Under the Highlander's Spell (24 page)

“Then I will make you beg.”

She laughed, though a yawn interrupted. “You've done that too.”

He caressed her cheek gently. “Then tell me what it is you want.”

She sighed, her eyes already closing. “Simply love me.”

A
rtair went in search of Cavan an hour later. He found him just coming out of the bedchamber after visiting with his wife and newborn twins.

“They all sleep,” Cavan said softly. “Now what of the bishop?”

“He is exploring the village and talking with the people,” Artair said.

Cavan said nothing until after they walked down the stairs and entered the solar, closing the door behind them. “He will also come upon those from the village Black.”

“They have been made aware of the situation.”

“Zia knows to remain out of sight?” Cavan asked.

Artair nodded. “No doubt it will be hours before she wakes, and when she does she will immediately want to check on Honora and the babes, and then there is her grandmother to visit with.”

Cavan nodded. “Bethane. A most gracious and wise woman, so I've learned. And I believe one who knows more than she says.”

“You intend to speak to her about Ronan.”

“I do, and she knows it, for she told me privately that she would talk with me about my brother when I was ready.”

“Ready?” Artair asked.

“I wondered what she meant, the same as you. Then I thought perhaps I should be ready to hear dire news.”

Artair shook his head. “I don't believe so. Besides, Bethane could have meant that with so much going on—the birth of the babes, the bishop's arrival—you had no time to talk about Ronan just now.”

“And she would have been right. We must settle this matter and see that Zia is freed of these senseless, vicious, and dangerous charges. I will feel better when you two finally exchange vows, for then she legally has the Sinclare name to protect her.”

“My thoughts as well,” Artair said.

Cavan rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose the bishop knows of the birth of my sons?”

“He does, though I let it be known that mother and sons still required Zia's attention. He asked that you, Lachlan, and me, and also Mother if she is not needed to help with the babes, to join him for the noon meal. It was more of a command than a request, I must say.”

“It is best we comply. We don't want to give him any reason to believe us uncooperative.”

“Agreed.”

“In the meantime keep a close watch on him.”

“I have Patrick trailing him.”

A knock interrupted any further conversation, and a warrior who had been sent to see that the cleric made it to the keep as soon as possible entered.

Artair felt his stomach plummet. From the warrior's dire expression, he could sense that something was wrong.

“The cleric has been taken ill at a village and isn't fit to travel,” the man said. “It might be a day or more before he is able to resume his journey.”

Artair refused to allow this setback to defeat him. If he did, he could very well lose Zia. “We must keep the bishop busy with his investigation until the cleric can get here,” he said to Cavan when the warrior left.

His brother was about to agree when another knock sounded at the door.

Another warrior entered. “One of the sentinels has reported a lone rider approaching from the east.”

“How long before he arrives?” Cavan asked.

“Thirty minutes or more.”

“Intercept him and find out what he wants on Sinclare land,” Cavan ordered.

The two brothers looked at each other, both sensing something was not right. It wasn't long before their fears were confirmed. The rider was from the village Lorne. He was sent to bear witness to marriage documents and to talk on behalf of his village with the bishop. Cavan couldn't prevent his arrival. If he did, his actions would only make Zia appear guilty.

The man was greeted as any other visitor would be, and when the bishop found out who he was, requested his presence at the noon day meal.

 

The great hall was empty except for the Sinclares, the bishop, and the messenger, Neil. The tension was thick in the air. Even Champion felt it, the dog standing stiffly to the side of the hearth as if on alert and ready to protect.

The servants were quiet and solemn whenever they entered the hall, and didn't remain long. The mood remained dour as the meal began and the silence hung heavy. At Champion's bark, everyone jumped, but then had to smile at the way he ran to greet a smiling Addie.

“Bishop Aleatus, it is an honor to have you in our home and at such an auspicious time,” she said with a respectful bow to the man. “I would be honored if you were to bestow blessings on my grandsons.”

“A gracious request to which I would be only too pleased to consent,” the bishop answered with a smile, the only smile since his arrival. “Please sit by me.”

Addie eagerly joined him, her smile still brimming.

Talk turned general, and seeing that his mother's smiling presence had changed the charged atmosphere, Artair was grateful to her. She talked of the beautiful service a cleric had conducted for her husband's funeral and the strength she derived from her daily devotionals.

The bishop conversed mainly with her, which Artair noticed made the messenger Neil, all the more uncomfortable. Finally, the wiry little fellow snapped.

“The witch has bewitched her,” he blurted.

“Why say you that?” the bishop asked.

He stammered for a moment before regaining control of his tongue. “The witch told us to pray for our loved ones.”

“She did?” the bishop asked curiously.

He nodded. “She claimed she'd pray too, but it was the devil she prayed to.”

“But your people got better, didn't they?” Artair asked, knowing full well they had.

“Every one of them,” Neil said, his hands trembling. “And that isn't right. Not a one of the ill died. Even the ones everyone thought for sure wouldn't make it survived.”

“Zia is a good healer,” Artair confirmed, and his brothers agreed with a nod, as did Addie.

“No, no,” Neil insisted. “She let the devil steal their souls, and when they die they'll burn forever in the fires of Hell.”

“That's pure nonsense—”

Before Artair could finish, the bishop held up his hand for silence. “I will decide what is nonsense and what is not.”

“Speak to the witch,” Neil insisted. “Speak with her soon or she will bewitch you too, just as she did to everyone in our village. If it were not for the strength of our leader, Harold, to fight her powers, we would have all been doomed.”

“The man you speak of is the one who sold her to me?” Artair asked.

The bishop raised a brow as he regarded the messenger from Lorne. “This is true, is it not?”

Neil pointed an accusing finger at Artair. “She bewitched him into trading coins for her release.”

“Did she then bewitch the man to take the coins?” Artair asked with a sneer, growing annoyed with such nonsensical talk, and meanwhile concerned that the bishop just might agree with the ridiculous man.

“Aye, she did,” Neil said firmly. “She even commanded it to rain so that we couldn't light the wood to burn her.”

Artair wanted to reach out and strangle the idiotic man, but that wouldn't help his cause. Calm rationality would.

“Bishop Aleatus,” he said calmly, “my wife is not a witch. She is a remarkable healer schooled in the art by—”

“Other witches,” Neil interrupted with a trembling voice. “They all live in a village together. A village no one can get to for they have cast a spell around it to keep it invisible.”

Lachlan laughed.

“You find this humorous?” the bishop chastised.

Lachlan was wise enough to assert otherwise. “No sir, it is just that I have watched my sister-in-law heal many, and she uses no such witchcraft to do it.”

“What of James?” the bishop asked.

“What of him?” Artair said.

“He survived a severe wound. He claims Zia worked a miracle to save him.”

Artair knew James meant only to help but his choice of words had done the opposite. “Hard work by my wife is what saved James's arm.”

“I have found no one who speaks harshly of your wife,” the bishop noted, nodding.

“She is loved and respected by all,” Artair said with pride.

“It seems odd that not even one person—”

Neil interrupted the bishop. “She's done it again, bewitched the whole village.”

Artair almost lunged at the man, ready to beat him unmercifully. It took great willpower not to do so. Instead, while inwardly fuming, he retained a calm exterior composure.

“She has not,” he asserted.

“That will be for me to decide,” the bishop said curtly, and looked directly at Artair. “Tomorrow I will speak with your wife so that this matter can be settled. And you have two days more to produce a wedding document. If you fail to do so, I will assume she is not your wife and take matters from there.”

Artair stood. “Conduct your investigation, Bishop Aleatus, but know this. Zia is
my wife
. She is not a witch and I will not see her condemned and punished because of ignorance and lies.”

He stomped off, his hands fisted, itching to punch someone. He swore beneath his breath until he realized
he was swearing aloud. One last oath and he clamped his mouth shut, taking the stone stairs two at a time.

He was furious and couldn't calm himself down. Because of some ignorant, foolish, selfish men he could very well lose Zia. And he would be damned if he'd let that happen.

He burst into Cavan's bedchamber without knocking, and his temper cooled in a flash when Zia jumped up off the chair where she sat with a firm finger pressed to her lips.

He saw that Honora and the babes were asleep, and from where Zia had sat, it looked as if she and Bethane had been talking. She walked over to him and took his arm, turned her head to give Bethane a nod, then headed out the door with him.

“You look as if you've lost your temper, but knowing you, that would make no sense.”

He caught her smirk and shook his head, realizing the stupidity of his actions.

She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Who was the unfortunate recipient of your seldom exposed temper?”

He wasn't only reluctant to tell her, he was reluctant to admit it. “The bishop.”

“Really?” Zia asked, stunned.

His nod turned quickly to a shake. “I may have just made the situation worse.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“Stupidly.”

“No,” she admonished softly, and smiled. “Passionately.”

Artair took hold of her face; her lovely green eyes glistened as if ready to tear. “You sound proud of my foolishness.”

She laughed softly while a single tear drifted down her cheek. “You weren't practical.”

“That I wasn't, and still you sound proud of me.” A smile crept over him and he gently wiped the single tear away, and at that moment realized he loved her even more. “I can't believe that you're proud of my foolishness.”

Another tear slipped down her cheek. “Love produced your foolishness. Love for me.” She giggled. “I love a fool, how wonderful!” She threw her arms around him.

He hugged her tight and laughed. “You forever make me smile, and over the most senseless things.”

They were about to kiss when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Artair hurried her into the bedchamber. Closing the door on her smile, he said, “We will talk later. I love you.”

Lachlan appeared in the hall, his anxious footfalls slowed when he spotted Artair, and he looked as if he approached with a cautious grin. “Are you my brother?”

Artair clipped him on the shoulder when he got close enough. “Have I made a mess of things?”

“Cavan handled it.”

“He soothed the bishop?”

“Not exactly,” Lachlan said. “Cavan told the bishop that you take your vows seriously and your duties to your wife even more seriously. And part of your vows is protecting your wife and you will do that no matter what the circumstances.”

“My brother defends me.”

“You doubted he would?” Lachlan asked, surprised.

Artair hesitated.

Lachlan laughed. “You gave thought to nothing but defending your wife, and I don't blame you. Everyone can see how madly in love you two are.”

“Even so, that doesn't help the situation.”

“True enough, which is why Cavan wants to see you in his solar,” Lachlan said. “Once we can't produce the marriage document…” He shook his head. “Zia is no longer considered under our protection and the bishop—”

“Can take Zia from us.”

Z
ia rejoined her grandmother, easing into the empty chair beside her only a short distance from the bed where Honora slept peacefully. She sighed softly, stretching out her legs in front of her.

“Content, are you?” Bethane asked.

“Ever so much,” Zia said, giving herself a huge hug.

“Artair makes you happy?”

“I never imagined such happiness or that he would fall foolishly in love with me.”

“He is good for you,” Bethane confirmed with a strong nod.

“So you told me from the beginning.”

“You needed to find out for yourself,” Bethane said, glancing at one of the babes, who stirred restlessly in his cradle then settled once again.

Zia sat forward in the chair and took her grandmother's hand. “All will turn out well, will it not?”

“A problem with the bishop?”

“I'm not sure.”

The door creaked opened and Addie slipped in, clos
ing it quietly behind her. Zia got up and plopped down cross-legged on the floor, leaving the chair vacant for Addie. She shook her head at Addie when the woman tried to protest, and Addie relented with an appreciative smile and sat in the chair.

“There is some trouble,” she whispered.

Bethane and Zia leaned in closer, not wanting to wake Honora or the babes.

Addie continued. “The bishop insists on seeing the marriage documents by tomorrow.”

“Shouldn't the cleric be here sometime today?” Zia asked.

Addie shook her head. “He's been detained due to ill health.”

Zia almost laughed for here she was a healer and out of reach of healing the man who could possibly solve all her problems. “What happens now?”

Addie shrugged. “I don't know. Cavan will meet with Artair to talk over possibilities.”

“Can the bishop's mind be changed?” Bethane asked.

“I don't know how,” Addie said again. “The bishop seemed adamant in his edict.”

“What is the bishop doing now, at this moment?” Bethane asked.

“He strolls the village again, visiting, or so he says, but it seems he investigates and interrogates without anyone realizing it. And while many offer praise, they unknowingly provide fodder for doubt.”

Bethane nodded knowingly. “Many do not realize
that generous praise can be misconstrued to make an innocent healer appear a witch who works magic.”

“What am I ever to do?” Zia asked, wishing she possessed a magical potion that would chase away ignorant notions.

“Leave it to my sons,” Addie said. “They will find a way.”

“Addie is right,” Bethane said, and reached her hand down to Zia. “What say we talk?”

Zia looked to Addie. “Would you mind watching Honora and the babes for a short time? We'll be close, in my bedchamber.”

“What a silly request to ask of a new grandmother,” Addie said, grinning proudly as she got to her feet and shooed them toward the door. “You have had no time alone to talk. Go, I will send for you if necessary.”

Zia thanked her with an exuberant hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I won't be long.”

“Take as long as you want,” Addie assured her.

Zia eagerly ushered her grandmother into her bedchamber and fixed cups of their favorite brew, a mixture of herbs that soothed and relaxed. They settled in chairs she arranged in front of the hearth, the heat of the flames toasting their feet stretched out in front of them.

“I have missed you so much, Grandmother,” Zia said.

“And I you, my child, but there is an important reason I wished for us to talk…there is a tale I wish to tell you.”

Zia settled comfortably in her chair, tucking her warmed feet beneath her, ready to listen as she had when she was young. Her grandmother's tales never ceased to fascinate her. “I am listening.”

“Many years ago in our village there was a young beautiful girl schooled in the Old Ways of the healers. She was an exceptional healer, always had a kind word for everyone and always generous with her time to those who required her talent. She traveled when necessary to different villages, just as you do. During her travels, she met and fell in love with a young man, and he with her, but there was a problem. The young man came from a noble lineage that expected obedience from their son, which included an arranged marriage. The couple dreamed of a life together, marriage and family, and when the young man's father denied him his dreams, he and the young woman wed in an old ceremony forgotten by many and acknowledged by few.

“Unfortunately, the young man's family refused to recognize the ceremony as valid and forcibly took him from his bride. They sent him away, and try as she might, his young wife could not find him. She was brokenhearted and missed him more each day. She soon realized that she was with child, but her heart refused to heal, and hope died slowly with each passing day, so that when she delivered a daughter, she smiled and took her last breath.”

Zia had tears in her eyes. “You speak of my mother.”

Bethane nodded.

“Why didn't you tell me sooner that my father was forced to leave my mother?” Zia asked, sniffing back her tears. “I would have looked for him.”

“That was exactly why I didn't tell you. You would have insisted on searching for him, and that would not have been good for you or for him.”

“If he loved my mother, surely my father would have been overjoyed to learn that she had given him a child,” Zia said, fighting back the tears that refused to remain locked away.

“I have no doubt he would have, for he loved your mother very much.”

“She certainly must have loved him, to die of a broken heart.” A tear slipped free and ran down her cheek.

Bethane reached out and took her hand. “Don't think for one moment that your mother didn't want or love you. She knew she carried a daughter and spoke of you often to me. It was just that she lost her passion for life when she lost your father.”

Zia nodded, slowly wiping away her tears. “I never truly would have understood that if I had not fallen so deeply in love with Artair. I don't shed tears for myself, but rather for my mother and the love that was stolen from her—not only my father's love, but mine.”

“You are much like your mother, and she would have been proud of you.”

“That means a lot to me,” Zia said, her eyes drying. “I'm curious, though. What has changed that led you to tell me all this now?”

Bethane gripped both her hands tightly. “The Bishop Aleatus, the man sent to judge and condemn you, is your father.”

Zia shook her head slowly. “The bishop? My father?”

Bethane nodded.

“I cannot believe…” Zia continued shaking her head, astonished by what she had heard. The man who would decide her fate was the man who had given her life.

“I know this is hard for you to believe.”

“Are you sure?” Zia asked, thinking it must be a mistake.

“Yes, I am certain. I learned several years ago that he had become a bishop.”

“And you didn't tell me?” she asked, not angry with her grandmother, but rather, disappointed.

“What good would it have done? Even now you must be very careful what you do with this knowledge, for it can be more dangerous than claims of you being a witch.”

“Do you think if he knew who I was, he would want to do me harm?”

Bethane pressed a gentle hand to her granddaughter's face. “I believe he would love you immediately, for you look exactly like your mother.”

Zia gasped with the realization and jumped out of the chair. “Then I surely must stay out of bishop's way until…” She shook her head. “Eventually, the bishop will insist on speaking with me. What then?”

“You will know what to do,” Bethane assured her.

Zia collapsed back into the chair. “This news stuns me, but what could happen because of it startles me even more. The only thing I know for sure is that I will not see my husband—” She shook her head, correcting herself. “I will not see Artair suffer because of me.”

“To you, Artair is your husband. You need no document to prove that to yourself. Follow your heart,” Bethane advised. “You can't go wrong when you follow your heart.”

 

Zia looked after Honora and the babes, and later that day realized she wasn't needed. Both Honora and Addie had the situation well in hand, and Cavan too. He visited with his wife and sons as often as he could.

She wished she could leave the keep for at least a short while, just to breathe the cold autumn air, feel it fresh against her cheeks. She recalled her visit to the battlements, and grabbing a wool cloak from her room, hurried up the stairs, rushing to taste the joy of a moment's freedom.

The cold air stung her cheeks and whipped through her hair and she stuck her chin up enjoying the invigorating assault. She hugged the cloak around her and couldn't help but think of her father.

Was he still the man who once loved her mother, or had he become cynical and indifferent to others because of what had been done to him? And did she dare take a chance and find out?

It wouldn't be only her life she placed in danger, and
she couldn't live with the possibility of being the cause of the Sinclares suffering because of her. What choice did she have then?

“You frightened the hell out of me!”

Startled, Zia swung around to see Artair descend on her. He looked in a rage, and grabbed hold of her and gave her a shake.

“Don't ever frighten me like that again,” he ordered sharply.

“What have I done?” she asked, perplexed and concerned, for she had never seen him so upset. His dark eyes glared and he actually looked pale.

He shook his head and then rested his forehead to hers. “I couldn't find you, and feared the bishop had sped off with you when I wasn't watching.”

You mean my father.
She almost said it aloud, but the words were so foreign to her that they never reached her lips.

“I would fight like a wild animal if anyone tried to take me from you,” she said with a soft kiss to his flushed cheek.

“I would kill anyone who tried.”

She thought she heard him snarl, and shivered at the thought of the animal inside him that could materialize when necessary.

“You're cold,” he said, and scooped her up in his arms.

She wanted the crisp air to sting her cheeks and shiver her flesh, but she could get the same from her husband, and much preferred to do so.

“Make love to me,” she whispered in his ear.

He laughed. “You read my mind.”

“That is because we are one and will always be.”

He stopped abruptly before going through the arched doorway. “Promise me that. Promise me we will always be one no matter what.”

“I promise,” she murmured against his lips and then let him have his way with the kiss and he took it. Instead of quenching her lust it ignited it and shivered every inch of her flesh.

“You are cold,” he said, hurrying to take the stairs down to their bedchamber.

“I am hot,” she teased with a nip to his ear.

“I intend to make you hotter.”

“Then hurry, for I am already near boiling.”

He laughed. “This will be a night you long remember.”

How appropriate that the day remained consistent, for it surely was a day she would never forget.

 

Zia stretched her naked body along the bed, arching her back to welcome Artair deeper inside her. They had wasted no time in divesting themselves of their clothes and falling on the bed together. And she had wasted not a moment of getting him inside her.

She needed him and the satisfaction he would bring her, though he would take none himself, not yet. He would wait and bring her to pleasure over and over, making her body squirm with his intimate touches and breath-stealing kisses.

It was a dance of sorts, and one she never tired of. And how could she when he would sweep her off her feet with a new step or two and in no time have her groaning, whimpering, pleading, and crying out in pleasure?

“You are the witch,” she breathed heavily as his mouth tormented her nipples with the most delicious swirl of his tongue. “You bind me with a wicked—” She gasped as he plunged into her suddenly and steadily.

They both were soon lost in a maze of lovemaking, twisting, turning, grasping, gasping, as they made their way through the tormenting maze that took them ever deeper into the center, the apex of it all. When they could no longer contain themselves, they burst like a torch ignited and allowed the fire to consume them and the maze.

After her sanity returned, Zia bounced up, crawling over Artair to slip off the bed.

“I'm starving,” she said, and went straight to the table where hours ago platters of food and pitchers of wine had been left for them. Once there, she munched on a hunk of cheese and reached for a slice of black bread.

“You should eat while naked more often,” he said sitting up to rest against several pillows he piled behind his back. “I enjoy watching you.”

With a start, while still munching, Zia hurried into a soft green silk robe Addie had given to her recently.

“I am so hungry that I forget myself,” she said with a grin.

“Forget yourself all you want. I love seeing you naked. You are beautiful.”

“For that,” she said raising a finger, “I will bring you food.”

“I feared you would let me starve.”

“Never,” she said hurrying over to him with one of the smaller platters of cheese, to which she'd added cold mutton and bread.

“Mother tells me that you had time to speak with your grandmother today,” Artair said while digging into the plate of food.

Zia knew it appeared a casual question, but it was far from one. And she would give him his answer if…“Ask me directly what you wish to know and I will tell you.”

But would she? She had given thought to her grandmother's warning, and knew that Bethane was right. The information could prove more harmful than helpful to far too many people. With that in mind, Zia had decided that for now her father's identity would continue to remain a secret.