Page 3 of The Protector’s Promise

“Priestess of the Stone . . . ,” Kenneth muttered as he nearly knocked her over from behind. She supposed it was her fault for stopping so abruptly. But at least Marion could cease trying to convince the men, most especially her father’s captain, of the existence of the Priestess of the Stone. For standing in front of them, just under a massive oak tree that should not have stood so tall this far up, was the very woman they’d journeyed here to find.

Some said her hair was the same color as Marion’s, a flaming red not often found even in these parts. Others believed the priestess was an old woman, her wisdom a testament to her advanced age. Neither tale had any truth to it, for the priestess had flung back the hood of her cape, revealing black, flowing hair. At least one aspect of the stories was true—the woman who guarded the heart of Scotland, the stone that would be entrusted to Marion, was beautiful.

Marion felt surprisingly calm as she made her way toward the priestess. Her mother had assured her that she had nothing to fear, but she’d always wondered how she could know such a thing. The legend was, after all, just that. No one had met the priestess before, and her location had always been a well-guarded secret. Until now.

“Come,” the priestess said, the soft lilting voice comforting her.

Marion obeyed, walking around the glittering blue and green pools to reach the priestess, who held out her hands. She chanced a glance over her shoulder. Her guards were gaping at them, their mouths hanging open.

Instead, Marion placed her hands on top of the priestess’s outstretched ones. They were so soft and smooth, just like the even tone of her voice.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“My mother bade me come,” she said, her tongue heavy and awkward. “The mark appeared on my hip, and I was drawn here.” Just as the legends foretold, it was the shape of a small dagger. It had appeared after a strange rumbling shook the earth. After four and twenty years of hearing the tales, Marion had understood at once.

The previous protector had died. She was being called to take the woman’s place.

Back home, at Ormonde Castle, Marion had sometimes been accused of being haughty rather than poised, but standing next to this priestess, she felt like a young child, her words forming slowly and awkwardly.

“A wise woman,” the priestess said. “We’ve much to discuss, and quickly.” She glanced down at the pools. “The stone has been taken.”

Had the priestess not held her hands firmly, she may have fallen at that declaration. “Taken?”

Marion followed the woman’s gaze and saw nothing but calm, green-hued water and rocks in the pool at her feet. She glanced then at the guard who stood not far from them.

The priestess tugged on her hands. “Aye. And there’s much for you to learn. But as I said, there is no time. You must act quickly to recover the stone.”

Marion allowed her hands to drop when the priestess let them go.

“You have been chosen as Scotland’s protector. Now that you’ve been summoned to protect it, the dark forces that oppose us, that oppose you, have stirred to life once more. I know not why it happened, only that it has.”

Marion didn’t understand. She’d never heard there was another side to the ancient tale. Her mother had said nothing of dark forces. Of anyone else trying to take possession of the stone.

“An Englishman by the name of William Thornhurst. He took the stone and disappeared earlier today,” she explained. “You can detect malintent, can you not?”

“Aye, or at least, I believe so. I have always been able to sense when someone wishes harm to myself or someone I love. ’Tis why my mother was not surprised to see the mark. She always believed I would be the next Protector of the Stone, knowing each garners a special ability from it.”

“I do not understand this man’s ability, but he was able to recognize the stone from where it was hidden, disguised as an ordinary rock. Though without my enchantment, it will now appear as it is, a precious emerald hanging from a chain of gold.”

Now Marion knew why the priestess continued to glance down into the pools.

“He has likely returned to England. To Camburg Castle. You must find him and recover the stone. He will reveal his purpose before two moons pass, so you must act quickly. Trust the stone or—”

“Scotland will suffer.” Her duty was clear, and Marion would not disappoint the priestess. Or her parents. Or Scotland. She would recover the stone from this Englishman before the time was up.

“Be careful,” the priestess said. “He is smart and strong. And—”

She hesitated.

“And?” Marion prompted her.

“Handsome.”

She nearly asked, Why should that matter? but held her tongue.

“Do not be deceived by him. The last time the stone fell into the hands of an Englishman, Scotland’s king lost Northumbria to King Henry.”

“Surely that was not because—”