Page 8 of Her Highland Destiny

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Cassandra startled awake and grasped at empty air. There was no stone. No pools. No man. Firelight flickered off natural stone walls and the roar of swiftly falling water came from somewhere very nearby. The sweet scent of burning sage hovered above the musty odor of a cave long left damp.

The small pallet she lay upon, however, as well as the simple table and chairs by a lit fire, indicated someone resided in the cave. The man?

“Ye’re awake.” A woman’s voice spoke gently and echoed within the enclosed space. She straightened from where she’d crouched before the fire and drew back her green hood to reveal thick raven locks and a strong chin. Her eyes were pale, though it was difficult to discern their color in the gilded light of the fire.

A sense of peace exuded from the dark haired woman and although Cassandra did not know who the stranger was, she had no fear.

The woman smiled kindly. “Welcome to Skye, Protector.”

“A terrible Protector I’ve turned out to be,” Cassandra said miserably.

The woman blinked at Cassandra. “Ye’re English?”

“Aye.”

“I dinna expect the Protector to be English.” The woman’s soft laugh was without malice.

“You are sure you have the correct woman?” Cassandra asked, unable to stem the tide of hope rising in her. None of this had been as she expected. After a lifetime of preparing for this moment, surely she could not have already failed.

“Do ye bear the sign of a dagger on yer right hip?”

Cassandra nodded.

“Then aye, ye’re the keeper of the Heart of Scotland.” The woman’s expression sobered. “The former Protector died days ago and the transfer of the mark would have happened then.”

Cassandra put her hand to the symbol on her hip, so recently emblazoned on her skin, she could still recall the strange wash of heat. “How do you come by such knowledge?”

“I am a priestess of the stone.” She inclined her head. “I am called Morag and have been given information passed down through the centuries to bestow upon ye.”

Cassandra’s shoulders relaxed somewhat. Having someone to guide her on her quest would make it easier, would it not? Countless questions buzzed through her mind and came to rest on the large man with dark eyes who had been at the pool. The way he’d looked at her, as though he were mesmerized by her. It was too easy to bring to mind again and again. In fact, it did so without her meaning to.

But, nay, she would not ask about him. Not yet. “Has the stone been in the water for centuries?” she asked finally.

“When a Protector dies with the stone in their possession, the stone returns here to the mystical fairy pools and waits to be claimed.”

“I didn’t claim it.” Cassandra shifted her gaze from Morag to the crude table. A massive chunk of cheese rested on the wooden surface along with a loaf of bread. Despite the pang of Cassandra’s regret at having failed to get the stone, hunger rasped within her belly.

“It isna always so.” Morag approached the table, lifted a slender knife and sliced a thick wedge of cheese. She handed both the cheese and loaf of bread to Cassandra.

The bread was warm against her palm, and crusty, as though it’d been not long out of the oven. Her mouth watered with urgency. Instead she swallowed and shook her head. “I cannot take your food.”

Morag was already walking away. “Eat. Recover yer strength. When ye have gotten the rest and sustenance ye’ve deprived yerself of, and when ye’ve learned enough of yer task, then ye may go after the stone. Then ye will be ready.”

Cassandra daintily broke a corner of the cheese off to nibble at in a ladylike fashion. No sooner had the creamy, sharp cheese touched her tongue, a ravenous hunger nearly took over. She tried to chew with decorum, but her mouth watered too ferociously.

Morag placed a cup of wine in front of her. Cassandra had not been so thirsty until that very moment, when faced with the prospect of drinking again. Her throat burned for liquid. She lifted it with shaking hands to her lips where she drained the sweet wine in two large gulps. Her mouth had been so very dry, her stomach so empty. It was a wonder she had been able to make it as long as she had on so little.

“The stone enhances one’s powers.” Morag refilled the cup from a ewer of wine and placed a hunk of dried beef in front of Cassandra. “Everyone has special abilities granted from the stone, and they will grow stronger when it is on their person. Each skill is different, as is each person's experience in getting their mark, claiming the stone, taking guardianship of the stone…” She trailed off with a smile. “I believe you understand.”

Cassandra nodded and bit an unladylike chunk from the bread. The crust flaked apart against her tongue, and her teeth sank into the tender white center. She almost moaned with delight.

“He mustn't be allowed to keep the stone,” Morag warned, her tone ominous.

A trickle of icy fear crept up Cassandra’s spine. She set aside the cup and stared at the priestess.

“He sought the stone for selfish purposes.” Morag set the ewer upon the small table. “His intent is not to ensure the safety and prosperity of Scotland like you. If he is allowed to keep the stone, Scotland will suffer for his avarice. The earth will lose her balance and great storms will plague Scotland with famine and pestilence and death to follow.”