Highland Protector (MacCoinnich Time Travels Book Five)

Highland

Protector

Also by Catherine Bybee

Paranormal Romance

MacCoinnich Time Travels

Binding Vows

Silent Vows

Redeeming Vows

Highland Shifter

The Ritter Werewolves Series

Before the Moon Rises

Embracing the Wolf

Novellas

Soul Mate

Possessive

Erotica Novellas

Kilt Worthy

Kilt-A-Licious

Contemporary Romance

Weekday Bride Series

Wife by Wednesday

Married by Monday

Fiancé by Friday

Not Quite Series

Not Quite Dating

Not Quite Mine

Not Quite Enough

This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons
living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely
coincidental.

Highland
Protector

COPYRIGHT
Ó
2013 by Catherine Bybee

All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Cover
Art by Crystal Posey

Visit
the author at www.catherinebyee.com

Publishing
History

First
Edition, 2013

Published
by Catherine Bybee

Print
ISBN 978-0985088873

Published
in the United States of America

Dedication

This one is for The
Chatty Cathy’s

The best street team
evah!

Acknowledgments

For every
whip-cracking fan of this series, thank you! Seriously, all those emails… as in
daily emails, about the dark hero that Amber would marry were a welcome sight.
At one point my assistant Crystal threatened to start handing out flaming
pitchforks if I didn’t finish this book. “You will not write another book
before Amber is done, Catherine!” Crystal home schools four kids and she used
that
voice. So, yeah… I had to finish Amber.

I do realize the
wait for you, dear reader, has been long. Imagine the wait in my head once I
placed Amber’s hero in the ending of Highland Shifter. Gavin Kincaid eluded me
for a time, he’d swing back around and wave, and then run away again. He’s here
now and more than ready for all of you to read his story.

I know the
minute my whip-cracking fans finish this latest book there will be a mass dump
in my inbox asking for the next book. And that fact makes this author
squee
with
delight. So keep the emails coming. Crack that virtual whip and tap those
fingers.

Cian, dear
reader, will be worth the wait.

Highland

Protector

by

Catherine Bybee

Book
Five in the
MacCoinnich Time Travels

Chapter One

1686, MacCoinnich Keep Scotland

Fighting with a sword ranked up there
with having sex without an orgasm. Holding the damn thing took too much energy
and the end-result was anticlimactic and messy. Kincaid’s free hand itched to
pull any one of his hidden weapons from the pockets of his modified seventeenth
century clothes and finish off his opponent. The man’s death was inevitable. He
had no earthly prayer of taking Kincaid. Even without the use of Kincaid’s gift,
the kilted Scot had two fatal flaws working against him. One, he underestimated
his opponent, never a good thing in battle. Two, Kincaid’s Druid gift would
prevent any fatal blow from reaching his skin. He was damn near immortal.

Kincaid missed being skewered by the
Scot’s blade by lunging to his right and placing one foot on the edge of the
Keep’s massive stairs. Above him, other men fought, some with powers, a few
without. Preventing the ancient Keep from falling into any hands that didn’t
belong to descendants of the original owners, wasn’t going to happen. These
missions were planned and orchestrated with extreme caution and precision.

The Scot advanced again—sweat falling
from his brow with the effort of the fight.

“Kincaid!” He heard his name from the
floor above, but didn’t make the mistake of looking up.

“I’m busy.” He blocked his opponent’s
sword again, locked the man’s free arm, and attempted to pull it behind his
back.

Kincaid was rewarded by taking an
elbow in the ribs and having the wind knocked from his lungs.

“Finish him already. We need to move
on.”

Moving on
was his queue that their time was
nearly up.

“I guess…” He shoved the Scot a foot
away and lifted his sword high. “That means we’re done here.”

“Your confidence will be your
downfall,” the Scot said.

Kincaid motioned the man forward.
…said
the spider to the fly…

The Scot advanced with a surge of
strength and determination.

Kincaid held his ground, threw up his
Druid shield, and watched as shock filled the man’s gaze when his sword bounced
off the shield and opened him up for Kincaid’s final blow.

Killing never sat well with him. But
he was a warrior and killing was part of his soul. Damn shame that.

Kincaid heard his name called again,
and he took the familiar stairs two at a time to reach the others. From the
corner of his eye, his gaze met a painting on the wall, one he’d not seen
before.

His steps faltered as he connected
with the haunting gaze of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Didn’t
matter that the painting was one dimensional, or that the woman was most likely
dead…even in this century. He did a quick inventory of the other images on the
walls and recognized only one. The same painting hung in that very space on the
wall, so many years in the future. But this one…the picture of the woman with
her long dark hair and pained focus as she attempted to smile, beckoned him. This
painting he’d never seen.

“Kincaid! Dammit man, get your ass up
here!”

Kincaid shook away the woman’s
soulful gaze, bounded up the stairs, and trailed his band of men up the spiral
staircase of the turret.

As they moved to the privacy of the
bricked room, he noticed the small face of one of the Keep’s youngest occupants
watching from behind an adjacent door.

Rory moved to close the door when
Kincaid motioned toward their witness.

The child, a girl not more than ten
years old watched with wide eyes. She didn’t appear frightened in the least.

“Is she…”

Rory lifted his hand, palm up, and
from it, a small ball of fire swirled from nothing and hung suspended.

The girl’s wide eyes lifted and a
small smile inched at the side of her lips. She lifted her hand and a sputtering
of fire sprang from her fingertips.

Kincaid felt his pulse dip as he lifted
his finger to his lips “Shh,” he whispered with what he hoped looked like a
friendly smile.

Noise from the long staircase met
their ears. Rory ushered them inside and closed the door. Before the noise from
below became another battle, Kincaid closed his eyes, lifted his shield, and
spread it over his small party…then he began to chant and time slid away.

****

Current Day, Los Angeles

Amber MacCoinnich endured the weight
of emotional pain that surrounded every moment of her life for as long as she
could stand it before slipping from her bath. Though she enjoyed the freedom of
a quick shower from time to time, she endured the splitting headache that swam
up her spine once she removed her protective cloak. The soothing water in the
hot tub came at a price, but Amber was willing to pay the price at least once a
week. As a sixteenth century woman living in the twenty-first century, there
were some habits she brought with her.

Unlike MacCoinnich Keep in the
Highlands of Scotland, the place she’d grown up, Mrs. Dawson’s Southern
California home was virtually empty of inhabitants. Mrs. Dawson herself lived
in chambers that had been moved to the bottom floor to aid her failing joints.
Although age might be robbing her of her ability to take the stairs as often as
she used to, her mind was sharp, and her wit always made Amber smile.

Simon, her cousin of sorts, and Helen,
his wife, took over several rooms on the second floor while Amber took one of
the many rooms on the third floor. Up here, the weight of emotions from those
below only penetrated her mind and her soul when she removed her cloak. Up
here, she could manage several hours of sleep if she exhausted herself during
her day. Up here, she could breathe. Or so was the case when she’d first
arrived in this century. As her days wore on the cloak began to lose its power
and Amber began to long for a fourth floor.

Long before she heard her name called,
she felt Helen’s intent…an enormous emotional wave of energy surged from below.
Though she wasn’t positive what caused Helen’s happiness, she experienced it…and
knew Helen’s intention was to share it.

The fall night gave the house a
slight chill, which suited Amber well when she covered her pale skin with a
long nightgown and the warm cloak that served as a temporary emotional shield.

Instantly, the threads of the magic
woven into the long garment muted the outside emotions until they dulled the
building headache inside her skull.

A long-winded sigh escaped her lips.
“’Tis better,” she whispered to herself.

Helen’s soft knock on the door
brought a smile to Amber’s lips. “Come in, Helen.”

She opened the door and bounced in
the room like a young child, the smile on her lips lifted the fatigue from
Amber’s heart. “I still can’t get over how you know anytime one of us is
nearby.”

“I’ve been here for two
moons…months,” Amber corrected herself in an attempt to use the proper words
from this century. “What has you so joyous?”

Helen’s eyes swept up her frame. “It
can wait until you’ve dried your hair. Besides, Simon and I wanted to tell you
and Mrs. Dawson together.”

Amber lifted a brush and stroked the
ends of her hair. She probably should cut the locks short but she couldn’t
bring herself to the task. Every part of her life had changed, and her
appearance in the mirror was one of the only things that reminded her who she
was and where she came from…of her home. “News worthy of an audience?”

“The best. Ten minutes?” Helen asked.

“If you won’t mind damp hair, I’ll be
down in five.”

“Awesome.” Helen moved forward, as if
she were going to embrace Amber. She hesitated, nearly tripping over her feet
and sighed. “Five minutes,” she said before turning and leaving.

Amber’s own sorrow filled her heart
as Helen fled the room. A simple expression of love, of joy, a hug wasn’t
something given freely to her because of the emotional attack on her system.

Most Druid gifts were a blessing. If
managed, those gifts were used to protect and serve the recipient of the
gifts…and their families. Amber’s gift had served a useful purpose for years.
Something easily managed and controlled. Until her family battled with Grainna and
the power inside her tripled. It was as if she’d drawn in the sinister side of
Grainna’s power. The thought left something inside Amber cold and dead. She
wanted nothing of the powerful Druid’s essence inside of her. Yet she knew
something leaked into her with the woman’s death.

Once Amber ran a brush through her
hair, she tied it back in a silk ribbon, placed a pair of slippers on her feet,
and descended the stairs.

She found Helen and Simon in the kitchen,
a place she seldom visited when living with her parents in the sixteenth
century. In this time, it seemed most of their conversations were around the
stone island.

Simon stood beside Helen who was
perched on the edge of a stool, his arm draped lovingly over her shoulders. The
love radiating off the two of them penetrated the cloak and made Amber smile. When
he nuzzled the side of Helen’s neck, Amber cleared her throat. “Perhaps I
should leave and come back another time?” she asked with a grin.

Helen laughed and pushed Simon
playfully away. “Don’t be silly.”

“There you are.” Mrs. Dawson walked
into the room. The cane in her hand was a constant companion after the three
o’clock hour. Seemed her legs grew weaker as the day grew long.

Simon pulled out a chair for Mrs.
Dawson.

“Thank you.” She patted Simon’s hand
before folding her hands together in her lap. “So what has prompted this family
meeting?”

Amber glanced between Helen, Simon,
and Mrs. Dawson, her new family, and waited.

Helen nodded toward her husband. “You
tell them.”

Simon stood behind Helen with his
hands on her shoulders, his lips pulled back into a huge smile. “Helen is pregnant
with our child.”

“Oh, Simon.” Amber moved around the
counter, pushed back her worry about touching others, and wrapped her arms
around Simon. His strong arms folded her in and his warmth filled her with
hope. “I’m so happy for you both.”

Mrs. Dawson moved from her chair to
hug Helen before Amber switched places with the older woman.

“I cannot wait for tiny feet to run
around the house,” Amber told Helen when she hugged her. “I think I miss the
children of my father’s home most of all.”

“I’m going to need some serious
help,” Helen said. “I know nothing about babies.”

“The baby will teach you everything
you need to know,” Simon said.

Still, Amber could feel Helen’s worry
lacing her joy. “I can help,” Amber told her.

Mrs. Dawson sat again. “Will you find
out the sex of the baby before you give birth…or wait?”

Helen shrugged. “I see no reason to
wait. The doctor said we’ll be able to tell in a couple of months.”

“Would you like to know now?” Amber
asked.

Simon pulled in a breath. “I
completely forgot that you were able to guess the baby’s sex back home.”

Simon referred to their sixteenth
century life as if their mutual family lived in another town and not another
time.

“You can do that?” Helen asked.

“I can. ’Tis one of the more useful
sides of my gift.”

Helen sent a hopeful smile to Simon,
who nodded.

“Let’s do it,” Simon said.

“Shall we move to the living room? I
need you to lie down so I can touch your belly.”

Even through Helen’s hopeful smile, a
measure of concern pushed beyond the barrier of the cloak. “Won’t that hurt
you?”

Amber swallowed and offered a
convincing lie. “’Tis not that bad today. I’ll be fine.”

She followed the others into the
larger room and instructed Helen to lie on her back and bare her abdomen so she
might search out the newest member of their family.

Helen used Simon’s lap as a pillow
while Mrs. Dawson sat in a chair on the other side of the room.

“Is this good?” Helen lifted her
shirt and slid the edge of her jeans down.

“Perfect.” Moisture gathered on
Amber’s forehead even before she reached to remove her cloak. Moving slowly at
first, the cloak slid off her shoulder and the first wave of emotions of those
in the room hit her. Excitement radiated from Helen. That joy kept Amber in
motion. She didn’t need Helen worrying about her. Simon agonized under his
pretend smile. He, of all people, knew this caused her pain. Mrs. Dawson, the
dear, had a unique ability to feel like a gentle wave upon the ocean. Amber
knew she was there…that she cared…but her emotions only truly shot through
Amber when the woman didn’t think Amber was near.

Amber gathered the cloak in her hands
and kept it close to her body as several waves descended upon her from every
direction. Someone close by emitted the pain of loss, their heart was broken
and nearly made Amber whimper. Another neighbor fretted over money and a child
was frightened of the darkness. She closed her eyes for a moment and sat.