Highlander Enchanted (9 page)

Breathless, Isabel paused a short distance from the forest, straining to see the glimmers of color indicating where he had gone. She caught one faint flicker of yellow and started towards it. When she was nearly at the tree line, she spotted the narrow path leading into the quiet forest and followed it.

No more flashes of color lit the night. Darkness closed in around her, broken up by bars of moonlight that slipped through the canopy above. She stayed on the trail, fearful of leaving it when she knew not what animals or pits or other dangers lurked in the shadows.

Just when she considered turning back, she caught the faint green spark of light emanating from a point ahead. Her step slowed, and she held her skirts close to her body to prevent them from brushing the bushes and tree branches lining the path. The closer she ventured, the quieter she willed herself to become.

Laird Cade came into view, and she held her breath.

Shirtless, surrounded by flickers of color, he sat beside a small water hole, his sword across his thighs. Moonlight pierced the forest and dusted his muscular upper body with silver, lovingly outlining each curve and dip of his exposed skin.

She found herself staring, jaw slack and mouth open, unable to recall when she had ever seen anyone who set her blood on fire in the most un-Christian way imaginable. His sheer size, the chiseled nature of his warrior form, the physical power such a man commanded, even the golden color of his sun-kissed skin were no less mesmerizing than the strange flickers of light surrounding him. His dark hair was captured at the nape of his neck, his moon-hued eyes closed. His features were heavier than those deemed attractive at court, but even his thick jaw and broad forehead filled her with wonder. The sensation of fire began to burn in her belly.

My mind is addled with fever,
she thought. The inexplicable attraction was not natural or holy, and neither was her sudden immunity to the cold night air. If not illness, was this magic affecting her? His magic?

Too enchanted by the mere sight of him, she realized she had not questioned what he was doing out here alone in the forest with his sword, until the sparks of light coalesced into one single, white light of such purity and softness, she had never seen its equal.

It settled between his hands before it raced along the sword, over his knuckles, up his arms, and surrounded him with a halo that seemed connected to the moonlight.

She was witnessing magic. True magic. Unnatural magic, for it did not exist in the Christian world. She watched it race around him before settling and seeming to sink into his skin. Similar to Marie’s healing magic, Isabel was once more unable to convince herself what she saw was evil. She had no explanation for what she witnessed in the Highlands but Marie’s advice was sound. This world was entirely unlike that which she knew.

Laird Cade breathed a sigh, and his shoulders relaxed as his tension disappeared. More flickering lights – these green – rained down upon him from the tree branches overhead while blue lights rose from the water source towards him. Rather than joining or sinking into him, these hovered around him, often grazing his skin and just as often hovering or letting the wind push them around.

Laird Cade’s head bowed, and his lips moved in silent prayer.

Isabel had the sudden sense this was a private moment, one of vulnerability, even if she did not understand what was happening before her. The sight of the warrior-laird in a state of weary relaxation left her troubled. The healer had said he bore his own darkness, and she had yet to hear of anyone returning from the Holy Lands without grievous tales of loss and hardship. This man seemed too strong for the world to bend him, too hardened to bow his head even in private.

The connection she first experienced at the river, the one she did not wish to feel, was warm inside her, tossing doubt into her mind with the same force the wind tossed the tiny sparkles into the air around Laird Cade.

Her brother had died, as did her father after his bout of madness. Driven into despair by the loss of his only son and heir, he had not even tried to save himself and had fallen to the darkness of his mind.

That Laird Cade likewise struggled with the darkness of his mind, and yet did not succumb to it, left her feeling raw, disturbed. How did one man survive such loss while another did not?

But even if he had not been directly responsible for her father’s death, the man before her had slain her brother, a bright, doting and loving man she had adored as long as she could remember. Of this, there was no doubt. Word had reached her from more than one source about Black Cade murdering the future Baron of Saxony in cold blood. Richard himself had brought her such word upon his return from the Holy Lands.

Vulnerable and exposed, Laird Cade had nonetheless robbed her of everything she held dear in life. If her brother lived, she would never be forced to flee her home or watch her father die or learn the truth of her birth or face Lord Richard’s anger daily. Most importantly, she would not be alone in the world, without her champion and brother, the only man who had not ridiculed and shamed her for bettering her mind.

This night, either she murdered her brother’s killer, or she died trying.

Isabel closed her eyes and offered a brief prayer requesting forgiveness. She reached into her pocket with one hand and crossed herself with the other. Her heartbeat raced, and her stomach was in knots.

 Gripping the hilt of the dagger hard, she withdrew it and opened her eyes. She had never hurt a man let alone cut one. She took a silent step forward, then another and another, until she was almost upon the unsuspecting laird. The sparks around him made way for her and floated around her, too, as if unconcerned with her presence.

Isabel raised the knife, licking her lips nervously and shaking with fear and anticipation. She stared at Laird Cade’s broad shoulders and wide back, trying to prepare herself for what it would feel like to kill him. Would she feel happiness? Regret? Horror when she felt his blood splatter her?

He was scarred already, long, jagged marks that crisscrossed his back from a weapon she was unable to imagine but which seemed much larger than the dagger in her hands.

Releasing her breath, she raised the blade high above her head, failing to notice his near imperceptible tensing.

She closed her eyes again and gave herself up to her fate. She was about to discover whose side her god was on.

The second her hands began to descend, Cade snatched her.

Isabel’s eyes flew open, and she barely had time to breathe let alone register what happened next. One moment, she was on her feet, preparing to stab him and the next, the world was a blur of moonlight and darkness. She was suddenly on her back, his muscular form pinning her to the ground, his silvery eyes inches from her face, and both her wrists clenched in one of his massive, warm hands.

She stared up at him, unable to move, afraid to breathe. Up close, his was a savage beauty, as harsh as the lands whence he came, as strong as the naked, muscular torso atop her body. His size, accompanied by the coiled power he was waiting to unleash, terrified her. Richard was half this man’s size and left bruises that made her weep for days. What would Black Cade do to her?

Why was she once more unable to look away from his piercing gaze, unwilling to move beneath his thick frame? Why did her heart beat faster now, and the fever burn hotter?

She became aware of her breathing, ragged and uneven, and the panic stirring within her the longer he stared at her and the more time she had to imagine what horrific deeds he was about to commit.

At long last, she closed her eyes to escape his scrutiny, though it did nothing to buffer her from the tension stretched taut between them.

“Slay me,” she whispered, hating her trembling voice. She had hoped to go to her death brave and resolute and instead, was ready to weep. Her family’s honor died with her failure.

“I won’t kill ye, lass.” His tone was low, rough. “How did ye find me?” His question held a dangerous edge, one that made her flinch.

“I followed you,” she replied.

“’Tis not possible t’follow me through the forest.”

His silver-blue eyes cored her, made her breath catch, and she hesitated to respond, fearful yet fascinated. His scent – of forest, heather and pure male – sent dizzying awareness through her. It was a warm, welcoming smell. “There is a path,” she said finally. “How else would I follow you?”

His jaw ticked. For a moment, he studied her, before he spoke again. “What did you see?”

“You. The water. The lanterns that glow with unholy fire.”

“Ye shouldna ‘ave followed me.” This time, there was no mistaking the lethal threat.

“Then … then kill me.” She swallowed hard, and tears stung her eyes. “I am prepared to meet my god.”

He twisted the dagger loose from her hands and tossed. “Ye bring a child’s weapon t’slay a man?” He shook his head once. “Nay, lass, ye wanted me t’kill ye.”

“I did not,” she breathed. “But I was prepared for this outcome.”

Cade considered her then sat up, straddling her thighs. He took her upper arms and pulled her into a seated position, glaring at her. “What madness is this?” he whispered. The mad rush of floating gems had grown into hues of every shade. They floated in the air above them, around them.

Clouds shrouded the moon, moving fast enough for their movement to be unnatural.

“
You
would speak of madness?” she countered softly, glancing towards the gems.

“Ye steal my property?” He looped a finger beneath the long length of leather around her neck and tugged the pink talisman free from her clothing.

She shivered at the touch of his skin against hers. “I did not steal it,” she replied. “I borrowed it.”

He sat back on his heels, and she sensed more than saw he was furious. His features were shadowed and dark, sinister almost, his exposed form tense. She refused to allow her eyes to caress the smooth skin covering his warrior frame but was far too aware of his nakedness, his nearness, to prevent the fever moving through her.

The lanterns darted into the sky and bloomed into clouds that spread rapidly overhead. Where the night had been clear, thunder rumbled in the distance.

Was it … was it possible
he
caused the thunder?

“It cannot be,” she whispered, a streak of coldness replacing the unnatural warmth inside her.

More lanterns appeared, these pink. “What are these?” she asked and reached out to touch one. Her fingers passed through it as if it were not real at all.

“Do not touch them!” Cade snatched her wrist. “Yer filthy, lying English hands shouldna be nigh them.”

She clasped her hands in her lap, trembling. “They are magic, are they not?”

“Magic doesna exist.” He rose and paced a short distance, his scarred back to her once more.

“How can you deny it? We are surrounded by it.”

“You should no’ be able t’see it.” He was still. She sensed danger even though he no longer held her to the ground.

Isabel glanced towards the path leading out of the forest, prepared to make a run for it. His quietness was worse than his direct attention.

“My family has kept these secrets for generations and one foolish, beautiful lass discovers it. Niall was right. I ne’er shoulda let ye near my home,” he said darkly. “Why do ye seek t’kill me, Lady Cade?”

“’Tis of no concern. I have failed in my vengeance and will suffer whatever punishment you de –”

“Do not test me!” he roared.

She gasped, not expecting his outburst, and braced herself for what followed whenever Richard shouted thusly.

“No more lies!” he added more calmly and knelt before her. “Do ye understand me?” He reached for her arm.

She flinched and ducked her head. A man like this could surely kill her with one blow.

His hand dropped. “I would n’er strike ye, Lady Cade.”

She did not speak.

“Ye’ve placed me in a difficult state. I canna let ye leave knowing what ye do of what I am.” He swept his arm overhead, and the lanterns vanished, along with the clouds. Pale moonlight pierced the night once more.

“You … you did that?” Her whisper was barely audible to her own ears.

He spoke words she did not understand, and the clouds returned, blocking the moon.

“My god,” she breathed. “What are you?”

“A man charged with protecting his kin who fergot hi’self when he saw yer beauty.” He reached for her again, this time ignoring her instinctive reaction and lifting her chin. “A warrior who canna understand why his magic betrays him t’an English lass who brings danger to my land.”

She glimpsed a shadow pass through his eyes. “You cannot free me, do not wish to kill me. What will you do?”

“I wanna ken why ye carry writs from two kings.”

Not expecting the response, Isabel rose, panic racing through her, and darted to the forest.

Black Cade caught her with an arm around her midsection and pulled her into his body, wrapping both his arms around her and lifting her off the ground.

Panting, frantic, she strained against the unyielding tree branches of his arms. His solid, heated frame was at her back. He felt so much more powerful than she ever had, and for a moment, she envied him the strength that earned him a reputation of a killer.

“Release me!” she ordered.

“Be still, lass,” he said. “Ye tried t’kill me. I’ll treat ye as I see fit.”

She ceased struggling.

“We can ‘ave this talk with my arms around ye or civilized, as ye prefer. Yer choice.”

“We will not discuss it at all. It is not your concern!” she retorted.

“Ye claim t’ be me wife and carry a writ from my king making it so,” he mused. “What would Lord Richard do if he saw it? If he saw them both?”

“Do not threaten me!” she responded.

“Ye are no’ in a state t’command me, Lady Cade. Doona mistake me for a man who is civilized.” As he spoke, lightning rippled across the sky overhead.

She blinked back tears, her erratic emotions overwhelming her briefly while she determined what to do. “If you read the writs, you know what they are,” she said at last.