Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3) (15 page)

“Do you see the symbol below it?” she asked.

“It looks like an arrow broken in two places.” He glanced at Scotia. “Do you recognize it?”

“Aye. ’Tis the third symbol painted around the edge of the ermine sack. Jeanette and Rowan claim the other two are symbols of their gifts. That would make this one—”

“A symbol for another gift? Yours? I dinna ken how a
knowing
is symbolized by a broken arrow, though.”

“Rowan and Jeanette said if I was a third Guardian I would understand what the symbol meant.”

“And you do not?”

“I do not,” she said, but her mind was busy working on a problem. When Jeanette had been taken by the power of the Targe stone she had found a large boulder with the swirl symbol incised on it, as well as the mirror that was the symbol of her gift of second sight. When she had found the two symbols together, in the grotto, her gift had overtaken her as the Targe claimed her. Would that happen here, to Scotia? If she was a third Guardian and the broken-arrow symbol was meant for her, perhaps indicating some gift beyond her
knowing
, would she be chosen by the Targe now?

She pressed her hand to the arrow and waited for something similar to what she had seen happen to Rowan, or to what Jeanette had told her about being claimed by the Targe, to happen to her.
She closed her eyes and searched within for anything unusual, anything different . . .

Nothing.

“Scotia? Is something wrong?” Duncan asked, startling her out of her concentration.

“Wrong?” She let out a shuddering breath. “Aye. Something is wrong. If I am meant to be a Guardian, finding these symbols here, together like this, should have been . . . should have made . . .” She shook her head hard, as if that would loosen the words that did not want to leave her mouth. “’Tis clearly not meant for me. I am not a Guardian.”

“But your
knowing
, ’tis a gift.”

“But not a Guardian gift. ’Twill serve me and the clan well in battle, aye? I do not need to be a Guardian to protect the clan. I will be a warrior.” She glared up at the stone as if it had insulted her greatly. “I will be a warrior,” she said as if convincing the stone.

She looked back over the meadow, the battle area notably empty of the early summer wildflowers that dotted the rest of the meadow with blooms of white and yellow and lavender. If she had harbored any hope of being a Guardian after yesterday’s failure, she harbored it no more. Oddly, she felt relief at knowing for sure that she was not meant to be a Guardian. She need not wonder any longer. She need not feel hopeful, nor disappointed, and her decision to become a warrior was made all the stronger for the clarity gained this day.

“We should return to the cover of the wood,” she said just as Duncan asked, “What are these other symbols?” He nodded at the jumbled symbols she had already forgotten about.

“I do not ken exactly. They seem to be a variation of the symbols associated with the Targe, but different, like they were carved one over the other.” It was only then that she realized the circle with three swirls was carved below, but very close to, the superimposed Guardian symbols. It was much smaller, but clearly meant to be the same as the symbol at the top of the stone. “Perhaps that is the story the stone is named for?”

He stared at the symbols, his eyes squinting against the glare of the sun. “Have you ever heard what that story is?”

“Never.”

“Neither have I. We must tell Jeanette of this. If they tell a story of the Guardians they might be important,” Duncan said.

Scotia was about to agree with him when her heart started hammering. “Nay, we cannot say anything about this to anyone. If we tell her, or anyone, of these symbols they will want to know how we ken this and why we came here today. How can we explain why we were here without giving away our secret? I am not ready to reveal my plans to anyone else.”

Duncan looked back at the stone. “We cannot keep this discovery from the Guardians, Scotia.”

“We can. You promised.”

“I did, but this—”

“We will tell them together, if and when there is reason to,” she said, trying to think quickly. “For now, there is naught good for either of us that will come of telling anyone we were here.”

He considered her words for a moment, and that alone made her feel he was remaining true to his word. “I would like to tell the Guardians and the chief that I brought you here today to teach you a lesson, to remind you of what can happen when you go off alone.” He turned to face her, capturing her gaze with his. “’Tis the truth, and it will allow me to report that we have seen no English in the area as of yet, which is important news. I will not mention the search for a sword that brought us out to the stone, but I think we must tell Jeanette of these symbols. She might understand what they mean, or at least ’twill give her something else to search for in those Chronicles.”

Scotia balked at the idea, but deep in her gut she knew he was right. If this new discovery was important, withholding it could bring more harm to the clan, and that she could not do.

“We will tell them only that this was a lesson for you,” he said again, “to remind you of what happens—”

“The lesson is well taught,” she snapped, then closed her eyes and shook her head at her own temper. “It is well taught,” she said more calmly. “I agree that we must tell Nicholas and the Guardians what we have learned and seen.” She looked up at him and found him staring down at her from his greater height. “’Tis also the truth. I did not realize how much I did not remember until I stood here.”

“Will you remember all the symbols when we leave?” he asked.

She looked back at the stone, studying each symbol for a long moment until she was sure she could draw them in the dirt or on one of Jeanette’s scrolls if she needed to.

“Aye, I will remember them,” she said, though she did not relish revealing yet another failure on her part to become a Guardian, for both Rowan and Jeanette would recognize the similarities to the grotto stone. At least Duncan did not understand that part of what she had learned this day.

“We should head back to the glen,” he said. As they left the hillock to make their way back to the nearest part of the wood, Duncan shook his head.

“What?” she demanded.

He sighed. “Did you
know
there was a sword out here? Or did you just hope ’twas so?”

She stopped and realized she had once more forgotten all about finding a sword. “I
knew
.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the
knowing
. She turned a little to the left, opened her eyes, and walked away from her companion. Not ten paces from Duncan, she squatted down and brushed dirt and dead leaves away from something that had caught her eye, glinting in the afternoon sun that was beginning to break through the thinning clouds. There, lying in wait for her just where she
knew
it would be, was an English arming sword.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

R
OWAN WATCHED AS
Duncan made his way to his place near the fire at the mouth of the main cave where he typically slept. Scotia had gone to bed as soon as she had devoured her meal and startled the Guardians with her news of the symbols on the Story Stone.

“There is something he is not telling us,” Rowan said with a glance over her shoulder at Jeanette.

Jeanette nodded. “I agree, and yet he and Scotia have told us much this evening.”

Rowan rubbed the spot between her brows with the heel of her hand and sighed. She turned back to her cousin. “They have. Do you think the Story Stone is another place the Targe draws power from, like the grotto stone?”

Jeanette cocked her head. Her eyes narrowed, and Rowan knew to give her time to consider the question and all the lore she knew.

“We were able to create a barrier there during the battle, though I thought the power simply came from the Targe stone at the time. ’Tis possible it is another place of power for the Targe, like the grotto. Perhaps that is what the symbols Scotia found will tell us. Can you fetch a light?” Jeanette asked as she moved to the council circle where Scotia had drawn the series of symbols she had seen on the Story Stone. Rowan grabbed a lantern that sat near the mouth of the main cave, a single stub of a candle burning in it, and followed Jeanette.

They both stopped, one on either side of the drawings scratched into the dirt. Rowan held the lantern close to the first symbol, the triple swirl that was so familiar, then slowly moved it down over the broken arrow, then over the muddle of shapes that Scotia said were the three symbols superimposed on each other, and finally to the smaller triple swirl.

“Do you think the broken arrow is for Scotia?” Rowan asked, deferring as always to Jeanette when it came to matters of Guardian lore.

Jeanette looked up at her and took a deep breath. “It seems likely, but the Targe has not claimed her.” She pointed at the first two symbols. “’Tis not unlike what I found on the grotto stone when I was claimed as Guardian, yet she says nothing happened when she found this.” She stood, took the lantern from Rowan, and walked around the drawings slowly, moving the light around to cast the shadows in different ways. “I still have found nothing to explain what the broken arrow means,” she said, “or what gift it represents, but then I have not discovered such information for your symbol either.” She reached for the lantern and held it over the jumbled-together symbols. “This looks as if each symbol was overwritten, perhaps with the passing of each Guardian?” She moved the lantern back and forth for long minutes, once more examining every line Scotia had scratched in the dirt. “’Tis hard to tell if the order they appear is simply from the way she drew them or if they appear in that same order on the stone. Tomorrow I must have her draw these on a parchment for me, and I can ask her more about them then. I will search the Chronicles of the Guardians to see if I can discover more about the Story Stone, though I do not remember seeing any reference to it before.”

“It does seem there is something important we must understand here,” Rowan said, trying not to let her frustration show in her voice. She did not want to put more pressure on Jeanette than her cousin already put upon herself to understand this new situation of two Guardians . . . or perhaps three.

“Aye, it does. It feels as if this is a key of some sort. I just wish I knew what lock it opened.”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Duncan chewed upon a fresh bannock while he waited for Scotia to join him to break her fast. Apparently he was not the only one awaiting her. Conall sat on the ground, his back to the outcropping of the ben that formed the mouth of the communal cave where Scotia and many of the other women slept. Conall tried not to draw attention to himself, but Duncan was not fooled.

Conall had not approached Scotia last night, with all her kin about her. Of course she and Duncan had been questioned first by Nicholas and Malcolm, and then Scotia had been taken to the council circle to tell the Guardians about the symbols she had discovered, so the lad had not had a moment to get her alone, if he was daft enough to try, given the promise he’d made to Nicholas. But this morning while most of the clan still slept, Conall was conveniently awake and situated such that he could claim to simply be enjoying the morning air, while being strategically positioned to see Scotia the moment she left the cave. Perhaps the lad wasn’t as daft as Duncan thought he was.

Conall looked up and caught Duncan staring at him. He quickly looked away as if something near the council circle drew his attention. Duncan was not fooled, nor was he amused.

When the lass appeared a few minutes later, she strode out of the dark maw of the cave and made directly for the cook circle and Duncan without even noticing Conall. The young man leapt to his feet and followed her. Duncan did not move, nor say anything, only handing a bannock to Scotia as she joined him on the log near the cook circle.

“Good morn,” Conall said. He slowed his pace as he neared them. Scotia looked up but only nodded. “Are there more bannocks?”

Duncan pointed to a pile of them on the far side of the fire, where Peigi had left them to warm. He tried to ease the tension in his muscles, tried to breathe slowly and deeply, tried to talk himself out of the grip of possessive anger that the young man ignited in his gut. Conall had no claim on Scotia. Hell, he’d be a right wee dafty if he even wanted a claim on the difficult, mercurial lass. And yet . . .

He closed his eyes and counseled himself to be patient, to see what Scotia would do.

A rustling sound had him slowly opening his eyes.

Conall had seated himself near Scotia, but Scotia was paying him no attention.

“How fare you?” Conall asked.

She nodded, but did not look at him. “Well enough.”

As well as Duncan could usually read Scotia, he could not tell if she was feigning indifference toward the lad who, not long ago, had been the focus of her every thought for months, or if she really had left her infatuation behind.

“I am sorry I did not come here sooner,” Conall said pitching his voice so low it was hard for Duncan to make out the words. Conall leaned forward and braced his arms on his knees. “My mum needed me, but as soon as I settled her with my uncle near Loch Awe, I joined Dermid and came to fight the English.”