Highland Magic Read online

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  Copyright ©2008 by Donna Grant

  First published in 2008, 2008

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  The Druid's Glen: Highland Magic

  ISBN #978-1-906328-68-9

  ©Copyright Donna Grant 2008

  Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright December 2007

  Edited by Michele Paulin

  Total-e-bound books

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks.

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  Published in 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

  Warning:

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-sizzling.

  The Druid's Glen

  HIGHLAND MAGIC

  Donna Grant

  Dedication

  For Steve—with all my love

  Chapter One

  Lorem Northwestern Scotland

  Fall 1625

  For as long as he could remember, Frang had yearned to rid himself of the curse that made him immortal, standing guard at the Druid's Glen and leading the Druids. How many years had passed since he'd stood in the peaceful magical stones of the Druid's Glen?

  Too many.

  And it didn't matter anymore. He had left his stones, though they weren't really his. He had guarded the Druids as best he could with the help of the lairds of the MacInnes.

  Frang ran a hand down his face and sighed loudly. Countless people he'd watched die, many before their time. He had seen love lost and love found, foes vanquished and even seen the enemy invade a castle to kill innocent children.

  Yet it was all in the past now.

  He looked down into the waters of the lake at his reflection. He had gotten used to seeing the long white hair and beard. It seemed rather ... odd ... that he looked again as he had that fateful day over three hundred years before.

  Frang sat back on his heels and glanced over his shoulder. His need to return to the Glen was strong. With the prophecy finished he was no longer needed, but it didn't matter. He could return now. No one would recognise him. But he knew it was just wishful thinking. His time at the Druid's Glen was over. He needed to accept that.

  A soft movement filled the air, the only thing that alerted him he was no longer alone. Slowly Frang rose and turned to face his long time friend.

  "Aimery,” he said with a welcoming smile.

  The Fae commander returned the smile and held out his arm. After they'd clasped forearms, Aimery stepped back and looked him up and down. “It will take some time for me to get used to this appearance again."

  Frang laughed as he raked his hands through his hair and glanced over the impeccably dressed Fae. Aimery's long flaxen hair was held away from his face by several rows of tiny intricate braids that would have looked feminine on anyone else but him.

  "The first thing I did was shave the beard.” Frang scratched his bare chin absently. “It has been on my face so long my skin doesn't know what to do."

  "It won't take long.” Aimery clapped him on the back and smiled as they sat on a fallen tree. “What are your plans?"

  Frang shrugged and looked towards the still waters of the lake. “I don't really know. The Druids were my life, even before the curse. What can I do now?"

  "You get to start over,” Aimery said after a short silence. “Do anything you want, become anyone you want. Not many get that chance."

  "I like who I am,” Frang argued. “I am a Druid High Priest who knows more about the Fae and the Druids than any human in this realm."

  Aimery's swirling blue eyes met his. The Fae's gaze was intense, never wavering as he peered deep into Frang's soul.

  There was no doubt that Aimery was looking into his future. The longer he stared, the more worried Frang became. “What do you see?” he asked softly.

  Aimery blinked and turned away. “I'm not in the habit of telling someone their future."

  "I'm not just someone,” Frang reminded him.

  With a loud sigh Aimery turned his fair head until his gaze returned to Frang. “You don't want to know your future, my friend. No one ever really does. Live this new life you've been granted, and don't look back."

  Frang swallowed and stood to pace the edge of the lake. “There are only two reasons you wouldn't tell me my future. One possibility is that I'm going to die very soon. The second is that I'm going to have to make a very difficult choice and by telling me the future you'll influence me."

  He turned to look at the Fae commander only to find Aimery grinning. “I taught you well,” Aimery said with a nod. “You'll do fine, Frang."

  And with that, Aimery was gone.

  For several long moments Frang stared at the log and where Aimery had sat. Decade after decade he had given to the Druids and the Fae, giving his blood as well as his soul all because of one stupid, reckless night that had cursed him for three hundred years.

  He looked down at the robes that had been his daily wear as the Druid High Priest. They would only serve to draw attention to him, something he wanted to avoid at all costs. With a sigh he turned towards the road that would take him to the nearest village where he could buy some new clothes.

  "And a new life,” he muttered as he slapped his hand on his leg in agitation of the unknown.

  He promptly noticed the clothes neatly folded on the log. Frang didn't have to wonder if they fit. He knew they would.

  "Thank you, Aimery,” he said as he reached for the garments.

  With one final glance at his Druid robes, he pulled them over his head. After a quick wash in the loch, he returned to the log and reached for Aimery's gift.

  Frang had to admit he liked his new clothes. He looked down at the saffron shirt and bold blue and green plaid with red and orange accents. It was a plaid he knew well, very well. The tall boots were made of supple leather that fit his foot and legs to perfection, and the brooch holding his plaid was made of silver and held the crest of the Fae, a dragon head with intricate knot work surrounding it.

  There was only one thing left. The sword.

  It had been three hundred years since he had last held a sword. He lifted it and held it in both hands as he looked over the weapon.

  A more beautiful sword Frang had never seen. The pommel was fluted and fit his hand flawlessly. The cross guards and pommel were adorned with the same intricate and beautiful
knots that decorated his brooch.

  Slowly he pulled the sword from its scabbard. The weight of the weapon was as near to perfect as it could get. Frang stared in awe at the blade where the Fae symbol had been added, and surrounding it was even more of the knot work he had come to love.

  He lunged and swung the sword around him, testing its weight as he tested himself. By the time he was satisfied, sweat soaked his shirt and ran down his face.

  Frang returned the weapon to its sheath with a smile. After he folded his Druid robes and left them on the log, he picked up his sword and slung the strap over his head so the scabbard settled between his shoulder blades.

  With a sigh, he turned to face his future. No longer was he a Druid, but a warrior.

  Chapter Two

  Northern Scotland, Clan Wallace

  April, five years later

  Kenna pushed her hair away from her face as she rose to her feet and grabbed the basket of herbs she had been gathering.

  She blew a curl that had fallen from her braid out of her face and sighed loudly. Her back ached from bending over all morning. She looked down at the small amount of herbs she had gathered and knew it would be awhile yet before she returned to her cottage.

  With her gaze searching the ground for linden which was becoming more difficult to find, she moved deftly through the underbrush of the forest. More and more people came to her for amulets to ward off evil, for love potions, or cures for their illnesses. It was just a matter of time before the Wallace discovered what she really was. A Druid.

  For years she had kept her secret, but she feared that secret was no longer safe. Once the Wallace found her out it meant either her death ... or her slavery.

  The Wallace was a hard man and a powerful laird. He gave no quarter and expected none in return. The few times she had been called to the castle, she'd had to make herself appear relaxed instead of running out of the gates and never looking back. Yet, his attention had turned to her, making him visit her more often than she'd like.

  Kenna sighed again. There was no linden to be found. She would have to return home and look for more on the morrow. Her eyes moved about the forest. Walking amid the tall pines and sturdy oaks was something she greatly enjoyed.

  But today, she couldn't find the peace that normally filled her. Something was wrong. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her surroundings as she tried to determine what had unbalanced around her.

  No matter how hard she concentrated, the answer stayed just out of her reach. Farther and farther into herself she went until she saw a flash of a brooch with a dragon head on it and ancient knot work surrounding it.

  Kenna's eyes flew open and she leaned against an oak as she tried to put her breathing back to normal. The brooch was a sign, but of what? Evil coming her way? Or maybe someone to aid in her Druid teaching?

  She shook her head and pushed away from the tree. She would get no answers in the forest. How she wished Brigit was still alive to teach her more of the Druid ways. It had been Brigit who had trained her to be the midwife and healer of the Wallace clan. Because Kenna lived close to the border between the Wallaces and Carmichaels, she helped both clans when needed since healers were hard to come by.

  A smile pulled at her lips as she began her journey back to her cottage. Thoughts of Brigit always made her smile. Brigit had been a strong force as a woman. Everyone had respected her and sought her out on many occasions.

  The sudden cry of pheasants as they took to the air alerted Kenna that she wasn't alone. She didn't slow her steps, though her heart pounded like a drum in her ears. Normally she stayed off the road that went through the forest, but today she was glad it was only a little ways ahead of her.

  She had to fight the urge to run when she heard a twig snap behind her. The need to turn around and face her attacker was strong, but she made herself continue as if she didn't know she was being followed.

  When she saw the road through the branches, she gripped her basket tighter and reached for the dirk hidden inside beneath the herbs. If she didn't find help on the road she would face her attacker.

  No sooner had she stepped out of the forest than she heard a deep voice behind her say, “Look what we have here, men. A tasty morsel ta be sure."

  Kenna slowly turned to face the man and blanched when she saw two others emerge behind him. She glanced at their tartan and noticed the blue and green plaid of the Carmichaels.

  "May I help you?” she asked hoping they didn't hear the fear in her voice.

  The man in the middle, obviously the leader, stepped forward and looked her over with his black eyes. “Ye can remove yer clothes."

  Kenna took a deep breath and kept her grip on the dirk. Though she had helped the Carmichaels in the past, not many knew who she was. “You are on Wallace land."

  "We ken were we're at,” said the red headed man on the right. He was missing several teeth and sported a nasty scar that mangled his left ear and half of his face.

  She took a tentative step back and wondered where the patrol was. The Wallace always had men patrolling the border.

  "You would be wise to leave me be. I am Kenna Frasier, healer to the Wallace clan."

  The leader let out a bark of laughter. “We wouldna care if ye were the Wallace's daughter. We'll take what we want. Ken?"

  "You will bring about a war,” she warned, but it was too late. The men were already advancing on her.

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  Frang slowly unsheathed his sword as he watched the scene with the woman and three men unfold. He looked over each man, noticing any weaknesses.

  Slowly, he crept out of the forest keeping his gaze on the men at all times. He was halfway to the men before the one on the woman's left, a man with stringy blond hair, turned and saw him.

  "We've got company,” he shouted to his companions as he drew his sword.

  Frang stopped and prepared for the attack. The blond reached him first. He raised his sword as the blond swung his blade down towards Frang's head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the leader of the men advance on the woman, but Frang knew he'd never reach her in time. He could only hope she'd run as soon as she got the chance.

  Pain ripped through his left arm. He staggered back and touched his arm only to come away with blood on his fingers. He looked from his fingers to his attacker. It had been many years since Frang had seen his own blood.

  He pushed aside the pain and gripped his sword as he took a step towards the blond. Instinct took over as the man charged him. Frang didn't think, only reacted. Their swords clanged again and again as Frang blocked each attempt as the blond tried to kill him.

  Frang knew the moment he let down his guard the blond would succeed. There was no way Frang had lived three hundred years with a curse only to die a few years later.

  He growled as he spun on his foot and swung his sword with all his might. He heard a gurgling sound and saw his blade sticking in the blond's side.

  Frang pulled his weapon free as soon as he heard footsteps coming towards him. He turned just in time to block a swing that was meant to sever his head from his body. This time he faced the red-headed giant whose every swing of his sword came harder and harder.

  The giant might be stronger, but Frang was quicker. He used his agility to dodge blows that would have knocked him to the ground. The giant was clumsy, and Frang easily sidestepped each of his swings, saving Frang's strength.

  With a roar, the giant raised his sword over his head. Frang saw his chance and lunged forward as his blade sunk into the giant's chest. The giant's eyes bulged before his arms dropped and he fell to the ground.

  Frang took a deep breath as he pulled the sword from the giant. All that was left was the leader. A glance told Frang the woman had vanished. At least she was safe.

  "'Tisna yer fight,” the leader said, his eyes holding a measure of fear now that his two comrades were dead.

  Frang shrugged as he walked towards the leader. “You made it my fight when you decided to attack a woma
n."

  "We only wanted some fun."

  Frang licked his lips. “Then I'd say you picked the wrong woman to have fun with. Ken?"

  The leader looked to his fallen comrades before he turned on his heel and ran back into the forest. Frang sighed and let the tip of his sword touch the ground. He leaned on it and turned to look at his blooded arm.

  He needed to get it cleaned and find some herbs to put on it before it became infected. His gaze followed the blade of his sword and the knot work etched on it as he watched the blood run down to puddle on the packed earth.

  "You need to tend to that wound."

  Frang jerked and spun around to find the woman standing behind him. His gaze fixed on her amazing flame red hair that hung in one thick braid over her shoulder. Several strands had come loose and hung in soft curls around her enticing oval face.

  Her large eyes stared at him, never wavering. Brows that were only slightly darker than her hair gently arched over her eyes. Her nose was small and delicate, and her lips full and wide.

  Frang cleared his throat as he let his gaze slide down the rest of her, lush curves and all. It had been a long time since he had looked at a woman to fill his bed.

  "Aye, mistress. You shouldn't be out here alone,” he said. He withdrew the sword, inspected it and wiped it off on the tunic of one of the dead men before he sheathed it.

  The woman continued to stare at him. “I'm always alone,” she finally said.

  He liked the sound of her voice. It was soft and seductive. He closed his eyes and sighed. He couldn't last remember a time when just the sound of a women's voice made him lusty.

  "Come,” the woman said. “I will tend to your wound."

  Frang opened his eyes. “Thank you, but nay. I need to be on my way."

  She cocked a hand on her hip while the other held her basket in the crook of her arm. “I am a healer, sir. It is what I do. Now, let me repay you for your gallantry."

  Frang knew he ought to refuse. After all, he knew exactly what herbs he needed to staunch the flow of blood and speed the healing. Yet, the need to feel a woman's hands on him was strong. For far too long he had seen to other's needs. Maybe it was time he let someone see to his.