At gloaming, strange blue lights sometimes glimmered through the trees. Eerily glowing orbs many believed were men who’d lost their way. Wretches who’d become forever trapped in the wood’s murky depths.
Marjory peered into the shadows, glad she’d never seen the lights.
She didn’t doubt their existence.
She could almost feel their stares now.
No, not their stares, Alasdair’s. He was watching her. She blinked, losing her breath at the sight of him. She could see only his face in the whirling mist, but that was enough to set her heart thundering. The air between them shifted, the swirling mist almost coming alive, even seeming to crackle as their gazes locked. His intensely blue eyes narrowed, carrying a challenge, daring her to come to him.
She started forward, her pulse quickening even more.
Norn… She was sure she heard him call to her, his voice deep and smooth, the intimacy of his tone making her insides flutter.
The mist stirred and she caught a better glimpse of him, saw that he held out a hand to her. She took another few steps, hurrying now. Sheer, primal need drove her, female desire she couldn’t deny.
“Botheration!” Isobel cursed, and hastened after her.
Marjory hitched her gown higher, preparing to leap over a narrow burn.
But then a gust of wind shook the trees on the far side of the water and she realized her mistake.
Alasdair wasn’t there.
A quick glance at Isobel proved it. Her friend was hopping on one foot while shaking the other, clearly trying to dislodge a pebble from her shoe.
Had Alasdair been there, sharp-eyed, ever-alert Isobel would’ve known. Yet she looked wholly unconcerned, entirely occupied with her errant shoe.
Marjory pressed a hand to her breast and took a deep breath, waiting for the tingles of awareness to recede. Even now, knowing she’d erred, she could still feel the excitement that had swept her. The powerful pull of Alasdair, reaching to her through the cold mist, a bold smile teasing his lips as he waited for her.
Yet…
He wasn’t doing anything of the like. He wasn’t there at all.
Nothing was.
The wood was playing tricks on her.
Or she’d seen an an cu glas, the fairy dogs also rumored to roam this part of Nought. Thought to have interbred with mortal dogs, the fairy beasts were usually reported as green, though some folk insisted they’d seen blue an cu glas. Either way, the creatures were known for seeking companionship. Unfortunately, if they barked three times and a man heard them, his certain death was said to follow.
Marjory had other cares.
Isobel slipped her now pebble-free shoe back on her foot and dusted her hands. “Did you hear that?” She tilted her head, looking in the opposite direction from where Marjory thought she’d seen Alasdair. “I think it was a dog, a large brute—”
Marjory listened, but heard nothing. “It was the wind.”
“Say you.” Isobel turned in a slow circle, peering into the trees. “It wasn’t that long ago that two of Kendrew’s men swore they’d seen a fairy dog near the dreagan vale. They said he was huge and as bright as green fire.”
“And they lived to tell the tale.” Marjory reached out to halt her friend’s turning. “If there are an cu glas about, they’ll be lonely and glad for our company. I never did believe they bring doom.
“We’re safe here.” She stepped back, assuming her most confident mien rather than alarm her good-sister by admitting that the wood was uncanny. She was also glad to steer the topic away from Alasdair. “Truly, the threat of a Viking funerary pyre disturbs me much more than whatever creatures might lurk in a mist-haunted wood.”
“I did hear something.” Isobel still wore a vague frown.
“You heard our feet scrunching on the rocks.” Marjory was sure as they’d just reached a stretch of path covered with gravel.
“I thought you believed in Highland magic.”
“I do.” Marjory kept walking. “Just now I want to see Hella more.”
Isobel looked at her sharply. “Let’s hope we don’t regret her answers.”
“We’ll know soon enough.” Marjory quickened her pace.
Hopefully, they’d find Hella at home at Skali, her thatched cottage in the wood’s deepest, darkest heart. Named for the main room of a Viking longhouse, the communal area where sleeping benches lined the walls on either side of a central fire, Skali Cottage allowed the widow to retreat into what she called the comfort of candlelight and peat smoke.
Hella appreciated solitude.
Marjory touched the amber necklace at her throat, saying a silent prayer. Something—an instinct, her ambers, or just plain good sense—told her that she needed the truth about her dream before it was too late.
Commonplace dreams vanished upon waking.
Her dream stuck to her like a burr, clinging and sharp, minding her of its presence.
She could still see the sheer, iron-gray cliffs and the frost on the rocks. At times, she even caught the smell of cold Arctic air and the deep-blue waters of Nordic seas. In those moments, the acrid bite of burning wood and strange herbs haunted her, while her skin felt smeared by sea spray and ash. Flying soot that rode a fiery wind and came from flames meant to roast her alive.
“There’s that noise again.” Isobel put a hand on Marjory’s arm, gripping tightly.
“I heard nothing.” Marjory angled her head, listening, but the wood was still.
Unfortunately, her pulse was skittish.
And she needed her wits.
Even Nought born and bred as she was, it wasn’t easy to find Skali Cottage.
The birchwood protected those it welcomed into its embrace. When Hella claimed the cottage’s ruined shell, restoring the erstwhile shepherd’s hut to its earlier soundness and naming it Skali, the birches began growing more closely about Skali’s thick white-washed walls. The cottage soon became as much a part of the wood as the trees and mist.
Skali could be passed unnoticed if one didn’t know where to look.
Blessedly, Marjory did.
At least, she’d always thought so.
Now…
She stopped, resting a hand against her hip. “I’d swear the path keeps changing.” She glanced at Isobel, seeing the same frustration on her face. “It’s leading us nowhere, circling round as if someone cast a spell of concealment on the track’s stones.”
“The an cu glas could work such a trick.” Isobel glanced about, into the shadows, as if expecting a pack of the fairy dogs to appear.
“Pah.” Marjory made a dismissive gesture. “I have a good idea what the problem is.”
“Grim?” Isobel sounded doubtful.
“Just because we haven’t spoken of him doesn’t mean he isn’t trailing us. We’ve both known it for hours.”
Annoyed, Marjory glanced over her shoulder, pretending not to see the big black-bearded man who followed them. As a good Mackintosh warrior, proud of his Berserker blood, Grim wore a wolf’s pelt slung over his mail-clad shoulders and carried a bright, broad-bladed war ax strapped across his back. His tread was silent, for all Mackintoshes could move easily on swift, soundless feet.
Isobel lowered her voice. “You think the wood is throwing him off our track?”
“It’s possible.” Marjory stood straighter and brushed her skirts. Grim’s presence wasn’t wished, however much he meant well.
“He’s keeping his distance.” Isobel leaned close, her gaze on the spot where a hint of silver revealed Grim’s hiding place. “He has a good heart. He won’t come near enough to press his ear to Hella’s door.”
Marjory bit back a laugh. “He’s a Mackintosh. He’ll do as he pleases. And he is my brother’s man.”
“He helped us when Kendrew was courting me. It was Grim who—”
“You didn’t need help.” Marjory studied the path before them. She was certain it should curve to the right, yet the pebbled track wound to the left. She frowned upon noting a second path, choosing
to follow its mud-slicked stones into the deepest part of the wood.
Isobel hitched her skirts as they left the pebbled trail for the muddied one. “Grim only wants to be sure we’re safe.”
“We are. There’s nothing here that would harm either of us.”
“Hearthside tales say otherwise.”
“Such stories are meant to entertain.”
“Yet each one holds a grain of truth.” Isobel’s pretty face went serious. “Don’t forget I saw one of your dreagans, along with his master, the night Kendrew rescued us from the broken men who seized Duncreag Castle from old Archie MacNab. Kendrew and I were up on Duncreag’s battlements, looking toward Nought. It was then that he asked me if I wished to return with him to his home or be escorted back to my own, Castle Haven. I told him my choice was Nought.
“He grabbed me then, pulling me into his arms. He kissed me and in that moment”—her voice took on a confiding tone—“I saw the great dreagan Slag and his master, Dare. It was storming and they were on the ledge of a nearby mountain. I saw them clearly.”
“I believe you.” Marjory did, wishing she, too, had seen the fabled beast and his keeper. “I didn’t say I doubt there are wood sprites or fairy dogs in this wood, or that the mist might be enchanted.
“I meant we have no reason to fear.” She cast another glance behind them, noting that Grim had again slipped from view.
“Then why is it taking us so long to reach Hella’s cottage? We should’ve been there hours ago.”
“I know.” Marjory didn’t like the thick mist drifting through the trees. It was denser now and almost luminous, seeming to pulse around them. “But I’m sure we’re on the right path.”
Isobel changed the subject, voicing the one question Marjory couldn’t answer. “What will you do if Hella confirms your dream?”
She touched her ambers. The stones proved cool and smooth.
If she was in peril, the threat wasn’t in this much-maligned corner of Nought that she loved so dearly. But even as she acknowledged her relief, her fingers caught a faint vibration deep within the necklace.
A fleeting stir, little more than a flicker.
She took a breath, her awareness quickening. “If Hella knows of a Viking lord named Rorik the Generous, or a Saracen woman called Lady Sarina, I shall take care never to cross their paths. No matter what Kendrew might say or do if he tries to foist such worthies on me.”
“He won’t.” Isobel slid her gaze away, as if seeing her husband’s face before her. “Even if he wished to see you wed to a Viking lord, he wouldn’t offer you to any man as a second wife. He loves you too much to suffer you such a fate.”
Marjory scarce heard her.
More shivers were racing up her spine. And this time they were making her scalp prickle. Her palms were also dampening and her pulse raced.
Something was afoot.
And it wasn’t the whirling mist.
As unobtrusively as possible, she lifted a hand to her ambers again. Oddly, the necklace wasn’t humming. The stones were cold and completely still. So she swung around, narrowing her eyes to peer into the birches at the last spot she’d sighted Grim.
He still wasn’t there.
“We’ve lost Grim.” She turned back to Isobel. “He’s not behind us anymore.”
“He wouldn’t just disappear.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“Perhaps he stepped aside to…” Isobel’s blush revealed her thought.
Marjory shook her head. “Wherever he went, he’s not near the path. I don’t like it.”
“The noise I heard earlier.” Isobel stepped closer. “Do you think—”
“I don’t know what I think.” Marjory took one deep breath, then another. The shadows were darker now. And the pearly luminescence of the mist seemed alive, shimmering around them. An eerie quiet had descended so that the only sound was the wind and the rushing of the nearby burn.
Until a crunch on stone revealed the approach of determined footsteps.
It was a man’s tread.
And it wasn’t Grim’s.
Marjory knew who was coming. And the knowledge hit her hard enough to punch the air from her lungs. Turning, she saw Alasdair emerge from the mist. This time there was no doubt it was him. His stride strong and purposeful, he strolled toward her as if he owned the birchwood. As if he possessed her as well. His gaze swept from the top of her head to her toes and then back up again as he approached, the look in his eyes making shivers race all through her. Her breath came short and fast, her entire body heating. And this time her discomfort, the chills flashing along her skin, had nothing to do with the uncanny wood.
It was him.
Alasdair.
She could only stare at him. Words wouldn’t come no matter how hard she tried to think of something to say.
From the corner of her eye, she caught Isobel smiling at him.
“Alasdair,” her friend gushed. “What brings you to Nought territory?”
Alasdair gave Isobel a slow smile that, for all its politeness, set Marjory’s nerves jangling. “I’m here to—”
“He’s stalking about where he has no business.” Grim stepped out of the trees to stand beside Alasdair. He clutched his war ax in his hand and his expression was dark, doing his name justice. “He brought a score of men with him, trespassers all.”
“That depends on one’s view. I wouldn’t call them thus.” Alasdair’s gaze flickered from Grim to the trees where his men appeared on their horses. “Nor did I come here to dent my sword on your thick skull.”
He reached out with lightning speed then, snatching the ax from Grim’s hand and spinning it several times before thrusting it back to him, haft first. “Think hard before you pick a fight with a man who comes in peace.”
To Marjory’s irritation, Grim only grunted and rammed the ax into its strapping.
Marjory narrowed her eyes at both men. “I know why you’re here, Grim.” She lifted her chin when he looked ready to argue. “But you”—she fixed her iciest gaze on Alasdair—“have no reason to be here.”
“Ah, but I do.” He came closer. “If thon guardsman of yours”—he flashed a look at Grim—“hadn’t interrupted, I’d have told you I came to see a lady.”
“That’s a pity because I have no wish to see you.” Marjory held his gaze. “You aren’t welcome here.”
“Indeed?” His eyes warmed with amusement. “Who said I came to visit you?”
Marjory backed out of his reach, too stunned to answer.
She did arch a brow.
“Have a care, Norn. With such ice in your eyes, a man could think you care for him.” A slow smile spread across Alasdair’s face. “As is…” His tone was almost teasing. “You aren’t the only lady hereabouts, or are you?”
Marjory hoped her gaze would freeze him. “If you’ve come to see my good-sister, Kendrew will show less restraint with his ax than Grim.”
“Lady Isobel isn’t the reason for my journey.” He turned aside then, taking Isobel’s hand and dropping a kiss on her knuckles. “All the same, it’s always a pleasure to see her. Lady Isobel’s brother James and I are good friends. A man needs trustworthy allies.”
Marjory bristled at the unspoken dig to her brother. “Such alliances wouldn’t be needed if clan boundaries were respected.”
Alasdair’s smile faded. “Lady, as chief of my people, it is aye my duty to see invaders kept out of this glen.”
“Yet you are trespassing now.”
“The Glen of Many Legends belongs to us all. Or have you forgotten that the King deemed it so?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing.” Marjory tried to ignore the heat surging through her.
He’d come so near that her heart almost stopped beating. She should turn and walk away. He deserved no better. Instead, he had the daring to step even closer. His gaze locked on hers, smoldering in a way that made it impossible for her to glance aside.
She could see the pulse at his throat, a mus
cle twitching faintly in his jaw. The golden flecks in his eyes shone, reminding her how easily she could drown in his gaze. His voice, so deep and deceptively soft, slid over her like sun-warmed silk, battering her defenses, completely unnerving her.
It’d be so easy to recall his kisses, his mouth slanting over hers, ravishing her…
Fortunately, she remembered his hurtful words.
Any half-fetching female would’ve done. I was away nigh a year, without a woman…
Marjory stood straighter, squaring her shoulders.
Alasdair’s quip, spoken so lightly, helped her regain her composure.
She gave him a hard look. “Whatever brought you here, it’d serve you better to leave.”
His face darkened. He stepped closer, reached to grip her chin. “Those who are wise know that things aren’t always as they appear, my lady.” He leaned in, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “If you look into your heart, you will know that is so.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I say you do.” His eyes took on a dangerous gleam and for a moment she thought he’d kiss her. Instead, he stroked his thumb over her lips. “Remember it, sweet, for I will not remind you again.”
“I don’t need anything from you. Not reminders. Not kisses. Not even lost baubles.” She glanced at her sapphire ring and then flashed a look at Isobel who’d opened her eyes very wide, sending her silent warnings.
Marjory ignored them.
“Nothing at all,” she finished, breaking free of Alasdair’s grasp.
His face was stony. “So be it.”
“Indeed.” Marjory flicked at her sleeve.
“I’ll be on my way.” He nodded to Isobel and Grim. Then he turned back to her, bowing slightly. “My men and I would’ve escorted you back to Castle Nought, but”—he looked again at Grim—“you’re in good hands with Grim.”
Grim mumbled something unintelligible.
Isobel appeared pained. “You are always welcome—”
“To ride Nought’s boundaries,” Marjory allowed. “This birchwood lies at Nought’s heart. As such, it is land you’ve no reason to tread.”
A muscle twitched in Alasdair’s jaw. “Dinnae push me too far, lass.”
“I would say you drew your own line in the sand.” The finality of her tone made Marjory’s stomach knot.
Seduction Of A Highland Warrior Page 19
