Talisman of Light: Highland Hearts Afire - Time Travel Romance Read online

  Talisman of Light

  By

  B.J. Scott

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, locations and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Any actual locations mentioned in this book are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  All rights are retained by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction, sharing, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Copyright 2017 by B.J. Scott

  www.duncurra.com

  Cover Design: Earthly Charms

  ISBN-10: 1-942623-42-9

  ISBN-13: 978-1-942623-42-7

  Produced in the USA

  Dedication

  To my husband Steve.

  Your unwavering love, encouragement, and support make my writing dreams possible.

  Acknowledgements

  In addition to my husband and family, I want to thank my awesome Street Team for all their continued support and dedication to getting the word out about my books and for offering suggestions when called upon.

  Thanks to Debby McCreary PA for your friendship and for keeping me grounded and focused when things get rough.

  Thanks to Kathryn Lynn Davis for sharing your writing expertise.

  And a huge thank you to Susan Cusack and all of the staff at Duncurra LLC for the hard work and dedication it takes to get a book published.

  Finally, I want to thank my readers. Without you, there would be no need for books.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Table of Contents

  The Legend of the Talisman of Light

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  About the Author

  More by BJ Scott

  Other Titles from Duncurra LLC

  Scotland, a country steeped in legend, myths and superstition.

  A place where anything can happen if you are willing to suspend disbelief and dare to dream.

  The Legend of the Talisman of Light

  Eons ago, the winter hag, the immortal Cailleach, who held power over the seasons decided she wanted eternal youth. She worked for centuries to discover the magic that would make this possible. Finally, she learned an ancient spell, that if worked correctly, just after midnight on Imbolc would give her the youth and beauty she desired.

  However, there was one troubling detail. The magic required the life of a young woman, but not just any young woman. For the spell to work she required an oldest daughter or a youngest daughter, a virgin pure of heart, who had lived no less than eighteen and no more than twenty-one summers. And she couldn’t just steal the lass away, the lass herself had to come willingly.

  The young woman would be sacrificed in the sacred well just after midnight on Imbolc and the Cailleach would be able to steal her youth. One full year for each year of the girl’s life.

  Knowing that no mortal would make such an offering unless a greater peril loomed, the old hag’s power gave her just such a threat to level. She told the mortals that she would keep her icy grip on the land, preventing spring from coming and locking them in eternal winter unless they offered a sacrifice. She went a step further, marking the lass who best met the criteria and demanding that she willingly offer herself to save her people.

  Even though the people knew the Cailleach would demand another girl when the spell wore off, they didn’t see another way. Desperate to save his daughter, the father of one the chosen girls sought the aid of a Druid priestess. She bid him to bring her a special stone.

  “Tonight, take your daughter to the river. Have her dig her fingers in the mud at the water’s edge until she finds a stone and bring it straight to me. From the cold and the dark, I will create light.”

  The man did just as she asked, returning to her later that night with the stone his daughter had selected.

  The Druidess laid the stone on the ground and built a sacred fire over it. When it was burning high and hot, she placed a single branch of rowan in the blaze. Glorious crimson flames leapt skyward. And as the Druidess chanted incantations through the night, the fire continued to burn as if by magic, for the woman added no more fuel to it.

  Then, just as dawn pinked the sky, the fire died. It looked as if the ground had simply swallowed it. But where it had burned, lay a ruby, as brilliant as the flames from which it was born. The Druidess handed the man the gem, along with a silver chalice. “Make this into a talisman and drop it into the sacred well. Tell the Cailleach that she need only drink from the cup just after midnight on Imbolc and the talisman of light will give her a season of youth.”

  “A season of youth?”

  “Aye, she will become young and beautiful instantly and remain so through midsummer. After that she will begin to age again, returning to her ancient form by Samhain.”

  “But why would she agree to that? If my daughter offers her life, the hag will have eighteen years of youth.”

  “True, but then she’ll need another appropriate sacrifice. And someday, there may not be a willing young woman who meets all the criteria. Then she will not only lose her youth forever but her immortality as well. If she drinks the water every year at Imbolc, the talisman allows the rhythm of the seasons to renew her every year for eternity.”

  The man made the talisman as instructed and waited at the well, with his daughter on the eve of Imbolc. When the Cailleach arrived, he showed her the gem and told her what the Druidess had said.

  Just as he expected, the Cailleach laughed and asked, “Why would I accept a single season of youth once a year over eighteen years of it?”

  “Because the Druidess foresees a time when there may not be a pure, willing lass of the age you seek. And when that time comes you’ll lose your immortality.”

  This gave the Cailleach pause and she agreed.

  However, over time the Cailleach grew greedy. She didn’t want just a season of youth, she wanted perpetual youth, but the only way for that to happen was for her to steal it from a young woman as she had originally planned. And if the time came when a suitable sacrifice was not available, she would resort back to the water from the sacred well.

  So, she removed the talisman and hid it. She announced to the people that the amulet had been stolen from the well and to prevent a perpetual winter, it must be returned or a sacrifice made. Imbolc was but a few days away.

  Again the people had a brief reprieve. A healer in the village came forward. She had just filled a cask with water from the well to use for heali
ng potions before the talisman had disappeared. She offered to save it and give enough to the hag each year to work her spell for as long as the water lasted. The people hoped to find the lost talisman of light before the water ran out but they feared it wouldn’t be possible. So they selected a young woman who would meet the requirements. A Dunmore lass.

  Chapter One

  Alex Innes stared out the window, but the dark clouds enveloping the plane were so dense, he couldn’t see the wing. They’d been circling Inverness International Airport, waiting for the snowstorm to lift for what seemed like an eternity. He had always dreamed of visiting the fishing village of Burghead, the Innes Clan’s ancestral home on the northern shore of Scotland, but right now, the only thing he wanted was to have his feet planted firmly on the ground.

  “This has been a brutal winter.” An elderly woman sitting in the seat next to Alex touched his forearm. “I was just telling my husband that I canna remember a worse one.”

  “Dinna be bothering the man,” her husband grumbled.

  “No bother.” Thankful for the distraction, Alex offered them both a smile. “The sun was shining when I left J.F.K International in New York City, and the temperature was an unseasonably mild forty-three degrees. But I’m accustomed to harsh winters. Growing up in rural Connecticut, I’ve seen my share of Nor’easters blow up the New England coast.”

  On many occasions, he’d trudged through a few feet of snow on his way to school, had shoveled driveways to earn extra cash, and loved cross-country skiing. But his fondest memories were of ice-fishing in the local creek with his dad. He closed his eyes and could hear the crunch of snow beneath his feet, could feel the sting of crisp winter air on his cheeks, and could almost taste the gingerbread cookies and peppermint-laced hot chocolate his mother always sent along for them to enjoy. Reminiscing about his childhood provided a great source of comfort, but the brief moment of solace was interrupted by gut-wrenching fear when the plane began to rock and pitched.

  Alex swallowed hard against the lump of bile rising in his throat. At thirty-one, he still had many things he wanted to do. Honoring a deathbed request from his father and returning an ancient amulet to its intended resting place in Scotland topped his list.

  He withdrew the small velvet pouch he’d hidden in the breast pocket of his leather jacket and clenched his fist around it. If the enclosed relic possessed the protective power his father claimed, he could surely use it now. He was not a superstitious man, but as an archeologist, he’d studied cultures and the ancient beliefs of people from all over the world, including the legends of his own ancestors.

  “Can I have your attention please?” A flight attendant appeared at the front of the cabin and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Please fasten your seatbelts and make sure your tables are in the upright position.” Despite her effort to remain calm and professional, she failed to hide the nervous tremor in her voice. “We are experiencing a bit of turbulence, but the tower has assured the pilot that the worst of storm has passed, and the runway has been cleared for our landing. Please remain in your seats until we have touched down. Thank you for flying Highland Airways. I hope you enjoy your visit to Scotland and will fly with us again soon.”

  “Na bloody likely. Next time we visit my sister in Glasgow, we’re taking the train,” the elderly gentleman said to his wife, snaking his arm around her shoulder. “I’ve a good mind to write the airline a letter of complaint.”

  The woman patted her husband’s forearm. “It’s na the airline who controls the weather, Angus. You must trust in the Lord to see us safe.” She glanced at Alex. “Is that na true, young man?”

  “I’m sure everything will be just fine.” Alex hoped to reassure the couple, but had to admit, the same thoughts had crossed his own mind. He’d never been fond of flying, but as the head of the Archeology Department at a prestigious New York University, he travelled often with his students to foreign countries. Going by air was the swiftest, most practical way to reach their destinations, but after today, he’d give some serious thought to alternate means of transportation. Better yet, he’d be sure to schedule all future excursions for the summer.

  Alex originally planned to leave on this archeological dig before Christmas, but his father had suffered a massive heart attack, prompting him to postpone his departure. Despite the marvels of modern medicine, the coronary damage was irreversible and William Innes died the day after Thanksgiving. Unable to bear the thought of his mother being alone over the holidays, aimlessly prattling about in the home she’d shared with her husband of thirty-four years, he’d invited her to come along on his trip. But she refused to be a burden. And as the plane pitched sharply to the right, this was one time he was thankful for her stubbornness.

  After doing as the flight attendant requested, Alex braced himself for landing. The plane bounced and shook violently as it hit yet another updraft caused by the storm.

  “This is your captain speaking. We’ve begun our descent, ladies and gentlemen, and I have the runway lights in view. We should be landing in the next few minutes,” the pilot announced.

  Alex released the breath he’d been holding, relieved to know they’d soon be on solid ground.

  “Holy Crap!” Someone in the cockpit shouted. “We’re losing speed and altitude too quickly. Try to pull her up or we will miss the runway.”

  “The thrust readings are off. Are you sure the pneumatic de-icing boots deployed properly?” another crewmember asked. “Shite man, you forgot to turn off the crew-to-passenger intercom.” Those words were followed by silence.

  Alex’s knuckles blanched white from gripping the back of the seat in front of him, and as the old saying went, his life flashed before his eyes. While he was not a pilot, he’d seen enough television documentaries on plane mishaps to know that a significant build of ice on any surface of the plane, especially the wings, could interfere with the airflow and cause a plane to lose speed and stall. If the propeller blades, probes and windscreens were not kept clear of ice, or the engine intakes were blocked, it could result in a crash.

  The de-icing boots were rubberized membranes installed on the wings and stabilizer control surfaces. In the event of an ice buildup, they were inflated with compressed air to break the ice, then returned the wing to the correct shape once deflated. He prayed they’d not failed.

  Hope faded when the plane suddenly slanted sharply to the left and began a rapid decent. Amidst the terrified screams echoing throughout the cabin, Alex squeezed his eyes shut and began reciting the Lord’s Prayer. But before he could finish, the aircraft hit the ground, then rolled to the side—the left wing snapping off upon impact. Sharp pain lanced across his forehead, then everything went black.

  ~ * ~

  Confused and disoriented, Alex struggled to regain consciousness. He had no idea how long it had been since the plane crashed, but he was thankful to be alive. He inhaled slowly, his chest tightening with pain. Acrid smoke stung his eyes and the pungent odor of jet fuel assaulted his nostrils. He was suspended upside-down and the overstretched lap belt was the only thing holding him in his seat. He glanced to his left at the spot where the elderly couple once sat, but a gaping hole in the fuselage was all that remained.

  He made the sign of the cross, hoping they might still be alive, but if not, he prayed their deaths were quick and painless. Alex groaned, touched his forehead and felt something warm and sticky beneath his fingertips. When he withdrew his hand, he saw blood.

  Thoughts racing, he wondered if anyone else had survived. Could he be of some assistance in getting people out of the plane who needed tending? He’d do what he could to help, but needed to free himself from the seat first. He reached for the seatbelt clasp, but hesitated when he saw a figure moving toward him, crawling on hands and knees though the smoky haze.

  “Can anyone hear me?” the woman called out, then began to cough and sputter.

  “I’m here,” Alex shouted, then narrowed his gaze, trying to make out a face.
>
  “Are you injured, sir?” the flight attendant asked. “Let me help you out of the seatbelt.” She quickly released the clasp and, before he knew it, Alex dropped to ground with a thud.

  “I’ve some cuts and bruises, but other than that, I think I’m fine.” Unnerved by the eerie silence surrounding him, Alex grasped her by the shoulders. “Is anyone else alive or in need of help?”

  “Let the crew worry about the other passengers, sir. You must leave the plane as quickly as you can.” She pointed to the door marked emergency exit. “Go now. And once you’re outside, someone will tell you what to do.”

  With no medical training to speak of, other than a basic first aid course and CPR, Alex agreed he’d be more of a hindrance than help if he stayed. Perhaps there was something he could do for his fellow passengers once he left the plane. He crawled to the exit and reached for the latch. But the door was wedged tight and wouldn’t budge. Using his shoulder and as much strength as he could muster, he shoved until the metal gave way, and he tumbled out of the plane head first, landing in a pile of snow. He lay there for a moment, thanked God for letting him live, then slowly climbed to his feet.

  He surveyed the crash site, the reality and the severity of the situation hitting him hard. Bodies and debris were strewn about, amidst pieces of tangled wreckage. A fire crew hosed down an intact portion of the fuselage, dousing flames that licked along that section of the plane. Emergency personal scurried about, searching for survivors. Several EMTs raced right by, but paid Alex no mind. Not a surprise, since he was certain there were others who needed their help more than he did.

  “Are you able to walk on your own?” someone asked.

  Alex jumped, startled when a woman suddenly appeared beside him and rested her hand on his forearm. She wore a long hooded cloak, her face hidden from his view.