Page 4 of The Protector’s Promise

“The fate of our land rests on the possession of that stone.”

The priestess was so confident and serious, Marion did not doubt the truth of her words.

Marion surprised herself by taking her advisor’s hands once again and squeezing them.

“I will recover the stone and protect it for the remainder of my days,” she said. “I will not disappoint you.”

For the first time since they met, the priestess smiled. As did Marion.

She had meant every word.

2

“Lady Marion?”

Though the leader of her guard, Kenneth, had been more receptive to her orders since the pool, he clearly found it difficult to accept the idea that she was in charge. Marion liked to think it was because he’d known her since she was a young girl and not because she happened to be a woman. She’d tried hard to remain patient, but her patience was running out.

“We must not stop,” she repeated, looking around in horror as the men set up camp. “My mother—”

“Is not here,” he muttered.

Marion often wondered why, if she could sense malintent, the gruff captain did not give her the familiar sensation of cold washing over her body. The strange bouts of cold chills had scared her as a child until she’d discovered the pattern to them. Since then, she’d been revered—by her parents, their people, by everyone who mattered—for her unique ability. The captain, however, did not seem to share their respect. Perhaps the reason she didn’t feel any malintent was that he believed he was serving her best interests. Even so . . .

Mustering her best imitation of her father, the powerful Scottish border lord whom none would think to question, Marion approached the overly large captain. “Either we continue riding or we risk losing him. And once he reaches Camburg Castle—”

“We have no way of knowing how far ahead—”

“If we continue through the night, we will catch him by morning,” she said forcefully.

Even though he’d been told to follow her orders, and he’d now seen the priestess and the pools with his own eyes, Kenneth frowned. He was going to deny her once again.

“You don’t know that.”

Marion could argue. She could attempt to convince him. But how could she possibly make the stubborn, overly practical Scotsman understand she could sense the stone? As soon as she left the glen, its pull had tugged her in a new direction—the feeling as undeniable as the fact that this conversation was not getting them any closer to their destination.

Instead, she yawned. A fake yawn that turned very real—they’d set a brutal pace since leaving Skye. And still, the Englishman eluded them.

Well, no longer. “Perhaps you are right,” she lied.

And without further discussion, Marion pulled the bedroll from her mount and followed the guard’s lead. If Kenneth looked at her strangely, it was because he was unused to her acquiescence. And, may the saints forgive her, she was so driven by desperation, she was about to do the very thing she’d promised her parents never to do.

The guards would be furious when they realized she’d ridden off alone.

As would her parents, but luckily they were back home, safe in their beds, while she battled her fear of the dark. When she finally untied her mount and made her way to the edge of camp, Marion stopped one last time. This close to the border, many dangers lay ahead. But none terrified her as much as human predators, namely reivers. Scottish, English . . . it mattered not. Either might do her harm.

“Truly, lass? You would travel across the border, at night, alone?”

Consarn it. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

The captain was not amused.

“Kenneth, please listen to me. Do you not believe I . . . know things . . . even though I wish it were not so?”

“My lady—”

“I’ve no wish to navigate this land alone, but you refuse to heed me,” she said. She needed to make him understand. The pull toward the stone became stronger with every step, and somehow she just knew if they kept going—

“Very well.”