Page 31 of Her Highland Destiny

The world was setting itself back into position with it in her care. It would not be undone, not even to prevent her own death.

Allisandre turned her back to Cassandra as though she were of little consequence. She reached for Fergus' hand, but he had stepped away from her, putting too much distance between them for her to touch him.

He did not move closer. Instead, he pushed open the massive double doors leading to the throne room.

Cassandra strode behind Fergus and Allisandre, and caught the distinctly sharp scent of magic in the air. Were it not for what she'd seen through Fergus' mind, she would never have been so poignantly aware of its redolence. But with the memory of his association, the knowledge of its presence sent an edge of warning rasping down her spine.

Why would Allisandre smell like magic?

She was so focused on the other woman, she did not realize Fergus had stopped in front of her, and clumsily bumped into the back of him. The image of Allisandre flickered in front of her, shifting from a beautiful young woman with sumptuous locks of red hair to an old woman, plump and gray with age.

Cassandra had stepped away from Fergus once she hit him, the mumble of apology immediate on her lips. But after the flash of an image, she moved forward once more, to touch him again and confirm what she had seen. A guard rushed forward and pulled her back from Fergus before she could touch him. The slam of the doors closing echoed in the greatness of the large, open room. They were trapped within.

She allowed the guard in black chain mail to drag her back, as though she did not possess the strength to fend him off. Let this man think he could easily subdue her. Let them all see and believe as much as well. It would be to her benefit.

It was not time for them to see their folly. At least, not yet.

“Enough,” the man said gruffly. He shoved her to the side, putting her at Fergus' left, barely more than an arm's reach from him. Too far.

She stared hard at Fergus in an attempt to reclaim his attention. His gaze remained fixed ahead.

“This is the Protector?” A nasally voice echoed through the room and commanded Cassandra look forward.

On the throne was a slender man with dull yellow hair and shoulders bent forward as though the weight of the world rested upon his rounded back. He openly assessed her with glittering, greedy eyes.

“Remove her cloak and take her bags.” He settled back against his throne as though bored. Guards in blackened chain mail came forward and plucked her bag from her grasp. The wet scent of magic clung to each of them.

Something important to keep forefront in her mind.

She unclasped her cloak and gave it to them before they could pull it from her body. It didn’t matter. None of it did, for she had no use for anything but the stone, which lay tucked beneath the safety of her kirtle.

The king's gaze slid down Cassandra’s body, rude with appreciation. Fergus tensed at her side.

Whether King Edgar noticed or not, he gave a wolfish grin and curled his fingers in a beckoning gesture aimed at Fergus while his eyes continued to feast on Cassandra. “Give me the stone.”

Her heartbeat came faster. This was what she had spent the last several months building toward. The journey had stretched out to over two months with injury and weather, love and pain, and it had culminated to this moment.

Fergus obediently pulled off the necklace. The bit of green glass spun on the delicate gold chain and winked in the light from the rows of candles lining the cold chamber. The king nodded to Allisandre who took the replica and carried it to him before resuming her place at Fergus’ right.

The king accepted the imposter stone and regarded where it lay cradled in his palm. The length of delicate gold chain draped from between his open fingers. Fergus' body jerked beside her a fraction of a second before the king tossed the fake to the ground and slammed his foot upon it. When he lifted his shoe, a million pieces of dust and shards glittered on the ground.

The weight of every eye in the room fell upon Cassandra and the warmth of the stone against her skin intensified, though mayhap it was merely her imagination, or possibly her nerves. She drew in a long, slow breath to steady herself.

This was what she had truly intended, the part of her plan she had blocked from Fergus. For he would never have agreed to it.

The day she had discovered his true plan to betray her, she knew she needed a way to get the stone from his possession. This had been the only way. In a perfect scenario, the king would have accepted the glass as the Heart of Scotland and she would have walked free with Fergus and his son. In a failed scenario, as Cassandra had feared would come to pass, and appeared to be doing so now, the king would not accept the counterfeit offering.

Most importantly, the stone was in her possession. Scotland was safe. And it would remain so.

Already the scent of magic pressed in on her, and she caught sight of the guards creeping closer through her periphery. Not that she would surrender.

Nay, she would fight.

If she were strong enough, she could somehow save Fergus' son, but the goal of saving Scotland was greater. The stone would not leave her throat, not until she had succeeded and walked from the chamber, or until she died. Either way, her role as Protector, her greater purpose in her short life, would be fulfilled.

But it was not her the guards seized. It was Allisandre. They held her between them and set a blade to her throat.

The king sat forward on his throne and the toe of his shoe ground into the brittle glass beneath. “Give me the stone or she will die.”