Chapter 12

Two quick beeps of the horn and Carolina Adventures’ sleek black shuttle bus rolled out of the park, headed for the bed-and-breakfast with a load of extremely hung-over senior citizens.

Grant smiled and raised his hand in farewell. For the first time in a very long time, as a matter of fact for the first time since they’d arrived in this accursed century, he felt a sense of peace—and maybe even a little anticipation.

“Do ye no’ think ’tis time ye took the girl before the Heartstone and sought its advice? Ye’ve finally made her yer own. ’Tis time to seek the blessing in person and tell the lass the MacDara history.”

Dwyn MacKay. The nosy, redheaded demigod determined to be a thorn in every MacDara’s arse. Long ago, the goddesses ordained him as guide to all the druid clans—guardian to them, in fact. Grudgingly, Grant admitted that without Dwyn’s help with acclimating to the twenty-first century after they’d first arrived—and even now after they’d been here sixteen years—the MacDaras’ survival in this strange time wouldha been questionable.

“Ignorin’ me will do ye no good, ye ken? Ye best answer me, boy.”

“Go away, ye old bastard,” Grant replied without turning around. “Ye ken good and well how I feel about the Heartstone and its druthers.” The damn stone and the meddlin’ goddesses were as responsible for the murder of his precious Leannan and their unborn child just as surely as if they’d been the ones that had slit her throat. He’d had little to do with the stone and the goddesses since that terrible day. He didna care if his soul was headed for certain damnation. His heart had already been there for well over a decade.

Dwyn stepped up and stood beside him. The wiry demigod wore his usual attire of an expensive three-piece suit complete with a gold watch chain and starched handkerchief peeping out of the breast pocket. While larger than life when it came to personality, in his physical form, Dwyn was dwarfed by Grant’s size. His bushy red brows knotted above his narrowed eyes in a furious scowl and he clasped his hands to the small of his back. He glared up at Grant with an impatient sideways glance. “The stone doesna set nor choose yer fate, lad. It merely guides us and shows us the proper path for the good of all concerned. Remember yer teachings, aye?”

“I dinna give a damn about the good of all concerned. I’m no longer a protector. Remember?”

“Aye, ye are. It’s in yer blood, boy. Ye dinna have a choice in the matter.” Dipping his chin in a curt nod, Dwyn did a bouncing roll to the toe-tips of his highly polished, black wing-tipped shoes as though launching himself into motion. He sauntered back and forth on the sidewalk with a swinging methodical step. Finally, he came to a halt in front of Grant and jabbed a finger hard against Grant’s breastbone. “Ye will always be a protector and ye ken as well as I that if ye wish a more permanent arrangement with this woman, this Joanna Martin, she must be brought before the stone and the MacDara history must be revealed to her.” Dwyn barely shook his head, then added emphasis to his words by thumping Grant’s chest again. “Ye canna build a life upon a lie, lad. ’Twould be like building a castle on shifting sand, ye ken?”

Grant brushed aside Dwyn’s hand. “Ye canna allow me to enjoy a bit a peace—a wee taste of happiness? Does it vex ye t’see that I so easily choose to step away from all yer high and mighty commands?” He sorely wanted to knock the annoying demigod on his arse, but he’d made that mistake once—and learned from it. The wily little bastard might look small, but he’d easily rebounded and dished out quite a beatin’ of his own.

“Ye ken that I’m right.” Thin arms folded across his black pin-striped chest, Dwyn circled Grant like a scrawny buzzard waiting for his dinner to die. “Could ye really live in peace without telling her the truth? Worryin’ at every turn that she might stumble upon yer history and discover yer lie?”

Grant avoided Dwyn’s hawkish gaze and stared down at the ground. Damn the infernal bastard. He knew in his heart that Dwyn was right and he hated him for it. “And if I lose her? What then?” He braced himself, tensing against the answer he knew Dwyn was about to give him.

Dwyn shrugged and shook his head. “Then it was ne’er meant t’be after all.” He cleared his throat and squeezed Grant’s shoulder. “But take heart, this woman has impressed the goddesses. They look kindly on this match and have already decided that she’d more than likely give ye many fine sons to carry on your duties as a protector long after yer gone. All should work out well. If not…then ye’ll move on. Such is the way of a mortal’s life.”

“Ye say all these things so easily, as if Joanna were a pair of boots or a kilt that can be tossed aside and replaced if she doesna fit the Heartstone’s mold for a wife of a protector.” Grant turned away and took off at an angry pace down the main street of Highland Life and Legends. He needed to get away from Dwyn. Away from people. He needed time t’think.

Dwyn kept abreast of him with little or no effort even though the short strides of his legs were but a third of Grant’s powerful steps. “If she’s unable to believe our legends and beliefs and know them for the truth that they are, I swear t’ye that I’ll wipe her memories clean so it will be as though ye ne’er told her about the Heartstone and the fact that ye were born in ninth-century Scotland. She’ll no’ suffer any ill effects. Will that do ye?”

“And what about my memories, ye meddlin’ fool? What then?” Grant came to a halt, turned, and bent forward with his fists clenched, coming nose to nose with Dwyn. Was the demigod that callous? Did he think Grant’s already scarred heart could take another massive hit? “And after ye clear her mind, ye expect me to watch her go a separate way from mine? I’m supposed to…to just release her? Just watch her walk out of m’life?”

“That’s how it works, son,” Dwyn replied quietly, genuine compassion shining in his pale green eyes. “In many ways, yer no different from any other man lookin’ to be loved. If yer able t’find the right woman, yer a blessed man and yer life’s complete. If ye dinna find one, then there will always be an aching emptiness in yer soul.”

“If ye ask me, we mere mortals have a raw deal indeed.”

“Ye might say that.” Dwyn frowned and reached into his inside coat pocket. “But then again, you mere mortals experience creation in such a way that no god or goddess ever can.” He pulled out a royal-blue velvet pouch tied with gold braiding and scowled down at it as he hefted it in one hand. “Immortals have eternity. We’ve no limitations. No barriers to anything.” He locked eyes with Grant, an ancient weariness suddenly shadowing his gaze. “Such freedom to discover and explore comes at great cost. Where there is no urgency, there is no excitement. Even the finest gold bauble, newly minted and polished, loses its shine and shows its flaws when one has an eternity to admire it.” He held out the small pouch and dropped it in Grant’s upturned hand. “A human’s life is short. Every minute, every experience, is fleeting, and those who know this truth find more joy in one brief moment than an immortal feels in all eternity.”

Dwyn’s words rang true, but they didna ease the gnawing worry already growing at Grant’s core. It had taken so long to find Joanna. What if she cast him aside for a lunatic when he showed her the MacDara truths? Alec’s wife, Sadie, had said that was her first thought when Alec had shown her the Heartstone and weapons and explained the druid clans. She said the only thing that had changed her mind was when the Heartstone itself had intervened and shown her the way to the truth.

“If she accepts ye for all that ye are…” Dwyn tapped on the velvet pouch in Grant’s hand. “Give her this amulet. This is your binding amulet fashioned by the goddesses to be given to yer true heartmate. Yer father gave his to yer mother, and yer brother gave his to his wife. This is the blessing ye’ve sought, lad. Believe it or no’, we all want this joinin’ for ye, ye ken? Ye were ne’er meant t’be alone—or suffer the rest of yer days.”

As much as Grant wanted to argue that last point, he held his tongue. Gingerly, he closed his hand around the brooch, holding it with a tender grasp as though it were a living thing.

So much hope rested on this hard-won bundle. So much was at risk—so much could be lost.

“I understand,” he finally said, already dreading what he knew he had to do. “I’ll do it straightaway—as soon as I can get her to leave her charges at the bed-and-breakfast for a time. I believe after the last two days the ladies have enjoyed here at Highland Life and Legends, they might be ready to cut their visit short and take a wee rest for a day or so.”

“Good, then.” Dwyn clapped Grant on the shoulder and smiled. “My blessings t’ye, son. Yer brothers were good enough to make certain yer personal tunnel to the vault could still be accessed and fresh supplies were laid into the alcove at the base of the stairs.” His tone grew gruff as he turned away. “They knew ye hadna paid yer proper respects to the stone or the weapons since well before the explosion on the mountain. But rest assured, ye can take yer lady the way that she should go so ye can learn yer fate with her.”

“I thank ye, Dwyn.” Grant pulled his phone out of his sporran. “I just pray yer blessings are enough.”

Dwyn responded with a slight dip of his chin. “I’ll leave ye to it, then. I’m off t’check on the clans if ye should need me.”

Grant stared down at the phone in his hand. Unimaginable contentment or a return to bleak loneliness was a mere phone call away. Dread and pending doom bore down on him like a weight across his shoulders. Deep in his heart, he’d known this day was inevitable, but he’d hoped that somehow, some way, he could’ve found a way around it. Lived like an ordinary man. Finally rid himself of the MacDara legacy. He huffed out a disgruntled snort. He shouldha known better. He’d not escaped his fate in the tenth century and now it remained t’be seen what his fate would be in the twenty-first.

He tapped Joanna’s number with his thumb and put the phone to his ear. It rang three times.

“Hey, Grant. Can you hold on just a sec?”

“Aye.” He’d hold the damn call forever if it meant he wouldna have to risk losing her because of his legacy, because of the whims of the goddesses and the stone.

“I’m back. Had to get Hazel settled in. Her hangover seems worse than the others’, so Martha called Doc Farthingham to check her out.”

“Máthair can be a better help to the woman with her herbals. Shall I send her over?” Doctor Farthingham. That man’s an arrogant arse. Grant frowned, remembering the run-in he’d had with Lester Farthingham when the fool of a man had advised daily drugging of Emrys MacDara to keep the man calm. Father didna need the old bastard’s drugs. Father just needed the proper handling and care from his family and clan. “Máthair can be there straightaway, I grant ye that.”

“That’s okay. Doc’s already here. I feel sure that Hazel is all right, but we just wanted to be on the safe side.” Joanna’s voice dropped to a low, sultry tone. “By the way, tell your mother and Miss Lydia that I really appreciate the time off yesterday and last night. The time to get away. Just be me.” She went silent for a brief moment, but the pause told Grant volumes. “I…uhm…feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

Grant nearly groaned aloud. What would the lass say after he showed her the hidden truths the MacDara clan protected? He swallowed hard and forced the apprehension out of his voice. “I’ve already thanked them, sweetling—and I feel the same.” Before Joanna could say anything else, Grant hurried to get the dreaded chore set in motion. “Would ye be available for a bit of time this afternoon? After ye’ve tended to yer ladies for the day?”

“Absolutely,” Joanna answered. “Today’s definitely going to be a day of recovery for them.” She paused half a heartbeat, then continued in a more suggestive tone. “What exactly have you got in mind?”

Grant stared up into the brilliance of the bright blue sky. Wisps of white clouds rode the gentle breeze. The energizing warmth of the spring day urged him on. “It looks t’be quite the fine day. Would ye fancy exploring the caves in the cliffs along the river’s edge below my house?” The woman seemed to enjoy running and being outside. Surely, she’d warm to the idea of exploring the land.

“Caves? Really?”

The shift to piqued interest in her voice spurred Grant on. “Aye. We might even find an arrowhead or two. There’s much history in this area.”

“Sounds great. I’ve got to clean up the bus first. The trip back from the park was a little rough.” There was a telling pause in the conversation, then Joanna continued. “Why don’t you meet me at the car wash around two? I should be finished by then.”

“Aye, lass.” Grant struggled to keep the dread out of his voice. “Two it is.”