little. The possibility that she might be sharing the same air as the Father of Scotland made her feel lightheaded, but apparently neither Dunneld nor Callum held him in high regard. “Where is he now?” she asked, and held her breath for his answer.

“Who?”

“Kenneth MacAilpín.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Ach!
Dead
now—for twenty years or more!”

Disappointment sidled through her. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

He arched a brow. “Mayhap then ye be a faerie, in truth, because I dinna ken how any mon or woman wadna know. That liar died with a lump in his throat the size o’ my fist—cursed by the gods, yet buried in Iona as befits a saint. ’Tis true enough only his Gael brothers mourn him now for my kin willna so easily forget ’twas Kenneth MacAilpín who murdered our sires…”

“Twenty years?” Annie sighed with disappointment. But there was still the stone…and she had lived her entire academic life for this question, so she had to know. “What about the stone…the one you brought from Scone?”

Momentarily caught off guard by the question, Dunneld peered up at her through dark lashes. “Seems I’ve said too much already, Annie Ross. Dinna fash yersel’ o’er it. Get some rest now afore auld Morag returns an’ ye find yersel’ squirming beneath
an droch-shùil
!”
The evil eye.

Annie laughed softly. She lay her head back upon the ground and peered up at the black sky, listening to the endless echo of hammers in the distance.

Until ye appeared, Callum was all set to go…

Callum likes Annie Ross.

Yes, he did
and she was going to prove it, she vowed—if it was the last thing she did before she left here. A feeling like butterflies flittered somewhere down deep in her belly, and her heart tripped again. If she was dead, in fact…or dreaming…if this was heaven…at least God had gotten her version of heaven exactly right—surrounded by the history she loved…

Unconsciously pulling Callum’s cloak to her nostrils, Annie breathed deeply of his male scent and studied the night sky. These were all the same stars—exactly where they belonged. Even the North Star, bright as it was, was in plain sight. If she was dreaming…then she was doing it in amazing detail. High above, stars twinkled like faerie dust, lulling her into closing her eyes. And somehow she fell into a deep, weary sleep, despite a growing sense of anticipation she attributed to the fantastic possibility of setting eyes upon the Stone of Destiny…but it was much, much more than that, she knew.

She didn’t stir at the changing of her guard.

Higher on the hill, guards changed there as well.

The caves, naturally formed and full of mist, descended deep into the bowels of the ben. That’s where they had vaulted the stone. But this was as close as any need come, for the cold mist was enough to put an ague in the bones. There was no other way in, so the guards remained outside, guarding from without. Voices carried so they fell into whispers—one an elder, one not. It so happened the two had received the same rotation this evening.

“If she’s a spy, she wasna sent here by Giric,” the elder declared.

“How can ye know?”

The elder shrugged. Using his dirk to pare off an annoying hang of flesh at his thumb, he pricked a bit of his own blood, and then swiped it upon his breacan. “Let us simply say I was kept in confidence until we left Scone.”

“Tell me then, if Giric realizes the stone missing, why has he no’ raised alarm and stormed the vale?”

The elder eyed the man seated upon his rump and re-sheathed his blade. “Of course, they have no idea where we have taken the stone—how could they? No one has left this god-forsaken vale since the day we arrived—except Biera, the auld bitch.”