Stone Guardian Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Maeve Greyson

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Stone Guardian

  by

  Maeve Greyson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Stone Guardian

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Maeve Greyson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2014

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-296-7

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-297-4

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Maeve Greyson

  THE HIGHLANDER’S FURY

  was a 2013 Reader’s Crown Finalist.

  ~*~

  A HIGHLANDER IN HER PAST

  was a Night Owl Review’s Top Pick.

  ~*~

  Maeve Greyson was

  an RT Book Reviews Writing With the Stars winner.

  Dedication

  To my husband, my very own stone guardian:

  You protect me from myself.

  Chapter One

  Callanish Stones

  Isle of Lewis—940 BC

  Torin traced a calloused thumb along the edge of the blade. Cold. Sharp. Final. A shuddering breath shook through him as metal sliced skin. He would do this. It was only right. The familiar haft spun easily in his palm. The old friend who had served him so well in countless battles would serve him one last time. He turned the knife and settled the glinting point against the scarred indentation just below his breastbone. It was time. With a sharp upward thrust, he shoved the steel into his flesh. The excruciating burn chased the air from his lungs. Torin closed his eyes. He deserved this. Sucking in a shallow, agonizing breath, he forced the knife deeper until the twisted knot of the worn hilt jammed to an abrupt stop.

  Justice served. He deserved to suffer, deserved the agony of a slow, bitter end for all he had cost his wife. The palpating sear ripped through him, shoving him forward into a stumbling shuffle. With a tensed jerk of shaking hands, Torin clutched at the leather-bound handle of the dagger wedged beneath his rib cage. A guttural roar ripped from his throat as he guided the blade across his torso forcing it through his gut.

  A steady flow of warm crimson wetness streamed across his knuckles. So much blood. The end should come soon. Torin shook his head, blinked hard against the darkening fog of dizziness, and lunged forward until he landed hard on his knees.

  A different pain stung across his shins. Scattered remnants of gray shale bit into his bare legs. The razor sharp slivers of Lewisian gneiss littered the ground all around him waiting to chew into his flesh. As he wavered from side to side, the recriminating stones slashed open his legs, clawed into the sides of his calves. Good. He deserved the judgment. The rubble from the ancient spires knew the truth.

  Memories of Eilean’s panic-stricken face shoved aside the excruciating pain gnawing through his gut. The pallor of her dying body flashed before his eyes. Gooseflesh rippled across his tattooed forearms at the memory of her touch. The iciness of her weak grasp still chilled him to the bone.

  Torin’s heart pounded harder against the raw painful memories. The frantic drumming drowned all other sound, roared a hollow keening in his ears. A raven’s gurgling caw broke through, echoed from atop the nearest monolith. Torin blinked slowly against the dim surroundings and lifted his face to the sky. The bird sounded so far away. Did the feathered demon call from the next reality?

  A slow-spreading stain soaked through his plaid, dripping with a sickly plop from the fold clinging wet against his thigh. Torin stared at the widening darkness of the flowing blood. Eilean had clutched that very crease when she’d pulled him down to her pallet. Her hand had trembled as she gasped out the words and writhed in pain upon the soiled mat. She’d begged him to save her. Her last moments sliced through him, causing more pain than the dagger buried in his body. Torin growled against the tormenting visions, shaking his head with a violent jerk. Why did the end tarry so? How much longer must he endure the cruel reminders of how miserably he had failed the most important person in this life?

  How many times had Eilean told him she feared the prospect of motherhood? The mere mention of bearing a child had struck terror in her soft gray eyes. ’Twas so unfair. How could one unforgettable moment of passion cost him his very reason for living? Damn the gods and damn their ways of finding amusement. They had most certainly turned their faces from him just to plague him with endless pain.

  The stark hillside spun around him. The gray of the sky faded in and out of the blackened outline of the nearest spire. The uneven horizon of the rolling landscape taunted Torin’s senses. He lurched sideways, his knees pushed deeper into the shale. He staggered across the cold unforgiving earth.

  The coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth. A warm wet trickle of the choking liquid spilled from the corner of his lips and coursed down his jaw. A breath-stealing spasm ripped through his chest, sparking brilliant bursts of light through his darkening
vision. Collapsing forward, he sank his hand wrist deep into the ravenous shards before he rolled to his side. The stones. He must see the sacred stones one last time before the blessed darkness came. At least he’d be found beside his sentinels, the precious gateway he’d guarded all his life.

  “Ye will not die, Torin. I will no’ allow it. I will no’ waste ye on a vain, selfish woman unfit to perpetuate your bloodline.” Jagged streaks of glowing-white lightning shattered the midnight sky. An irritated voice laced through the resounding thunder, rumbling across the vacant hillside like boulders spilling from a wagon.

  Torin groaned and sucked in a hissing breath between gritted teeth. “Leave me die in peace, Cailleach na Mointeach. My wife’s blood stains my hands and calls out for justice.” Torin attempted to swallow. Instead, the flow of blood choked him. He coughed and spat against the bitter taste of the briny flow streaming into his mouth. “She begged me to bring old Graena to her. The wise woman wouldha helped her save the bairn. The witch wouldha saved my poor wife from death’s cruel clutches.”

  Torin coughed again, fighting to wheeze in a gasping breath as he twisted blindly across the ground. A fresh burst of pain inflamed his lungs, cutting off his words as it pumped precious air from his body. Suffocating fluid filled his chest. Surely his soul was about to free itself of this torturous shell. A buzzing pressure hummed louder in his ears. He flinched into a tighter curl in the warm pool of sticky blood inching its way across the ground.

  Mayhap the Cailleach would grant him passage to the other side if he could just make her understand Eilean’s fears. A violent shudder racked Torin’s body. Sight left him, plunging him into a roaring darkness. Icy stiffness tightened bands around his arms and legs, twisting them into jerking numbness. Hell’s fire. Hopefully, ’twould be warmer on the other side. Well—mayhap not too much warmer.

  “The woman died because she took an herbal to rid her body of the babe and poisoned herself instead. The only reason the wench feared having a child was because she feared losing your warriors’ attentions.” A blinding streak of lightning spilled from the clouds and exploded into the ground. Angry thunder shook the earth. “Damnation, Torin. The child in her belly didna even hold a trace of your blood. Did ye no’ believe the rumors? How many times did she leave ye alone in your bed? How many times did ye witness her whorish glances toward every man in your keep? Yer a fool, Torin. Ye always were when it came to your fickle Eilean.” Blue-white lightning repeated across the sky in an assortment of frenzied bursts. Bone-shaking booms of rolling thunder rattled the stone obelisks dotted along the barren hillside until the blocks swayed in the wind.

  Torin flexed his stiffening limbs. Tingling numbness plagued his fingers. He struggled to close his bloodied fists tighter around the haft of the knife and closed his mind to the Cailleach’s words. No. She couldna be right. Eilean died out of fear from a terrible mistake. She died while trying to set things right. She had told him many times she never wanted children. But once Torin found she carried his child, he knew she could never rid herself of his bairn. He knew they had finally found the closeness so many in his clan shared.

  Turning his face to the ground, Torin pressed his forehead against hard-packed earth, concentrating on the pointed stones biting into his skin. He had heard the rumors. Vicious lies stirred due to Eilean’s beauty compared to his badly scarred face. His Eilean would never stray. If he had just fetched old Graena when Eilean had called out, perhaps the wise woman couldha saved his precious wife from the results of the deadly herbs.

  The burn in his chest eased a bit as welcome numbness chased away any remaining sensations from his thrumming flesh. The end must be near. He strained against the darkness closing in on his mind. He must convince the Cailleach of his wife’s virtue before he finally escaped this miserable world and the Cailleach’s controlling clutches. “Yer wrong, Cailleach. Once she found she carried my child, she took the herbs to strengthen the babe. She told me so herself. I shouldha left her side and ordered the woman fetched but I stood too paralyzed by fear. ’Twas my fault she died in my arms.”

  “I refuse to argue with a lovesick idiot incapable of seeing the truth.” The wind picked up and stirred loose dirt into angry whirlwinds stinging across his body. “Nor will I allow the chieftain of my stone guardians to pass from this existence because of the stupidity of a selfish whore. I deny ye the right to move on from this world, Torin. I shall place ye in stasis instead. Ye have a great deal of unfinished business upon this plane. Yer entire clan has evolved into a great disappointment that’s forced my hand to set it right.” Thunder sounded like the clapping of a thousand pairs of hands. “The lot of ye has chosen this vicious cleansing. Ye’ve chosen what yer about to endure.”

  Velvety darkness filled his mind and splintered into blinding white explosions of light. Torin exhaled. Breathing came easier as his cramping muscles relaxed. The pain left him. As a soothing fog washed over his body, he focused on the familiar haft of the knife still clenched in his icy grasp. So weary. He mustn’t give himself over to the seduction of the Cailleach’s spell. What did she mean by a vicious cleansing? His arms felt so heavy—so cumbersome, as though they weighed as much as his blessed standing stones. He relaxed his grip, allowed his hand to drop to the ground and sank into the fog’s embrace.

  Chapter Two

  Seattle, WA

  May 2012

  “You don’t need to go to Scotland. What you need is a night of toe-curling sex until your eyes roll back in your head.” Multiple clicks of a computer keyboard echoed across the bedroom. “How about this one? ‘Urban professional seeks companionship. Enjoys long walks in park. Must love dogs.’”

  Emma stumbled from the depths of the closet, grappling against gravity not to lose a single item from the overflowing armload clenched against her chest. “He sounds more like he’s looking for a dog walker. Give it a rest will you? We’ve been over this a thousand times.”

  The glowing screen of the laptop highlighted Laynie’s intent scowl at the Web site currently holding her interest. Emma might as well talk to the wall or that pile of clothes on the bed. It would produce the same effect. She’d be completely ignored.

  Emma’s little sister pursed pouting lips into a frown as she leaned closer to the computer. “Never mind. He’s got shifty eyes. I bet he’s one of those jerks who doesn’t clean up when the dog poops in the park. I hate those people. I’m going to delete this one from your inbox.” She plunked the keyboard with a decisive tap.

  Dropping to her knees beside the bed, Emma inhaled a nose full of dust-bunnies and immediately succumbed to an attack of rapid-fire sneezes. Whacking her head on the steel mattress railing, she blinked against watering eyes and bit her tongue to cut off the tempting curse words begging to be unleashed. “Ow! Laynie, would you please just delete the whole damn account? Didn’t I tell you not to sign me up for that stupid Internet matchmaking service?” The dull throbbing ache in the top of her skull fueled stinging tears as she glared over the edge of the bed. If she knew her aim was better, she’d lob a shoe at stubborn baby sister. But as sure as she did she’d take out the laptop. And that was her new laptop intended for the trip. Come to think of it, Laynie was wearing one of the shirts she’d planned on packing.

  Laynie settled more comfortably back into the pile of pillows and pulled the glowing display higher up her thighs. The pale skin of her arms and chest shimmered an electric blue in the eerie light of the computer. Tapping the screen, she arched a brow and nodded. “This one looks promising, he even cooks. Since all you do is push buttons on a microwave, the two of you could be a perfect match. He could do all the cooking and you could take care of any medical issues he might need help with.”

  Emma groaned and collapsed face forward on the bed, burying her face in the disheveled depths of the comforter. Why couldn’t Laynie just let it go? It was bad enough when she responded to the personal ads in all those papers and singles magazines but now little sister had loaded Emma’s profile into
every dating e-zine on the Web. Emma exhaled a dismal sigh, heating up the folds of the comforter fluttering against her face.

  Laynie excelled at signing Emma up for the free thirty-day trial period and then axed the membership either when it was about to start costing a fee or she’d exhausted all the possibilities of the site. Laynie’s matchmaking game was getting a tad old.

  “Don’t you think it’s just a waste of time? I’m leaving for the Isle of Lewis tomorrow for at least a year. I’ll be swamped with launching the children’s clinic and I won’t have time for Internet dating while I’m taking care of this project in the Outer Hebrides.”

  Laynie frowned at the quietly humming computer balanced on her crossed legs. She pecked on the keyboard then peered over the top of the screen with a determined shake of her head. “No, it is not a waste of time and it wouldn’t take you that long to shoot a couple of e-mails every day between patients or stacking bricks or whatever it is you’re going to do over there. You could still connect with somebody somewhere and start a conversation. Cripes’ sake, Emma. Haven’t you heard those stories about people talking over the Internet for a year or so? How they fall in love, arrange a meeting, get married, and have a bazillion kids? Besides, who knows where this person might be? They might end up being over there in Scotland or maybe even in that no-man’s land of an island you’re headed to. You could have a meet up in a pub or something. That island is civilized enough for pubs, right?”