Authors: Diana Cosby
Tags: #Historical Romance, #Paranormal Romance, #Historical Paranormal Romance, #Highlands, #Highlanders, #Highland Warriors, #Scotland Highland, #Scotland, #Love Story, #Fae, #Fairy, #Fairies, #Romance
His Enchantment (4 page)
“I prefer the spring,” she said, “The long days of sunlight and how the sun seems to hang in the sky like a battle with the night.”
Atair raised an amused brow. “A battle with the night, is it? Are you practicing to be a bard?”
At his teasing, she laughed, thankful for their friendship. However much they disagreed, she could always count on Atair to be a voice of reason. Though she didn’t love the fey prince, he was a man she respected. For the sake of peace within their realm, that had to be enough.
“Come, ’twill be dark soon.” Snow crunched beneath her boots as they walked through the forest to where her men stood.
Atair studied the churn of clouds overhead. “I fear the snow will be heavy by morning.”
“Aye,” she agreed, “and ’twill make travel difficult.”
“Or impossible,” he added.
She caught a limb, shoved it aside. “I will give Tra—Lord Grey chamomile this night to help him sleep.”
“He is fortunate to have your aid. ’Twas me, I would give him naught but a boot in the arse.”
Far from intimated by his gruffness, she chuckled. “You would give him chamomile as well.”
“Mayhap.”
Warmth touched her heart. A fair man, Atair would, nae that he would admit it now.
At their approach, the fey warriors nodded their welcome and widened their circle to allow them entry.
“My thanks for meeting me here,” Catarine said. “I couldna speak freely around Lord Grey.”
Understanding in their eyes, her warriors nodded.
“It concerns the stone circle,” she said. “Atair believes the trail is there, but is erased by magic.”
Surprise widened Sionn’s eyes. “Magic?”
“Aye,” she replied.
“Magic from the Otherworld has been used on Earth before,” Atair said.
“Never for evil,” she said. Gusts of wind spun snow around them in hectic spirals.
Kuircc drew his hand through his thick beard. “What do you think it means?”
She shrugged. “I am unsure, but whoever is behind the foul deed at Preswick Castle is someone who has powerful magic. A point proven by the knight’s use of spell-tipped arrows, their allowing humans into the Otherworld, and our inability to track the English knights once they traveled through the stone circle and into Scotland.”
Atair and the other fey warriors nodded.
“My thought is that the magical power affects the fey, but mayhap the humans are immune,” she continued. “I believe the trail exists, but through magic we canna see it.”
Sionn frowned at the thick snow completely covering the grass. “So why didna we ask Lord Grey to find the path while we were there?”
“We know nae what other spells have been left if we try and follow the assassins, spells that I believe willna affect Lord Grey and other humans. If this is correct, we need his aid. A bargain he agreed to if we helped save his king.”
Drax rubbed his jaw. “Why do you think the spell would nae affect them?”
“Because,” she replied, “whoever is behind this will never expect us to join with humans in our search.”
Magnus crossed his arms. “Your reasoning is sound, but what if you are wrong?”
“If I am wrong, we have lost a few days. But,” she said, refusing to give up hope, “what if I am right?”
Atair grunted. “Regardless, if we find whoever is behind the assassination, we face someone of formidable power. Do you think ’twill be a force we can defeat?”
Dread curled up inside her, cold and dark. A question she’d considered throughout their journey, one even now that overwhelmed her. Her lower lip trembled as she met his somber gaze. “I am unsure.”
Chapter Four
The first rays of morning light sliced through the cloud-laden sky as Trálin leaned against the boulder and mulled the challenges of the mission ahead.
“You are up early for a wounded man.”
At Catarine’s lyrical voice, his body tightened. Bloody hell, the last thing he needed was to be alone with her in the forest. Had she nae noticed his attraction to her last night?
“I am.”
“You couldna sleep?” she asked.
He kept his focus on where the sun peeked over the ben—a safer choice. “I slept well enough.” A lie, one he would hold to. Throughout the night he’d dreamt of her. Hot, seductive images of her that had awoken him several times. And coming out of an erotic dream to the soft breaths of her warriors sleeping between them had doused his need as fast.
A light wind swirled past, thick with snow that’d fallen throughout the night, layers which would make their journey this day treacherous. The churn of dark skies overhead held the promise of more. For his king’s safety, it was a journey they must make, regardless of the danger.
“I heard you tossing and turning,” she said. “’Tis nae the sounds of a man in deep rest.”
Irritated by the way her voice wove through him, igniting unwanted need, he turned, riveted his gaze on her. “And ’twould seem if you heard me moving about, you were awake as well.”
At his curt reply, turquoise eyes brimming with concern faded. She stepped back. “Forgive me. You wish to be alone.”
A fine way to treat the lass, especially one whose aid he sought. Caught up in his own frustration of wanting Catarine, he’d hurt her. “Wait.”
She halted. Strands of blond hair tossed by the wind fluttered against her cheeks, her gaze hesitant.
Moved by the depth of feeling she inspired, he steadied himself. “I am sorry.”
A weak smile worked its way to her mouth, fell. “’Tis for the best.”
An odd answer. One mayhap he shouldn’t seek further explanation. Still, something about her drew him. Blast it. He needed to know. Trálin pushed himself away from the stone. “What is for the best?”
She took another step back. “My leaving. We shouldna be out here together alone. ’Tis imprudent, nor a choice I would normally make. But I had dreams.”
As if her revelation helped anything. Pulse racing, he stepped toward her.
She remained still.
“I dreamt of you as well,” he whispered.
Her face paled, and she shook her head. “You do nae understand; this, us, canna be.”
She turned to leave, but he reached out, caught her wrist.
“I should nae have come,” she said.
Nor should he keep her here, but ’twas as if a man drowning, he needed to know. “What did you dream about?”
Catarine’s hand trembled within his.
Throat dry, he swallowed hard. “Did you dream of my kissing you?”
For a long moment she watched him. Then, hesitantly, she nodded.
And his last defense tumbled. Trálin claimed her mouth, and heat stormed him at her taste. At her soft moan, at how she pressed her body flush against his, he took the kiss deeper, his tongue taking, commanding hers to respond, and she gave. Images of him stripping her, touching her everywhere, roared through his mind.
“Release her!”
At Atair’s brusque voice, Trálin’s mouth broke free, then he stepped back.
Guilt swept her as she stumbled away, glanced toward her senior fey warrior. “’Tis naught what it seems.” Nay, ’twas more. Never before had a man made her feel so much. God in heaven, had her friend nae interrupted them, what would she have allowed?
His face drawn in a fierce frown, that of a protector—or a lover—Trálin stepped to her side, held Atair’s cool gaze. “Leave us.”
“Nay,” she rushed out, struggling to find a rational explanation. As if such was possible? ’Twas she who’d stepped across forbidden boundaries by nae departing before.
Trálin’s eyes riveted on her. “We are nae finished.”
The rough desire in his voice shook her further. How she wished it was true.
Hand on the hilt of his blade, Atair walked closer. “Catarine wishes to return to camp.”
The Scot rounded on the warrior. “Bloody hell—”
“I am betrothed to another,” she blurted out, damning that she’d allowed their time alone to deteriorate to this moment—and, against the Otherworld laws and her promise of marriage, wanted Trálin still.
Shock widened Lord Grey’s eyes, then they darkened to anger. “Betrothed?”
At the condemnation in his voice, anger that she deserved, she nodded. “Given the circumstance, ’twas wrong of me to come here. I am sorry, more than you could ever know.”
“Sorry?” Trálin cursed. “And that is supposed to make what happened between us right?”
“Nay,” she whispered.
“Catarine,” Atair said, his voice gentle. “Go. I will speak with Lord Grey—alone.”
“She will remain,” Trálin snapped, the irritation in his tone making it clear he wanted her to face the chaos she’d created.
The warrior stepped forward. “If she chooses—”
“Why come here this morning aware that I want you?” Trálin demanded of Catarine.
“I did nae mean for this to happen,” she said.
“Catarine,” Atair said, “leave us, I beseech you.”
Hand on his sword, Trálin stepped toward the warrior. “And what will you do once you and I are alone?”
“Enough, both of you,” Catarine said, frustrated at the entire situation.
Both men glared at her.
As if she didn’t deserve such? “I have wronged him, and I owe Lord Grey an apology. And, another to you, Atair.”
“Regardless,” her fey warrior stated, “’tis done.”
Heart aching, she shook her head. “Nay, I forgot my place, my promises made.”
Her friend’s mouth tightened.
Thankful for his silence, Catarine exhaled, focused on the earl. “With my thoughts muddled with sleep, I didna weigh the possibilities of my actions.”
“Why did you come here?” Trálin demanded.
“To talk,” she replied. “Aye, it sounds foolish now, but as I explained, I heard you tossing and turning throughout the night. With your wounds, and knowing you struggled with the loss of your men, I wanted to check on you. Then, when I saw you and . . .”
Atair muttered a curse. “’Tis unseemly for you to be alone with this man.”
Hands on hips, she faced her senior fey warrior. “As if I am nae alone with five men on regular occasion?”
“’Tis nae the same,” Atair replied. “We are with you for your protection.”
“You are,” she agreed. “And your remaining here is stirring an already agitated situation.” She paused. “I need but a few moments with Lord Grey. Alone.”
Atair’s mouth turned into a deep frown. “You must return to camp.”
“I will,” she replied, “in a few moments, once Lord Grey and I talk.”
Her fey warrior’s eyes narrowed. “I do nae like it.”
“I know,” she replied, softening her voice, understanding that her friend tried to do naught but protect her. “I will be but a moment. I promise.”
“I will await you through the thicket. Any longer and I will return.” After a warning glance toward the Scot, Atair shoved aside the thick boughs of green and stepped past.
One upset man dealt with, now on to the other. Catarine drew a steadying breath and met Trálin’s hard gaze. “I know you are displeased with me, but no more than I am with myself.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Your guard should have stayed.”
Unbidden, laughter bubbled up, cutting away a layer of tension.
“You find this amusing?” Trálin demanded.
“Nay, ’tis that I find you as stubborn and protective as Atair. Traits I greatly admire.” She sobered. “Never did I mean for our attraction to happen.”
“But it did.”
His gruff tone assured her that he still struggled with his feelings. A fate she too shared. “Aye, it did.”
Green eyes darkened. “Do you regret that we kissed?”
Another wave of guilt poured through her as she savored the memory of his mouth taking hers. “I should.”
“Blast it, you are betrothed. Do you think my knowing how you feel about me will make our time together easier?” He stalked toward her. A pace away, he halted.
Her body trembled with awareness.
The hard edge of his gaze softened. He lifted her chin with his finger.
Desire ignited, burned within.
“From the first moment I found myself attracted to you,” he breathed, “and last night, if we hadna been interrupted, I would have kissed you. And now, with the taste of your mouth storming my mind, I want you more.”
Unsure how to reply, or if it was too dangerous, she remained silent.
His mouth tightened. “I want you, lass, make no mistake of that.” His thumb across her full mouth, then on a sigh, he stepped back. “But you are nae mine to have.” He stilled. “Do you love him?”
She looked away. “My feelings toward my betrothed change naught.”
Hope flickered in his gaze. “Catarine, I am a powerful lord, one who holds the king’s ear. If you do nae love this man, we can—”
She looked at him and swallowed hard, wishing it was that simple. “Do naught.” She stepped back. “I must go.”
He closed the distance.
“Do nae touch me again,” she whispered.
“Because you want me?” he demanded.
“Aye.” She closed her eyes, slowly opened them, regret making her heart ache. “And because any chance for us can never be.”
Anger darkened his eyes, and he caught her hand. “Why?”
“Catarine?” Atair called from behind the brush.
“One more moment,” she said.
A muttered curse sounded.
Thankfully her warrior stayed out of sight. “Lord Grey,” she started, needing formality between them, “we come from different worlds.”
“Our clans may be different,” he stated, “but ’tis nae a challenge with the king’s decree we canna overcome.”
Catarine gave an exasperated sigh, and for the first time in her life wished she was nae a fairy. And what would her father and mother think of this mayhem? With the necessity for her marriage to bring peace between their realms, any intrigue at her dilemma with this human would fade as fast.
Shrewd eyes studied her. “Does he love you?”
Her brief meeting with Prince Zacheus of Olghar came to mind. Though amicable, they had little in common. “Nae, ’twas an engagement made to bring peace across the lands. As I, he agreed to wed out of duty.”
His face somber, Lord Grey nodded. “Such arrangements are common within nobility.”
“They are,” she replied. “But with the risk of lives at stake, our upcoming marriage is one that canna be broken.”
The tension in his face ebbed. “Lass, ’tis normal for upheavals within the realm. I am confident with King Alexander’s intervention, we can bring peace between your lands and the betrothal will become unnecessary.”
Wonder rolled through her at the thought of being free to choose whom she would wed, then reality crashed with a horrid jolt. She was fey, and he, human. A man forbidden. Nor could she forget the recent clashes between her family and Prince Zacheus’s, or a tentative peace inspired between their kingdoms with the announcement of their marriage. A peace the dismissal of the betrothal would destroy.
“Nay,” she replied, a wisp of regret slipping through, “your king can be of little help.”
Trálin gave a soft chuckle. “You make the situation sound so dire, but lass, do nae doubt a king’s might.”
“I wish ’twas so simple.” The mirth in his eyes faded, and her heart broke. She should have left before he had kissed her, before she had allowed him to believe that between them there could be more.
“Who is your father?”
Panic swept her. She was making a muddle of this. Or was she? How would he react to the truth? Would he believe her? Or, would he think her daft? Dare she tell him? Dare she nae?
On a trembling exhale, she braced herself. “My father is King Leod MacLaren.”
“Play no games, lass.”
He didna believe her? Hurt tore through her. “I play naught.”
“Nay? Never have I heard of a king named Leod MacLaren.”
“Nor would I expect you to,” she replied, unsure how to convince him of her heritage, but needing to try. A long moment passed, then another, before she gathered the courage to explain. “My father is, as I and my warriors are, from the Otherworld.”
Other books
Layers: Book One by Tl Alexander
A Family Under the Christmas Tree by Terri Reed
How to Knit a Heart Back Home by Rachael Herron
Their Missing Lynx (Big Cat Mates) by Cynthia Sax
Grill Me, Baby by Sophia Knightly
Ashes of Twilight by Tayler, Kassy
Recipe for Magic by Agatha Bird
A Crimson Warning by Tasha Alexander
Blessed by Ann Mayburn
Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens by Just in Time for a Highland Christmas
