Page 53 of Highlander Redeemed
“Trust your instincts,” Jeanette said, as she pulled her small wooden scrying cup from a fold of her arisaid and held it up for Malcolm to fill it to overflowing with water from a skin. Jeanetteset the water in front of her, near the edge of the ermine sack. “If you feel you should touch the stone, do.”
“That is not much guidance, sister.”
“It is not. Perhaps someday we will understand enough to teach the next Guardian better, but for now, this is the best we can do.”
“Jeanette? The blessing?” Rowan said, her auburn brows raised.
“Aye.” Jeanette said the words none of them understood while gracefully flowing her hands through the air in the series of symbols Elspet had taught her. “We should set up a barrier, too, as we have done in the bower.”
Rowan nodded. Without a word she lifted the Targe stone in her hands and held it heart high. Jeanette touched the water lightly with the fingers of her right hand and the stone with her left. Almost immediately Scotia felt a prickle on her skin as a barrier that could not be seen, but could be felt, spread out from the stone until it surrounded the three women, the standing stone, and the two Protectors. The other five warriors created a perimeter just outside the edge of the barrier. Scotia was surprised.
“No wind?” She looked at Rowan. Usually Rowan’s gift was accompanied by at least a breeze.
“Only when I use my specific gift,” Rowan said, settling the Targe back on its sack. “Let us begin.” Then both Guardians looked at Scotia.
“Am I to do something?” Scotia asked
“Do whatever makes sense to you,” Jeanette said.
Scotia considered this lack of direction, then decided to look at it as Duncan had taught her to assess a foe she knew nothing about. She started with the little she did know, putting together the common pieces of both Rowan’s and Jeanette’s experiences. Rowan was touching Elspet when the Targe chose her, a direct transfer from the old Guardian to the new. Jeanette was touching the stone in the grotto with the symbol for her gift inscribed upon it when she was chosen and her gift burst through her.
Scotia looked over her shoulder and up at the stone that loomed over her head, then stood and faced it. She reached up and pressed her hands to its weathered face, as close as she could get to the broken-arrow symbol, though it was still just out of reach.
An almost painful rush of goose bumps raced over her skin, raising the hairs at the nape of her neck, but that was all. Nothing happened. She tried to quiet her mind as Jeanette did, but that never worked.
“It is useless!” she said, spinning to face the Guardians, but they were both looking at her wide-eyed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ONCEDUNCAN CAUGHTup with Kenneth and Uilliam, Kenneth instructed him to head west to look for the English, but Duncan knew ’twas Kenneth’s way of sending him even farther away from Scotia, the Story Stone meadow, and the test that would prove what he knew deep in his bones: Scotia would be chosen as a Guardianifshe had changed enough to be worthy of that position and that responsibility. As he strode away through the wood, he forced himself to keep going without looking back, without questioning the decision Malcolm had made to send him away, or Kenneth’s to send him even farther. ’Twas what he wanted, after all, to be as far away from her as possible. ’Twas much easier to remember her failures, her lies, when he could not look upon her, when he could not see the change in the way she carried herself.
Her bearing this morning had been—He could not put a name to it, but shefeltlike a different person. She had looked at him calmly, but had done nothing except say “good morn” as she passed him and took her place behind the Guardians. He realized the look in her eye in that moment had been solemn, thoughtful, and yet he could tell she was nervous about the coming day.
As much as he knew ’twas best for himself that he was not present at the stone, still he wanted to be there to celebrate her success when she was chosen. If she was chosen. He could not decide if he was certain she would be, or if he was certain she was not worthy of the honor. In truth the events of the last day, therapid changes in Scotia’s behavior, her admission of guilt in the death of Myles, and the revelation that she blamed herself for her mum’s death made him think ... hope ... that she was finally worthy. His breath caught in his throat as he realized that was the thing she would not tell him—of her belief that she was responsible for her mum’s death, and that if she could not bring herself to admit that, then she could not admit to her part in Myles’s death.
But she had.
Twice broken. Twice mended. Sometimes when something broke and was mended, it ended up stronger than before.
He stopped for a moment, debating with himself. Duncan knew he could not be present when Scotia presented herself to the stone, when she was chosen as a Guardian, though there was little in this world he hoped for more, for that would be a sign that she really had changed, that she really was worthy. He knew Rowan and Jeanette would be happy for Scotia, and that they would immediately start to determine how the three of them could work together to protect the clan. He knew Nicholas and Malcolm, as Protectors of the Guardians, would keep her safe from any danger that might present itself while they were so very exposed at the Story Stone. He knew the warriors spread out around the Guardians and their Protectors in two circles would hold the English soldiers at bay if they happened to come upon the place while the Guardians worked together.
But he also knew, no matter how angry or disappointed he was with her, if anything happened to Scotia he would not forgive himself for leaving her safety to the Protectors and the clan. He also knew that there was nothing he could do at this point but to keep walking, to keep putting distance between the two of them as Malcolm and Kenneth had instructed. He had no choice but to trust that she would prove her worth, or she wouldn’t, all on her own.
Duncan stopped for a moment and settled his distracted mind by carefully cataloging the world around him, just as he often counseled Scotia of late. The sharp aroma of pine swirled aroundhim on the breeze, the scent so strong he could taste it in the back of his mouth. Small birds chirped, flitting from one treetop to another, and somewhere in the distance he heard the melancholycruck cruckof a raven. He noted the location of the sun through the canopy of trees, and though it was just barely past midday he could tell that he had veered off from his westerly course to a more southwesterly direction.
Much to his chagrin, he also noticed that he was being followed. He should listen to his own advice and pay attention to what was happening in the moment, not what happened yesterday or might happen tomorrow.
Without a sound, he slipped behind the boll of an ancient oak tree, setting his back tight to the trunk, and prepared to listen for his shadow.
“YOU DID NOTfeel the power?” Rowan asked Scotia.
“Power?”
“Like a sizzling under your skin, almost painful. I felt you call it.”
“Nay, not that. I felt goose bumps, but that is not uncommon.”
Rowan and Jeanette were looking at each other, the same small smile playing over their lips. The Protectors were standing nearby but facing out, watching for trouble.
