Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3) (31 page)

“Anyway, that was when the
knowing
came to me that Uilliam was in trouble, too, so we created a barrier over you to keep you from further harm.”

“And then you hurled the soldiers away from me,” Uilliam said, a note of awe in his deep voice. “’Twas you who did that, aye?” he asked Scotia.

She nodded.

“You have taught her very well, Duncan,” Uilliam said.

Pride warmed Duncan.

Uilliam continued, “’Twas as if an invisible warrior fought beside me, anticipating the moves of each soldier as they came for me, and incapacitating each in turn. You three lassies make one very formidable weapon.”

There was quiet as Duncan watched that thought sink into each one there. Three Guardians, and one trained as a warrior who could combine all their gifts into a single weapon. Would Scotia be strong enough to control all that power without letting it overtake her? Clearly her training was not at an end, as he had thought. He would have to watch over her, teach her to claim her strength without letting it go to her head, or her heart.

Her heart was his, and he was not about to let it go.

“Did you leave them there?” Nicholas asked at last.

“Aye. ’Twas only me so I got out of there before any could rouse. When I made it to the meadow I heard the fighting and went to help. That’s when I found Duncan.”

“So the soldiers who lived will be able to report on what happened to Lord Sherwood.” Malcolm said what everyone was thinking.

Uilliam sighed and pulled on his beard. “Aye, they will. Our lads are pulling back to guard this camp. We did not have enough to chase down the soldiers who lived and keep enough numbers to attack the main force.”

Scotia cleared her throat, drawing Duncan’s and everyone else’s attention back to her.

“As I said, when the Targe claimed me as a Guardian I was filled with
knowings
, so many I could not tell you what most were. But one of them made itself clear to me just a moment ago as I was talking to Duncan.”

She stepped forward into the center of the gathering and performed what he thought was the blessing that he had heard Elspet make many, many times over the years, but the guttural words were slightly different, and fit flowing hand symbols as they never had before.

“That is the blessing, is it not? And it is in the language you spoke when you tried to tell Nicholas and Malcolm about Duncan!” Rowan said. “I did not recognize it, for you pronounce it differently than Auntie Elspet did, and what you said was not any of the blessings I have learned”—she glanced over at Jeanette and twisted her mouth into a wry smile—“or tried to learn.”

“Did I?” Scotia asked. “I do not remember that.”

“Aye, you did. Can you speak the language now?” Jeanette, the ever-curious, asked.

“I do not ken if I can speak it on my own, but I understand it. I know what the blessings mean, as well as the symbols on the Targe and the other stones.”

Everyone was silent.

“The words of the blessing are . . .” Scotia closed her eyes and seemed to be concentrating very hard.

“Mother of all things, hear my prayer.

Mother of the earth, the fire, the water, and the wind, protect us.

Mother of the Guardians of the Shield, protect us and

Fill your vessels with your abundant gifts so that we may protect you.

Oh, Mother of all things, hear my prayer.”

“Guardians,” Jeanette said. “Guardians of the Shield. More than one.” Her curiosity was fully engaged. “It could mean Guardians through time, or it could indicate that having multiple, simultaneous Guardians is not as unusual as we thought. What else can you interpret now?” she asked Scotia.

“The words on the Targe sack,” Scotia said.

“The words?” Jeanette asked as Rowan immediately opened the sack and spread it on the ground in the center of the circle, right at Scotia’s feet where all could see. She set the Targe stone in the center, then stepped back to her place between Jeanette and Nicholas.

“What do they mean?” Duncan asked. Scotia looked down at him with a small smile that settled over her lips even though he could see lines of tension at the corners of her eyes.

Scotia knelt on the opposite side of the sack from Duncan so she was not blocking his view of it and pointed to the mirror. “The mirror is clear seeing, visions of the future, but also clear seeing of distant things, like you”—she nodded at Duncan—“in the present. The other, Rowan’s symbol”—she pointed at the inverted V with three wavy lines beneath it—“it means what Rowan can do, moving things like mountains, the things of the earth, with the energy she draws from the ground”—she touched the three wavy lines—“the same source as the Targe’s energy.”

When Scotia did not continue, Jeanette said, “And the other one? The broken arrow? Is it the twice-broken arrow as you thought?”

Scotia looked up at Jeanette then. “Truly you do not understand the words?”

“Truly, I do not.”

Scotia looked at Rowan but her cousin shook her head.

“It means . . .” She closed her eyes again. “It is so clear in my mind, but so difficult to put into words. It means the strength of the twice-broken . . .” Her eyes popped open, and she caught Duncan’s gaze in her own. “Warrior.”

A thrill went through Duncan as he realized how well that described her. “That is your symbol,” Duncan said. “You are the twice-broken warrior. But how does that indicate your
knowing
gift?”

Scotia stared at him for a long moment while everyone else seemed to hold their breath, waiting for her answer.

“It indicates the wisdom that comes from surviving the breaks and seeing them mended, like a bone broken and reknit. For me, that wisdom comes through strong feelings, I suspect I am too stubborn to
know
things otherwise. Duncan has helped me understand that I must have strong feelings connected to the things and people I know things about—a form of wisdom.” She looked over at her sister. “’Tis likely why the first time you tested me I could not find your healer’s bag. I had no love nor worry for it, nor was I yet worthy of becoming a Guardian.”

“I do not understand,” Kenneth said. “What have I missed? Twice broken?”

Duncan realized that Kenneth had not been there when she had first admitted her mistakes and revealed why she believed the broken arrow was her symbol, that she was meant to be a Guardian.

Quickly, with neither tears nor any defensiveness, Scotia explained what she had learned to her father. She sat tall and she spoke with a quiet surety that held the confidence of the old Scotia and the wisdom of the new.

“I can only say that I will do everything within my power to honor both deaths,” Scotia said, “to be mindful of them when I face
a hard decision and unruly emotions, and to keep the good of the clan and my duty as a Guardian foremost in my mind at all times. I am the strength of the twice-broken warrior, gaining wisdom from my unforgivable mistakes and the training that Duncan has given me, to combine the gifts of the Guardians into one.”

Kenneth moved to her, pulling her to her feet, then wrapping her in his arms, holding her tight. When he let her go, Duncan saw her quickly wipe away the water that gathered in her eyes again.

“The story is not done,” she said as she picked up a stick, and brushed away the fallen leaves on the forest floor until she reached dirt.

She drew Rowan’s symbol first, then drew Jeanette’s mirror as if Rowan’s symbol was reflected in it, and then finally her own symbol, the broken arrow, slicing through the other two.

“This is the story the stone tells: that the power to move things, the ability to see things, and the strength and wisdom of the twice-broken warrior must combine, as we learned this day.”

“It does indeed,” Rowan said quietly. “’Twas there for us all this time, but we did not understand—we did not
know
—what it meant. Is this the way we construct a true Highland Targe, the shield big enough to protect this route into the Highlands?”

“Almost. There is one more piece of this story, Rowan. Which brings me to the word incised on the Targe stone, the stone in the grotto where Jeanette became a Guardian, and on the Story Stone where I became one, too.” She lifted the Targe off the sack and cupped it in her hands, taking it over to the other two Guardians.

“You do not understand this word, either, do you?” she asked Rowan, and then Jeanette, who looked at the stone but not at her sister.

Both shook their heads.

“The word”—she pointed at the three swirls in a circle that was incised on the stone—“means”—and a sound came out of her mouth that even she seemed surprised by.

“But what does it mean?” Jeanette asked, looking up at Scotia.

“It means . . .” she said. “It means . . .” she began again, but she had to stop, and that same look of intense concentration came over her face, just as it did when he set her a new lesson in her warrior training. “Again,” she said quietly, “the word is as clear in my mind as the waters that run in the mountain burns, but there is no single word to translate it. It means the place of power . . . nay, it means the wellspring of power . . . the source of power. Yes, ‘the source of power lies deep beneath the hearth.’ ”

There was quiet as what she said sank in.

“The hearth?” Jeanette asked.

“The hearth . . . the home . . .” Scotia shook her head. “I cannot say what it means in exact words, but I know for certain it means that the source of the Targe’s power lies beneath our home, Dunlairig Castle. ’Tis where Mum performed most of the blessings. ’Tis where she built the protection over the castle after the wall fell. She may not have understood the word, but by training or some other understanding, she kent the center of our home, the bailey . . . where the water breaks the surface through the well . . . was a very powerful place for a Guardian and the Targe.”

“That is where you first experienced your gift, love,” Nicholas said to Rowan, taking her hand in his. “I felt the power that night as well, though not nearly as strongly as you.”

Jeannette’s head was slowly moving up and down. She took a deep breath and looked back at the Targe where it lay in Scotia’s hands.

“Do you ken how to construct the true Highland Targe?” Scotia asked her. “Rowan can pull the power we will need, I can direct it with your vision and my
knowing
, but do you ken how to create such a thing?”

“Do you not, with your
knowing
?”

“Nay, my beloved sister, I do not. Is there a blessing that Mum taught you that there is no known use for? Perhaps something she taught you when I was not attending to her lessons?”

Jeanette got that look on her face that they all knew meant she was lost in the Guardian lore that filled her agile mind, and then Jeanette’s eyes went wide as she stared first at her sister, then at her cousin.

“There is one. Mum taught it to me not long ago. She drilled me for days until I had it right, as if she knew I would need it, though she knew not what it was for.” And then she recited the words and the motions, and a grinning Scotia translated them for the Guardians.

“Nicholas.” Rowan smiled at her husband. “We need to go home, to Dunlairig Castle. We will need a little time to prepare ourselves, and to gather everyone who can fight. Is there any reason we cannot do this tonight?”

“There will be no moon tonight,” he said. “’Twill be good for getting everyone into position, but not for fighting. ’Twould be good to surprise them under cover of darkness, but not if we cannot see who we fight.”

“Then we prepare this night, and take back our home come first light,” Rowan declared, giving Nicholas a smacking kiss and a huge smile.

Duncan struggled to his feet and with his good arm swept Scotia into a fierce embrace. “You did it, Scotia.” He kissed her and was rewarded when she threw her arms around him. “You hold the key to our success. You hold the key to the Highland Targe!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T
HE REST OF
the day passed in a flurry of activity. Reports came in quickly that the English were at the castle, but most remained outside the wall. They were finishing the temporary curtain wall that the MacAlpins had begun, cutting down trees and setting the trunks in place, though they had not gotten far enough with it yet to prevent the MacAlpins from entering the castle from the north, where the wall was little more than a pile of rubble.

The Guardians had retreated to a quieter part of the tiny hidden glen, where Jeanette had taught them the blessing that should allow them to create the Highland Targe, though it did nothing more than make a simple barrier, as they had crafted at their bower, easier to maintain.

“Are you sure of what the blessing means?” Jeanette asked for the hundredth time.

“I am. We each know what we must do. We have learned the blessing. All that we lack is the power to create the Targe, and that, as far as any of us know, is only available within the bailey.” Scotia looked at her sister and her cousin. “We are as prepared as we can be, and there is little use in delaying our plan just because we are not certain this will work.”

“Are you ready?” Kenneth asked as he neared them.

“Aye, Da, we are,” Jeanette said, stepping into her father’s arms. Scotia joined her, and Rowan did, too, all of them drawing strength from this man who had raised them, protected them, loved them, and who now had no choice but to follow them into battle.

“’Tis time we leave,” he said, his voice thick as he let them go. “We want to move as close as we can while there is still light. Tomorrow we all go to war for control of our home and of the Highlands.”

Hours later everyone able to fight, including some of the women dressed like men to make their numbers look greater than they were, were in position. Scotia, Rowan, and Jeanette, along with Malcolm, Duncan, and five other warriors, waited within the inky bolt-hole tunnel they had used to leave the castle not long ago, though it seemed like a year had passed since then.

Nicholas had another task before he would join them in the bailey . . . if he survived that long. Rowan had been furious with him, but he had taken her aside, and after a few moments of heated debate they returned to the council, Rowan silent but no longer arguing against her husband’s plans. Nicholas had held his wife’s hand until ’twas time for them all to take their places.