Page 2 of Her Highland Destiny

He hopped up, his expression serious. “Because someday it might happen. And that's a solid reason for me to ensure you can protect yourself.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Aye, you're strong, but that isn't enough. You need skill, to be able to defend yourself, and even attack, if necessary.” His voice lowered. “The path of a Protector cannot be an easy one.”

Protector.

He'd said the word. He actually said it.

Cassandra wanted to block her ears from the word, to cut it from her heart or soul or wherever the foulness of it had attached itself to her. But even if she could somehow remove her eldmother's damning prediction, Cassandra would remain trapped by the expectation of a legacy. She was, after all, still the youngest daughter from a string of youngest daughters in the Beaumont bloodline. After years of watching her mother's belly swell to only reveal two more boys and never grow with child again, Cassandra was indeed the last daughter — the youngest — the one whose blood had been imbued with great powers.

Phillip settled on the ground and patted the spot beside him when she didn't join him.

“I don't want this gift,” Cassandra said softly.

“I know.” He patted the grass once more. “What makes you the most frightened about it?”

She lowered herself to where he'd indicated. He always had a blunt way of saying things that made her look deep into her heart, beyond the gloss of her emotions. She stared at the distant trees, past the orchard and into herself for the answer.

“I’m afraid I'll fail.” The confession came out of her mouth so abruptly and accurately, their impact warmed her eyes and nose.

God's bones, was she about to cry? She looked at the scuffed toes of her kidskin shoes rather than at her brother.

“That is daunting.” Phillip shifted. He rolled several apples across the green grass, inspecting each carefully. “I hope you don't presume you're not strong enough or skilled enough. I think we've handled that.” He glanced back and winked at her.

“What if I'm not the Protector?” She gasped out a breath. There. She'd said it. Her greatest fear. “What if I'm just a normal woman who is destined to live an ordinary life?”

He lifted an apple from the earth and swept the fruit against his shirt until the golden skin gleamed. “That would imply our soothsayer eldmother was wrong, the bloodline of our ancestors doesn't exist and the humming you feel on the ground is…” He lifted his brows in silent question and bit into the apple.

She smiled softly to herself and spread her hands, palm out, toward the tender green shoots of grass. Sunlight from the copse of trees over her head dappled the skin on the back of her hands with spatters of light. Over the years, the steady vibration of the earth's life had become as silent to her as her own heartbeat. She had to concentrate on the sensation now to even acknowledge it.

Phillip waved the half-eaten apple at her. “Go on.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled, tasting the sweet apples scenting the air, letting the sun's heat warm her skin and hair, skimming her palms against the cool grass. Her hands hovered and she fixed on the steady drone buried deep in the rich, black soil. It started like a low buzz at first, the way a lazy bee might sound as it languidly flew through a field of summer flowers, then it whirred in a chorus of energy, rising around her, singing to her the beauty of its being. But there was something else. Something deeper.

Perspiration prickled along her brow, but she ignored it and forced her attention on the tenuous connection between her soul and that of the earth. A high-pitched ring echoed in the distance. Not a ring — a cry. Mourning. The hollowness of misery rose over the din of life until it filled Cassandra's ears and mind and heart. Sorrow spread through her like shadows and swept off in rolling waves. So much sadness.

Strong hands caught her shoulders and shook her. The connection severed and she was snapped back, away from her awareness.

“What is it, Cassandra?” Phillip's ashen face was mere inches from her own, his apple lay discarded and forgotten on the ground. “Why are you crying?”

She brought her hands to her face and found them trembling uncontrollably. She brushed her fingertips over her cheeks and they came away damp with her tears.

The deafening cries of the earth had fallen to a whisper with her broken connection. Phillip put his face in front of hers, his blue eyes locked on her. “Look at me, Cass. Look. At. Me.” He bit the words out, his tone so stark, it drew her from the horror.

“Breathe,” he commanded.

She obeyed. Air rushed into her body and the tension gripping her eased until finally her breath came on its own accord rather than by order.

His brow relaxed, if only slightly. “What is it, Cassandra? What have you seen?”

She suppressed the urge to give in to the threat of her tears once more. “The earth is crying.”

“What does that mean?” Fear rendered his pupils to specks of black in his pale blue eyes and sent a jab of ice to her heart.

She shook her head. “I don't know.”

“Is it time?” His hands on her shoulders gripped tighter, as if he meant to keep her locked there forever.

“I don't know.”