It was twilight. The sun was setting over the distant hilltops. Beautiful, but a chill was rising in the air. Not even the poncho she’d bought this morning seemed to be keeping her warm.
Had she truly bought it only this morning?
The tag was still hanging off the fringe, but at this point, with her nervous kneading, she had nearly rubbed out the ink. The shopkeeper had been right, although now Annie had to wonder about that odd look the old woman had given her—as though she had known.
Because she had known, Annie realized.
The more she thought about it, the more she knew it was true. What else had the shopkeeper said?
The Winter Stone chooses who it wishes to keep it…it chooses ye.
In fact it had exhibited physical changes to Annie’s touch.
Fae magic, the woman had proclaimed after the crystal had given Annie a rude shock.
Could it be?
She’d had a car once—a Jeep—that had shocked her every time she’d touched it. She’d joked often that it didn’t like her, but that was metal, and there was no explanation why she’d experience such a shock from what amounted to no more than a ball of glass.
But magic?
While standing in the shop, Annie vividly recalled wishing with all her heart that she could see this place a thousand years ago…well, here she was. The scientist in her was fascinated, but then a thought occurred to her: What if this wasn’t reversible?
If ye dinna wish to keep it,” she heard the old woman’s voice say in her head. “Bring it back before the first new moon.
Bloody hell! as Kate would say.
Presumably, she must be holding the damned thing. Unfortunately, at the moment she was sitting with her wrists bound, trying to eavesdrop while they argued over her fate—something they didn’t appear to agree on. Annie could feel the tension mounting in every word bandied between them. Callum—her half naked Scot—had her crystal.
The entire clan spoke the same Scots tongue, but they looked more like she imagined the Picts might have looked. Some were painted with woad—the women as well. And she noticed Callum had a gnarly wolf head woad tattoo on his back. In fact Callum seemed to be the leader, though he was clearly at odds with some guy she overheard him call Brude.
Brude was a large, obnoxious man, with a long beard sporting twin braids. He had a penchant for resting his hand below his chin while he listened, clutching the dirty beard in his fist like a bell pull. He too had a wolf painted on his chest.
Every so often, one of the eight would peer in Annie’s direction with a ferocious glare. Apparently she had stumbled upon them at a very inopportune time. Their chieftain was dead, possibly even murdered. But they were also hiding something. Something important. Something they had apparently stolen from Scone…
Annie blinked as another inconceivable thought popped into her head.
Could it be?
But, no!
And yet he had tossed her like a caber when she’d mentioned the Stone of Destiny up on the hill. Could they be hiding the Destiny Stone?
Cripes—her head was suddenly reeling—she had actually come searching for the thing…but she had never expected to find it—not like this. Every word of their heated discourse seeped into her brain only reluctantly:
“Could they have discovered it missing by now?” one of the women asked, her voice somber. Dressed in much the same crude manner as the men, she wore homemade tats of fish.
“Nay,” replied an elder man. “Unless someone has betrayed us, they canna know. Even the plaque we left was the same.”
The pinewood in the fire crackled between them, far enough away that its warmth merely teased Annie, and a weighted silence fell between them.
In the distance, she heard men and women murmuring low, as though interested in the fireside discussion, but unwilling to disturb what Annie surmised were their leaders.
Callum’s voice was sober. “My father was hale enough when we left Scone,” he interjected. Annie thought she detected suspicion in his tone, but it wasn’t directed at anyone in particular.
“What say ye, Callum?”
Callum crossed his arms, still holding her Winter Stone, tucking away under his arm. “Only that no one else took ill over that meal.”
“’Tis a serious matter. D’ ye mean to accuse someone of poisoning Finn?”
Callum cast Annie a glance before turning to the man speaking. “I mean to accuse no one, Brude. And yet did I no’ know every one o’ ye here, I would in truth suspect poison, and then mayhap treachery o’er the stone as well. But there’s no’ a one of us who would benefit by siding with the sons of MacAilpín. Is there?”
The group remained silent at Callum’s declaration.
“Of the elders only you, Uncle, wish to return the stone to Scone, though I canna see as how you or anyone else might benefit by murdering Finn.”
Brude began to pace. He eyed another man with twisted bird heads painted on his body. “I am not the only one. For my part, I dinna believe we must suffer to live like monks to save those fools from themselves. Who gives a damn if they slay one another and their kin over Scotia’s throne. I say return the stone, curse and all.”
The woman interjected. “’Tis true. Brude is not the only one who wishes to leave here,” she said pointedly. “I distinctly recall you say you wished to leave as well, Callum.”
“With one difference. I dinna give a damn about returning the stone. Ye can keep it here in the vale, smash it to bits, I dinna care.” He cast Annie another glance. “Except that…now I am reconsidering…”
The intensity of his gaze unnerved her. Annie had to look away. She sat, listening, fiddling with the price tag on her poncho, as the twilight lowered into one of the darkest nights she had ever witnessed. After awhile, only the faces surrounding the fire were visible—entirely unnerving, with the firelight revealing angry faces…and the sky as black as she had ever seen it. But without city lights to brighten the horizon, this is how it would appear.
Be careful what you wish for, her father had often said.
Well, here it is, Dad. I wished it, and here it is.
Annie’s brain hurt, and yet she came closer and closer to accepting the truth…somehow, she had fallen through time…to ancient Scotland…and these people…they had her Stone of Destiny. Only who were these people? And why did they have the Stone of Scone?
The elder of the two women cast a bitter glance toward Annie. “What aboot her?”
Callum eyed Annie as well. “What? The lass?”
“Aye, she could ha’e done it,” one of the men, not Brude, suggested.
Callum rejected the idea out of hand. “Nay. She’s as daft as they come. Besides, no Scoti would ever send a woman to do their dirty work. They are no’ like us. They keep their women’s bellies plowed with bairns and their mouths open long enough to suckle their cocks. At any rate…look at her…she’s as poor as a beggar. She canna even afford enough material to finish her dress. Clearly she wasna bribed.”
Annie bristled. She resisted the urge to speak out in her own defense. She wasn’t poor. She was frugal. There was a difference. Her boots might not be new, but they were good, solid boots. In fact, she’d spent more money to resole them once every few years than it would have cost her to buy new ones. Because she liked these boots!
“Her clothes appear new,” Brude contended.
“Aye, well, ye’d keep yours pristine as well if ye had but a sliver to wash,” Callum suggested.
Annie glared at him. Really, he was one to talk—with his bare ass hanging out. In fact, she had to look away now and again whenever he shifted on his perch so she couldn’t see up the blanket he was wearing. But she said nothing. She wasn’t about to give them any more ammo to do her any harm. That knife blade had had a serious edge, and they didn’t appear to be softening in her behalf.
“Ach, didna she say she was a Scoti?” asked one of the women, stretching out her hand, asking for Annie’s crystal.
> Callum handed the Winter Stone to her. The glassy surface shone by the firelight as it passed into her hands. “Aye. She said she was English as well, and yet she speaks our tongue as though she were born to it.”
Annie eyed the crystal longingly. Somehow, if she could get the darned thing back into her possession, she sensed it was the key to returning where she belonged. She didn’t know how the thing worked, but she knew instinctively it was responsible for bringing her here. And evidently, she had to have it back by the first new moon—whenever that might be. She peered up at the black sky. The moon was half full at the instant, but she couldn’t tell if it was waxing or waning.
What do I see? she’d asked the shopkeeper.
Truth, lies and the destinies of men.
“She also said she was searching for Clach na Cinneamhain,” Brude pointed out. “How could she know about the Destiny Stone if she wasna a spy?”
Without warning, Callum turned toward Annie, his grey eyes reflecting the firelight with an eerie brilliance. “How di’ ye know about Clach na Cinneamhain?”
Annie peered down at her bound hands, considering a smart retort. She also considered telling the truth—that she had been pursuing the stone’s history academically for nearly twelve years now. She settled on a big-fat lie, taking a stab at what she knew of their culture. “Because I’m a faerie,” she announced.
The looks on all their faces ranged from surprise, to fear and doubt. If Annie had been a little less unnerved by the entire situation, she might have laughed.
Callum’s dark brows crashed, apparently disliking her answer. “Ye said ye were a Merican,” he growled.
It wasn’t a question, but Annie nodded. “That’s where faeries come from. Have you not heard of America?”
“Nay! So ye’re telling’ me ye’re a fae with a mortal father and mother?”
Annie was no expert on faeries, but she thought it could be possible. Honestly, right now, she was thinking practically anything could be possible. She shrugged, trying for a disaffected tone. “It happens to the best of us.”
Callum narrowed his gaze.
Annie was desperate to get the crystal back now. “Look…if you’ll just give me my crystal, I’ll prove it to you.” She couldn’t tell what it might be doing at the instant, or what their reaction to it was. Their attention seemed far more riveted on Callum’s discussion with her, but she hoped there might be some way to use the crystal to impress them. Kate hadn’t appeared to see any color changes, but the shopkeeper clearly had. Did these people see it as well?
She hoped.
The one called Brude suddenly seized the crystal from the woman who was holding it. He loomed over the group, glaring into the gently glowing orb.
Even from where Annie sat, she could see that it was turning a shade of pink in his grasp, though he seemed oblivious to that fact. “What’s so special aboot this piece o’ shite rock?” he demanded.
Annie hitched her chin up at him, and said with a sort of gypsy flair, “That, sir, is the Winter Stone. In its depths I see truth, lies and the destinies of men!”
“Bollocks!” the bearded man exploded. Though even as he said it, red sparked in his hands, and Annie experienced a tiny jolt of excitement at the discovery. He was getting angry. That much was clear. Maybe his anger was affecting the crystal’s color? It made sense to her in an odd sort of way. In many color association charts, red was attributed to anger. That, or passion, but then passion was also an intense emotion, she reasoned. If she could keep him talking, she might better be able to test the crystal. She had no clue what the colors meant as yet.
“I heard you say you buried your chief…” Her gaze was directed at Brude, not Callum now, though she realized it was Callum’s father and she felt another stab of guilt for intruding on his moment up on the ridge.
It took Brude a long instant to reply, and during that time, the crystal’s color heightened. “He was my brother,” he admitted, but reluctantly, his face twisted with what appeared to be regret mixed with anger.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Are you maybe pleased over his death?”
The crystal’s color glowed brighter and he stood a little straighter, dropping the hand with the crystal at his side. He stiffened his shoulders as he scowled down at her. “What sort o’ daft question is that?”
For his part, Callum remained quiet, watching curiously. She shrugged, trying not to show fear at Brude’s aggression. “It was simply a question. I heard he was poisoned.”
The look on the man’s face turned murderous. “Are ye accusing me of killing my own brother, outlander bitch?”
Did faeries plead for their lives? Annie winced. “No.”
He suddenly hoisted the crystal into the air, his voice thunderous. In his hand, the crystal glowed a fiery shade, illuminating his face with an eerie glow that set his forked beard afire. “I ought tae crack ye’re skull!” he said. “Instead, I’ll smash ye’re bloody keek stane!” He lunged toward the boulder where Callum sat, clearly intending to smash the crystal.
Inconceivably, Callum didn’t flinch as the brute descended upon him.
“No!” Annie cried, terrified that he would destroy her way home. “Please!”
Thankfully, Callum intervened. He stood, halting the man with a gently raised hand. “Enough!” he said.
The man froze above Callum, his expression full of fury.
Okay, so red was definitely anger, Annie decided, as Brude stood there, glaring at her with the crystal frozen in mid air. She couldn’t believe no one else seemed to notice the red-hot orb—especially not Brude. Like a mini sun, it shed its light far beyond the reach of the fire.
With a lifted brow, Callum peered from Annie to the crystal. He stood and calmly removed it from his uncle’s hand, then turned toward Annie, closing the distance between them, seeming not to notice the crystal’s transformation as it faded to pink in his grasp. It remained pink as he stared at her, holding it for her to take.
Annie’s heart was racing.
Awkwardly, because of the bindings on her wrists, she reached up to accept the crystal from him. To her surprise, as she touched it, that same arc of energy shot through her arm and she cried out, nearly dropping it. Somehow, she held onto it, and in her hands it turned to green.
Her reaction did not escape Callum’s notice, but Brude was unfazed. “She’s a lying bitch!” he groused as Annie recovered from the shock. “If she were a faerie—as she claims—she wadna still be sitting with arms bound. An’ ye wadna be keeping the wench if the sight of her didna harden your greedy cock, Callum mac Finn!”
Annie gasped aloud, peering up in surprise to gauge Callum’s reaction.
He was still staring at her, not at the crystal, nor at his uncle. And then he suddenly turned to address his kinsmen, and said evenly, “Until Biera arrives to give her a trial, whether ye like it or nay, the lass is under my protection.” He peered back at Annie and reassured her, “No one will harm ye, lass, as long as I have breath. I may no’ believe in faeries…but I believe in you.”
Chapter Five
Those four little words kept echoing in Annie’s head.
I believe in you.
Even more than “I love you,” they had the power to infiltrate the little cracks of her heart. She sat mulling over the thrill it gave her to hear Callum say those words. But, really, why should she care if he believed in her? Aside from the simple fact that his not believing in her could prove to be life threatening, she didn’t know this man. Whether or not he had faith in Annie, the person, shouldn’t matter. And yet the simple fact that Paul had never believed in anything she had stood for—even after five years together—and this man had stood up for her after knowing her all of—what? A few hours?—was quite…confusing.
Point in fact: It had taken her all this time to even consider going after a dig for the Stone of Destiny. Why? Because her lovely fiancé had often pointed at her thesis, and her professor’s comments, as proof that she was batty. He
had made her feel invalidated, and the last trek they’d made through the Cairngorms, Annie had secretly scoped out the terrain, without saying a word to Paul about her intentions.
All of it was so bemusing.
At least she had the Winter Stone back in her possession. Except that now she had to figure out how to make it work. Apparently, simply wishing upon the crystal wasn’t enough, despite the shopkeeper’s claim. Though Annie clearly recalled her saying, “If ye truly wish it, the Winter Stone will return on its own.”So much for that. It wasn’t working, and it certainly couldn’t be that she had reservations about leaving here—despite that little rush Callum’s words had given her.
Right, so she’d prefer to hang around a bunch of barbarians instead of getting home and crawling into her nice warm bed?
No.
However, she conceded, just maybe the chance at seeing the Stone of Destiny was holding her back…maybe a little? It was possible, because she was probably willing to saw off a limb or two for that opportunity.
In her hand the crystal had grown cold and milky again. She set it down beside her, contemplating its strange properties—none of which could be properly explained by properties known to her. Annie believed all things worked within the laws of nature, yet clearly there must be something she was missing here.
She eyed the woman they had left to guard her. Half naked, just like Callum. Hair streaked with gray and similar braids. Woad, half worn off. Weird clothes. Nope. Annie would be willing to bet that woman hadn’t seen a hairdryer in all her life.
Their discussion ended, the entire group had moved away from the fire, except for the elder woman. Someone came and dumped wood at the woman’s side, and she fed the fire all the while eyeing Annie with a look of undisguised suspicion.
The Winter Stone: One Legend, Three Enchanting Novellas Page 4
