Once Upon A Highland Legend (2 page)

Apparently—according to Professor Van Know-it-All—everyone was obsessed with the stone. Except that Annie wasn’t simply obsessed, she was consumed
.
Her father had been too. She came by her obsessions honestly, and perhaps after all these years, she was simply trying to find a connection to her parents. She missed them both terribly and somehow it seemed that visiting the past through its artifacts blurred the lines between life and death…maybe a little.

As for the Stone of Destiny, she wanted to prove once and for all that the stone now on display in Edinburgh Castle wasn’t the original—a gut feeling that just wouldn’t die. But to do so she had to find some sort of physical evidence. Unfortunately, the currently acceptable theories had all found dead ends…except for one. For years Annie had been drawn to a particularly obscure report of a sighting near Kingussie, which also happened to be her father’s birthplace—a happy coincidence, because Annie had been making yearly treks here since her childhood and she knew the area very well.

It made sense to her that the stone was hidden somewhere. Truly, if you were the abbot of Scone and the enemy was at your border, and you had three months to prepare for his arrival, knowing full well that he intended to steal Scotland’s most valued symbol of freedom, would you simply leave it in plain sight? Not to Annie’s way of thought. Who would do nothing and simply wait until Edward arrived? Not Annie. She would have hidden the stone somewhere in the hillside. And, in fact, the sandstone in the stone on display in Edinburgh had been quarried somewhere near Scone, while the original was supposed to have Biblical roots and had been hauled all the way from Ireland—supposedly. If that were true it would have been made of something entirely different. In general, there were just too many stories surrounding the stone, hinting at its inauthenticity, for there not to be some shred of truth in the legends…somewhere.

She kept hearing her dad whisper in her ear:
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire, Anniepie.”

“Amen,” she muttered.

“What’s that, lass?”

“Where did you get this?” she asked the old woman, holding up the stone now, curious over its makeup.

The shopkeeper’s green eye sparkled. “Well, as legend would have it, these are the crystalized tears of Cailleach Bheur.” She waved a hand over the basket.

“Cailleach Bheur?”

“Aye, she was—is—the Mother of Winter, guardian of all the Highlands,” she explained. “These tears were born of her heartbreak, and she gave one to the keepers of the Old Ways, so that by its light all truths might be known.”

“Interesting,” Annie said. She hadn’t heard that one before. Was she supposed to believe someone cried perfectly round tears the size of a golf ball?

The old shopkeeper was still watching her, and she would have walked away to avoid further conversation but the crystal held her transfixed. The others in the basket looked nothing like this one. She turned it in her hand, fascinated by its strange properties. It seemed to glow…as though it had its own energy source, but Annie couldn’t see any seams in the crystal that might indicate it could be opened and a battery inserted—or even that one might have been placed inside and then sealed. Tapping the crystal carefully on the display case, she wondered if it was plastic. It looked and felt like solid quartz.

“Careful w’ that,” the old woman cautioned, her voice sounding as old as time itself. “It’s
precious
.”

Precious.

Annie smirked, flashing on Tolkien’s ring, described exactly that way by those obsessed with it. But this was just a rock, she reasoned, and she wasn’t obsessing over it. In fact, she already had enough obsessions. She didn’t need another. She set the crystal down gingerly into the basket and walked away to examine a display of pamphlets, wishing her cousin would hurry. Late Kate, they called her. She peered up at the clock on the wall: 10:17. Late again—as usual—which certainly had been a good thing yesterday while Annie had had to stick around the airport to fill out missing-bag reports. But this morning, it was simply annoying, because Annie couldn’t wait to get up into those hills.

Down the street she could hear the sounds of festivity beginning as people congregated for the coming parade. She wanted to get out of here before then. Apparently, there was a heritage festival going on to celebrate the town’s historic presence. Annie thought maybe Kingussie had been established sometime during the Eighteenth Century, and a glance at a pamphlet verified the fact. Before then, it had been nothing but pinewoods. Originally called
Ceann a' Ghiùthsaich
, Kingussie was Gaelic for “head of the Pine Forest”—the forest being the vast Caledonian pinewoods that had once witnessed King Arthur’s battles and the demise of the Picts—incredibly romantic histories that had been at the center of a million bedtime stories all shared by Annie’s father. The ancient woods, formed after the last ice age, were nearly vanished now. Annie read somewhere that they were down to something like thirty-eight sites, all spattered across the Highlands. The land surrounding
Bod an Deamhain
was nearly devoid of trees now, though Annie would have loved to see it the way it had appeared a thousand years ago.

She stared hard at the crystal, wishing with all her heart that she might have seen it for herself, and realized suddenly that she had unconsciously returned to the basket and had retrieved the crystal. This time while she held it she thought she detected threads of pink.

It
was
changing colors.

Mood stones were made of thermo tropic liquid crystals that responded to changes in temperature, altering the molecular structure so that light reflected through it as various colors—a bit like a prism. But this wasn’t exactly like a mood stone. The colored striations were too deep to be reacting to her body temperature, and the colors were vague, almost like an aura. She had never in her life encountered such a curious mineral.

She could feel the old woman’s one good eye burrowing into her. “Are ye by chance a Chattan?” the shopkeeper asked.

“Ross,” Annie said. “My father was born somewhere down the road,” she added, quite a bit distracted.

“Raigmore?” the woman persisted.

Annie met her gaze. The color of her eye was a little brighter than Annie’s, but green just the same. “Dunno. How much is this crystal?”

A tiny wry smile curved the old woman’s lips. “’Tisna for sale, lass. As I said, ’tis precious.”

Annie blinked, noting the orange price stickers on
all
the other crystals in the basket. Annoyed, she set the crystal down again, and managed to refrain from asking why it was in the basket to begin with if the woman didn’t intend to sell it.

“However…I’ve a feeling ye were meant to have it,” the shopkeeper announced before Annie could turn away.

Annie’s brow furrowed. If it was an attempt to wrangle more money out of the silly tourist, it wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t exactly your normal tourist anyway. “Thanks. I’m no longer interested,” she lied.

“Ach, ye mistake me, lass.” The shopkeeper hurried over to pick the crystal up out of the basket and reached across the counter, handing it to Annie. In the woman’s hands the striations seemed to turn green again. “’Tis yours for the taking, if ye’ll have it.”

Still Annie hesitated, not entirely certain she understood. But the scientist in her did a tiny little leap of glee. “You’re giving it to me?”

The woman nodded. “If ye wish.”

“But I thought—“

“The Winter Stone chooses who it wishes to keep it, it chooses ye.”

Annie stared at the crystal in the shopkeeper’s hand, blinking. The color now seemed to bleed into the rest of the crystal and even outside its translucent casing, casting a slight green hue on the woman’s face in the dim light of the shop. The shopkeeper’s green eye appeared all the greener by its light.
Perfectly bizarre.
Still Annie didn’t reach out to take it yet, because she couldn’t ascertain any logical reason why the woman would simply give it to her.

“Really?”

The woman nodded, her twinkling gaze almost as unnerving as the changing colors of the crystal.

Still insisting that she take it, the woman pushed it closer and Annie finally accepted it. “Thanks,” she said. “That’s sweet of you.” But the instant she wrapped her hand about the crystal, she felt a sudden jolt down the length of her arm, and the crystal’s colors altered sharply to shades of red and pink and back to green. Startled, Annie’s gaze flicked back to the shopkeeper’s.

The woman lifted a wiry white brow. “Fae magic,” she offered with a wink.

Annie might have laughed at the explanation…she
might
have…if she could have formed a single rational thought over the reaction—hardly imagined, because the shopkeeper had witnessed it as well. It hadn’t hurt, really, just a little zap like she sometimes got from static, only slightly stronger. “You should let me pay you,” Annie insisted, a little dumbfounded.

“I dinna need your money, lass.” The woman released the crystal into Annie’s keeping. “No’ everyone sees what ye see when ye peer into the keek stane.”

“Keek stane?”

“An auld word for a scrying stone, crystal ball.”

Annie smiled. “So what do I see?” she asked, testing the woman.

The woman tilted her head and seemed to think over her answer a moment, then said, “Truth, lies, and the destinies of men.”

Annie lifted both her brows and gave the woman a half smile. “All that, eh?”

The shopkeeper smiled knowingly. She must have sensed Annie was waffling, because she added, “Take it and see what I mean, lass. If ye dinna wish to keep it, ye can bring it back before the first new moon.”

Annie’s lips found a smile of their own accord, but fortunately she didn’t laugh at the woman’s gypsy-speak. “Okay, well…I would love to take a closer look, but I’m only in town for a few weeks.” She was too curious to turn down the offer, but she probably wouldn’t feel right keeping it after all. “Do you have a card? I can mail it back when I’m done.”

“If ye truly wish it, the Winter Stone will return on its own.”

The woman was serious. Her ancient, withered face didn’t crack a smile. Annie had a ridiculous vision in her mind of the crystal sprouting feet and walking back to the shop all by itself. Nevertheless, excited by the prospect of examining the crystal closer, she felt titillated by the offer. As odd as the entire situation might be, there was not much chance she would walk away without it. The scientist in her simply wouldn’t allow it. “Alright.” she agreed, but let me at least buy one of your tartan ponchos—how much did you say they were?”

“Forty nine, ninety nine, but it’s on sale today. I’ll gi’ it to ye for twenty nine.”

“Pounds?”

“Yes, of course!” the woman declared, and hurried over to pull the tartan poncho off the mannequin in the window. “Here ye go, lass. ’Twill serve ye well,” she said, and Annie paid her. Then, thank God, she heard the rev of a bike engine outside the shop, and her cousin’s boisterous voice, so she thanked the shopkeeper profusely and hurried outside.

Her cousin was still mounted on her bike, her short black skirt hiked up her leg to such a degree that Annie suffered a momentary pang of modesty at the thought of climbing on the back of the bike. The poncho would help at least.

Dressed all in black, from her shiny heeled boots to her black nails and purple lipstick, Kate was a beacon for every pair of male eyes in the vicinity. “Coorie up!” her cousin demanded. “We dinna ha’ much time!”

“Check this out.” Annie handed her the crystal while she pulled on her poncho.

Kate revved her bike with one hand as she examined the crystal. “What aboot it?”

“It changes colors.”

In her cousin’s hands, the crystal turned pink, but Kate didn’t seem to notice. “Yer daft.” she exclaimed, and shoved it back at Annie. “Get your bum on the bike. I’ve got a date.” She beamed. “This time it’s true love.”

“Every one is true love for you!”

Kate gave her a chiding look. “Would ye even know love if ye were faced with it, Annie?”

Annie frowned at her. “
Anyway
, I thought you had to get back to work?”

Kate winked. “Why d’ ye think I took the gig for, love? I’m working it.”

Annie laughed and took the crystal from her cousin, dropping it into her pack. She climbed on the back of the bike and barely had time to adjust her pack and put her arm around her cousin’s waist before Kate revved the bike and took off.

The wind tore strands of hair from Annie’s ponytail, whipping them into her face. Houses whizzed past as they raced out of town, leaving the sounds of the Heritage Festival in their wake. Kate turned onto Ruthven and somewhere along that road veered off down another narrow road. About forty-five minutes later, after nearly three spills, Annie insisted Kate drop her off beyond the last walk-about parking. There were only two cars here today. Hopefully, she wouldn’t run into other hikers. She slid off the bike, eager to be off Kate’s wild bike ride.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” Kate asked.

“Fine,” Annie insisted.

“Okay, but if ye’ll wait until t’morrow, I’ll come along w’ ye.”

Annie shook her head stubbornly. “You don’t have the gear.”

“’Tis no’ like ye’re climbing the Alps, mind ye. I’ve got boots.” Kate’s full lips turned into a grin and she hiked up her leg to show off her shiny black boots with the deadly heels.

Little wonder they had nearly kissed the ground. How could anyone ride with those? Annie laughed. “Great, we can use them as grappling hooks,” she suggested.

“Bloody hell! Ye’re a stubborn one,” Kate protested, but she laughed too. “Anyway, it’s not like ye’re rock climbing. It’s a lazy day walk aboot at best.”

Annie lifted a brow. “Thirty point nine kilometers if you do the entire pass.”

“Aye, but ye’re not,” Kate argued.

“Right. So I’ll hold you to it—tomorrow—but I’m going today too.”

“Alright, then. Meet me back here at six. Set your watch,” Kate insisted.

Annie didn’t wear a watch. Apparently her cousin hadn’t noticed, but she said anyway, “I will.” She planned to be back long before Late Kate turned up again.