Under the Highlander's Spell (15 page)

T
wo days had gone by since Zia made use of Biddie's cottage. No sooner had she gotten the cottage cleaned and ready than people started arriving, most of them with minor ailments that could be taken care of easily enough. When word spread about how much better Honora was feeling, the pregnant women in the village descended on Zia's doorstep.

She focused on her work while immersed in it, but otherwise couldn't help but think about Artair. It was an effort then to push such thoughts away so he wouldn't plague her every moment of the day and night.

She had been disappointed when he didn't follow her to the cottage the day they'd argued. She had hoped he would, even if it meant continuing to argue, but he hadn't. And that night, again to her disappointment, they had no time to discuss love or passion, because she was summoned to deliver a babe that in the end decided it wasn't time to be born after all.

Artair's approach to their situation remained sensible. He kept to his side of the bed, while she didn't. He acted like a dutiful and attentive husband, while she did as she pleased. It was not an intolerable situation. On the contrary, it was fast becoming comfortable, safe, and loving, as if the two of them had been together for years rather then months.

“I've come to walk you home,” Artair said, ducking as he entered the short, open doorway and easing around the table. “Are you certain this space is not too small for you?”

“It will do. I won't be here that long.” She was glad to see him, but then, she was always glad to see him.

“Still, I would prefer that you were comfortable and had sufficient room,” he said, and moving behind her, inched his arms slowly around her waist until they hooked in front of her, then he settled her close against him.

He was forever affectionate, his arms always going around her, his lips pecking her cheek, her neck, or stealing a kiss. The other night, when she was kept late at the cottage of a young lad with an ailing stomach, he had waited outside for her, and afterward they walked to the keep hand in hand. He had stopped, and under the brilliant moonlight kissed her, and she'd welcomed it. She had actually ached for it.

It had been an amazing kiss, and it lingered on her lips for hours and tingled her senses far longer.

Now when he took her in his arms, she thought of that kiss, deep and lazy and loving, and she wished for more.

“The cottage is fine for now,” she said, wishing he would remark on her obvious intention to leave.

Didn't he care? Didn't he want her to stay? He hadn't mentioned love again since they'd argued. And she was too stubborn to be the one to broach the subject. He was the one who had asked the question, after all. If he cared enough, he would pursue it. Wouldn't he? She wanted to cry out in frustration. She had no experience when it came to falling in love. She only knew she had these crazy feelings rushing and twisting inside her, and that they grew more maddening whenever she was with him.

She felt Artair blend against her as if becoming part of her, and she hoped he would kiss her. Good heavens, but she wanted him to kiss her.

He is good for you.

Her grandmother's voice reminded her, and while grateful for that, she didn't need it. She knew as much herself. Artair demonstrated his considerate nature every day. It was his unbridled passion she wished to see. Or was she looking for a hint of love? Just once she wanted him to do something completely illogical, when it came to her.

Suddenly feeling the need to demonstrate her own passion, she turned in his arms and whispered across his lips, “I want you to kiss me.”

Without a word, he obliged, sweeping her mouth with his in a kiss that made her legs tremble and toes tingle as she melted in his arms. Lord, but the man could kiss. His kiss consumed and completed and made her want more, so much more.

She rested her cheek to his chest and splayed her hand over his heart. She thought she felt it thump strongly. Could it be thumping loudly for her?

“I love your kisses,” she said softly, and thought she felt a quickening of his muscles. But it was only for a mere second, and she dismissed it, thinking her mind played tricks on her, while wishing that it hadn't.

“I love kissing you,” he said, and gently skimmed his lips over hers. “Whether tender or passionate, every kiss stirs my soul.”

Her heart soared along with her smile. “There you go being romantic again.”

“One reason I would make a good husband.”

She inched out of his arms reluctantly and could feel that he let her go with reluctance. She walked around the table, gathering items as she went, and when she stood opposite him, said, “Tell me other reasons you would make a good husband, and not the obvious ones.”

“Protecting you, then, would be one of the obvious ones.”

She nodded. “I've heard it enough. Tell me something different.”

She waited, thinking he was stumped and feeling a sense of disappointment when he finally replied.

“You fit perfectly in my arms. I feel complete when I hold you, as if part of me has returned and I am finally whole.”

He expressed beautifully what she felt herself, and it stole her breath away.

“A good reason?” he asked when she didn't respond.

She nodded and in a bare whisper said, “Another reason.”

“We make good bed partners,” he said with a grin. “I love that you can't stay to your side of the bed and that you are all over me throughout the night.”

She chuckled, since that morning she woke wrapped around him, and he had made a hasty exit out of bed under the pretense of meeting with Cavan. She recalled how empty the bed felt without him. Or had it been that she felt empty without him?

“Finished,” she said, dropping the last of the items she held in a basket on the table. “We can go now.” She didn't want to hear any more reasons that he'd make a good husband. The two he'd cited were reason enough, besides loving his kisses, and the way he held her, and the way he worried over her safety, and, damn…

She hurried out of the cottage, her thoughts chasing after her.

Damn, she loved him
.

She'd known it for a while, though refused to acknowledge it to herself. She had never been drawn as swiftly to a man as she had to Artair. He'd been right—they made each other feel whole. It was simple—they had been made for each other.

Then why was she annoyed? Isn't that what she wanted, a man made expressly for her, and her for him? Even though he was too sensible at times, he'd proved he was romantic, so he surely possessed the passion to love. But was it an everlasting love passion, or merely a random passion?

She jumped, startled, when Artair draped her shawl across her shoulders.

“You need this with autumn in the air.”

Zia tied the ends tightly together and took his arm with a smile. She didn't want him to know that thoughts of him and of love disturbed her. She needed to work this out for herself, make sense of it all, and—She almost muttered beneath her breath.

How did she make sense of love? Now she was thinking more like Artair than herself.

“Take me to the grove in the moor,” she said, dancing out in front of him while holding his hand.

“Night will fall soon enough. I will take you tomorrow.”

“But the fairies come out at night,” she teased.

He yanked her to him and she stumbled into his arms. “Don't speak such nonsense.”

“I only repeat what others in your village have said,” she said defensively.

“They are not accused of witchcraft.”

She almost argued, but thought better of it when she saw the concern in his dark eyes and knew he was worried about her. She could not fault him for that. He was right, and it would be wise of her to listen.

“I'm sorry. I should have known better.”

He scooped her up in his arms and deposited a quick kiss to her lips. “I promise I will take you to the woods tomorrow.”

She closed her arms around his neck. “I look forward to it.”

“We'll go early, before everyone in the village descends on your cottage.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

“I would spend more time with you if it was not for your work, but I know your healing is important to you, so I try to be patient.”

“You are—” She stopped, realizing that she'd been about to tell him that he was more important to her than her work. The thought shocked her. Her work always came first, and that he understood as much made him all the more endearing to her. That she had been about to declare him more important, startled her and left her speechless.

“Please finish,” he begged with a laugh. “You have me wondering.”

She planted a kiss on his cheek; such a handsome cheek, smooth and chilled and all hers and hers alone. She almost sighed aloud. What was the matter with her? Had her realization that she loved him made her aware of things she'd simply taken for granted before?

“Tell me,” he pleaded in a whisper.

His warm breath tickled her ear and his anxiousness had her smiling. “You are—very important to me.”

“Now, that is another very good reason for us to wed. Soon there will be so many you will have no other choice but to wed me.”

That very thought had occurred to her, but it wasn't the many reasons that would lead her to decide in favor of marriage—it would be love.

Artair lowered Zia to her feet, and they entered the hall holding hands. Honora waved them over to the table the family occupied before the hearth. Cavan sat beside his wife, Addie beside her, and Lachlan left space on his side of the long bench for them to join everyone.

“I'm feeling so much better,” Honora said, smiling. “And Mother's hand has much improved. I am so happy Artair fell in love with you and that you are now part of our family.”

“She worries over the lot of you,” Cavan said, glancing from brother to brother. “Though with you married, Artair, she now only needs to concern herself with Lachlan.”

“Worry not, I do fine,” Lachlan said, raising his tankard of ale.

Zia listened to the now familiar banter between brothers. Addie must have long ago grown accustomed to her sons' teasing, for she paid more attention to feeding her dog Champion scraps than to her sons.

They talked, teased, and laughed through the meal, Addie joining in now and again and getting the better of all of them. Zia enjoyed the family's camaraderie, though it made her grow melancholy for her grandmother and the way they had shared their meals and
talked. She wished Bethane had been there so she could talk with her. Her grandmother was a wise woman and had a way of saying just what she needed to hear.

When the brothers' talk turned to the workings of the keep, Honora and Addie spoke quietly with Zia.

“Mother and I thought to plan a larger celebration in honor of your wedding, so your family can share in it,” Honora said.

“While that is thoughtful and generous of you both, it's not necessary. The feast you surprised us with upon our arrival was more than enough.”

“But we never got to see you exchange your vows,” Addie protested. “And I'm sure your family must feel the same. Think how beautiful a winter celebration would be, with both of you once again exchanging your vows in front of family and friends.”

Zia almost laughed, thinking that such a celebration would finally and properly unite them. “I have only my grandmother, and while I'm sure the village Black would love to join in such a celebration, many of the villagers could not make the trip.”

“Then we should at least have your grandmother here for a visit so that she may get to know us and we may get to know her,” Addie insisted.

Zia agreed that it was a good idea, but at the same time reflected to herself that she might not be in Caithness long enough for it to happen.

Growing tired, she was looking forward to bed, and to being in Artair's arms. Realizing that she didn't want to go to bed without him, she wondered if that was
not still another reason for them to wed. She almost laughed, but was saved by a wide yawn she covered with her hand.

“Time for bed,” Artair announced, turning away from conversation with his brothers, reaching out and bringing Zia along with him as he stood.

“I agree,” Honora said, looking to Cavan, who quickly assisted her to stand.

Addie stretched herself up, Champion standing as well, at her side. “I'm ready to turn in myself.”

Lachlan laughed. “My night is just starting.” He looked around the room, and finding a serving lass he liked, gave her a wink and held up his empty tankard.

 

Zia's legs protested every stair she climbed. By the time she reached their bedchamber, she flopped back onto the bed with a groan.

“I'm so tired,” she said on a yawn.

Artair stood over her. “I can undress you and tuck you in, if you'd like.”

She fought the temptation to say yes. It would be so easy to do so, but she knew that once she surrendered, she would seal her fate. He would demand that they wed, and she wasn't ready yet. Or was it he who wasn't ready yet?

Before she could answer him, a pounding rattled their closed door. Artair moved quickly and yanked it open.

It was Lachlan. “There's been an accident,” he said. “Zia is needed.”

She was up and out of the room in a flash, Artair following her. The frightened wailing could be heard rising up the staircase, and it brought Cavan and Honora out of their room, and Addie a few steps behind.

When they entered the hall, they could see that it wasn't only a woman's fretful cries, but that of a young lad no more then four or five. Seeing the blood pouring down the child's face, Zia immediately took control.

Her first order was to Cavan. “Take Honora out of here.”

Cavan tried, but Honora wouldn't budge.