Forged in Dreams and Magick hl-1

by Kat Bastion

  Did he see me flirt with Gawain? I hoped so, but surprisingly for a different reason than the earlier plan; insecurity under the attention of strange men made me grateful for his watchful eye.

  The unyielding stare persisted. I replied wordlessly through the distance, imperceptibly nodding. His rigid expression relaxed, a slow smile curving the corners of his mouth. I smirked involuntarily, taking odd pleasure in his approval.

  Our unspoken exchange veiled deeper layers. Iain had commanded, but the order softened to a plea by the time it reached my heart. I’d complied, knowing he’d been driven by a primal instinct. In one look, Iain made me feel both possessed and protected. Tonight, Iain hadn’t only taken the earlier match; he’d won the entire round.

  Gawain had followed my gaze. “Och, you’re under the graces of Iain.”

  I glanced back up at Gawain. “That makes a difference to you?”

  The alcohol might have spoken the daring question for me, but my curiosity about the gallantry of the men within Iain’s clan had also overruled sound reason.

  Gawain smirked. “Only tonight, lass.” Without warning, he led me back into the crowd instead of the darkened hall he’d suggested.

  A somber mood hit me—likely aided by the alcohol and an exhausting day—as I watched the room, my feelings of being lost and alone intensifying despite the dozens of people still present. Women who had vied for Iain’s attention had him engaged in conversation. The dancing had ceased. Intimate groups had formed as the late hour spun the world into a new day—a world I’d not been part of less than twenty-four hours ago.

  Events that had been planned long ago were carried out without any of my influence. People went about their own business, unconcerned about a newcomer or her reason for appearing. My impact had been relegated to a single footnote at the bottom of a page in someone else’s thesis.

  In the span of an afternoon and evening, I’d learned more than I would’ve imagined with endless volumes still to discover, but what had I gained in human connections? My tallied net worth amounted to two friends, both barely more than acquaintances.

  My thoughts drifted to glimpses that I’d witnessed throughout the night of a unique bond within Iain’s clan, and that unexpected twinge happened again deep inside my chest.

  I watched the dwindling activity as if I was an outsider spying on a loving family through a frosted windowpane. The girl still standing out in the cold suddenly held onto a fragile hope that she’d stumbled onto the right doorstep.

  CHAPTER Seven

  A command rumbled. Hot breath fanned across the shell of my ear. I shot upright, my heart racing in the darkness of an unfamiliar room . . . with an unfamiliar someone else.

  Cold air breezed over my face. Smoldering embers glowed fiery red beneath fragile ash in a nearby hearth, providing the only light. I swallowed, my mouth drier than the Sahara. The scents of charred wood and fresh pine filled my nostrils as I tried to remember how I’d gotten to . . . wherever I was.

  “Up. Get dressed, Isa. We’ve got a hunt I’m takin’ you on.”

  Oh, hell. It hadn’t been a bad dream. My ongoing nightmare continued, loud and obnoxious, inflicting sleep-deprivation torture in a darkened hour.

  Abruptly, warm covers were yanked off my body, frigid air biting into my exposed skin.

  Holy shit! I’m naked!

  I gasped, grabbing fistfuls of covers, trying—unsuccessfully—to cover my bared chest. My eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, catching Iain’s delighted smirk as he pressed a knee onto the bedding he’d stolen. I dropped my losing end of the tug-of-war and folded my arms in a huff over breasts whose nipples had hardened as if for his viewing pleasure. My growl met his turned back while he laid out with great care something he’d held bundled under an arm. As soon as he shifted his weight, I jerked the sheet back up to my chin.

  Fragments of last night’s ending flashed through the sludge of my brain. Iain had escorted me to my room. A tender good-night kiss followed. Hot teasing lips had trailed down my neck, searing my skin, as we stood in the doorway. I failed to remember anything further. Like how I got undressed, for example.

  Hell, I was still catching up to the fact that I’d awoken in the thirteenth century.

  “Iain, did we . . .”

  He chuckled, shooting a devilish look my way. “Nay. Your virtue’s still intact, for now. But I did properly tuck you into bed last night.”

  Images of him peeling off my clothes taunted a sluggish mind ill equipped to handle details. “Iain Brodie! I can’t believe you took that kind of liberty.”

  He drew to his full height, towering over me. “I’ll take every kind of liberty I want. I never proclaimed to be, nor have I ever been, a gentleman in any time or place. You’re damned lucky I want you sober, and we’ve only got a couple more days, or you’d have been a lot more than merely naked at my hand.”

  Iain lunged forward. Startled, I fell back onto bent elbows, exposing myself down to the waist again.

  He hovered over me, his lips almost touching mine. “But, if you try me, Isa—if you tempt the beast within me—nothin’ in any world will hold me back from takin’ what’s already mine.”

  I’d gone breathless. The meaning of his words, and his dominance over me, paralyzed my caffeine-deprived ass. He smirked as he slowly extricated his body from the position he’d forced us into. His gaze roved over every inch of my nudity. The barely controlled heaving of his chest, the repeated clenching of his fists, and the uncontained, low growl rumbling from that beast within him told me I was damned lucky indeed.

  He stopped just below the foot of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I doona want to have to dress you, but I will.” That crooked smile told me he imagined no great hardship in manhandling my nakedness.

  “No, thank you. I’ll manage. Do I get privacy? Or are you going to stand there and stare?”

  “Oh, I’m gonna stare, lass. Your discomfort amuses me in no small measure.”

  “Wonderful,” I snarled.

  I flung the rest of the bedding off my legs and walked to the foot of the bed, giving him my backside to view. Mmm-hmmm . . . and you can kiss it too.

  A toffee-colored suede outfit lay innocently on the bed. I grabbed the supple pants and shimmied into them, their thin weight stretching over every curve. “Damn, Iain. What’d ya do? Have Elven seamstresses take measurements and sew through the night? This feels like it was painted on me.” I pulled a matching top with cuffed sleeves over my head.

  Another low growl rumbled behind me. “Aye, and it looks it.”

  I spun around, glaring at the man ogling my ass for the millionth time.

  He smirked. “I’ll never tell my secrets.”

  What a loaded statement. I’d bet all-in there were plenty of secrets to tell too.

  All in good time, Laird. All in good time.

  By torchlight, we left the castle through a back exit—a secret underground tunnel. Iain led the way, ducking his head down with the low clearance. At the end of the passageway, he slid the torch into an iron fitting affixed to the wall.

  Iain climbed a wooden ladder secured into the side of the earth, and I followed up behind him. We emerged into dense forest well beyond the curtain wall. Iain dropped the scrub he’d held back, concealing our exit point, and I spun around at the unexpected rustling sound.

  My hand flew to my forehead as pain throbbed over my eyes, the dull headache I’d been trying to ignore shouting its presence with attitude. Too bad they didn’t have coffee makers here. Or a caffeine patch . . .

  The sky turned an ever-lightening dusky blue as the coming sun inched toward the horizon. A black wool cloak and divinely warm suede pants that I’d tucked into my favorite boots guarded against the morning chill.

  I jogged forward to catch up with Iain as he disappeared into the swirling mist. He wore a similar leather outfit, absent the warmer outerwear. A large satchel hung from his right shoulder.

  We picked our way through nearly impene
trable foliage until we reached the end of the trees. Iain threw an arm out, blocking my path, signaling our stop. He cast a glance over his shoulder, nodding once. I begrudgingly went along with his bossy nonverbal commands, unwilling to be the one to startle any prey.

  Twenty feet away, on a rise to the right, a brook bubbled up from the ground and flowed gently along the forest’s edge. Moss-covered rocks lined both sides of the stream. A distinct game trail had been worn into a flat area of ground on the other side of the water.

  Iain hung his bag on a broken stub jutting from a tree trunk and opened the gathered top. He removed a slender leather quiver filled with arrows and a curved wooden bow.

  Silently, he placed the bow in my hand. He wrapped his arms around me and nocked an arrow, positioning my hands with his. Together, we drew back and released. The arrow flew straight, sinking into the trunk of a tree thirty feet away.

  He broke our intimate contact, but the warmth of his body and his intoxicating scent remained. Independent streak aside, having Iain wrapped around me, teaching me, made my chest ache a little. I’d heard that encouraging a man to change your tire, irrespective of your ability to do so, brought out a man’s hero complex. The advice had serious merit.

  To demonstrate my excellent learning curve, I fastened the quiver to my back and smiled at him, retrieving another arrow. The sleek weapon had an iron-bladed head, a light wooden shaft, and goose-feather fletching. I nocked it onto the string; drew my right arm back, brushing the tips of my fingers across my cheek; and loosed the arrow. A wisp of air curled over the inside of my left forearm at the bowstring’s release. My arrow landed an inch above our first.

  Iain gaped at me.

  I shrugged, mouthing, “Archery lessons.”

  He shook his head, his chest shaking in silent laughter.

  * * *

  Iain carried our cotton-tailed kills by their ears like a boy carrying my books home from school. We returned back through the same dark tunnel that was surprisingly dry with its tightly fitted stones covering every surface.

  He stopped midway through the long passage and turned, looking deep into my eyes as he bent over me. The flame from the torch he held wavered gently in the stale space, highlighting the soft expression on his face.

  I backed into the cold wall behind me, suddenly uncomfortable in the confined space. I stared up at him, waiting for something to happen, torn between trusting his demeanor without question and clinging to my resolve to have him prove himself. My heart thundered in my ears, panicked at my inability to commit to a decision, but too many activities happening in rapid succession hadn’t given me a chance to think things through.

  Iain sighed. “You’re such a stubborn lass, Isa. Doona shut yourself off from an entire world ready to embrace you.” He brushed the back of his fingers against my check. “There is a man standin’ right before you, wantin’ to love you. Let him in.”

  I swallowed hard. I opened my mouth to say something profound, but no sound made it past my constricted throat. Thank God for frozen vocal cords—my mind had been utterly blown by tenderness I hadn’t seen coming, and only incoherent babbling would’ve come out anyway.

  Iain’s gaze dropped to my parted lips before drifting up to my eyes for seconds longer. He turned away, leaving my unresponsiveness to his plea hanging there in the stale air. I followed him, feeling defeated by my own fears.

  Along the stone wall further down the passageway, he stopped and handed me the torch. He spread his open palms across the wall’s surface, and with a hard shove of two stones—one shoulder height, the other a few feet below the first—he opened a hidden door. Its seal released with a whoosh of air as it pivoted open on a balance point.

  “Iain, about my behavior last night . . . flirting with oth—”

  “Och. Doona worry, lass.”

  We stepped into a gallery filled with displayed treasures, but my full attention rested on Iain. He smiled at me. The man exposed a deep kindness beneath his gruff exterior, and I began to feel guilty for last night’s insolent scheming. In defiance of a being dealt a short hand, I had played a game of hearts. All the while, Iain trusted me, extending his out on his sleeve.

  My conscience persisted. “It’s . . . I’m not used to sitting down and taking what’s dished out.”

  He turned toward me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Isa. You’ve every right to act as you’ve done. Your bravery under the circumstances is remarkable, and I’m verra proud of you. Doona give another thought to me. I’m no beginner at this.”

  I opened my mouth to argue and apologize, but he silenced me with his finger over my lips.

  “Besides, I like the fight you have. I’ve always loved your feistiness.” He slowly smirked. “And a hunt isn’t sport ’til the prey gives good chase.”

  My jaw dropped. His Royal Cockiness had returned. In a huff, I spun around, and he smacked my ass. Hard. I stumbled forward, my backside smarting from the sting. I glanced over my shoulder in time to catch the smirk fall from his face as he crossed his arms.

  “Enjoy your afternoon, Isa. Your evenin’ . . . is mine.” He brushed past me, disappearing into the hall.

  Frustrated, I returned to my room, wishing very much for a cup of coffee. Another dress had been laid out across the made bed. I changed into the ordinary gray day dress and rushed through the castle, past the mysterious map room, through the great hall, and out the main door.

  My hand shot up to shield my eyes from the blinding sunshine as I rapidly blinked at a transformed courtyard. From the grassy lawn sprang a vibrant fair of epic proportions.

  One colossal white tent had a center wooden pole topped with a rainbow of streamers snapping in the breeze. Pennants hung on either side of its entrance flaps, flying the clan’s colors of forest green and black trimmed in gold. Smaller tents stood on either side of the main tent, wooden tables of various shapes and sizes being assembled in their shade. Men transported long poles and rocks to the center part of the courtyard while women arranged ribbons on their tables.

  A young girl raced by me with a small basket in her hand. Seconds later, five older children chased after her, laughing and shouting as they ran past the end of the keep, rounding the corner. My gaze followed the fun, but stopped on the door of the small room that housed the box.

  I stared in the direction of the gateway that had brought me here, wondering if the box would continue to remain in its cold, quiet stasis until another laird’s chosen time to take a mate. Having failed to reinitiate it with Iain’s help after my arrival, I was at a loss for a solution.

  “Lost is more accurate,” I grumbled. On a labored sigh, I turned back toward the field of strangers in a foreign place and time.

  Resigned to accepting fate’s hand instead of wallowing in my misfortune, I marched into the energetic scene, hoping for a distraction from my desolate thoughts. After a few steps, I spotted Brigid in the garden and made my way through the commotion to join her.

  “Isobel!” Brigid shouted from afar, waving.

  I grinned, waving back. The company of an excited new friend was exactly what I needed.

  As I approached, she took off her straw hat and offered it to me, smiling. Dirt-dusted root vegetables were lined up in her basket. She covered them with a cloth while I fastened the ribbon ties of her hat under my chin, grateful for the sun protection.

  “What happens today?” I asked, tilting my head at the tent affair.

  “Everyone hunts or prepares for the meals and the tournament,” she replied.

  I nodded absently. A sudden, overwhelming tiredness began to take hold, muting thoughts like a wet blanket on my brain.

  Brigid popped up, looped an arm into my elbow, and tugged me energetically toward the stream. Coursing water danced over rocks in a shallow area. She bent down, letting the turbulent current scour dirt from her hands.

  “So . . . what happened last night . . . after I left?” I asked, although the question could’ve been phrased, what happened befor
e I left, since ale had clearly obliterated my memory.

  “When you left, so did Fingall’s patience. Fingall knocked the other men over and stole me away.” She blushed, pausing to take a breath. “He escorted me for a walk outside, takin’ a verra long route to get back.” She smiled sheepishly, giggling.

  Wonderful. My plan had worked beautifully . . . for Brigid.

  Although, I had gotten Iain’s attention enough for him to take me out on an impromptu private hunt. Maybe his romantic side had a larger ego wall to break through. Tonight would show how far the man had come and whether he’d realized not only chasing, but some courting, was in order for one Isobel MacInnes—his supposed bride-to-be.

  Brigid collected the gardening basket, and we walked to the shade of an oak tree. The gargantuan trunk stretched wide enough for us both to rest our backs flat against the bark.

  Our perch, at the top of a knoll, overlooked the festival’s lively preparations. The idyllic panorama reminded me of Norman Rockwell, circa AD 1275, or whatever the year actually was, because I still had yet to find out. It’s not like I could ask Brigid without her thinking I’d suffered from a blow to my head.

  “Help me with my Gaelic, Brigid. I want to sharpen my skill.” I’d managed to decipher the thick brogue everyone warbled out, my mind adding and subtracting words for my twenty-first-century brain to digest, but speaking and understanding their native tongue would help me further integrate into their world.

  We chatted about the upcoming schedule of events as a language tutorial, translating to English when I stumbled. The discussion drifted into her talking to my listening until the breeze flowing over the rise, her soothing voice, and the peace of friendly companionship lulled my exhausted body into a desperately needed nap.

  * * *

  I began down the stone staircase for what I thought would be an evening meal like the night before. Iain stood at the bottom, waiting for me. Twenty steps separated me from two-hundred-fifty pounds of muscular warrior dressed in an ivory linen shirt and his dark green and black plaid that had been fastened about his hips with his brooch. Firelight glinted off the ornate heirloom and danced shadows over his dark features.