Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(39)
“Aye, ye are. It’s in yer blood, boy. Ye dinna have a choice in the matter.” Dipping his chin in a curt nod, Dwyn did a bouncing roll to the toe-tips of his highly polished, black wing-tipped shoes as though launching himself into motion. He sauntered back and forth on the sidewalk with a swinging methodical step. Finally, he came to a halt in front of Grant and jabbed a finger hard against Grant’s breastbone. “Ye will always be a protector and ye ken as well as I that if ye wish a more permanent arrangement with this woman, this Joanna Martin, she must be brought before the stone and the MacDara history must be revealed to her.” Dwyn barely shook his head, then added emphasis to his words by thumping Grant’s chest again. “Ye canna build a life upon a lie, lad. ’Twould be like building a castle on shifting sand, ye ken?”
Grant brushed aside Dwyn’s hand. “Ye canna allow me to enjoy a bit a peace—a wee taste of happiness? Does it vex ye t’see that I so easily choose to step away from all yer high and mighty commands?” He sorely wanted to knock the annoying demigod on his arse, but he’d made that mistake once—and learned from it. The wily little bastard might look small, but he’d easily rebounded and dished out quite a beatin’ of his own.
“Ye ken that I’m right.” Thin arms folded across his black pin-striped chest, Dwyn circled Grant like a scrawny buzzard waiting for his dinner to die. “Could ye really live in peace without telling her the truth? Worryin’ at every turn that she might stumble upon yer history and discover yer lie?”
Grant avoided Dwyn’s hawkish gaze and stared down at the ground. Damn the infernal bastard. He knew in his heart that Dwyn was right and he hated him for it. “And if I lose her? What then?” He braced himself, tensing against the answer he knew Dwyn was about to give him.
Dwyn shrugged and shook his head. “Then it was ne’er meant t’be after all.” He cleared his throat and squeezed Grant’s shoulder. “But take heart, this woman has impressed the goddesses. They look kindly on this match and have already decided that she’d more than likely give ye many fine sons to carry on your duties as a protector long after yer gone. All should work out well. If not…then ye’ll move on. Such is the way of a mortal’s life.”
“Ye say all these things so easily, as if Joanna were a pair of boots or a kilt that can be tossed aside and replaced if she doesna fit the Heartstone’s mold for a wife of a protector.” Grant turned away and took off at an angry pace down the main street of Highland Life and Legends. He needed to get away from Dwyn. Away from people. He needed time t’think.
Dwyn kept abreast of him with little or no effort even though the short strides of his legs were but a third of Grant’s powerful steps. “If she’s unable to believe our legends and beliefs and know them for the truth that they are, I swear t’ye that I’ll wipe her memories clean so it will be as though ye ne’er told her about the Heartstone and the fact that ye were born in ninth-century Scotland. She’ll no’ suffer any ill effects. Will that do ye?”
“And what about my memories, ye meddlin’ fool? What then?” Grant came to a halt, turned, and bent forward with his fists clenched, coming nose to nose with Dwyn. Was the demigod that callous? Did he think Grant’s already scarred heart could take another massive hit? “And after ye clear her mind, ye expect me to watch her go a separate way from mine? I’m supposed to…to just release her? Just watch her walk out of m’life?”
“That’s how it works, son,” Dwyn replied quietly, genuine compassion shining in his pale green eyes. “In many ways, yer no different from any other man lookin’ to be loved. If yer able t’find the right woman, yer a blessed man and yer life’s complete. If ye dinna find one, then there will always be an aching emptiness in yer soul.”
“If ye ask me, we mere mortals have a raw deal indeed.”
“Ye might say that.” Dwyn frowned and reached into his inside coat pocket. “But then again, you mere mortals experience creation in such a way that no god or goddess ever can.” He pulled out a royal-blue velvet pouch tied with gold braiding and scowled down at it as he hefted it in one hand. “Immortals have eternity. We’ve no limitations. No barriers to anything.” He locked eyes with Grant, an ancient weariness suddenly shadowing his gaze. “Such freedom to discover and explore comes at great cost. Where there is no urgency, there is no excitement. Even the finest gold bauble, newly minted and polished, loses its shine and shows its flaws when one has an eternity to admire it.” He held out the small pouch and dropped it in Grant’s upturned hand. “A human’s life is short. Every minute, every experience, is fleeting, and those who know this truth find more joy in one brief moment than an immortal feels in all eternity.”
Dwyn’s words rang true, but they didna ease the gnawing worry already growing at Grant’s core. It had taken so long to find Joanna. What if she cast him aside for a lunatic when he showed her the MacDara truths? Alec’s wife, Sadie, had said that was her first thought when Alec had shown her the Heartstone and weapons and explained the druid clans. She said the only thing that had changed her mind was when the Heartstone itself had intervened and shown her the way to the truth.
“If she accepts ye for all that ye are…” Dwyn tapped on the velvet pouch in Grant’s hand. “Give her this amulet. This is your binding amulet fashioned by the goddesses to be given to yer true heartmate. Yer father gave his to yer mother, and yer brother gave his to his wife. This is the blessing ye’ve sought, lad. Believe it or no’, we all want this joinin’ for ye, ye ken? Ye were ne’er meant t’be alone—or suffer the rest of yer days.”