Page 1 of Her Highland Destiny

Prologue

Durham, England

October 1086

It always rained when a child of the Beaumont bloodline was delivered. And certainly the birth of Cassandra Thomas, daughter of Sir Edmund, was no different. Lightning flashed outside and rain lashed against the shutters. Above the roar of the storm came the lusty, indignant cry of Cassandra, perhaps the most special youngest daughter in a line of gifted youngest daughters.

The Beaumont line contained power, granted only to the last born daughters of each generation. Cassandra's mother swept a hand over the babe’s face, immediately soothing the child with her ability to manipulate emotions, and handed her to her own mother who could read one’s future.

Cassandra gazed up at her eldmother with large, pale blue eyes, silently curious as if pondering her own fate.

“She will be your final daughter borne,” her eldmother said with a tender smile at the newest member of her family, the most special of all her grandchildren. “There is great enchantment within her. She will have a connection to the earth, a skill unlike any we’ve ever seen, and it will give her incredible strength.” She paused.

“What is it?” Cassandra's mother asked.

The eldmother gently lay Cassandra on the bed and removed her swaddling. A whisper of a mark glimmered over the infant’s right hip, under the tight curl of her leg against her pink body.

“There is more,” the older woman said in a whisper of wonder. “She will be chosen as a Protector which also carries its own gifts.” Her eldmother's brow furrowed. “Strength - great strength, especially when her force as a Protector is combined with her blessings as a daughter of the Beaumont bloodline.”

“When?” Cassandra's mother sat forward with anticipation, alight with joy to have a child of such importance. “When will this greatness happen?”

The eldmother shook her head with a frown. “It is strange, there is a fog preventing me from reading precisely.”

Cassandra's mother settled back into a pile of soft pillows and surveyed the sparse room. “It matters not, surely her abilities will manifest themselves with haste and we shall soon witness their extent for ourselves. After all, how long could they possibly take?”

1

Durham, England

October 1106

Cassandra could not meet the gaze of her family. Her heart flinched at what she would find there — disappointment. It was like this every year on her birthday, the time when most of the Beaumont women came into their powers. The weeks leading up to the annual mark of her birth brought on a frenzy of excitement and anticipation, and the days afterward crashing into the solemn realization that nothing had happened. Again. For over two decades.

She curled tighter into herself where she hugged the tree branch, hoping no one would search the orchard for her. Year after year, she faced this insurmountable expectation. She hated it. She hated it. She hated it.

She yanked an apple off a nearby branch and hurtled it out of the tree where it thunked hollowly into something below.

“Och!”

She jerked upright. Dear Lord, she'd hit someone!

Her own feelings of self-pity were shoved aside and she climbed down the tree to discover what hapless soul might have been felled by her inadvertent blow. Her eldest brother, Phillip was on his knees in the grass, cradling the side of his head. Of course it had been him who had come to speak her. He'd always been the only one who had cared about her more than a legacy. To him, she was a younger sister, a person with her own wishes and dreams.

He lifted his hand from his head, revealing a fat red bump. “I should have known it was you based on that hit. No woman can throw like you. Or man for that matter.” Quick as lightning, he snatched an apple from the ground and sent it flying in her direction.

She spun out of its way and hefted a fallen apple, this time intentionally tossing it at him and with less force. It landed on his shoulder and sent spatters of juice flying in all directions.

He cried out dramatically and stuck out his tongue. “It was juicy.” He grimaced with great exaggeration, looking more like a cat who'd sucked a lemon rather than her regal brother. “Have a care with the soft ones or mother will have my hide.”

“She wouldn't dare skin you, Sir Knight.” Cassandra curtseyed sweetly to her brother.

He lowered his head and pounced on her, knocking her to the soft grass where several fallen apples jabbed at her back. She shrieked a laugh and shoved at him. He didn't move, the cur. Very well. She'd play by his game. She grasped his right arm and twisted, careful to avoid breaking the bone. He flinched and Cassandra took advantage of the opportunity to duck free of his weight.

“That only took seconds.” He grinned up at her. “You're getting faster.”

His words reminded her of why he’d spent hours training her, why he felt she needed protection, why she was out in the orchard in the first place.

“What's the point?” She knew she was being sullen, but couldn't stop the words any more than she could quell the resentment.