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HIGHLAND STONE
By
Sloan McBride
© copyright by Sloan McBride, October 2007
Cover Art by Eliza Black, © copyright October 2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Although Dunvegan Castle and Strathnaver Castle are factual places, all characters and events portrayed in this work are from the Author's imagination. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Author's Note:
I would like to take this time to thank Guy Sheldon from the Historic Highlanders, who was instrumental in the research for this book. I would also like to thank those friends who read the story and gave me critical input, especially Kat Mancos, for her unwavering force as a critique partner. And a big hug goes out to my family for their support.
Prologue
Scotland 1350
Rhianna MacKay straightened her back, wiped sweaty palms down her worn saffron shirt, and flicked the dark hair from her eyes before barging into the room to confront her father. "I willna be sold off tae Ross!"
He took two steps toward her, and, like a fierce blast, Conar MacKay's hand landed hard against her cheek, knocking her to the icy stone floor. "I be the chief of Clan MacKay. Ye were told tae make yourself ready."
Gaylord, the elderly clansman who'd been in conference with the chief, turned a soft, apologetic gaze to her before exiting the room. Not even the tapestry on the outer wall or the wool rug next to her warmed the winter chill that clenched her heart.
Her face throbbed, and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Rhianna pushed herself up from dirty rushes littered with food and stood tall before her father, not bothering to hide her hatred. She swiped her lip with the back of her hand then spit the bitter tasting blood at his feet and walked out.
Since her mother had died eight years past, Conar MacKay gave her only passing glares unless he punished her for some errant behavior. There were many such instances in her case. He had little use for women other than for bartering tools or to lie between their thighs.
Only her brother, three years her senior, made living with Conar at all bearable.
"Dunna cry little dove," Carrick would say. "On the morrow God's wrath will spill down on Conar, and he willna win that battle."
Carrick had their mother's good heart and oft times could make Rhianna laugh while tending her wounds after Conar had beaten her. More times than not, Carrick stepped between them and ended up on the floor himself.
Three months had passed since Carrick had gone to England. He had promised to come back.
* * * *
Rhianna busied herself throughout the day tending the withering garden and helping the women prepare bitter soup with limp vegetables. Her gaze drifted toward the kirk, which had been closed up for nigh a year after the priest had taken ill and passed on to Heaven. No other would dare venture to the home of the devil, Strathnaver.
Later that night, guided by sorrow and fear, Kara crept down the castle steps and into the war room. She hated this room. Plans that had laid low many of those she'd loved were made here. The day her mother died, the demon that was her father had been planning yet another attack. The bastard barely looked up when told the news.
"'Tis just as well," he spat. "She'd long since lost her use tae me."
From that day forth, Rhianna had done all she could to oppose the chief, using any means she could think of. Her greatest pleasure would be the downfall of Conar MacKay.
Stepping onto the scorched stones of the hearth, she shoved aside the heavy tapestry where behind lay a hidden alcove. It held the secret of the clan. She crossed herself. "Please, Holy Father, give me strength." The prayer did little to ease the lump in her chest or the ball of anxiety in her stomach.
Slinging the edge of her breacan back, she then reached into the small opening and grabbed the treasure. Concealed in a silvery velvet cloth was a smooth ivory-colored stone with veins of jade snaking through it. The magical heirloom had belonged to the MacKays since the beginning of time and had brought good fortune to the clan. She'd seen it only once before.
"Carrick, why ha' ye forgotten me?" she whispered. He'd not returned from his mission, and she could wait no longer. She must flee or be handed over to another ruthless bastard, Ross.
After slipping the precious stone back into its covering, she tucked it deep in the pocket of her skirt where it would not fall out or be easily grabbed by thieves. She tiptoed into the buttery to grab oats and nuts for her journey and, with tear-filled eyes, canvassed the room. Memories too numerous to count flooded her heart. With trembling hands she lifted the large tapestry concealing the secret door that led to an escape tunnel. In one hand, she carried a torch that she had lifted from the wall to light her way down the damp eerie passageway. It ended outside the gates where she doused the flame so as not to be noticed by the guards.
With trepidation, she fled the only home she'd ever known...the home of her ancestors.
The stark white moon cast dark, ominous shadows through the forest. Smells of rotting wood and stagnant water reminded her of the dungeons at Strathnaver, where she and her brother had played as children, and where she'd be thrown, if caught. A twig broke under her foot, echoing loud in the stillness. Birds took flight, causing leaves to drip water they'd held from an earlier rain. A symphony of night music accompanied her hurried steps.
Nervously, Rhianna reached into her pocket and rubbed the MacKay talisman, finding comfort in its presence.
"'Tis nothing more than tae be far away from his reach I be wanting," she muttered.
Rhianna's feet slipped on the moss-covered forest floor. White mist clawed at her hem while strange-colored clouds gathered in the sky. A shiver of foreboding raced down her spine. She'd never seen the like. Her fingers moved more quickly against the stone. She moved deeper into trees, hoping to escape the strange fog, but it twisted around her ankles and legs and rose to envelope her from head to toe. Fear unlike any she'd ever known gripped her soul. The fog thickened, and the world turned black.
Chapter One
Present
'The key is hidden with your grandfather's picture.'
A loud rumbling shifted her focus from one scene to another. Horses running full speed, men screaming. Kara Malone woke with a start, grabbing her head. Fully conscious of her surroundings, she realized the noise as thunder. The fury of the storm rattled the windows.
"Damn." She swung her legs over the side of the full-sized bed as a bolt of lightning cracked outside. She clutched the edge of the mattress, bowing her head and breathing deeply. Dreams and nightmares had been her constant companions since she'd been thirteen. This one shook her more so than usual because it involved not only the wild and handsome warrior, but her grandmother as well.
Pulling on sweats, she went downstairs hoping to quench an all too familiar thirst. She headed straight to the antique liquor cabinet and a bottle of Brandy. Her eyes watered from the sting of alcohol. They weren't tears. She rarely cried. She stared out the window as sheets of rain showered the lawn. Mother Nature's cleansing.
Clutching the glass, Kara wandered the well-known house in the dark, feeling like an intruder. It felt the same. Comforting. Yet, without her grandmother, it would soon be unbearable. No more laughter while making batwing cookies for trick-or-treaters. No more hot buttered eggnog at Christmas while wrapping presents in front of the fire.
Lurking on the threshold, she jumped as lightning lit her grandmother's darkened bedroom. She hadn't realized she'd come to this room, the sanctuary of her childhood when the nightmares had gotten so awful that she ran to Haskell and Glynnis' room. They smiled, opening their arms and their hearts to give her peace from the frightening moments. No child should suffer the fear of the unknown alone.
A fluttering motion caught her eye. She turned to find nothing.
'Tis the wee fairies ye see, little Kara. They protect the children.'
Glynnis had a story for everything. "There are no children here anymore, Glynnis."
In another flash, the portrait of Haskell Malone brightened. Her grandmother's weak voice echoed in her head. The memory of Glynnis looking so frail and worn, lying in the hospital bed, caused Kara to take a huge gulp from the tumbler. She hissed as the liquor burned her throat then soothed her nerves.
The amber-colored liquid sloshed onto her hand as she slammed the drink down on the dresser. She licked it off before lifting the cumbersome frame from the wall. First, she lay the frame face down and slid the backer from its tracks. There were no magic keys taped to the cardboard or the canvas. "I knew she was pulling my leg," Kara murmured while putting everything back together. She stood the portrait against the wall.
Rain now battered the roof, and wind bent trees almost in half with its force. Another bright burst of lightning and booming thunderclap caused her to jump. "Get a grip." Days of little to no sleep were making her hands jittery and her mind foggy. She looked at the frame again. A weird feeling came over her. Something didn't sit quite right or was she imagining it? She flipped on the lamp and stared at the ornate, golden, hand-carved filigree on the frame. She stared at the smiling face of her grandfather. "Do you know something I don't, grandpa?"
She ran her fingers along the edges and touched the design until her forefinger scraped against an oddity. Moving closer, she concentrated on that area. She rubbed her thumb over it and then pushed it, and a small gold key popped out of the design. "Oh my God." Why would her grandmother hide the key in such a sneaky way if the story were false? Glynnis had seemed to have all her faculties still intact before she passed. But surely, the story couldn't be true.
With shaky fingers she picked up the brandy glass. Clan stone, Scotland, myths and legends. Glynnis loved her fairytales. Ancient Scotland was her favorite subject. Sometimes she talked about the people with such familiarity it made you believe she knew them.
"This is ridiculous," Kara said. Marching over to the closet, she threw open the door and stared into the cluttered space. She pushed into the mess. "I swear the woman was a pack rat. You'd think she had never heard of giving to charity."
Ten minutes later, in the farthest recesses, her fingers brushed something. Blowing hair out of her eyes, she pulled the ten-by-eight inch cedar box adorned with Celtic symbols into her lap. She recognized her grandfather's handiwork in the intricate carvings. A Celtic wooden cross, which hung in the living room above the doorway, had also been hand-carved by Haskell. It was a grand hobby of his. Flipping the box over, she ran her fingers across his initials etched in the corner.
The tiny lock had the same shape as the key. An excitement gripped Kara's stomach. The room seemed hotter than before. Standing, she grabbed the dresser to fight off waves of dizziness. Never drink on an empty stomach. Crossing the floor, she sat down on the edge of the bed and hugged the box to her chest. The combination of alcohol and sleepless nights caused blurry vision and the start of a major headache. She didn't think she could deal with another shock right now. Placing the key on the chain around her neck, she tucked the box under her arm and went back to bed.
It'll wait. What is one more day going to matter?
* * * *
Kara's flight to Hawaii had a seven fifteen a.m. boarding time, and she had just finished packing. Her toe hit something under the bed as she used her body weight to close her suitcase. Bending, she retrieved the cedar box she'd stashed there right before she fell back into bed last night. Glancing at the overstuffed suitcase, she opted for tossing it in her backpack. Downstairs the taxi pulled up and honked. She scanned the room once more before leaving. A strange sense of finality tickled her heart. This assignment could mean a permanent transfer to the islands.
"How long to the airport?" she asked the driver, looking at her watch.
"Fifteen minutes."
By the time she checked in they were ready to board. She crammed her flight bag under the seat in front of her, buckled up, and adjusted her five foot six inch length to get a little more comfortable. It would be a long flight from Beckley, West Virginia.
Her job as a volcanologist took her to interesting places, like Hawaii. A couple of weeks ago her excitement about this new job had overflowed. She needed the time away to rethink things. Unfortunately, it gave her unwanted time to think about Glynnis' death and the fact that now she was truly alone.
A particularly hard jolt woke Kara. The 747 bounced like a surfboard on a wave.
"We are experiencing some turbulence," the captain's voice said over the intercom. "Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sat straighter. The stiff muscles in her back ached. Raw emotions lingered from her dream and ripped her heart apart. She'd been in that beautifully barren place where she always met him, the man with dark features and the disarming smile.
Jeez, stop drooling. She had the same reaction every time she had the dream. Who was he, and how did he penetrate her subconscious?
Resolved that she'd had all the sleep she could take, Kara lifted Glynnis' box out of her bag. From the chain around her neck, she retrieved the little gold key. She inserted it into the latch and twisted. The box sprung open, and a small leather-bound book fell into her lap. Kara shifted toward the window, snatched up the book and set it aside. A beautiful oval-shaped stone approximately four inches long, the color of ivory with cracks of green winding through it beckoned her in a strange voodoo sort of way.
Her quivering fingers stroked the glassy finish. Bits of crystal twinkled at her in the light. A strange magic vibrated around the smooth piece of rock. Kara curbed an overwhelming desire to rub her cheek against it. She rested the object back on the velvet cloth which lined the box and turned her attention to the journal. The cover felt like butter, so soft and supple. Inside the front flap, she saw handwriting belonging to her grandmother. The graceful swirls and loops of her letters were unmistakable.
May 5, 1948 --I was born in the Hebrides o' Scotland in the year of our Lord 1334 A.D. Me home wasna particularly happy. The castle was stark, filthy and we ha' verra little food tae sustain the entire clan. I did me best tae grow vegetables, but the land was barren and desolate from years o' neglect. Wars and savageness were a part o' everyday life and me father, the mighty chief, or at least that's what he thought he was, liked it that way. He cared little for comforts and only wanted more lands and more power. He brought terror down on all who opposed him, and being the bastard he was, treated me no better than cattle.
One day, in the year of our Lord 1350 A.D., he ordered that I be given over tae a rival clan. 'Twas a union tae bind the two clans and make their numbers stronger. More coin in his coffers. I'd sooner prance before the English army naked than be bartered, and the callus whoreson knew it. Me bràthair ha' been me only salvation growing up, but he was away on a mission designed by the chief.
I knew he'd sent me bràthair away so he wouldna be there tae champion me, but there was naught I could do other than run. So, that night, while others slept, I pinched the clan stone and fled. When he found me gone, no doubt he'd send warriors tae hunt me down and drag me back. I'd be beaten or worse for defying his orders. I couldna run fast enough.
I rubbed the magical talisman for protection as the ancient tales had foretold. A swirling mist covered the forest in white. It engulfed me, and everything faded tae black. When I woke, I was in another time, another place.
Kara lowered her arms and lay her head back against the seat. She chuckled softly. This had to be another of her grandmother's tales. Still, the way the key was hidden, and the fact that she'd never heard this story before, made Kara wonder.
I was sure tae go mad from the fear and aloneness. Wandering the strange land, I'd go hungry for days. Not that hunger wasna a familiar friend. Some locals took pity and helped me find work and me own place tae live. Every day I hid wi' the worry o' being found. It took some time afore I made friends and started me new life.
Then, I met Haskell Malone, young and full o' fire. He swept me off me feet, and we were marrit. Haskell shared his strength and courage and made me believe that no matter what life threw at us, we would handle it together.
For a reason she couldn't explain, Kara's hands shook, making it harder to focus the words and finish the story.
Years passed and still no one ha' appeared tae drag me back, but I can't keep the fear at bay. It haunts the back of me mind that one day the demon will appear and kill me dead. I ha'a son, Michael. Haskell and Michael are me life.
Sometimes me heart breaks because I miss me bràthair, and, in taking the stone, I put me clan at risk. But I wouldna give back one hour...one day.
This history 'tis not for everyone, most wouldna believe it. In me heart, I be certain one will come tae take this knowledge and do the right thing. Until then, I keep it hidden.
R. Glynnis Malone.
Glynnis had always been tight-lipped about her past. She shared very little of her roots. Kara remembered once when she was in fifth grade and needed a note for school. Glynnis had written out the note and signed it, R. Glynnis Malone. When Kara asked what the R stood for, Glynnis clenched her jaw, tightened her lips, and shooed her off.
For as long as Kara could remember, Glynnis had told wonderful stories about knights, fair maidens, Highland warriors and young girls who had the balls to stand up to their fathers for unfair treatment, even if it meant severe punishment. This journal could be an elaborate ruse, a farewell if you will. The story meant to leave a kernel of suspicion and wonder in hopes that she would run with it and see where it led.
She picked up the stone and caressed it. What had really happened in Scotland all those centuries ago? Could the story be real?
A shadow fell over her. Kara looked out the window to see strange clouds tear through the sky and streaks of lightning come perilously close to the plane. White spirals reached for the heavens like fingers laced with beautiful pastel colors. Her eyelids drooped, suddenly too heavy to keep open. With the stone clasped in her hand, everything dimmed.
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