Page 1 of Highlander’s Protector

PROLOGUE

Islay, September 1306

The wave rose over Anna MacDonald like a sea monster and lunged at her. She took the largest gulp of air of her twelve years, inhaling till her lungs hurt. Then a force hit her like a wall, and the gray-green Irish Sea sealed over her like a tomb.

Her lungs bursting, she worked her arms up and kicked her legs, fighting the sea god that kept dragging her forward and down with no mercy. Cold and unforgiving, uncaring and unkind, just like the father she’d never met. Wet darkness blocking her ears, she kept stubbornly swimming up, fighting the power of the current.

But everything churned around her, pushing her to the bottom.

To her death.

The sea did not care if she survived this, if she was a good swimmer.

Nor did people on the gravel beach by Lagavulin Bay, a quarter of a mile away. Aunt Leitis didn’t cry for her to stop and come back to the shore, nor did her cousin Laoghaire. No one chastised her and told her to behave like the future lady of a noble house.

Because no one cared.

Why would they? The unacknowledged, unwanted, ignored daughter of one of the most important Scottish nobles, Robert the Bruce, she had been born out of wedlock by Julianna MacDonald, the sister of the laird, who had died shortly after her birth.

Anna thrust her arms up and out, up and out, propelling herself towards the dancing flashes of the cerulean sky glinting through the water.

So close but so far away.

The pressure in her ears left her reeling. Her lungs felt like a fish’s swim bladder, so full and tight they were about to burst. The strands of her hair were like seaweed, clogging her eyes and mouth. Her undertunic tangled in her legs like a fish net, dragging her down.

Here, in the world of floating sunlight, fish, and algae, there was no worrying about Laoghaire’s jeering. About Anna’s failing to be groomed as a noble lady. About Aunt Leitis’s tired sighs as Anna once again stitched a tear with the wrong type of seam because she just wanted to be done with it and go outside.

But she couldn’t die like this. Not like this, please, Lord. Please, there must be more to life than this.

And then, as though her prayer had been answered, the grip of the sea eased. Her lungs felt singed as she emerged into the world of wind and gawking seagulls, blue sky and green rocks. The sun warmed Anna’s wet head. Her nostrils burned from the salt as she gasped desperate, painful breaths into her burning lungs.

After she could breathe again, she realized something felt different. There had been a shift in the air, as though a minstrel had put a different twist on a familiar story. On the shore, Laoghaire wasn’t practicing archery but staring straight at her, and Aunt Leitis waved in large arm sweeps for her to come back on the shore. Behind them, Islay was a giant, rocky cliff covered with green, yellow, and dark-red moss. The small gravel beach on which they stood was tucked behind the cliff that held Dunyvaig Castle like a candleholder.

Dunyvaig Castle was a fortress guarding Lagavulin Bay, the MacDonald naval base and trading port, with dozens of ships anchored and docked. The pride and the power of Lord of Islay Aulay MacDonald, and the whole clan, were birlinns, West Highland galleys. They were the legacy of the clan’s Viking ancestor, Somerled the Great. Fast and easy to steer, they meant the MacDonalds held power over the Irish Sea and were a threat to their antagonistic neighbors—Ireland and England. Dunyvaig Castle loomed over the bay and the crashing waves, a silent guardian that had defended the clan countless times against naval attacks from any fools who dared.

Anna wanted to get out of the water. Fear tightened the pit of her stomach as she worked her way through the waves. What if she got caught in another current? What if she was dragged down once again? She might not have enough fight left in her to escape that death. Her shoulders and back ached and burned with exhaustion, and only when she stepped onto sharp rocks and pebbles could she finally breathe freely. The linen undertunic she always swam in clung to her body, sticking to her legs, and wind hit her like a wall of ice.

But she was alive, and even that pain meant she was walking and breathing and living. And she wanted to get away from that sea as fast as she could. She never wanted to set foot in there again.

Leitis spread her arms holding a dry linen blanket, ready to wrap it around Anna. “Why were ye in there so long, sweet?”

“Sorry, Aunt…” Anna murmured as she stopped in front of her and turned to the sea, letting Leitis close the edges of the blanket over her chest.

And then she saw it.

A ship on the horizon. The MacDonald sail was tight and full, almost as full as Aunt Leitis’s pregnant belly. On the yellowish sail, the MacDonald crest reddened: a hand in armor holding a cross. Hope and joy fluttered in Anna’s belly.

In the absence of her true father, her uncle Aulay was like a da to her. And Aunt Leitis like a mother.

Laoghaire scoffed, her translucent gray eyes on the birlinn. “The laird is finally back, and ye wilna even be able to greet him properly with yer wet hair and yer wet smock.”

Anna gathered her hair and twisted it, pressing seawater out. Laoghaire’s jeering always hurt her like beestings, even though she’d never show it. “Mayhap. But I’m of nae consequence. And I spend my days being happy while all ye do is stitching, weaving, counting loafs of bread, and yelling at ale women.”

Aunt Leitis rubbed Anna’s shoulders with her weak hands. Anna looked back at her. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Normally sky blue and bright, her eyes were now faded.

“Are ye all right, Aunt?” asked Anna as she took the blanket and wrapped herself tighter.

Her aunt’s seventh pregnancy was difficult. Previous ones had ended in miscarriages and stillbirths. This time around, Leitis bled often and felt weak, had frequent headaches and no appetite. She was too old to bear a child, and everyone in the clan was worried.