Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3) (16 page)

“I understand,” Scotia replied, glancing up at him. “She is well?”

“Aye.”

Duncan was swinging between satisfaction that this conversation was so stilted and mistrust, doubting that it would have been stilted at all if he had not been sitting next to her. But he said nothing.

After a long, uncomfortable silence. Scotia stood, brushed the bannock crumbs from her skirts, and gave him a look that spoke louder than words that she knew what he was up to. With a smirk,
she headed off into the wood as she did every morning, stopping only when she got to the head of the path. She turned then, her face covered in feigned innocence.

“Are you not following me this day, Duncan? If you let me get too far ahead of you, you might not find me before I get myself in trouble.” There was just an edge of mirth in her taunting words, and Duncan knew he was in for a long day of teasing.

Conall started to his feet but Duncan beat him to it, pinning him down with a scowl. “If you value your hide, you’ll not follow her today or ever again.”

To Conall’s credit, he sat down with a quick nod and returned his attention to his meal.

D
UNCAN FOLLOWED
S
COTIA
and her trilling laughter down the ben while he cleared his mind of the myriad emotions the lass always managed to stir up in him, though if he was honest with himself, the emotions were easy to rouse. But today, all her mirth and attention had been focused on him. She’d all but purred like a kitchen cat as she gave Conall her indifference, as if she knew Duncan was waiting for her to reveal her true feelings for the lad.

Was it her
knowing
that gave her such insight? Curiosity and a hunch had him catching up to her quickly, as a plan for the day’s training took hold of him.

“You ken there is more to being a warrior than sword fighting, aye?” he asked her as he matched his stride to hers.

“Of course. There is running, and climbing over things, strength, finesse, dirks, targes, strategy—”

“Aye, strategy. You have this
knowing
.”

“But I cannot call upon it at will.” She stopped suddenly as she spoke, and he had to backtrack.

“But still, you have it,” he said, coming to a halt in front of her. “So let us figure out how it might be used. What do we know about it?”

“It is in the present, not future-looking as Jeanette’s second sight is. I do not ken what triggers it, though.”

Duncan considered the problem for a moment. “You knew the child Maisie was missing, and you knew where to find her.”

“Aye.”

“You knew where to find your sword, too.”

“I did, though it was not exactly at the Story Stone, only close.”

He nodded, but his gaze was inward, reviewing each instance of
knowing
. “And you knew the allies were in the glen, though they were just barely in the glen at the time. What else do you remember
knowing
?”

“I knew wee Ian was trapped in the kitchens during the fire, and now that I think about it, I knew Nicholas was coming to rescue us, too.”

He looked at her but was careful not to meet her gaze. Whatever had spooked her the last time they had spoken of that day might be revealed if she did not think he was pressing her for it.

“I am sure there must be more events,” she continued, “but I did not realize that I knew things other people didn’t know, so they did not seem memorable to me.”

Duncan’s disappointment was fleeting. She did not trust him with whatever the other event was, not yet. He knew better than to press her to tell him, so he let it rest for now.

“And when Jeanette tested you?” he asked instead.

“She hid her healer’s bag. I could not tell her where it was. I could imagine where she might have hidden it, but I did not
know
. It is clear I cannot call upon the
knowing
at will. More’s the pity, for that would at least be useful.”

Duncan let the bits and pieces of information flow through his head, as he looked for commonalities between them . . . two children in danger, a sword that had belonged to her enemy, allies
arriving to help them defend her clan—but not a simple bag of herbs that belonged to her sister, a sister who was in no trouble, nor even any turmoil over the hidden bag.

All but the last were events rife with emotion . . . strong emotion. Even the sword, for she believed it belonged to the gap-toothed English soldier who had almost slit her throat. That must be the key, emotion, but he would not tell her that yet. First he would test his own theory.

CHAPTER TWELVE

S
COTIA HAD TRIED
to sit on a stone near the small lochan, but it was beyond her ability to sit still. Ever since Duncan had disappeared, leaving her wondering what this mysterious new part of her training would be, her mind had been swirling like a whirlpool, sucking in every possibility but lingering on none. Her feet were as active as her thoughts, and she’d spent the time since they had parted pacing, first up and down the trail, then across the ben to the lochan, and now along the edge of the small body of water, back and forth. She snagged another stick as she walked, peeling the bark off and shoving it into a cloth sack that hung at her waist. At least she’d have a good supply of tinder for the fire to show for her time waiting for Duncan.

But he was coming now.

The thought popped into her head, quieting all others. She closed her eyes and tried to see if she could
know
from which direction he was coming, the same way she had found her sword yesterday. She turned slightly, still with her eyes closed, until the
knowing
grew louder in her mind. She opened her eyes just as he became visible through the leaves.

Excitement shimmered over her skin until she realized he had no weapons with him. In fact, he had nothing with him out of the ordinary.

“What have you been doing?” she demanded as he stepped into the sunlight filtering through the trees.

Duncan stopped, as if he was surprised to find her waiting
for him even though that’s what he’d told her to do. “Preparing for your training today.”

There was a hitch in his voice that caught her attention but before she could ask him about it he stopped in front of her.

“Do you ken where your sword is, lass?” he asked her. His eyes were narrowed as if he did not expect her to know.

“Of course,” she answered, crossing her arms but not stepping away. “It is . . .” She was about to say “in the clearing where we train” but suddenly she stopped as she
knew
it was not there. “It is not where we train anymore, is it? What have you done with my sword?”

Duncan held himself so still she could barely tell he breathed. “Where do you think it is?” His voice was flat.

Scotia closed her eyes and she
knew
. “You have moved it.”

“Can you find it?” His voice was still flat.

Without a word she turned and made her way around the lochan and into the wood on the other side. She headed down the ben, cutting through dense underbrush, and around long, reaching canes of thorny brambles, until she arrived at a boulder with a large tree literally growing around it. Her first thought was to look around the base of the tree for her sword, but when she stopped and quieted her thoughts she
knew
.

She looked up and found it high in the branches of the ancient oak.

“You ken climbing is not easy in a gown, aye?” she said as Duncan slowly joined her. She waved her hand to stop any answer he might give. “I know, I know. I must be able to do anything a warrior can do while in my gown, for I will not know when I might need to fight.” She kilted her skirts up into her belt and flashed him a grin. “Except perhaps now I will
know
.”

She made short work of retrieving her sword and was quickly back on the ground next to Duncan. She expected that wonderful broad smile that he gave her when she’d accomplished one of her training tasks particularly well, but his face was still unreadable.

“There is more to this test?” she asked, but he said nothing. “Very well.” Now that she knew what the training was today she was anxious to continue it. She let her mind drift, waiting for that moment when she
knew
something. And then it was there, in her mind. “You have hidden the dagger that killed my mum,” she said. “If I find it, ’tis mine again.”

Duncan nodded. “That seems fair, but first you must find it.”

She closed her eyes and returned to the
knowing
, but this time she added a silent chant:
the dagger, the dagger, the dagger
. She did not say anything but headed up the ben, past the lochan, and on up the steep slope until she found a downed tree. Without hesitating, she reached inside a rotted-out portion of the trunk and pulled the dagger from under leaves that had gathered in it—or that Duncan had added to the hollow after he’d hidden the knife. She turned and showed it to him.

“’Tis mine once more,” she said, sliding the sheathed blade into her belt.

“Do not lose it again,” Duncan said.

“Never.” She pinned him with a look. “Why is this working when it did not for Jeanette’s healer’s bag?” she asked. “These are but things—blades both,” she said, putting one hand on the pommel of the sword and her other on the haft of the dagger, “but things nonetheless.”

Duncan looked at her but his usually readable face was still a mask to her. “You did not ken Conall was among the allies when they arrived, did you?”

“Nay, though I would not have mentioned him if I had. I did not ken exactly which allies were arriving, only that some were.”

“You kent I was joining you at the lochan, did you not?”

She nodded slowly. “How did you know that?”

“You were standing as if you knew exactly where I was coming from, though ’twas not a direction any of the trails or any of our usual locations lead from. And while you looked a bit irritated with me, you did not look surprised to see me coming that way.”

“I
knew
you were coming, and then I closed my eyes and . . . I do not ken how to explain it exactly but ’twas as if I felt for where you were. I turned until the feeling was strongest, and that is where you came from.”

She watched as her words sank into him.

“And you were irritated with me for keeping you waiting so long?”

“Of course.”

He nodded and looked about him before he turned back to her. “Emotion is the key for you, Scotia,” he said. “You must have a strong emotional connection with the thing . . . or person . . . in order for you to
know
where they are.”

“But I dinna give a rat’s ass about you,” she said quickly, and to his unexpected satisfaction, not very convincingly.

“You do. You always have, but since we kissed ’tis stronger. Can you not admit that? Since then you have known where I was, have you not?”

Scotia wanted to deny it but what he said was true, though she had not realized it until this moment. “Aye, though not all the time. But if I think of you, or someone says your name, I ken exactly where you are. I do not remember being able to do that before . . . before you kissed me.”

“An emotional connection,” he said.

“But I do not feel—”

He stepped closer to her and touched her hand. Her heart thumped harder in her chest.

“You do. ’Tis why you ken where I am even when I am not here with you.”

“But why?”

“Why?”

She pulled her hand away from him. “Why just you? I have kissed Conall, but I get nothing even when I say his name. Rowan, Jeanette, they are important to me. Why do I not know where they are?”

“Do you not?”

“Nay!”

“Then why have you always found it so easy to elude them when they were looking for you? Think about it, Scotia. Calm your thoughts and think back to a time you did not want to be found. How did you stay hidden?”

Her eyes grew wide. “But that is nothing new, nothing special. I thought everyone could do that.”

“It may not be new, but it is special. Tell me, is it the same now as it was then, or has this
knowing
grown stronger of late?”

She had to really think about that. “It grows stronger. Clearer, really. I used to get this . . . itch . . . in my mind when Rowan or Jeanette drew near and I did not wish to be found. Now it is as if the thought ‘Rowan is on the trail to the burn’—” She looked at him with her brow scrunched together and a startled look in her eyes. “Rowan
is
on the trail to the burn. She is. Right now.”

Duncan smiled, that broad grin that she loved, that he seemed to save only for her. That thought stopped her. Surprised her.

“And Jeanette, do you ken where she is?”

Scotia closed her eyes and thought about her sister. “Aye. She is studying the Chronicles at the back of the main cave.”

“Is there anyone else you can
know
about?”

“My da. Uilliam sometimes, but only if he is angry with me. I knew Nicholas came for me and Ian in the fire, but that is the only time I have known where he was.”

“Emotion is the key, Scotia. There was no emotion involved when you were asked to find Jeanette’s bag of herbs, but you have a soft heart for the weans, so you were able to find both Maisie and Ian when they were frightened and alone. Nicholas feared for your life in the fire. The sword almost took your life. And the dagger . . . I suspect you will always be able to find that dagger no matter how well it is hidden, or how far away you must travel to retrieve it.”