Wild Highland Magic (The Celtic Legends Series Book 3)

by Lisa Ann Verge

  They had been walking on a crooked deer-path atop a low ridge, a safe distance from the main riverside thoroughfare, so they wouldn’t bump into other travelers. Now, she could hear the snorts of horses and the jangle of harnesses coming up on the road below. The mind-voices, however, seemed to come from a much greater distance. The discrepancy annoyed her. Were her wits so love-muddled that she couldn’t direct her own gift? What a foolish woman she’d be if that were so.

  So she banished Lachlan from her mind and focused more keenly on the man on horseback just coming into view through the scrim of trees. That man’s thoughts were quiet like the rustle of a squirrel in the litter, but she could tell he was mentally ticking off a list of anxieties.

  She caught his name through the mind of the man on the next horse. She blurted, “It’s Callum Ewing.”

  Lachlan stiffened beside her, but she resisted the draw on her attention. The man called Callum was hungry, she realized, but not for food. Some greater trouble gnawed at him.

  She said, “He’s off to see the Lamonts.”

  “The Lamonts?” Lachlan blurted. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am,” she said. Lachlan may have muddled her mind a bit with last night’s lovemaking, but she’d been reading men’s thoughts for most of her life. “Whatever Ewing is planning, he doesn’t want to be doing it at all.”

  “The Lamonts are bitter enemies. No Ewing would ever have dealings with them.”

  She glanced his way, found him running his fingers through his short beard. Uneasiness made her concentrate harder, but the name Lamont came up, over and over, through Callum Ewing’s mind as well as through the minds of the others.

  “He feels forced to go there.” Her temples throbbed with the effort. “He’s concerned about how it will affect his clan and his family.”

  There was something else there, something important, but her attention was pulled away by a curious Angus striding toward them. The black-haired merchant directed his attention to Lachlan as if she were no more sentient than a nearby sapling.

  Angus asked Lachlan, “Can you read the heraldry from here?”

  “It’s Callum Ewing,” Lachlan said. “The chieftain of the Ewing sept, bound to my father.”

  “I know Callum. I’ve broken bread with that warrior in your father’s own house. What luck that we come upon him.” Angus took a step down the slope. “Come, let’s—”

  Lachlan seized his arm. “Callum is on the road to meet the Lamonts.”

  “That’s nonsense.” Angus shook off Lachlan’s grip. “How can you even know that? Roads go two ways, and the Lamonts are—”

  “—enemies to the MacEgans. The Lamont castle seat is six miles further down the coast road, with no paths off it, in the same direction that those men are moving.”

  As Angus digested this, the merchant’s gaze slid to her. He’d never liked the fact that Lachlan had insisted on taking her on this journey. She felt the waves of his wariness like a hot torch. His thoughts kept whispering witch.

  “That can’t be right.” Angus pulled his attention back to Lachlan. “Callum Ewing never struck me as a foolish man, nor a man hungry for power. Certainly not a man who would have anything to do with murdering his overlord.”

  “Our world has changed, Angus.”

  “Then let’s stop him here and find out what he knows.” Angus gripped the hilt of his sword. “We’ll make him speak the truth.”

  Lachlan seized Angus’s sword arm when the blade was only half out of the scabbard. “I won’t make enemies out of those who could be friends.”

  Angus blew a huff of air. “This journey to Loch Fyfe will not be bloodless, lad. You know that.”

  “Callum is riding like he expects an attack. They have at least twenty well-armed men on horseback. We are a half dozen men, and one woman, on foot.”

  “We have the advantage of surprise.”

  “We stick to the plan, Angus.” Lachlan released his cousin and fingered the hilt of his own sword. “You’re here with your clerics and a few porters to pay your respects to my father’s family. You’ve brought gifts of wine to make sure the trade arrangements between Derry and Loch Fyfe are still in place with the new chieftain, whoever he may be. Once we are sure we know who the assassin is, only then will I reveal myself.”

  “If you truly believe that Ewing is off to deal with the devil Lamont,” Angus argued, “that’s enough to mark him an enemy—”

  “Callum Ewing,” she interrupted, “is no enemy.”

  Angus glared at her with fiery eyes. His annoyance was tempered only by Lachlan’s expression of growing interest.

  “He misses your father.” Though the impression was frustratingly fuzzy, it was strong. “He is not the one responsible for his death.”

  Angus made a scoffing noise. “By God, Lachlan, what does this woman know of—”

  “Are you sure, lass?”

  Maybe it was the withering blast of Angus’s distrust that made her hesitate. Or maybe it was because of the men around them, nervous and excited all at once as they clutched their short swords. Or maybe it was the strange wooliness of her gift this morning. Whatever the cause, uncertainty bit at the edges of her confidence.

  This was the first time in her life when her ability to read someone’s mind really mattered.

  “I’m sure,” she said, her nod more confident than she was. “Callum Ewing is an ally.”

  “Then we go greet him. Peacefully.” Lachlan nudged Angus forward and pulled his cowl over his head. “Let the farce begin.”

  ***

  Lachlan hung back with the other men as Angus hailed Callum and stepped onto the road, his hands empty and spread wide. The chieftain of the Ewing clan pulled back on the reins, though his horse fought against the restraint.

  “Stupid man,” Callum Ewing bellowed. “What are you thinking, jumping out of the wood like that in front of twenty-five armed men? Do you know who you’re challenging?”

  Lachlan watched as two of Callum’s fighters kicked their steads to intervene, their swords singing out of their scabbards. By reflex, Lachlan clutched his own hilt in the folds of his borrowed cleric’s robes.

  “I’m making no challenge, Callum Ewing,” Angus said as the fighting men hemmed him in. “I was happy to see familiar colors. I’ve been wandering in these woods for half a day now, trying to find my way out of game paths and onto any decent road.”

  Callum kicked his mount closer. “Angus O’Donnell, is that you?”

  “Of course it is. Have you gone blind, old friend, not to recognize me, even after all these years?”

  Callum raised his hand for his men to stand down. Lachlan loosened his own grip on his sword as Callum’s smile twitched under the well-trimmed white beard.

  “You’ve grown a bit since I last saw you, Angus,” the chieftain said.

  “That I have.” Angus laughed and slapped his belly with his palms. It was a wonder to Lachlan that Angus could go from threatening this man’s life to bantering with him, all within a few moments.

  “And what in God’s name are you doing on this lonely stretch of road? It’s dangerous times to be wandering, even for an Irish merchant.”

  “Indeed, so I’ve heard. So many bloody tales coming out of Loch Fyfe.”

  “Aye, there has been enough bloodshed and treachery in these parts to last many a generation.”

  Callum squinted to where the rest of them waited by the side of the road. By instinct, Lachlan lowered his head so the cowl would cover his eyes, though Angus had assured him that his beard alone made him look more like a French pirate than a MacEgan.

  Callum said, “I see you have porters and clerics and plenty of baggage, but where’s your cart of wines and spices? And why didn’t you bring your ship to port at Bruichladdich or Kintyre?”

  “The fog bedazzled my men, sending us up the river rather than up the coast.” Angus shrugged. “Not knowing the difference, we scraped the boat on a shallow rock during low tide. We had to row fa
st to the nearest shore, to a wild place just over these hills.”

  “You’re lucky you weren’t routed by the MacDonalds.”

  “Oh, I trade with them, too, Ewing. The MacDonald has a weakness for the Bordeaux.”

  Callum’s grin widened. “I’d call you a traitor if I didn’t like your wine so much myself. Is that where you’re off to?”

  “No, I’m off to Loch Fyfe,” he said. “To pay tribute at the grave of Fergus MacEgan, and bring my greetings to the new chieftain, whoever he may be.”

  Lachlan didn’t have to squint too hard to see the powerful effect the words had on the chieftain. Callum’s features spasmed into a grief. This head of the Ewing clan had been his father’s good friend, the septs linked by generations of friendship, interests, and occasional intermarriage. The sight of Callum’s grief gave credence to Lachlan’s decision to put his faith in Cairenn and her otherworldly, inexplicable powers.

  “Aye, Angus,” Callum said. “You’re a far stretch of the legs from where you want to go, at least twenty leagues off. Follow this road whence we came. You’ll pass my castle beyond the third bend. Some ways beyond, there’s a good place to ford the river to get to the other side. Six leagues through the woods heading north and you’ll be in MacEgan lands.”

  Angus squinted down the road in the direction the chieftain pointed. “MacEgan lands that way and MacDonald lands behind me. Yes, I’ve got my bearings now.” Angus then turned to squint down the other end of the road. “If my memory serves, Ewing, this path leads to Lamont land.”

  “And to hell, I suspect.”

  Surely Angus missed his calling as a master player, Lachlan thought, as he watched astonished disbelief cross his cousin’s face.

  “There must be a story here,” Angus said darkly, “if you’re off to speak with the devil.”

  “There are devils enough whence I came.” The old chieftain shifted his grip on his pommel. “But when the only MacEgan left standing is an untried young man, and the whole place abounds with murderers, the only path open to an honest man is straight into the devil’s arms.”

  There was one more MacEgan alive, and Lachlan’s body tingled with the urge to shout it. If only he could throw off his cleric’s robes and make himself known, but Cairenn’s fingers curled under his rope belt as if in warning. She whispered something between his shoulder blades. He could not hear the words, but he guessed their substance. He had to stay mute while in the presence of so many men whose loyalties were as of yet unknown.

  Then he noticed another rider weaving past the twenty mounted men to Callum’s side. The rider wore a plain blue cloak pulled low as though the rider wanted to hide as much as Lachlan did. Lachlan’s heart did a hard throb when he saw a pale, bejeweled hand come out from under the blue cloak to yank at the hem of Callum’s mantle.

  Lachlan’s throat tightened. Strange, that Cairenn hadn’t mentioned the woman amid the riders. Why had she kept this detail away from him? It would have been just like her to cast him a sly-eyed glance of reproof, or duck her head with hurt, once she knew who rode with these men. Guilt would have needled him, yes, but at least then he would have been better prepared for the complication.

  Lachlan watched as the old chieftain turned to Angus after speaking to the blue-cloaked rider.

  “My daughter,” Callum said, “would like us to offer you and your men an escort to Loch Fyfe.”

  “My lady.” Angus swept down in a bow. “Your heart is very kind.”

  “Don’t be fooled,” the old chieftain interrupted. “She knows it’s a call to courtesy that I cannot fulfill, for we are expected at the Lamonts’ by end of day. The only reason she makes the request is to delay the inevitable.”

  Angus shook his shaggy head. “What on earth are you planning, old friend?”

  “He’s planning to betroth me to a new husband.” The woman knocked back her hood to reveal the shine of her black hair. “Didn’t you know? My father is marrying me off to the Lamont devil.”

  ***

  Cairenn would know the sight of Lachlan’s betrothed from a thousand miles. The woman had hair as black as the richest peat, with eyebrows like arched wings. She rode her horse as if she were born upon its back. Anger pulsed bright in the woman’s mind, an anger that kissed the woman’s cheeks pink and made her lips glisten in the dappled sun.

  Leana.

  In one buzzing instant, the woman’s name was in every man’s mind. The surging rise of their attention was like the crack of a wave against a cliff. It was the first strong sense of mental thought that she’d experienced since rising from her camp bed this morning. Even now, standing within a dozen steps of the chieftain and his men, all she could hear were the acid tones of the lady’s disdain floating over a collective murmuring of male admiration and lust.

  Lachlan didn’t move. His stance hardened and stilled in a way that spoke of alertness. Bark bit into her side as she swayed against a tree, the fingers of one hand still caught up in Lachlan’s rope belt. She welcomed the solidity of the trunk, for it kept her from sinking to her knees and spilling the chewed-up remnants of this morning’s oatcake all over the ground. A screeching sound filled her mind and she mentally scrambled to seek the source. It took a moment for her to realize that the sound was her own heart screaming, now that she was forced to look upon the woman who would take Lachlan away from her.

  Around her she heard voices, words being exchanged between the old chieftain and Angus, but it was all like the buzzing of bees beneath the mind-screeching that was increasing the sharp ache behind her eyes. Sweat gathered on her brow, though the morning was cool. The nausea, the headache, the clammy sensation…she was thirteen years old all over again, stepping on the shores of Galway.

  A tinny voice spoke in her head, breathe, little Cairenn, breathe. Slowly. In and out. In and out. Her father’s voice coming to her from memory. She took the advice and it helped lessen the edge of the ache in her head and tamp down the nausea. Casting about for a center of focus, she found herself roped as if by the neck by the high, commanding voice of the daughter of Callum Ewing.

  “Why the Lamonts, you ask?” The woman’s voice was punctuated by the scuffing noise of her mount’s hooves. “I’ll tell you since my father won’t.”

  “Leana.” Callum’s voice held a warning.

  “Angus O’Donnell has asked a question, Father,” she said, making the word drip with disapproval. “It would be uncivil to leave it unanswered.”

  The woman’s dark eyes flashed as she wove her horse between the men, steering the fine beast with the lightest touch of her hand. Cairenn would feel this woman’s appeal even if she wasn’t half-drowning in the rising lust of the men around her, most of whom were widening their stances to better accommodate their thickening attraction.

  “With the MacEgans gone,” the woman said, her dark gaze steady on Angus, “the Ewings need new alliances. We would go to the Campbells if we could, but they are already inbred with the MacGilchrists. We would go to the MacDonalds, but they are greedy and strong and they’d swallow the whole of the clan in one gulp. The Lamonts can be controlled, my father says. Lamonts, if they overreach, are small and weak enough to be defeated—”

  “Enough, girl,” Callum snapped. “Get back to your place.”

  She tossed her head just as the horse tossed his mane. “Have I said something untrue?”

  “You do me dishonor.”

  The woman’s mind grew dense with the black smoke of doused intent. The horse grew agitated between her thighs. With a kick, the woman urged the mount to leap forward with a dismissive swish of tail. She headed back to her place amid the riders, while every one of Angus’s men imagined plunging their cocks into her.

  Lachlan would want this woman, too, she thought, hating herself for her own jealousy. He was a man like all others, and a man didn’t need a love match to want to sink himself into a woman. Such a creature had the temperament and the bloodline to breed strong children, determined sons, ambitious and mighty w
arriors, just what a chieftain needed to continue the ruling family. She glanced at the back of Lachlan’s hood, wishing for the thousandth time she could see inside his head to confirm or allay her fears. The only thing she could read was the stillness of his stance.

  Then she noticed Angus glancing back at them, his brow raised in some unspoken question.

  She tried to read that question, but Angus’s thoughts were slippery things, lost amid the waning pitch of her mind’s scream and the collective sexual musings of the men. By the movement of the folds in Lachlan’s hood, she knew Lachlan had said yes to that silent question. Then Angus turned around, his thoughts retreating from her as sure as if he pulled a basket of eels from her grasp.

  Angus planted his hands on his hips and swayed where he stood. “I see now that there’s a divine hand in our meeting, Callum Ewing.”

  “Indeed,” Callum said, “I’d welcome God’s intervention in the deeds of these past months.”

  “Perhaps He sent me to remind you that you cannot betroth a daughter to one man, if she’s already betrothed to another.”

  “She was betrothed to Lachlan MacEgan,” Callum sighed, “who is now nothing but fish-eaten bones.”

  “Is he?”

  In the buzzing silence that followed, Cairenn pressed her forehead against Lachlan’s back, where his shoulder blade flexed. She wanted to feel the warmth of his body before everything ended. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed the scent of him, of smoke fires and salt air and leather and man. She wanted to feel as if she possessed him, if only for a moment, if only for this moment.

  “Callum Ewing,” Angus chided. “Have you forgotten that Lachlan’s mother was half-selkie on her mother’s side?”

  “If he were alive, selkie or no, he would be here, fighting for his rightful place. He would already be married to my daughter, and I would be the first man at his side. If you know otherwise, Angus—”

  “I do know otherwise,” Angus said. “As sure as I stand here before you, Lachlan MacEgan is alive.”