Chapter Thirteen
When Brianna awoke, it took several minutes for her to remember where she was. Then, with the throbbing of her palm, it all came flooding back to her.
Jamie.
He’d come into the great hall and quite literally swept her off her feet. She assumed she was in his bed. Why did that give her warm fuzzies all over? It was silly. She was not the type of girl to swoon over something so simple.
Not only did her palm throb with a fierce pain, but her entire body hurt. She groaned as she rolled to her side and opened her eyes. Jamie stood at the hearth and turned to meet her gaze when he heard her movement.
He held a pewter tankard in his hand. He placed it on a tray and then walked to the bed, perching on the edge.
“How do ye feel?” he asked, concern creasing his youthful, handsome features.
“Like death,” she groaned. As she said it, her stomach rumbled with hunger.
“Come eat. I brought a tray of food.” He waved to the tray sitting on a table between two chairs in front of the hearth.
The simple gesture sent a pang of…what? It was such a foreign emotion, she wasn’t sure what to call it.
He was sweet and thoughtful and she was fairly certain she didn’t deserve any of that.
But she shoved off the blankets and put her feet on the ground.
She still wore her shoes. He hadn’t bothered to take them off when he’d placed her on the bed and covered her with the quilt.
Now, she toed them off. She pushed off the bed and stood.
And immediately sat again as a wave of dizziness accosted her.
Jamie was at her side, though.
“Are ye all right?”
“I’m a bit lightheaded, that’s all,” she said.
He held his hand down to her. She stared at it for the longest moment, trying to make her unwilling brain accept that this man wanted to help her in every way. Tipping her head back, she looked up into his dark eyes. He grinned, showing off those deep dimples that did funny things to her innards.
She was ridiculous. Even as she thought it, she placed her unbandaged hand in his. He helped her to her feet and, holding her hand, led her to the chair next to the fire. She eased her tired body down and leaned back with a heavy sigh. God, she was exhausted.
Jamie picked up a pewter plate and loaded it with bread, cheese, sliced meat, and fruit and then handed it to her.
She took it from him, watching him intently as he poured another tankard of a dark brew and placed it on the tray in front of her.
Then he turned to the hearth and added another log to the fire.
“Thank you,” she finally managed to say.
She placed a slice of cheese on a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth.
Still kneeling by the hearth, he looked up at her, their eyes meeting. That curious swooping feeling went through her again. She swallowed her bread and cheese as her mouth turned to ash.
“Tell me what happened when ye sliced open yer hand,” he said.
She reached for the tankard and sipped. It smelled like weak ale. She took a healthy swig and then placed it back on the try. It was definitely weak ale and nothing like what she was used to drinking.
“I ken there is blood magic,” Jamie added.
“Blood magic.” She scoffed at the words, shaking her head.
“Ye dinnae believe in it?”
“I don’t know what to believe, honestly.” She picked up a red grape and popped it into her mouth.
“But something did happen, aye?” he asked.
“Yes.” She pushed a piece of dried meat around on her plate. “I’m not sure I can explain it.”
He moved from the fire, sitting in front of her and looking up at her, the light from the fire flickering through his eyes, illuminating them with golden light.
“Try,” he said in an encouraging tone.
She told him about the vision she’d had when she’d touched the stone, how all three of their pieces were humming and glowing. How she was facing the MacDonald army with the whole keystone in her hand. And how the woman’s voice in her head told her she had to use the stone to stop the coming war.
He was silent as she spoke. His face was impassive and devoid of all emotion. Then he sat back on his heels, his hands on his thighs as he turned his head to gaze into the fire. The light flickered over his face, accentuating his handsome features.
“When the stars align and twilight fades, a maiden from the future comes. Through time’s veil, her path she will find, with heart and courage, to mend all Time.” His voice was quiet as he spoke.
Icy pinpricks danced up her spine. “What does that mean?”
He gave her a spectacular grin and shrugged.
“You don’t know.” Deflated, she sat back in the chair.
“’Tis part of the prophecy. My da used to say this to us when Malcolm and I were wee laddies.” Thoughtful contemplation crossed his face as he gazed at the fire.
“A maiden from the future,” she repeated, thinking over what he’d said. “One maiden. Not three.”
“Aye,” he said slowly, his gaze moving from the fire back to hers. “Ye think it means something?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe that I arrive with the third piece of the keystone. And then you said her path she’ll find, with heart and courage, to mend all Time.” She thought about this last bit a long, quiet moment. And she didn’t like the implications one bit.
As she said it, dread crawled through her. To mend all Time could mean something along the lines of her being the one to fix…what?
“Jamie, tell me about the Night of Shadows and the Shattering.”
“I told ye all I ken.”
“But there has to be something more. Why did the Triple Goddess break the stone into three pieces?”
“To keep it out of the hands of MacDonald. There was a great battle the Night of Shadows. Clan Sinclair and Clan MacLeod fought Clan MacDonald.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Why?”
“Because MacDonald tried to use his glowing great axe to open the Realm of Chaos.”
“For what purpose?” she prodded.
He peered at her, the lines furrowing his forehead as he tried to recall. He tapped a finger against his chin.
“Did your da tell you anything about this?”
“Nay,” he said. Then his gaze fixed on hers. “But Chloe did.”
“Chloe,” she said on a breath. “Her vision.”
“Aye. Her vision of the past was the Night of Shadows. She saw the battle between them. As though she was there that night. MacDonald tried to open the Realm of Chaos. That’s why Moira and the other two split the stone.
She said they used the power in the three stones to mend the rift, but it was only stitched back together. ”
And if it was stitched back together, perhaps her vision showed the rift was opening once again with the help of MacDonald’s glowing great axe.
“And tied our two bloodlines together?” she asked.
He nodded.
She glanced down at her throbbing bandaged hand. Though she could no longer see the scar from the imprint of the stone, she knew it was still there. And now she suspected she had a part to play in this strange world. She had a terrible feeling she understood what that meant.
Through time’s veil, her path she will find, with heart and courage, to mend all Time.
She came through time’s veil. That much was true. She may not have gone to college like Chloe, but she was still smart enough to use deductive reasoning and figure out what this cryptic message meant. Wasn’t that how all prophecies worked anyway?
In her vision, the keystone was whole. And in her hand.
Oh, shit.
“Jamie.” She said his name slowly and on a quiet breath, which got his attention. “In my vision, the keystone was whole again. The prophecy says ‘her path she’ll find with heart and courage to mend all Time.’ That can mean only one thing.”
His hands curled into tight fists. “Do ye have a theory, lass?”
“I do.” She nodded “I think I’m the key. I’m the one who has to mend Time.”
What did that mean for her, then? Her death? Or something else? She had no way to find out.
Or did she?
Could she use the stone and the blood magic to have another vision and find out? The moment the thought flickered through her mind, her hand throbbed with a sharp pang.
He remained silent as he stared at her, his hands in fists.
“I think we have to know,” she said, her voice a quiet whisper in the room.
“How do ye intend to find out, lass?” he asked. Worry lines creased his face, as though he understood what she intended to suggest.
She held up her bandaged hand with a stain of blood on the linen. He shook his head immediately.
“I cannae allow it.”
Brianna lifted a brow. “Since when are you in charge of me?”
“Since I brought ye here to rest,” he said, his voice hard. By the firm expression on his face, he wanted no argument out of her, either. “I intend to care for ye.”
He looked away as he said the last. His face was flushed, either from the fire or his emotions, she wasn’t sure which.
And yet, she was touched by his admission.
Her heart fluttered, making her want to melt into a puddle.
That he wanted to care for her. No man in her long, sordid history had ever wanted to take care of her.
“That’s kind of you, but I can take care of myself. I have been for a long time now.”
When he looked at her, there was such caring in his expression, such a softness about him that she almost swooned. “Ye dinnae have to anymore,” he said softly.
She blinked, sudden hot tears pricking her eyes.
Why was he so sweet to her? She had only known him for a short time and in that short time, he had managed to endear himself to her.
He held a hand out to her then. She didn’t hesitate when she took it.
His fingers gently closed over her bandage, his thumb scraping across the linen.
He focused his gaze on their intertwined hands.
“Do ye think it is the only way?” he asked.
“I think it’s one way,” she said. The blood pounded against her palm. In order to use the blood magic again, she’d need her stone. “I left my piece of the keystone on the table.”