Under the Highlander's Spell (14 page)

A
rtair entered his bedchamber quietly, not wanting to wake Zia, who he was certain was sound asleep. He stopped short when he saw her in the tub, her head back, a snoring purr coming from her lips. An arm and a leg were hanging over the rim, as if she had fallen asleep while getting out of the tub.

He had to smile. She looked sweet and delectable, and he'd love to devour her, but not yet. In time she would come to understand that their union would benefit them both, and commit to a proper one—the marriage he had suggested to her more than once.

Until then?

He shook his head and wondered how he'd survive.

He walked over and hunched down beside the tub. She was a beauty in every sense. Her body was curved to perfection, her breasts and hips molded just right. He ached to reach out and touch every bow and arch.

He closed his eyes, hung his head and took a deep calming breath. If he continued to look at her, he'd con
tinue to want to make love to her. He needed to get his soaring desire under control, get her out of the tub, dried, and in bed.

“Lord, give me strength,” he muttered, then gently tapped her shoulder. “Zia, wake up.”

She didn't budge. He muttered several incoherent oaths and tapped her shoulder more firmly while raising his voice. “Wake up.”

Her eyes drifted open and the tip of her tongue slowly licked at her bottom lip.

He muffled his groan with a hard swipe of his hand across his mouth and this time spoke louder than he intended. “Wake up!”

Zia catapulted forward, splashing water over the sides, and glared at him wide-eyed. “I'm cold.”

“No doubt,” he said. “You're sitting in a tub of cold water.”

Zia looked down, and a moment later her arms rushed to cover her naked breasts. “I fell asleep.”

Artair grabbed a towel from the nearby bench. “So it appears.” He stood and spread the towel wide. “Now stand up.”

She didn't hesitate; he doubted she would, since her hands were shriveled, gooseflesh prickled a good portion of her skin, and there was a noticeable shiver to her.

He wrapped the towel around her and began rubbing her dry. As he ran the towel over her, Zia's shivers began to lessen. Scooping her up, he carried her to the bed and set her down on the edge.

“Arms up,” he ordered, grabbing her nightdress and slipping it over her head. Then he hunched down in front of her and, when she finished wiggling the gown onto her body, snatched up one foot at a time and dried them with the towel.

Even her feet were beautiful, toes neatly shaped, a soft arch, smooth skin. When he realized that the towel had slipped from his grasp, he caressed her foot with his hand instead, and damned if he wanted to stop.

He didn't. It was Zia who slipped her foot away from him and crawled under the woolen blanket, pulling it up to her neck.

“All settled?” he asked.

She nodded, her fingers over the edge of the blanket and her eyes intent as she watched him.

He turned and walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He didn't look back. “I need a cold bath.”

She chuckled. “There's one right here.”

He spun around. “Want to see me naked, do you?”

He had his clothes off before she could respond, but she didn't disappoint him. She continued to watch him. She even propped herself up on her pillow to get a better look.

He wasn't shy. Once naked, he took his time getting into the tub. With one foot in, he almost changed his mind, since the water was colder than he expected.

“Coward.” Zia laughed.

“I was giving you time to enjoy the view.”

“I've seen enough.”

“Like what you see?” he asked, his chest puffed broad.

“You're passable.”

He turned too quickly to protest her witty response and lost his footing, plunging down into the tub. The water splashed up and over the sides as he plopped down on his backside.

Zia fell forward with a burst of laughter, holding her stomach as she came up to laugh some more at him.

“This is all your fault,” he said, rivulets of water running down his grinning face.

She controlled her laughter, though it slipped out between words. “
I
maneuvered the tub just fine.”

“But you failed to get out, didn't you?”

“Better than falling in.” A yawn interrupted her laughter.

“Go to sleep, you're tired.”

“I'll wait for you,” she said, snuggling down beneath the blanket once again.

He wanted to ask why, since she certainly didn't intend for them to make love, and luckily she answered without him asking.

“I want to know what your brother thinks of our marriage, and with the water so cold, it shouldn't take you long.”

She was right about that. He hurriedly washed his hair and his body and was out of the tub and dried in rapid time.

Then he approached the bed, the towel wrapped snug around his slim waist. “I sleep naked.”

“I don't,” she said. “And stay on your side.”

“I'll try,” he teased, released the towel and hopped into bed.

After he was settled, she asked, “What did your brother say? Oh, I do like him and Honora. They make a wonderful couple, and your mother is perfect; I do feel so sorry for her, though. You can see the sadness in her eyes. And Lachlan…” She chuckled. “He's a charmer and hides what a truly caring man he is.”

“I'm pleased that you like my family and are so perceptive when it comes to Lachlan. As for Cavan? He's pleased with our union, though he has questions concerning Ronan.”

He lay next to her, on his back, and felt her tense as she turned on her side to look at him.

“I imagine he would. Though only having met your family, it is obvious how close you all are. Ronan's absence must weigh heavy on all your hearts.”

He heard the sincerity in her gentle voice and thought that since she empathized with their pain, she might tell him more of Ronan. Instead she changed the subject.

“I thought you would have confided in Cavan and told him the truth about us.”

“Not at the moment.”

She smiled. “I know why you didn't tell him.”

“Enlighten me,” he said, turning on his side to face her.

“You hope to convince me to marry you before it becomes necessary for you to tell everyone the truth.”

He scratched his head in confusion. “You know, you may be right.”

She poked him playfully. “You're not going to get your way.”

“We'll see about that.” He tapped her on the tip of her noise. “After all, you are in my bed.”

Her yawn defined her response. “For sleep only.”

He leaned over and gave her the faintest of kisses. “Then sleep,
wife
.”

She poked him again. “Remember to stay on your side,
husband
.”

“You too.”

“Don't worry. I won't budge.”

 

Artair woke for the third time with Zia's head plastered on his shoulder. Her arm was thrown across his chest, her leg hooked over his, and her knee resting much too close to his groin. He'd moved her twice already, and she was back again. And
she
had been concerned about him encroaching on her side, he thought with amusement.

He would have left her where she lay, except that she was so warm, smelled so sweet, and felt so good that it would be tempting fate. Actually, the temptation would be too much for him.

Reluctantly, he eased her off him, but this time she blinked a few times and groggily said, “Stay on your side.”

Before he could inform her just how wrong she was, she turned on her side and promptly fell back into sleep.
In seconds she was snoring, that soft purr he was getting so very used to.

He wanted to snuggle up against her, wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her neck and nibble at her soft flesh. Instead he turned on his side, away from her, and after laying there for what seemed an eternity, fell asleep.

 

Zia woke with a yawn and a stretch and recalled that she was in Artair's bed. Looking around, she saw that not only was he gone, but that she was on his side. She lay there thinking back on the night and wondered if she had been the one who had not kept to her side of the bed. If so, as it appeared, Artair had remained a gentleman nonetheless, which spoke much for his character. Or was it his never-ending logic?

She bounced up in bed. He was a good man, but one question continued to nag her. What of passion? Didn't he ever surrender to it? So far as she could tell, he always kept tight rein on himself. What would happen if he let loose? She realized she would like to find out.

With much to do, she was out of bed and dressed in no time, slipping into her common attire of plain skirt and blouse and worn sandals. She didn't have to concern herself with her short hair since a run of a comb or her fingers through it usually had it looking presentable.

She hurried out the door, her thoughts crowded with
all she had to do. There was Honora to see to, and the keep garden to look over; she hoped it had a bevy of useful herbs. She also had to find a place where she could work, to explore the woods, and much more.

When she entered the great hall, only Addie and Honora sat at the table. With a smile, she joined them.

“I slept much too late,” she said, glancing around the empty room.

“Nonsense,” Addie said. “You were exhausted. You had a right to sleep all day if you wanted to.”

“Oh my no,” Zia protested. “I have much too much to do.”

Honora, with her hand resting on her protruding stomach, said, “Artair says you are to enjoy the day. Tomorrow is soon enough to work.”

“Artair is not—” Zia almost bit her lip, realizing she'd been about to say that Artair wasn't her husband and had no right to dictate to her. She grinned. “—to worry about me.”

“He will anyway,” his mother said, nodding. “It's his way. He believes he knows best, and he usually does.”

Zia didn't intend to argue the point, mostly because she had discovered it was the truth. Artair was usually right, damn it. “Yes, Artair is considerate, but he need not worry about me. I'm fine and wish to resume my work immediately.” She turned to Honora. “I'd like to talk with you about how you're feeling and the coming birth.”

“That can wait until tomorrow,” Addie assured her. “Take time for yourself today.”

“I am. I'm doing what I love.” Zia grabbed a piece of bread from the platter and stood. “Show me around, Honora?”

Honora looked to Addie, who responded with a congenial shrug. “If that's what Zia wants then by all means show her around.”

“Perhaps we can talk later,” Zia said to Addie.

“I'd like that.”

“Good. Then I can have a look at that cut on your hand.”

Addie glanced down at the red abrasion. “It's nothing.”

“But it could turn poisonous if not treated properly.”

“Take care of Addie first,” Honora said, clearly upset as she struggled to stand.

Zia had reached out to help her when strong arms reached past her and took hold of Honora.

“What's wrong with my mother and why is my wife upset?” Cavan demanded, his arm going around Honora.

Honora rushed to answer, only worsening the situation. “Mother's hand is filling with poison.”

“What?” came the startled cry behind her.

Zia cringed, hearing Artair's voice, and swore silently for losing control of the conversation.

“Stop!” she said, holding her hand up.

“Got yourself in trouble already?” Artair asked with a laugh, and slipped his arm around her waist.

Zia had to smile. Sides had been drawn. Artair was protecting her, as Cavan protected his wife, while Addie remained neutral.

“There's nothing wrong,” she said, attempting to explain. “I'm doing what I always do—”

“Getting into trouble,” Artair teased.

She elbowed him in the gut. “Hush up.”

Cavan raised a pointed finger at Zia, and Honora grabbed hold of it. “Cavan will take a walk with me while you tend to mother.”

“Good idea,” Artair said.

Zia saw the two brothers exchange a look, and without another word, Cavan and Honora left the room.

She turned around with a flourish to Artair, and out of the corner of her eye saw Addie slip out of the room. “I can look after myself.”

Artair scratched his head. “Which is why I've already rescued you two times?”

“This is a misunderstanding, and it's your fault,” she said.

“Me?” he asked with shocked laughter. “I wasn't even here.”

“No, but you left orders for me to—”

“Enjoy the day, which is far from an order,” he said. “I've watched you work yourself exhausted, and then I forced you to endure a rough pace to return home. I felt you deserved time to rest and recoup before you again spend all your time helping others. I was concerned for you and only you.”

Zia sighed with a smile. “How wonderfully romantic.”

He took hold of her hand and kissed the back of it. “I can be romantic.”

“You know what follows romance?” she asked, stepping closer to him.

He kept hold of her hand and lowered his face near to hers. “Tell me.”

“Love.”

“Then passion follows,” he whispered in her ear.

“Is that an invitation?” she asked.

“I think we should discuss this in depth later tonight.”

“Discuss which, love or passion?”

Lachlan interrupted any further talk between them when he rushed into the hall yelling, “Honora has fainted.”

A
rtair stood while Cavan paced outside his closed bedchamber door. He understood that his brother was more worried than angry, though moments before, that could have been debated. When Zia told Cavan to leave the room while she looked after his wife, he bluntly told her no. Artair had to give Zia credit for dealing patiently and calmly with Cavan, until he gave her one too many orders, and then she ordered him out of the room.

That's when he had gotten involved, convincing his brother that it was better to let Zia work and better that Honora wasn't further upset by the squabbling. Cavan had reluctantly vacated the room after informing Zia he'd stay right outside the door, waiting for news, which she was to deliver in due time or he'd return—and this time not budge from his wife's side.

Hence, the endless pacing, scowl lines, and concerned creases on his brother's face.

Cavan stopped abruptly. “That wife of yours has a strong personality.”

“I like to think of it as passion.”

“Then you're asking for trouble,” Cavan said, and resumed his pacing.

Artair defended Zia not merely because it was expected of him as her supposed husband, but because he had seen for himself the depths of her commitment to her healing work, and he admired her for it.

“Zia's passion is what makes her the remarkable healer that she is,” he explained. “Her only thought when she heals is for the person she is healing. Right at this moment, she is concerned only about Honora and what she must do to help her, even if it means offending the laird of Clan Sinclare.”

Cavan stopped pacing. “I guess I needed reminding of who this was about. Your wife does what she knows best, and for that I am grateful, though her outspoken nature will take some getting used to.”

Artair had to laugh, and he then realized that he had laughed and grinned more since he met Zia than he ever had, and he was pleased that she brought such consistent pleasure to his life.

“She grows on you after a while,” he assured his brother.

“It's certainly obvious how much she has grown on you.”

“It's disgustingly obvious,” Lachlan agreed, appearing from around the stairs and walking toward them. “Love is written over every inch of him. What did you do? Fall hard like a complete and utter fool when you first met her?”

Artair was struck silent. All he'd heard was the word
love
, and it continued to reverberate in his head like a tower bell that refused to stop tolling. He had thought it a practical decision to wed Zia, but could the decision truly be perpetuated by love?

Lachlan smacked him on the back. “I'm right; the poor fool is dumbstruck by love and doesn't even know it—much like you, Cavan.”

“Just you wait. I'm going to enjoy watching the bittersweet agony of you falling in love,” Cavan said with a sneer.

Artair finally found his voice and joined in the teasing. “I agree with Cavan and look forward to the same for you.”

“Too bad you'll both be disappointed,” Lachlan said with smug confidence. “I intend to be wise when it comes time to choose a wife.”

Lachlan went on to explain how he would not suffer any pains or pangs of chasing after a woman. He would make it known he was interested in acquiring a wife, and would then choose between the viable candidates and it would be done—he'd have himself a dutiful wife.

Artair and Cavan laughed so hard it brought their mother to the door.

“What seems to be so amusing?” Addie demanded.

Cavan and Artair couldn't contain their laughter enough to explain, so they both pointed to Lachlan, who reiterated to her what he had told them.

Addie burst out laughing herself, before shutting the
door in their faces. A minute or so later peals of laughter echoed from inside the room, which only caused Artair and Cavan to laugh harder and Lachlan to walk away in disgust.

After the two brothers' laughter subsided, the door to the bedchamber opened once again and Addie summoned them inside.

Cavan went directly to his wife, who sat in a chair by the window. “You're feeling better?”

“Much better after speaking with Zia,” she confirmed.

Relief brought a huge smile to Cavan's face. “No more fainting, then?”

“Zia assures me there will be none if I follow her instructions,” Honora said.

Cavan looked at Zia. “We'll do whatever you say.”

She grinned. “It is Honora who will need to follow the prescribed diet.”

Cavan turned an anxious look on his mother.

“I'm already prepared to see that she eats as Zia has suggested,” Addie said. “Which is why I'm going to get her a little something to eat right now. And, Artair,” she added, turning in his direction. “You need to find a nice cottage where your wife can work. I'm sure many in the clan are going to seek her healing skills.”

“That would be nice,” Zia said. “I could use a place where I can prepare my brews, mix potions, and blend salves while seeing to ailments.”

“Timmin's cottage,” Cavan said to his brother. “You know the one. It's been empty for a few months.”

“That's at the far end of the village. I'd prefer my wife closer to the keep.” He slipped his arm around Zia's waist. It was something he found himself doing often and without thinking. It was as if he felt empty without her in his arms, like a part of him was missing. Whatever it was, he knew he felt whole when he felt her there, pressed close to him.

“There's Biddie's cottage,” Addie suggested. “It's more in the middle of the village, though it is small. Good enough for one, as Biddie said many a time throughout the years. I believe she would be pleased that her home became a place of healing.”

Artair nodded, familiar with the place and the woman who had passed three months now. “I'll take Zia there and see if it will suit her.”

Zia leaned her head back to look up at Artair. “Let me see to your mother's hand first, and then we can go.”

Love.

The thought smacked him suddenly between the eyes, hit him in his gut, and caused his heart to thump madly. Is that what he felt—love? Did he see the same in her eyes? Could love's arrow have struck them simultaneously?

“Artair?” Zia said.

He shook his head, regaining his wits.

“It's not all right?” she asked hesitantly.

He went from shaking his head to nodding while trying to recall what he was agreeing to.

“Good,” Zia said with a smile. “Give me a few minutes and I'll meet you outside the keep.”

As he walked to the door and he fought to remember why he was meeting Zia outside, Cavan slapped him on the back and said, “Thanks for waiting with me.” Then, in a hurried whisper, his brother said, “Biddie's cottage.”

It all came rushing back then, along with the color to his face. He could feel his cheeks blotch red, and was glad no one could see his discomfort.

“Love really has you by the…” Cavan did not finish the thought, but laughed as he walked away, to return to his wife.

Artair didn't find Cavan's teasing amusing, and in an effort to further pull himself together, left the keep, intending to camp beneath a large pine tree. The needles it had dropped provided a cushion for him to sit, but he hadn't sat there in thought for long when Zia plopped down beside him.

“That was fast,” he said, taking hold of her hand. He liked the warmth and softness of her skin, and he loved when their fingers entwined, locking together, keeping hold of each other.

“It was a minor abrasion and should heal well now.”

She didn't appear in a hurry to see the cottage, and neither was he. He preferred to take a few moments and sit here under the shade of the tree with her and talk.

“I can see there is something on your mind,” she said.

She waited, not insisting or pouting or demanding
that he tell her what it was. She simply waited to see if he wished to share it, a reasonable approach that left him confident in discussing the matter with her.

“You have repeatedly told me you wish to marry for love,” he finally said.

“Yes, I have, and that has not changed,” she replied.

“What if I loved you? Would your thought on wedding me change?”

She appeared startled. Was it because he had shocked her silent, or that she wasn't sure how to answer him? Either way, he didn't think it boded well for him.

“If you loved me?” she snapped. “Are you trying to decide if you could love me? If there's even the remotest chance?”

“You misunderstand me.”

She yanked her hand free of his. “I think it is you who misunderstands. Love comes from deep in here,” she said, resting her hand to her chest. “It can strike in an instant or develop slowly, but whichever way it arrives, it comes from the depth of the heart, and nothing—nothing at all—can stop it, not even logic.”

“Let me explain—”

“No,” she said curtly. “I will ask someone to show me Biddie's cottage, and get busy staking my claim on it while I'm here.”

She stumbled to her feet, and he quickly stood to help her. He knew her stubbornness had taken hold and if he wasn't careful he would make the situation worse, though he wondered how much worse it could get. He did not want to find out.

“I will take you,” he said.

“No, I prefer to go alone.”

“How will it look to others if I let my wife find her healing cottage on her own?” he asked.

“That your wife is angry with you, and deservedly so.”

Artair kept his patience. It would do him no good to argue with her; that would only fuel the disagreement. So he did what was necessary and sensible. “I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“Why am I sorry?”

She nodded. “Yes, why do you apologize? Do you truly mean it or is it the logical thing to do?”

Her intuitive response caught him unprepared and he hesitated.

“I knew it,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “Your apology meant nothing. You simply did it because it appeared the logical course of action.” She grunted angrily. “You are impossible. You wouldn't know love if it struck you straight in the heart or punched you in the gut. You see only reason, and being in love is far from reasonable. I doubt you will ever fall in love.”

She turned and marched off, and he almost followed, but stopped himself. She needed time to calm down, and then he would speak with her.

His brother Lachlan approached. “You should go after her. She's very angry. She didn't even acknowledge me when she passed.”

“That's why I will wait until she calms down.”

Lachlan chuckled. “You can't be practical when it comes to women, Artair, because women aren't practical. Zia wants you to follow her. That would show her that you care.”

“She'd continue to fight with me if I went after her.”

“Of course she would—that's what she wants.”

“To fight?” Artair asked, and shook his head. “That makes no sense.”

Lachlan placed a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. “Back to lesson one—women aren't sensible.”

“Then how can anything ever be settled?”

Lachlan chuckled again. “It can't, because women never forget. They'll remind you of something you did years after you long forgot it.”

“And you know this how?”

“I learned it firsthand from every woman I've gotten to know.”

“You mean every woman you've bedded,” Artair said.

“Women love to talk, especially after sex. That's when I find out a lot about them.” He grinned. “And oh how I look forward to every lesson.”

Artair shook his head. “I prefer my own approach. It's more sensible.”

Lachlan chuckled some more. “You better keep lesson one in mind or you're going to find yourself in deep trouble, especially with a woman as passionate as Zia.”

Artair smiled broadly. “I admire her passion.”

“That's because you have none of your own.”

“I do so,” he said, insulted.

“No offense, brother, but passion isn't your strong suit—reason and dependability are, which is great because you can always be counted on to do the right thing. And nothing stops you from doing it. Look how it helped you rescue Zia before she was burnt at the stake. When you told us the story, I thought how I might have considered that she was a witch and let her burn.”

“Even when you knew she had information about Ronan?”

Lachlan shrugged. “I'm not taking chances with a witch.”

“But Zia is no witch.”

“I know that now, but I would have had doubts once I heard that the whole village condemned her.”

His brother's words angered him and he was about to argue when he realized what Lachlan was saying. “You warn me that most think like you and trouble still brews for Zia.”

“True enough, the clan will need to look out for her, but I was more concerned with your response to my even suggesting that your wife could be a witch. Your response was sensible.”

“You would have preferred for me to knock you on your ass?”

Lachlan grinned. “That would have been passion.”