Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson #2)

In the misty, night-shrouded meadow, Garia fell to her knees on the grass as pain gripped her belly and shuddered through her. The cloying mist surrounded her, the air thick and heavy. Mayhap she shouldn’t have left the sanctuary of the keep this eve, but she’d awoken with such an ache in her lower back and walking had helped to ease the discomfort.

“Och, child, you cannae be born until after your father has returned to us.” Fingertips numb from the icy cold, she rubbed her swollen belly and her babe kicked underneath her palm. “Gregor would no’ wish to miss out on your birth. You must wait, wee one.”

“Garia!” Nessa, her aunt and their clan’s fae-blooded seer, tore through the foggy tree line and hurried across the meadow toward her. “I saw a vision. Your babe wishes to come, willnae wait another moment.”

“Nay, my bairn will wait. I’ve demanded it be so.” Tearing pain clawed at her and panting, she fisted the grass, her back arched as the need to push roared to ferocious life within her. “If only my babe would listen.”

“I’m so sorry, my dear. I wish I’d seen what ailed you sooner.” Nessa knelt before her. “Lie down.”

“Your vision. What did you see?” She slumped onto her side and rolled onto her back.

“Your child will be born hearty and hale. I saw her.” Nessa flipped the hem of her own gown, tore a strip of cloth from her shift and wiped Garia’s sweaty brow. “Your daughter shall hold one of the most coveted of the fae skills, the ‘power of thought,’ just as her father does. She’ll be able to manipulate whatever she wishes, to levitate or move objects if she so desires.”

“We have so few in the fae village with that skill.” Sheer joy rose within her, right along with another wracking pain. She rocked to alleviate the pressure, only it rose tenfold. “I shall name her Layla, after my mother.”

“If your mother and my sister still lived, she would be greatly honored.” Nessa swept down her body and knelt between her legs. She lifted Garia’s skirts and nodded. “I can see the babe’s head. When the next pain comes, I want you to push.”

“What else did you see in your vision?” Another pain. Fierce and unrelenting. Breathing hard, she bore down as Nessa had urged her to.

“I saw your daughter as a young lass of mayhap seven or eight. The cherry tree you planted which is just a sapling now at the edge of this meadow shall grow tall and strong, and Layla shall plant a cherry stone from your tree which will take root beside yours. All your hopes and dreams for her, I too shall hold.”

“I hold only one hope. That she will be gifted with a soul bound mate, just as I have been gifted with Gregor.”

“Aye, I too wish for her to know such a deep and wonderful love. Hold fast and remain strong. Gregor would demand it, and so do I.”

“I—” Something gushed from between her legs, hot and sticky and with the rush of fluid it sapped her strength.

“Nay, there’s so much blood.” Nessa gasped. “This I didnae see.”

Black spots danced before Garia’s eyes, her lifeblood pooling underneath her body and coating her fisted hands. “There is little time.”

“Stay with me, Garia.” Nessa’s red locks wisped with gray fluttered about her face. “One more push. Your babe is almost here.”

“One more push.” For her daughter’s sake she would do all she could to bring her safely into this world. She heaved. More pain. So fierce. Her belly tightened and she shoved her elbows into the wet grass, bore down and pushed hard.

A wail rent the air. Hers or her babe’s, she wasn’t sure.

Stay. She must do as Nessa had bid her.

Only the all-consuming darkness that arose took her swiftly away.





A Prophetic Poem for Layla


The year 1210, twenty-three years later.



A prophetic poem, as written by Nessa, the fae seer, addressed to her goddaughter, Layla, and dispatched by messenger from Nessa’s guest chamber at Stirling Castle, Scotland, 1210.



Child of Gregor and Garia.

One day there shall come a warrior, no’ from another land,

but from another place far beyond our time.

He is a fierce steward and shall sail from sea to sea.



Child, you are to remember to whom you are betrothed.

Time is of the essence.

Always look to your heart,

and trust only the man to whom you truly desire.



Where the cherry tree stands, one encounters mystery.

The fates do speak and now is your time.

Dinnae cast aside that which is freely given, for your happiness is all I seek.



Much love, Nessa.





Chapter 1


Near the ancient House of Clan Matheson, led by Gilleoin, the Chief of Matheson, Scotland, 1210, the day the prophetic poem from Nessa arrives for Layla.