Highlander's Desire (The Matheson Brothers #1)
Joanne Wadsworth
The Prophecy
The ancient House of Clan Matheson, Scotland, 1190.
Sorcha screamed as pain gripped her belly and racked through her.
“Your twin bairns wish to be born, my dear.” Nessa, Sorcha’s mother and their clan’s fae-blooded seer, knelt at her bedside. “I see a vision of them. Two lads of mayhap eight or nine. They’re very strong.”
“What else do ye see?” Panting, Sorcha fisted the bed sheet either side of her.
“They’re tussling and giggling in a meadow as Gilleoin watches on.” Nessa caught her hand. “Your sons are so very like their father. They can shift shape, call forth their inner bear, and draw claws.”
“Are ye certain?” She longed to give her husband bairns who held his revered ability, one gifted to him by The Most High One. Gilleoin was the first and only known man to hold shifter blood. The night she’d first met him, five years past, had been when he’d sailed along the loch to her village, strode right toward her and gazing into her eyes, lowered to one knee. He’d declared, under the brilliance of the full moon, that a mated bond had formed between them and she was his. She’d sensed the bond too, to the depths of her soul, with her sudden need to touch him and the pure aura of energy surrounding him. Some of her village people, those directly descended from the faerie prince who’d wed their chief’s daughter two centuries past, held a touch of fae blood and as such also held rare and divine skills. Upon her birth, she’d received the ability of aura reading and could perceive another’s true intentions. Gilleoin’s aura drew her toward him and later that night when she’d lain with him, he’d merged their minds with his shifter ability and forged a link along a pathway known only to them. His shifter blood was strong, and though he held not a touch of fae blood and wasn’t one of her people, he was still hers and always would be so.
“Very certain, and there’s more.” Swaying, Mother closed her eyes, her red locks wisped with gray coiled high upon her head. “Your eldest son and his descendants shall possess the skills of our fae people, although your youngest son willnae. He and his progeny shall be shifter alone.”
“What skill will my eldest be gifted with?”
“That of death-warning. Of those who live but are soon to die, he shall receive a vision and with his skill save those who perish unjustly afore their time.”
“A worthy skill, one Grandfather had. Will my sons seek the ones they’re mated too when they come of age, as Gilleoin did with me?”
“Aye, that alone is in their shifter blood, as is the ability to merge minds with the one their soul cries out for. When your sons reach the age of twenty, their soul shall lead them to their mate, the full moon guiding them to their chosen one. To join in all ways, they will need to complete the bond and forge the unbreakable merge of the mind as Gilleoin did with you.”
Such relief rolled through Sorcha. “Where shall they find their mates?”
“Your eldest shall remain here, his chosen one from our village along the loch. She, like you and I, is part fae. She will bear him many bairns, and with the infusion of her fae blood into your eldest son’s line, ’twill also ensure our people’s fae skills will remain strong in his offspring. Your youngest son though will travel far from this place in search of his chosen one. When he finds her, they will join and their line shall be shifter alone. Your youngest son will grow from strength to strength as chief of his own clan, a mighty leader who will draw the respect of all his people.” Nessa stroked her forehead and pushed back her damp hair. “’Tis time for you to push, my dear. Your bairns cannae wait any longer.”
“Nay. I must wait for Gill—” Pain surged through her and she cried out and bore down.
She pushed with all that was within her. At the end of the bed, her midwife crouched between her legs and caught her firstborn son as he slid free from her body. The babe let out a mighty cry as her midwife handed her son into her mother’s waiting arms.
Nessa carried her grandson to the wide basin on top of the side table, settled him within the warm water and bathed him. Then carefully, she marked the side of her firstborn’s neck and wiped the blood from the mark, one which took the shape of a bear’s claw ringed by a star. “This claw-and-star mark,” her mother said, “will symbolize your firstborn’s dual shifter-fae blood.”
“A worthy mark for the ‘Son of the Bear.’”