Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(48)
“Spero?” she asked.
“Aye,” Grant replied with a somber glance in her direction. For obvious reasons, the man couldn’t quite seem to make eye contact. “?’Tis Latin for ‘hope.’?”
Joanna snorted out a humorless laugh. She couldn’t help it. The magic word to open the door was hope. Considering the fact that all her hopes for a future with Grant had just been shot straight to hell, how ironic was that?
The heavy gears on the front of the door shifted into motion, one gear spinning one way while the larger gear behind it turned in the opposite direction. Loud clicks ratcheted and echoed as all the pieces of the lock fell in place.
Grant took hold of the steel bar running across the gears and forced the doors open. He shoved them back against the walls, latching them at the top to prevent the hydraulic pistons at both the top and bottom of each panel from pulling the doors closed.
“Pretty high-tech for a group of ninth-century Scots.” She had to say it. She couldn’t help it and didn’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in her tone. He’d hit her in the heart and from the looks of things, the emotional beating wasn’t even close to being over. “Or did your goddesses do some kind of hocus-pocus to set your clan up with this sweet security system?”
“Today’s descendants of the druid clans that faithfully served us in the ninth century remain faithful and true to the oaths their ancestors swore. The druids are many in this world. Engineers. Scientists. Doctors. Craftsmen. Ye would be surprised just how many exist but keep their identities secret. They’ve sworn their loyalty to the MacDaras, the Heartstone, and the goddesses—and they keep it.”
“Sounds to me like a hell of a lot of swearing. I can definitely relate. I kind of feel like swearing myself.” Joanna almost cringed at the hurt on Grant’s face. Almost. The best defense she had against her own pain was to lash out and be a bitch. “So how is it that I’ve never heard of all this Heartstone-legend Highland-protector stuff? I’ve heard of druids before—the original tree-huggers that also happened to dabble in human sacrifice, right? Why is this the first time I’ve heard about you and your family? Seems to me that your bunch would be some of the first superheroes. Aren’t you?”
“Joanna…” Grant reached for her, the pain in his eyes and his voice twisting her heart until she thought it would explode. “Please.”
“Please what?” she snapped. “None of this makes sense. It’s like a bad joke and I’m the butt of it. I admit it: I’m an idiot. I trusted you and now look where it’s gotten me. Get me out of this damn place. Now.”
“Once ye’ve seen the stone, I’ll take ye out. I swear it.” He looked at the rear of the chamber, then pointed. “Please. Perhaps it will make everything clearer t’ye, aye?”
“Fine.” Joanna pushed past him, charging across the chamber with short, clipped steps. He wanted her to see this rock? Fine. She’d look at the rock. Then they’d leave and she’d never speak to him again.
Motion-activated panels of light switched on as Joanna crossed the room. The blue-white squares inset in the ceiling and walls flooded the chamber with a blinding brightness that chased away any chance of shadows.
There stood the infamous rock and what had to be the best reproductions of medieval weaponry she’d ever seen stored on the racks on either side of it.
Joanna slowed as she neared the rear of the chamber. The air was different the closer she drew to the weapons and the stone. It had a strange feel to it. Prickly. Super-charged. Almost as though lightning could crackle through the room at any moment. She rubbed her hands together, half expecting static electricity to pop and spark around her fingertips.
“The hammer is my specialty,” Grant supplied from across the room.
The hammer. A hulking beast of a weapon that looked more like a blacksmith’s anvil mounted on a stick. The same sort of Celtic knots and glyphs that were on the bronze plates in the tunnel were scrawled across the sides of the hammer. Joanna pointed at the band of symbols. “Does all that mean anything or is it just to make it look pretty?” She cringed at the sarcasm dripping from her tone. She couldn’t help it. This weird revelation and the crushing realization that there would be no future with Grant had reduced her to behaving like a cornered wounded animal.
“They’re blessings for protection,” Grant answered quietly.
“I see.” Joanna slowly moved down the line of weapons hanging in the racks on either side of the Heartstone. A spear with a shining silver head and blackened swirls that looked like flames licking up the staff. A wicked-looking sword big enough to easily behead an enemy. A bronze shield covered with the same Celtic blessings as Grant’s hammer, but scarred and dented as though it had seen several battles.
The closer she drew to the stone, the more uncomfortable, the more tense she felt. It was as though the air pressure in the chamber was changing. Instinctively, she swallowed hard and fast, trying to make her ears pop like she did whenever flying. She pressed hard where her jaws hinged, trying to massage away the unpleasant sensation of some unseen force squeezing her head. Something’s gone wrong with the air system in here. “Grant, we’ve got to get out of here.” She tried to turn to step away, but she was locked in place directly in front of the stone.
Panic set in, ratcheting the pounding of her heart up to a breathless pace. She twisted around. “Grant!” What the hell? She’d opened her mouth. She’d screamed his name but no sound had come out. And a strange white mist had filled the chamber. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see the weapons. She could barely see her damn hands in front of her face. The only thing she could clearly see through the mist was the massive Heartstone in front of her.