Page 59 of Desiring the Highland Laird
“What is it?” she finally asked when it seemed as though he wouldn’t continue.
“Something Da said before he passed haunts me.”
That got her attention. She sat straighter in the chair and leaned toward him, reaching her hand to him. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
He took her hand in his, his fingers curling around hers with a firm yet careful grip. His roughened palm was against hers. She liked the way his hand felt against hers—warm and grounding. His thumb traced a leisurely line across the back of her hand. Slow, soft, sensual. It sent a ripple of delight through her. Though they were from two different worlds, when they were alone, together, it didn’t seem to matter.
“He said there was something else about the Shattering.” He paused, meeting her gaze. “Ye understand what that is?”
She nodded. “Hamish told me the story, yes.”
“He said there was someone else who wanted the stone. Someone who would kill for it.”
The blood drained from her head. She gripped his hand tight as the thought skittered through her mind. That someone else was Bruce MacDonald. She was sure of it.
“MacDonald?” she asked, her voice wavering on a whisper.
His eyes held hers, those blue depths so full of pain and angst with the underlying hint of questions and disbelief.
“Ye told me his name when ye first arrived,” he said.
“I did,” she said. “You said it mattered.”
“It did. It does. But I dinnae want to believe the MacDonald clan was interested in the keystone.”
“This feud between your clans…it started because of your brother, Jamie?”
“It started because of him, aye,” Callum said. “But I wonder if it continues because of something else.”
“The keystone,” she guessed. “Do you suppose Bruce MacDonald from my time has anything to do with what’s happening here and now?”
“I dinnae ken,” he admitted. “It doesna make sense to me.”
She dropped her hand from his and thought of the tapestries hanging in her room. The one that was changing and morphing with Moira and the army in the lower corner. Then the other one that looked much like her sister with a shadowy figure behind her. She got to her feet. He gave her a questioning look.
“I think we should go look at the tapestries,” she said.
He gave her a look as though she’d gone mad. “Why?”
“Because I think we need to see if the images have changed again.”
Slowly, he got to his feet and motioned her toward the door without a word. She nodded and pulled it open. He followed her from his bedchamber through the great hall to the other side of the keep where she shoved open the door to the guest bedchamber. The hearth was devoid of a fire and it was chilly in the room. Likewise, there were no candles lit. Light slashed from the hallway in an odd angle, illuminating the wall hangings.
The first one depicted Moira and the other two women, the light all around them. In the corner the army had grown, nearlycovering the lower half. Evie stared at it in abject horror. Callum walked over to it, pausing in front of it. His hands clenched into fists. She joined him and peered up at him. Anger lined his face.
“Someone who would kill for it,” he muttered.
“Someone like Clan MacDonald?” she asked.
“Aye.”
He reached a hand out, tracing the lines of the finely woven fibers that seemed to shift and change as if the events were happening in real time. His finger traced the lines of a weapon that was clearly held aloft by the leader of the army. Light glinted off the blade.
“Do ye see this, lass?”
She eyed where his finger was and nodded. “It looks like some type of weapon.”
“’Tis a great axe. I’ve seen this weapon before. It belongs to Rory MacDonald. The man who killed my father.”
