Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3)

by Laurin Wittig

  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

  ONCE DUNCAN CAUGHT up 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 Guardian if she 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 she felt like 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, the rapid 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 around him 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 melancholy cruck cruck of 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 NOT feel 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.

  “Is it so amusing that I have once more failed?”

  “Nay, sister, you have not failed. Come, sit with us. Rowan and I will try to join with you through the Targe, for I am quite sure that you are meant to be a Guardian.”

  “But the Highland Targe has not chosen me. How am I to join with the two of you if I am not chosen?” Scotia struggled to keep her voice steady and even, determined not to show any weakness, even though she wanted to break something, or battle someone.

  “I think you are trying too hard, sister. Sit.” Jeanette motioned her back down to sit around the Targe stone with them once more. “Keep one hand upon the Story Stone and place the other on the Targe as I do. Do not try to do anything, but rather let us lead you, gently, easily, into the power of the Targe, and I am certain, this time, that you will be proved a Guardian.”

  Scotia wanted to believe her with all her heart, but her heart had been bruised by too much loss, and she was loath to feel any more pain. Nonetheless she was not one to run away from a challenge, and in truth she had nothing more to lose. She sat so she could easily touch the Story Stone and the Targe stone, then looked at Rowan and Jeanette.

  IT WAS NOT long before Duncan’s suspicion was proved. Uilliam walked past Duncan’s hiding spot, then stopped and looked around, turning in a full circle as he pulled on his beard and muttered under his breath. Duncan grinned and waited for the black-haired bear of a man to scratch his head, pull his beard again, and scowl.

  “Damned man,” Uilliam whispered as he turned back in the direction Duncan had been traveling and slowly walked that way, scanning all around him for a sign of Duncan’s passing. “Damned, damned man,” Uilliam said, a little louder this time. “Duncan, if you are about, make yourself known. Nicholas will have my hide for losing you if you do not.”

  Duncan chuckled and stepped from behind the tree. “We cannot have that, now can we, Uilliam?”

  “Nay. It would seem you have learned all I taught you and then some, especially of late,” the older man said.

  Duncan realized his observation was true. “I have. Training Scotia has required me to stretch my own skills and invent new ways of training her. She is a fiercely smart warrior, that one, and catches on very quickly.” Duncan couldn’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder back toward the meadow. “You are here to keep me from returning to the meadow, aye? ’Tis not necessary.”

  Uilliam let his head bob in answer.

  “I do not like feeling useless when the future of the clan hangs in the balance,” Duncan said. “There is far more I can do scouting for English than I can do standing by as things do or do not happen there.”

  Uilliam bobbed his head again. “I ken exactly what you mean.” He looked about, and Duncan knew from long experience that he was taking stock of their surroundings. “Following you has reminded me of how useless a task that is, though you were surprisingly easy to track for
a while,” he said. His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he strode off in a westerly direction.

  Duncan almost had to run to catch up with Uilliam’s long strides. “I was distracted.”

  “By Scotia.”

  “Always by Scotia.”

  “But more so of late.”

  “Much more so of late.” Duncan sighed. “She used to irritate me. Now . . . When I was training her it seemed she had changed, that she had turned into the woman she was always meant to be: strong, focused, gifted not just with her knowing but as a warrior. Then yesterday, when she thought I had betrayed her trust, she was the same as she’d always been—impetuous, angry, thinking only of herself, not of the clan, not of what I taught her.”

  “You ken you did not betray her, aye?”

  “I do. She was not ready to go into battle. She showed us that clearly enough.”

  “And now?” Uilliam stopped and scanned the forest again.

  “I swore to myself I would have no more to do with her. Clearly I have not taught her what she needs to ken.”

  “Are you sure about that, laddie?” He took off, adjusting his direction back to the west. “It seemed last night that she had learned what she needed to, the hard way.”

  “Which had nothing to do with the lessons I tried to teach her,” Duncan said, keeping up with Uilliam better this time.

  “Did it not? In the past she would not have thought about her actions. She certainly would not have taken responsibility for the trouble she brought to our dooryard. Never would she have apologized for her deeds. In all the days I have known that lassie, she has never apologized for anything.”

  Duncan thought about the admissions Scotia had publicly made, and how even then he had come to her aid, how even after what she had done that day, the new trouble she had caused when she had left the glen, even then he could not stand by and watch her take responsibility for her mum’s death. She had much to be held accountable for, but that was not part of it, and the harm she was causing herself with it had pulled on every instinct he still had to keep her safe and happy.

  “I cannot get her out of my thoughts for even a moment,” he said, with a heavy sigh.

  Uilliam stopped, and when Duncan stopped next to him, clapped him on the back. “You have been smitten with the lassie for as long as I can remember.”

  “’Tis different now.” Duncan caught himself drumming his fingers against his thighs and forced himself to stop.

  “Aye. I have noticed that, too. Our Scotia has finally grown up.”

  “Do you think so? I was sure she was nearly there until yesterday.”

  “We are lucky you and the lads silenced the soldiers without injury to yourselves. ’Twas a stupid thing of her to do.”

  Duncan took off this time. “And yet you sound like you have forgiven her already,” he said over his shoulder.

  Uilliam was silent for a long time as they made their way toward the entrance into Glen Lairig at the far western end of the loch.

  “I think Scotia wants to change, lad,” Uilliam said, startling Duncan as much by speaking in the silence as the words themselves did. “She panicked yesterday when she thought you, the one person she has always depended upon to protect and champion her, broke his promise, and in that panic she reverted to her old behavior, but then she realized what she’d done and did her best to warn us, to limit the damage her actions might bring to the clan. She took control of the situation by admitting her mistake in front of everyone. She even allowed herself to be bound like a common thief without word, tear, or any attempt to avoid her punishment. ’Twas most unlike her. In fact, she acted like an honorable warrior, though she had to know her revelations would only push everyone away from her even more.” He cocked his head and listened intently, then he stuck a finger in Duncan’s chest just where Peigi had. “Especially you.”

  “I do not ken what to do about her. One minute I want to . . . kiss her.” What he wanted to do with her was far more intimate than kissing, but he would not say something like that to Uilliam, who was like an uncle to her. “The next I want to throttle her, though until yesterday throttling had not entered my thoughts for quite a while. What should I do about her?”

  “First, that is between you and the lass,” Uilliam said with a quiet laugh. “Second, I certainly have no right to give advice on women, but if her changed behavior is evidence at long last of your good influence, then I think for the entire clan’s sake, ye’d best ask the lass to wed with you.”

  Duncan knew the idea of marrying Scotia should have sent him running into the wood like a deer with a wolf pack on its heels, but it didn’t, and that alone was an interesting thing to know about himself. Could he marry the lass when he did not ken if he could even trust her? That was supposing she would consent to be his wife, which he had strong doubts about.

  For the first time since Uilliam had shown up, Duncan wondered what was happening at the Story Stone. Was Scotia a Guardian? And if she was chosen, did that mean she really had changed? Did it mean she had finally learned the one lesson he had tried to teach her for years? Could she be a Guardian and not think of others before herself?

  The questions galloped around his brain unanswered as he followed Uilliam to the edge of the forest.

  ROWAN RAISED THE Targe stone heart high as she and Jeanette prepared to lead Scotia into the Targe’s power. Jeanette placed the fingertips of one hand on the Targe stone while settling the fingertips of her other hand on the lip of the cup of water settled on the ground in front of her.

  “Touch the Targe stone and the Story Stone,” Jeanette instructed. “It might help if you close your eyes. Do not try to do anything, rather let Rowan pull the power of the Targe through you.”

  Scotia did as instructed, but her mind would not quiet, so instead she imagined herself drawing the broken-arrow symbol in the air in front of her with each curled line that embellished the zigzag shape as a way of both focusing her mind and keeping herself from trying too hard again. She fervently hoped that Jeanette had the right of it.

  All of a sudden the goose bumps were back, racing over her skin, lifting every hair on her body this time. Her breath caught in her throat, and then it happened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  IT WAS NOT long before Duncan and Uilliam found evidence of the English, and not just a party of outriders. The entire detachment, at least the soldiers, for there was no sign of carts, and only a few horses had passed by this point sometime since sunup. The two men looked at each other, then back at the clear evidence that the English had made it into Glen Lairig already, well ahead of when they were expected.

  “The bastard must have left his supplies behind,” Uilliam said, scanning the beaten path.

  “Aye. ’Tis what I would have done, and what Bryn suggested he might do, but I did not think the English would leave behind their comforts to be taken by Highlanders in order to make better time.” Duncan also scanned the clear evidence of the English force’s march through here. “Even so, they travel the trail along the lochside, as if they head to the castle.”

  “How many, would you say?”

  “Not the two score Jeanette saw, but not many less. It seems our allies were not able to carve away enough to give us an even fight.”

  “The Sassenachs will be tired from their march from the sea.” Uilliam was still scanning the tracks.

  “They will be. We must engage them soon, then. We cannot give them time to recover.”

  “We must get back and warn everyone,” Uilliam said. “The Guardians must get to a safe place, and the warriors must return to their posts and prepare to attack.”

  Duncan was thoughtful for long moments. “You warn them,” he said to his companion. “I will track the Sassenachs to make sure they are going where we expect them to. It would seem this Lord Sherwood may be better at tactics than Nicholas gives him credit for. I would not care for us to be taken unawares by underestimating him. Get the Guardians and Scotia to safety, and I will return to our
rendezvous camp as soon as I am able.”

  “’Tis a wise plan, Duncan. Take care, and do not engage them on your own.”

  “The same to you, my friend.”

  Uilliam quickly turned to retrace their steps while Duncan took off at a ground-eating lope, following the English into Glen Lairig.

  AS IF A dam broke within Scotia, a deluge of knowings pressed against her, vying for her attention. They came so fast and so furiously that she could not pull one from another to make a coherent thought. She knew so much that she knew nothing.

  “Try to think of Da.” Jeanette’s voice filtered through the torrent, and Scotia grabbed onto it like a lifeline in a storm.

  “Da?” She wasn’t sure her voice worked, but she felt a hand give her knee a squeeze in answer—Rowan.

  Scotia tried to calm her clattering heartbeat, to slow her breath, to call the face of her father into her mind, but instead she suddenly knew. “He is seated on a dead log. One of Malcolm’s kinsmen, Jock, has a sword to Da’s neck, but there is neither fear nor anger. Da never was any good at feigning that which was not true.”

  Neither Guardian said anything, so they must have known about this—a test of her gift, no doubt. And then she let her mind roam, searching for something they could not have prepared for her, something no one could have foreseen. She searched for the unexpected something that would prove that her gift could be accentuated by the power of the Targe, a knowing that would prove she was a Guardian, though none could doubt it now that she was joined with her sister and cousin in its power.

  Duncan would be so proud of her . . .

  DUNCAN RAN AS fast as he could while still slow enough to read the signs of the English detachment’s passing. He had not gone far when he spied a side trail that was so well hidden he almost missed it. He followed it a short distance and determined that it was made by a small group of five soldiers peeling off the main force, heading south. He calculated how far he had come, and the general direction of the trail, and determined that if this group went due south they might skirt the meadow without ever realizing it was there.