by Lily Baldwin
She scanned the men, looking for Alec but did not see him at first. Then her breath caught. Alec came forward and took his place next to Bryden. He was dressed like the other Highland warriors in a plaid with naught else but leather boots. In one hand, he gripped a targ and as usual, his sword was strapped to his back. He looked tall and lean next to the Campbell warriors, none of whom reached Alec in height. His black eyes gleamed, harder and more intense than ever. He motioned for her to come to him. Leading Matthew behind her, she did as he bade.
His black eyes bore into her soul. Handing his targ to Matthew to hold, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her, slowly, a lingering kiss that filled her core with honeyed warmth and stirred a longing within her that grew and grew. She clung to him, returning his kiss with all her love, all of her passion. When he drew away, he did not speak. The pulse of his body flowed through her, conveying his every intent and thought. I love you, body and soul.
A rush of tears flooded her eyes. “I love you too,” she whispered, reaching her arms high. Knowing what she wanted, he lifted her feet off the ground, pulling her close, and she buried her face in his neck, inhaling his masculine scent.
Feeling her fear for his safety, he spoke softly to her. “The men around me are not afraid. Ye ken I would feel it if they were. Forty cavalry on an open battlefield would mean risk, but still I do not doubt the Campbell warriors would come out the winners. But here, on their mountain — this isn’t battle. ‘Tis target practice.” Fear continued to grip her heart. He set her on her feet, and once more he cupped her cheeks. “Do ye think I would have led English soldiers here if I thought I would be placing these good men in danger? Look around ye, Joanie,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides. “Go ahead,” he urged her. “Look.”
She took a deep breath and slowly considered the warriors who smiled down at their women or kissed them lovingly. Others held their own sweet children in their arms.
“You know how this all ends, then?”
“I feel in my heart that something wondrous is about to happen, but I do not ken what. What I do know, as plain and true as my love for ye, is that every man ye see here will return this day to their families.”
“Including you,” she whispered. It felt as if a boulder crushed her chest, forcing her to draw shallow breaths.
“Including me,” he said, pulling her against him. “Just keep breathing. I will return.” His lips claimed hers. This time his kiss was hungry, demanding. It dissolved the weight on her chest, opening her heart to his promise of victory.
“I love ye, Joanie,” he said. Her knees grew weak at the sight of his smile. Then he crouched low, and she watched as he looked at Matthew. They were a sight to see with Alec’s intense black gaze and Matthew’s uncanny mix-matched eyes. They needed no words to convey what was in their hearts and minds. Her heart flooded with warmth when Matthew wrapped his arms around Alec’s neck. A smile full of life’s wonder teased Alec’s lips as he returned the child’s hug. Then he stood and stepped back in line with the other men the instant before Dunnoch raised his sword in the air and shouted, “Cruachan.”
“Breathe,” he said again, his fiery eyes locked with hers. Then his face settled into cold, hard lines as the battle cry tore from his lips. Turning away from her, he joined the other warriors as they stormed through the gate, their strides long and powerful.
She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the absence of Alec’s touch and stared after him, her eyes lingering on his sleek form long after it had disappeared. Remembering his last word to her, she drew a deep breath and turned to take Matthew’s hand to lead him back into the keep, but he was gone.
She scanned the courtyard for him. “Matthew,” she called.
Spying the stables, she dashed across the courtyard, thinking he might have wanted to see the horses. She peered into every stall before she rushed back outside.
Panic building in her heart, she grabbed a woman who was passing by. “Have you seen the small boy who arrived with me today. His name is Matthew.”
“The one with the queer eyes?” she asked.
“Yes,” Joanie exclaimed, daring to hope.
But the women shook her head.
Another woman nearby called out to her. “I saw him run off with the other lads. They’ve gone to watch the battle from the cliffs.”
Joanie’s eyes widened with alarm. Then she turned and started to race toward the gate.
“Wait,” the woman cried. “Ye can’t go out there like that.” She swept the plaid from her shoulders and wrapped it around Joanie’s. “Ye don’t need to do this. The lads will be all right.”
“I cannot let anything happen to him. He’s my family. He’s…” Her words trailed off, blocked by the knot lodged in her throat.
“There, there, pet. I can see ye’re not to be swayed,” she said. Then she untied a sheathed dirk from her waist and tied it to Joanie’s. “Don’t get too close to the battle, and mind the cliffs. ‘Tis still icy on the rocks.”
Chapter Thirty Three
Alec could hear his heart thunder in his chest along with the hearts of the men scattered in the mountain around him. The din pulsed like a battle march in his mind, ever fueling his lust for justice. Every man kept his eyes trained on the narrow pass below for the first light glinting off the knights’ helmets, but not Alec. He saw in ways others could not. He closed his eyes and opened his heart and mind and waited for the first taste of the knights’ anger and frustration as they tried to pull their hulking chargers up the steep mountainside.
At first, their souls grazed his, a trickle of weary aggression that grew with every step they climbed. Then the hearts of the Highland warriors scattered around him began to race harder, and he knew without opening his eyes that the first glint of sunshine on metal had been spotted. Almost there, he breathed, his eyes still closed. Slowly, he reached back and gripped the hilt of his sword. He could feel the blood rushing faster through his body, awakening his limbs in anticipation of the Campbell war cry. “Now,” he said out loud the instant before Dunnoch sounded the call.
Violent fury shot threw Alec as he threw his head back and bellowed the word, joining the roar that echoed down the mountain. An instant later, the fear of the men below struck his heart. Pure terror raged within him — but it was not his fear. Nor did it belong to his fellow warriors. The enemy’s hearts quaked as they beheld the half-naked, fierce warriors pouring down the pass and leaping at them from the rocks above with teeth bared, like Hell raining down upon their unwitting souls, souls who hadn’t seen the attack coming.
~ * ~
Joanie continued to breathe, holding fast to her courage as she followed the gruesome sounds of battle. The wild calls of the warriors fed her valor while the strangled screams of the dying knights struck her heart. She shuddered at the thought of Matthew hearing those same cries. The mountain was no place for a child. She only peeked down at the tangled chaos of limbs and swords for a moment before she turned to look up and scan the ridge above. At last, she spotted the boys staring down at the swinging swords and the bloodshed below. Then she saw him. “Matthew,” she gasped before she scurried up the mountainside.
~ * ~
Fury and fear battled for domination over Geoffrey’s mind as he watched the fray from a short distance away. A nagging apprehension had pricked at his mind as they had climbed higher up the rocky pass, and so he had moved to the back of the line. He could always count on his instincts being right. He seethed with rage as he watched Randolph Tweed, wearing the savage garb of the Highlander, strike down his men. Surrounded and massively outnumbered, his men fell one after the other. He gaped in horror as a wild Highlander jumped from a boulder jutting out from the mountain side, cleaving Geoffrey’s accomplished tracker’s head from his body. Blasted savages! His heart pounded in his ears. He had no choice but to retreat farther down the mountain while his body was still intact. He backed a few steps down, and just as he was about to turn and run, he froze. Tendrils of long, un
bound black hair lifted in the breeze, like fingers beckoning him upward. His servant, his rightful property, his Joanie scrambled up the slope beyond the reach of the fray.
He gritted his teeth at the sight of her. He might have lost the battle. His soldiers were being slaughtered before his very eyes, but he could not allow her to win. Giving the battle a wide berth, he headed up the slope after her.
He climbed ever higher, his progress slowed by the slick ice that shone in the soft light of the setting sun. He rounded a steep slope, reaching the cliffs where he spied Joanie and several boys peering down at the battle. Greed pushing him faster, he slipped and landed with a thud, drawing their gazes.
He saw her, and she gasped, yanking a small boy to his feet and backing farther up the jagged cliff. The other boys climbed down the rocks. Then, with practiced ease, they shimmied across the ledge to the opposite slope. He trained his gaze higher, not interested in the Highland whelps. He wanted one thing only — the bitch with the haunting voice whose meddling had set his defeat in motion.
He scampered up the slope, but again his foot slipped on a patch of ice and he fell, landing hard on his shoulder.
“Blast you,” he shouted. Finding his footing once more, he rounded a tall, jutting rock and saw her. A jolt of victory surged through him. She had reached the final precipice. There was no more mountain to climb.
“Stay back,” she cried, clutching the boy to her side.
Geoffrey leered at her. “I will do whatever I want,” he spat. “You belong to me.” He lunged for her, but she slashed at him with a dagger she had hidden behind her back.
“I am not afraid of you,” she cried, standing strong, dagger at the ready. “Not anymore.”
He gritted his teeth at her. “You are going to beg for death before I’m through with you.” He unsheathed his blade and stepped toward her, but then a blinding light erupted behind her. He cried out, shielding his eyes.
Peering through his fingers, he stared in awe at radiant beams, so clean and pure that it burned his dark soul to gaze upon them, and yet he could not tear his eyes away. He shuddered as fear like none he had ever known before gripped his quaking heart. The light softened and shimmered and gave way to a figure dressed all in white. Her flaxen hair gleamed. Her skin sparkled like diamonds, and her eyes burned with green fire. He knew her face.
“Do not look at me,” he cried. His legs gave way. He collapsed to the ground the instant before he glimpsed the flicker of wings. Then arms, ethereal and translucent, encircled Joanie from behind. He couldn’t speak or move or breathe. Then the boy stepped forward with eyes that stripped Geoffrey bare. “Ye will never hurt anyone again,” the boy said, his voice echoing like thunder in Geoffrey’s mind. “Now it is yers to bear.”
Geoffrey bellowed, his mouth straining wide as waves of pain and shame shot through him. He fought to stand as he absorbed every hurt he had ever inflicted on those he should have protected. Staggering away from his own sins, his foot slipped on the ice. For a moment, he felt suspended in air before another wave of pain battered his soul, and the world fell away as he plummeted off the cliff, the brightly colored lights receding into darkness.
Breathless, Joanie stared in disbelief at the place where Geoffrey had stood only moments before, cowering. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. Her hands gripped her head as she struggled to understand. Then she looked down at Matthew and bent low, hugging him close. “It was you, wasn’t it?” She pulled away and looked into his powerful eyes. “You did this. You found your words and frightened him.”
Matthew shook his head. “She gave them to me.”
Confused, Joanie scanned the cliffs. “Who did? There is no one here but you and me.”
Matthew smiled. “And Diana.”
Joanie sucked in a sharp breath. “What did you just say?”
He looked at the empty space to her left. “She is standing there, beside ye.”
Trembling, Joanie slowly stood. “I … I cannot see her.”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t there.”
Tears stung Joanie’s eyes as she swept her trembling hand through the air beside her.
“She says it was her turn to protect ye.”
Joanie’s hand clamped on her mouth as a sob racked her shoulders.
“She says she loves ye.”
“I love you, Diana,” Joanie blurted out through her tears. “I love you so much.”
And then a silken breeze swirled around her, encircling her in warmth that penetrated her heart, her very soul. And she knew then that her dearest friend, her sister in life, lived on, forever young, forever beautiful. And never again would Joanie doubt the power of angels.
~ * ~
Alec surged up the mountain driven by Joanie’s fear, which coursed through his body, darkening his soul. The blood of the enemy stained his hands, and yet he knew one English knight had escaped and threatened the woman he loved, the woman he would steal for, fight for, die for. He squeezed the hilt of his sword and narrowed his eyes on the path, dodging ice and hurdling rocks. When he crested the summit, he stopped short as pure wonder seized his heart, lifting him from the darkness and bloodshed into beauty without compare. He dropped to his knees. An ethereal Diana, encircled Joanie in beams of heavenly light, filling her, loving her, healing her.
Joanie’s serenity and her replete heart brought tears to his eyes. Through the watery blur, he watched Diana’s glory dissolve into myriad points of light that hovered above their heads for only a moment, a breath before soaring high, filling the newly twilight sky with flickering stars.
Matthew reached him first, a breath before Joanie. Alec pulled them both into his arms.
“Did ye see her?” Matthew exclaimed, his face shining up at him.
Alec’s eyes widened at the sound of Matthew’s voice, and his heart, which he never would have believed could be any fuller, nigh burst from his chest. He smiled into Matthew’s mix-matched eyes. “I did.”
Joanie beamed up at him, her eyes brighter than he had ever seen them.
“Then we were both wrong,” she said. “Angels do exist.”
A smile tugged at one side of his lips as he leaned down to press his forehead to hers. “Aye, we were both wrong, but only about angels. Everything else about us is just right.”
Epilogue
Haddington Abbey, Scotland
Three days later
A twinkle filled Abbot Matthew’s eyes. “Ye ken what this is?” he asked, removing the green silk cloth that covered the stone.
“I do,” Alec said.
He, Joanie, and Matthew had followed the abbot deep in the abbey cellars. Torch fire danced on the stone walls and illuminated the large stone.
“When Ramsay and David arrived with the Stone, I admit I was more than surprised.” He turned and put his hand on Alec’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have been, though.”
“I was more than a little surprised myself,” Alec said. “I thought King Edward seized the Stone. In fact, I’ve heard it said that he built a throne around it. He sits on it even now in York.”
“Thanks to the brothers at Glenrose Abbey, the Stone of Destiny is by no means under the posterior of that wretched king.”
Brows drawn, Alec said, “I saw flashes of Templar knights attacking the abbey. Did the monks switch the stones when they saw the soldiers approach?”
“Nay, the stone that had been displayed near the altar was never the true stone. It had been hidden away somewhere either in the abbey itself or within the grounds; only the monks knew. After the king raided the abbey in 1296 and stole the fake stone, the monks relocated the true stone away from Glenrose. They managed as well as they could during the move, but they dropped it and a chard broke off. They later gave the chard to the Bishop Lamberton as proof that Edward had been fooled. Still, they did not even tell the bishop of the Stone’s whereabouts. Then, just two years later, Edward sacked the abbey again, which meant he must have suspected what happened. O
f course, nothing came of the raid. The bishop was still assured that the real stone remained in Scotland.
“But then the brothers disappeared,” Alec said, knowingly.
The abbot nodded gravely and made the sign of the cross. “May God protect them and keep them safe. Aye, and disappearing with them was the Stone’s secret location. That was when the bishop came to me and told me all he knew.” He held up the chard. “He charged me with finding the Stone, but all I had to go on was this.” Then he rested his hand on Alec’s shoulder. “And yer seeing eyes.”
“Forgive me, Abbot,” Joanie said, “but I still do not understand why the Stone warmed in my presence, and how it led us to Saint Gabriel. How did we find it?”
The abbot smiled. “I am but a simple man, Joanie. There is little I can reveal that ye do not already know. But what I can tell ye is that I don’t believe ye found the Stone.”
Her brows pinched together. “But you said this was, indeed, the true stone.”
“What I mean to say is that I believe the Stone found ye. Ye see, Joanie, the Stone of Destiny is as old as time itself.” The abbot placed his hand reverently on the purple rock. “It holds the breath of the Holy Spirit. The power it contains cannot be understood by any of us.”
“Why then do you think it chose us?” she asked.
“The stone remained hidden in that grave for more than five years. People passed it again and again, but its pleas fell on deaf hearts — hearts without the capacity to truly hear.” The abbot turned. “Then ye three came along.”
Alec rubbed the back of his neck. “But I held that chard for months and saw nothing.”
The abbot raised a brow at Alec. “And in all that time, ye maintained walls around your heart and mind. Now, if I had to venture a guess, I don’t believe Joanie’s presence truly made the stone warm, I think she warmed yer heart, allowing ye to let down yer shields.”
