Stone Guardian (3 page)

“No,” Torin growled. His head sagged forward against his chest as the
Cailleach’s
spell settled across his back like a weighted cloak. He flexed his arms and strained against the constricting pressure folding around his body. The crushing force methodically closed down his senses as he fell to his knees.

“No!” he roared, teetering off balance. Helpless frustration hammered through him as he crashed to his side. A scream of refusal caught in his throat as the spell increased in strength. He strained forward, forcing heavy eyelids open against the power of the dark cloud closing in around him. He spread his hands through the powdery softness of the cool dank loam swallowing him into its depths. A numbing coldness brushed across his awareness. He shuddered at the familiar tingle stinging across his flesh. His outstretched hands passed through the soil, not marring the smoothness of the ground. Rolling to his back, he reached out for the cold stiff form of his body lying stretched across the bleak darkness, arms crossed over the chest. If he could connect with his flesh, perhaps he could conquer the darkness. He battled to keep his eyes wide, thrashing as the pull of the magic sealed around his awareness. Blinding whiteness forced his eyes shut and a deafening roar closed his mind.

Chapter Four

When her feet touched solid ground again, her lips would follow to kiss it. Emma hissed in a shallow breath between clenched teeth. She swallowed hard against another wave of nausea steamrolling across her body. A cold sweat peppered her upper lip as she pressed a trembling hand to the clammy skin of her forehead. She’d never gotten this airsick before. Would this flight from hell never end?

Thank goodness, she had a window seat. She slumped against the curved wall of the vibrating plane, squishing her sweat-soaked travel pillow into a less uncomfortable wad beneath the crook of her jaw. More turbulence. If the plane jarred like that one more time, she’d need a thirty-gallon garbage bag to hold the contents of her stomach. Screw that dainty airsick bag the flight attendant had shoved into her hands.

Stornoway
. Emma opened her eyes as the announcement sounded over the crackling intercom.
Hallelujah and hell yes! Please tell me we’re touching down.
The drone of the engines pitched into a higher whine and the change in altitude forced a quick swallow to pop the pressure in her ears. Thank goodness, they were landing—or at least headed in a downward direction. At this point, she didn’t care which way this misery ended. She just needed relief. One way or another.

The jarring bump against the tarmac eased the suffocating clench of airsick tension gripped around her chest. The skidding wheels and roaring reversal of engines slowing the plane sang to her churning innards. She just might get through the final leg of this trip without vomiting her dignity.

Emma held her breath until the plane lurched to a complete stop. Eyes closed and head pressed back against the cushioned seat, she vaguely listened to everyone else milling around in the aisle. Saliva returned to a manageable level in her mouth. The nausea faded to a bearable twinge now that the motion had stopped. Pulling her eyes open, she straightened and peered through the cloudy window. So this was it. Her new home for the next year or so. Her tender stomach gurgled an anxious response and added a burning flip-flop of anxiety into the back of her throat.

The troubled haze of a stormy horizon stretched across the tiny window at her shoulder. Rock-strewn hillsides, stark and mottled in muted tones of greens and browns, cowered beneath a fierce blue-white sky. A plume of smoke, black and twisting, rose from an indiscernible point off to the right of the plane. The roiling column of angry clouds appeared to spill from between the base of two faded blue hillsides. Is that how they cleared the hillsides here?
Emma squirmed to a better position, trying to locate the origin of the blaze shooting tongues of orange flames through the pockets of blackened smoke. From the look of the spiraling clouds rolling ever higher, the inferno seemed to be raging out of control.

Emma studied the smoke-filled horizon, then glanced down at the Isle of Lewis brochure poking out from the rear pocket of the seat in front of her. The fire looked to be in the direction of the circles of prehistoric stones. Pulling out the pamphlet, she spread it across her lap. Emma had scoured the Internet, gathering all the information she could find about the island. She found the place fascinating, especially the part about the ancient stone circles of Callanish. Emma brought the colorful brochure closer to her face, squinting at the small print beneath the pictures of the mysterious landmarks.

There’d been an odd familiarity about those silent monoliths. Quite puzzling since she’d never seen them before. She promised herself that before she hunkered down and immersed herself in the start-up of the clinic, she was going to explore those ancient gardens of stone circles and see if standing inside the eerie memorials created the same weird sense of déjà vu as the photos.

“Excuse me, miss. Will ye be leaving us now or no’?”

“Oh sorry. Guess I got lost in my thoughts while I was waiting for everyone else to do what they needed to do.” Emma scooted from the seat, yanked her carry-on out of the overhead compartment, then sidled her way up the aisle. As soon as she stepped outside the plane, a whirling gust of wind slammed against her face with nose-tingling ocean scents of the island. Emma filled her lungs with the cool crisp air, then shivered with disgust.
Ugh.
The unmistakable, fishy-brine tang of seawater swirled around her face like a suffocating scarf. Emma snorted against the undeniable scent of a large body of water. Familiar talons of fear clamped down on her chest and squeezed until she nearly gasped.
Damn.
She hated water. Tightening her jaw and her grip on her bag, Emma white-knuckled her way down the rubber coated aluminum steps leading to the tarmac.

She straightened her shoulders and forced herself to suck in another deep breath.
Get a grip, chick. What did you think surrounded the freakin’ island—blueberry Jell-O?
It had been ten years since the accident; she had to get over this thing about water.

Emma hurried into the airport and slogged through all the security checkpoints. Pulling out her itinerary, she scrolled through her notes, searching for the names of her assigned greeters.
What were those names?
The Seacrest Foundation had arranged her grant and lodging, tending to everything involved in her stay on the Isle of Lewis. Where in all this chaotic mass of information had she read the names of her sponsors?

“Would ye happen to be Dr. Emma Maxwell?” a lilting voice chirped behind her.

“Of course she’s Dr. Emma Maxwell. How many other people do ye see standing in this godforsaken waiting area that could be a young lady doctor from the States? Have ye finally gone off yer gourd, woman?” A gravelly voice sputtered and grumbled from the same general direction of the first cheerful question before Emma had a chance to turn.

The sudden vision of a pair of fussing magpies triggered an involuntary grin. Emma turned. She couldn’t wait to see the pair of bodies attached to the bantering voices.

“Mind your manners, ye old fool,” a rosy-cheeked woman of mature years hissed at a pot-bellied old man. He fidgeted just out of her reach, making his frame of mind clearly known with skulking looks from beneath the bill of a worn cap. After darting a glance in Emma’s direction, the woman edged sideways then popped the grumpy man across his stooped shoulders with the clenched loop of her purse strap. Turning to Emma, she bobbed her head until the tight gray curls twisted around her plump face trembled with an excited frenzy. “Never mind my husband Alfred.” She paused and fixed a warning glare in Alfred’s direction over the tops of the pearlized glasses perched on the end of her nose. “He’s just a bit off his feed today because he’s missing his favorite program on the telly. We’re the Duncans. I’m Moira and ’tis our utmost pleasure to meet ye and welcome ye to Lewis.”

Emma grinned wider while extending a conciliatory hand in Alfred’s direction. Poor old guy. Yanked away from his easy chair and condemned to community service. “It’s good to meet you both. I’m sorry I caused you to miss your program, Alfred. I appreciate your taking time out of your busy schedule to meet me. You really shouldn’t have bothered. I’m going to have to get a rental anyway. I’m sure I could’ve found my way to my lodgings if you and Moira weren’t able to pick me up. It really wouldn’t have been a big deal for me to settle myself in.” Alfred reminded Emma a great deal of her long-dead grandfather. The frowning man was short and squat with bushy gray eyebrows shadowing a pair of watery blue eyes that didn’t miss a thing.

Alfred brushed the tip of her extended hand with the calloused fingers of his gnarled, shaking fist. “Aye, well. We couldna verra well have a doctor who’s coming to help our children arrive and no’ be greeted, now could we? Christian thing to do and all, ye understand.” Alfred cleared his throat, snatched his hand away and clasped it behind his back. He rolled back and forth from the balls of his feet to the worn heels of his scuffed boots with a fidgety rhythm. With a disgruntled clearing of his throat, he tucked his chin to his chest.

Moira beamed at her husband with a proud smile and stepped forward to pull Emma’s carry-on bag out of the crook of her arm. “Let me take that for ye, Dr. Emma. Ye dinna mind if I call ye Dr. Emma?” Moira rushed on without taking a breath or waiting for Emma’s assenting nod. “We’ll get your things loaded up into our lorry and have ye settled into your croft in no time at all. I’m sure ye’ll love the beachfront home we’ve fixed for ye. The view of the water will fair make your heart sing.” Moira fluttered a hand about her face as she talked, greatly resembling a plump, broken-winged bird flapping against the wind.

Emma swallowed a groan and gritted her teeth, forcing a smile until her cheeks ached. A waterfront cottage?
Ugh.
Please say it ain’t so.
Would it be rude to ask for different accommodations? The proud twinkle shining from Moira’s eyes immediately squelched that idea. How could Emma rob this sweet old lady of her obvious pride at providing such lovely accommodations to a visiting doctor from across the pond?

Emma took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled in slow controlled bursts through her nose.
Please let there be shutters or really thick curtains.
Stretching her pained smile even tighter across her clenched teeth, Emma struggled to filter the anxious tremor out of her voice. “I’m sure it’s lovely. But you really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. An apartment in the center of town would’ve been just fine since most of my time will be spent at the clinic.” A windowless apartment squirreled well away from the sound of waves would’ve suited so much better. If she went online tonight, ordered industrial strength earmuffs and paid extra for express shipping, maybe she could block the slightest hiss of the waves before the sound drove her crazy.

“Posh, no.” Moira clucked her tongue as she bumped an ample hip into an unsuspecting Alfred and pointed him toward Emma’s waiting pile of luggage. “There’ll be nothing but the best for the fine pediatrician who’s come to help Dr. Mac set up our new clinic.”

“Dr. Mac?” That name didn’t sound familiar. Emma groped through her tote in search of another clump of paperwork Seacrest had included in her packet. “Who’s Dr. Mac?” Dragging out the dog-eared sheaf of papers, she flipped through the pages, scanning through the paragraphs of names.
Nope.
This was just details of the grant for setting up a specialized children’s clinic in the town of Stornoway. Emma folded back another handful of stapled sheets. Here’s where she’d agreed to dedicate at least a year of her life to the remote island. The foundation had led her to believe they were short on medical facilities and hoped to attract more doctors to the isolated region. If they already had a physician on staff, she didn’t want to horn in on anyone else’s territory. The uneasiness of second thoughts telegraphed the foul taste of dread through her system. Sometimes local doctors tended to get a bit territorial about their patients and Emma didn’t blame them. She tended to get a bit protective and defensive when it came to the patients in her neck of the woods.

Alfred grunted as one of Emma’s bags squirted out from under his arm and hit the floor with a heavy thud. “Sorry, Doc.” With a muffled expletive, Alfred stooped and hitched the strap back over his shoulder while juggling the weight of another bulging bag against his barrel chest. “Dr. Alexander Mackenzie brings all the bairns into the world what will be coming to that clinic yer plannin’ on settin’ up. All the women on the island fair flock to the man. Ye’d think they were all starving dogs and the man had a juicy lamb chop hangin’ about his neck. If ye be single, I’m sure ye’ll be tempted by him as well. All the lasses clutch their folded hands against their hearts and babble on about how the silly man is so easy on their eyes.”

“Alfred!” Moira batted Alfred across his bent shoulders with the rolled up map she’d just pulled from the stand beside the airline counter. “Ignore him, Dr. Emma. The old fool’s mouth takes off long before he spares the time to shift his mind into gear.”

Emma stifled a chuckle as she snatched the map from Moira’s tight grip before the woman swung at scowling Alfred again. “So what you’re telling me is that Dr. Mackenzie is the obstetrician on the island?” Emma clamped her lips into a flat line and swallowed hard against the laughter begging to burst forth. These two were worth the price of admission. Although having a conversation with the pair was much like watching a tense tennis match. Wait ’til she told Laynie about them. Her sister would immediately want to meet them.

“Family practice.” Moira huffed and puffed through slightly off-kilter, brightly tinted lips while her short chubby legs churned into high gear to keep up with Emma’s long-legged stride. She pulled a lace hanky from the abundant crease of her neckline and lightly patted it to her reddened cheeks. “My goodness but the day has turned verra warm.” Blowing her curls away from her damp forehead, she wheezed in a deep breath as they pushed through the double glass doors leading to the deserted parking lot stretched across the front of the tiny terminal. She ducked her well-powdered chin as she swallowed hard, wet her pink lips, and waved a crinkled hanky toward a dilapidated truck parked beside a freshly painted fence. “We’ve no’ got a lot of specialists here. If there’s a need for special care then we must travel to the mainland.”