Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3) (33 page)

“It should not be much further,” Jeanette whispered, holding the lantern high so at least a little of the light fell behind her for Malcolm. She shook her head and pulled away a spider’s web from her face. It was not the first she had run into, and she was certain it would not be the last.

“If you let me lead, I could clear those for you,” Malcolm said. She could hear the hint of laughter in his voice and could not help but smile. It was one of the things she loved the most about her new husband—even when she could see only the worst in a situation, he found the humor in it, lifting her spirits as no one else could.

Once they arrived at the landing, it took only a moment for Jeanette to find the hidden latch. As soon as the door swung inward on silent hinges that Jeanette had oiled herself before they ever thought they might need to use the hidden stair, Malcolm pulled her aside and stepped up to the door. He listened carefully before pulling the door open enough for them to pass through it.

The heavy tapestry still hung over the doorway, obscuring it from the room, so Jeanette knew ’twas unlikely it had been found by the English.

“Leave the lantern there,” Malcolm said. “We dinna want the light seen from the bailey.”

Jeanette did as he said, then they both pushed past the tapestry and entered Elspet’s solar, the chamber where she had been killed. Jeanette looked about in the dark, letting her eyes adjust after the light of the lantern, and slowly the room revealed itself to her. Almost nothing had changed since that day. The bed was stripped of the bloody bedding, but other than that, the destruction caused by the man who had killed her mum, Archie, the other spy who had come here with Nicholas, remained.

“Dinna look at it, angel,” Malcolm said, taking her hand and pulling her to the window that looked out into the bailey. He opened it slowly, in the hopes that they would not draw attention to it from those few guards who were stationed along the top of the remaining parts of the curtain wall, and then they took up their post. Standing on either side of the open window, they watched for the first signs of the MacAlpin warriors attacking the English camp.

“Do you think Nicholas was able to kill Lord Sherwood?” Jeanette asked, keeping her voice as quiet as possible.

“I dinna ken,” Malcolm replied just as quietly. “He is alive, and I was not sure he could accomplish that much. But the man survived as the king’s favorite spy for years, so I have to believe he has skills he has not shared with any of us. When we return to the tunnel we shall find out soon enough exactly what we are up against this day.”

Jeanette stared out over the bailey and nodded her head.

“No matter what, I will protect you.” He reached out and took her hand again.

“I ken that, husband of mine.” She smiled over at him and kept his hand clasped in hers as they watched the black sky of night turn the leaden grey that heralded the coming of the dawn. Suddenly, an arrow aflame arced out of the forest then sank below the level of the curtain wall, just where the English camp was set up. The war whoops of the MacAlpins and the MacKenzies came to them on the morning breeze.

“The attack has begun,” Jeanette said, rushing to the hidden door.

Malcolm beat her to the tapestry, holding it out for her, then following her back into the hidden stairway. She closed the door and made sure ’twas latched securely, then he picked up the lantern and led the way as fast as they could manage the stairs.

“Are you ready, Jeanette?” he asked as they neared the bottom. “Are the Guardians ready?”

“As ready as we can be. ’Tis time to take back our home. ’Tis time to rid ourselves of these Sassenachs once and for all.”

S
COTIA TOOK A
deep breath as Nicholas slowly opened the cleverly disguised door that sat just where the tower butted up against the curtain wall. The two Protectors, Duncan, and one of the other warriors led the way into the still-dim bailey. The other four warriors would come behind the Guardians.

Her heart was beating hard, and her hands were damp. She wiped them on her trews, checked that her sword hung by her side, and wished she still had her shield, though she knew her task in this was not to fight with these expected weapons.

When everyone was out of the tunnel and standing against the curtain wall, hoping to conceal their presence in the bailey for just a little longer, Jeanette secured the door once more.

Nicholas whispered, “Ready? Now!” and the Protectors led the way to the well in the very center of the bailey at a run.

A cry went out from the wall walk, and Scotia knew they only had a few short moments to get a barrier up to protect the Guardians while they worked.

The three of them huddled on the north side of the well, not sure if it mattered if they were in exactly the right spot to draw the
power of the Targe stone, but Malcolm had argued, and Duncan had agreed, that at least on the north side they would not have anyone standing on a curtain wall behind them, and the stone wall of the well might afford them some protection.

Rowan had the ermine sack on the ground and open already with the symbols facing the correct Guardian. The Targe stone was cradled in her hands. Jeanette had left the tunnel with her cup in one hand and a waterskin in the other, already unstoppered, so she had her cup filled and settled almost as quickly. It struck Scotia suddenly that she had nothing to prepare.

A frisson of fear ran over her skin, but she refused to give into it. She had touched the Story Stone when she became a Guardian, but she had not had it when they practiced what they were here to do. Was that why they had not been able to create the Highland Targe then and there? Doubt joined fear, dancing a raucous reel in her stomach.

The sound of swords clashing nearby startled all three of them, but Scotia refused to look.

“Say the blessing, Jeanette,” Scotia said, her voice sharp with worry. “Quickly!”

Jeanette made the blessing faster than she ever had before, her hands flying through the air, and then the three of them touched the Targe stone while Jeanette intoned another blessing. The prickle of energy that passed over Scotia’s skin loosened the tightness in her chest. The barrier was up.

“Duncan.” She turned to where he was supposed to be, just behind her where the barrier would surround him, too, only to find him pelting toward the steps that led up to the curtain wall where the soldiers who had been on the wall walk had descended to engage in battle with the MacAlpins.

The fear almost took over.

“Does he not understand he is injured?” It took all her will to stay where she was, but her heart took up an even faster beat.

“Scotia, you cannot worry over Duncan right now,” Rowan said. “None of us can worry about anything except creating the Highland Targe.”

“I ken that,” Scotia snapped. “Sorry,” she said immediately, knowing that Rowan was right. ’Twas exactly what Duncan had taught her: in battle you had to do the task assigned you, no matter what. She was a warrior and a Guardian, and her task was clear.

“Are you sure the protective barrier will hold if we are not concentrating on it?” she asked her sister.

“Aye. This is one thing that Rowan and I have had plenty of time to prepare for.”

“Then let us begin,” Rowan said, holding the stone heart high between them.

Jeanette placed one hand on the stone and one on the lip of her cup so her fingertips met the surface of the water. Scotia placed one hand on the stone but did not know what to do with her other hand, so she rested it on the hilt of her sword.

They each took a moment to call forth their gifts. Scotia closed her eyes, letting her
knowing
roam freely, finding each of those men she loved, Duncan first, her da, Uilliam, the Protectors, but there was nothing in the
knowings
that caused her to focus on any of them directly.

She could hear the wind pick up outside the barrier and knew that Rowan was ready. She shifted her attention to her sister, and
knew
that she, too, was filled with her gift.

Slowly, carefully, for this was still very new to Scotia, she focused her attention on the Targe stone, and through it pulled Jeanette’s gift of visions to meld with her own
knowing
. Next, and even more carefully, she reached for Rowan’s gift. Her gift was volatile, and the slightest change in Rowan’s emotions could increase or decrease the strength of it.

When she had all three gifts joined through the focus of the Targe stone she sent a bit of
knowing
into each of the others, and they began the blessing, a prayer really, that Jeanette had
remembered and Scotia had understood. The words twined the gifts together even tighter than Scotia was able to do and began to weave the power that Rowan drew from the earth into a tiny round shield that glowed against her closed eyelids, growing with each repetition of the prayer.

She did not know how long they had been working when a
knowing
slammed into her. “Da!” she cried out, just as Jeanette and Rowan did. Without hesitation Scotia redirected the focus of their work, calling on Jeanette’s vision to show them what her
knowing
told them.

Kenneth and Uilliam were fighting back to back, surrounded by too many soldiers. Kenneth had a gash on his forehead that showed white with bone, and the blood flowed into his eyes, and the Guardians knew he could not see because of it. Uilliam fought hard for both of them, but ’twas a losing battle. Before Scotia could act, Rowan’s gift surged, surrounding the two beloved men with a wind so fierce it knocked the soldiers backward. She fed it more and more of the Targe stone’s power, forcing the soldiers back further and further. Several turned and fled. Scotia searched with her
knowing
for someone she could find, and found Conall, but she did not know how to warn him that the deserters were heading directly for him.

Frustration burned in her, but then she felt Jeanette use Scotia’s gift as a guide to push a vision of the soldiers fleeing to him. Together they used their joined gifts to force the
knowing
and vision upon him.

The sound of shouting close to the Guardians pulled all of their attention back to the bailey, but they did not open their eyes, using instead their gifts to understand that Lord Sherwood had ridden his horse through the gate, confronting the eight warriors with a score of soldiers.

“The Highland Targe,” she said out loud. “We need it now!” And with that she felt Rowan pull viciously on the power that came from beneath their feet, feeding it through the Targe stone and into their woven gifts so fast it almost burned in Scotia’s
mind. As one, they took up the prayer where they had left off, repeating it faster and faster until it was more song than prayer, their voices filling the air around them as the Highland Targe took form, growing bigger and bigger.

Scotia’s
knowing
told them all that their warriors were fighting a valiant fight, but they would not hold long.

D
UNCAN STAGGERED AS
Lord Sherwood swung his sword down upon his upraised shield, sending pain deep into his shoulder. He could feel the trickle of blood from where Jeanette had stitched him up, and his head pounded, but he cared not. He had promised to keep Scotia and the other Guardians safe. He managed to duck Sherwood’s next blow, then slashed at the man’s leg, but somehow the English bastard got his own shield in the way, and swung for Duncan’s head.