Highlander Enchanted

by Lizzy Ford

  It settled between his hands before it raced along the sword, over his knuckles, up his arms, and surrounded him with a halo that seemed connected to the moonlight.

  She was witnessing magic. True magic. Unnatural magic, for it did not exist in the Christian world. She watched it race around him before settling and seeming to sink into his skin. Similar to Marie’s healing magic, Isabel was once more unable to convince herself what she saw was evil. She had no explanation for what she witnessed in the Highlands but Marie’s advice was sound. This world was entirely unlike that which she knew.

  Laird Cade breathed a sigh, and his shoulders relaxed as his tension disappeared. More flickering lights – these green – rained down upon him from the tree branches overhead while blue lights rose from the water source towards him. Rather than joining or sinking into him, these hovered around him, often grazing his skin and just as often hovering or letting the wind push them around.

  Laird Cade’s head bowed, and his lips moved in silent prayer.

  Isabel had the sudden sense this was a private moment, one of vulnerability, even if she did not understand what was happening before her. The sight of the warrior-laird in a state of weary relaxation left her troubled. The healer had said he bore his own darkness, and she had yet to hear of anyone returning from the Holy Lands without grievous tales of loss and hardship. This man seemed too strong for the world to bend him, too hardened to bow his head even in private.

  The connection she first experienced at the river, the one she did not wish to feel, was warm inside her, tossing doubt into her mind with the same force the wind tossed the tiny sparkles into the air around Laird Cade.

  Her brother had died, as did her father after his bout of madness. Driven into despair by the loss of his only son and heir, he had not even tried to save himself and had fallen to the darkness of his mind.

  That Laird Cade likewise struggled with the darkness of his mind, and yet did not succumb to it, left her feeling raw, disturbed. How did one man survive such loss while another did not?

  But even if he had not been directly responsible for her father’s death, the man before her had slain her brother, a bright, doting and loving man she had adored as long as she could remember. Of this, there was no doubt. Word had reached her from more than one source about Black Cade murdering the future Baron of Saxony in cold blood. Richard himself had brought her such word upon his return from the Holy Lands.

  Vulnerable and exposed, Laird Cade had nonetheless robbed her of everything she held dear in life. If her brother lived, she would never be forced to flee her home or watch her father die or learn the truth of her birth or face Lord Richard’s anger daily. Most importantly, she would not be alone in the world, without her champion and brother, the only man who had not ridiculed and shamed her for bettering her mind.

  This night, either she murdered her brother’s killer, or she died trying.

  Isabel closed her eyes and offered a brief prayer requesting forgiveness. She reached into her pocket with one hand and crossed herself with the other. Her heartbeat raced, and her stomach was in knots.

  Gripping the hilt of the dagger hard, she withdrew it and opened her eyes. She had never hurt a man let alone cut one. She took a silent step forward, then another and another, until she was almost upon the unsuspecting laird. The sparks around him made way for her and floated around her, too, as if unconcerned with her presence.

  Isabel raised the knife, licking her lips nervously and shaking with fear and anticipation. She stared at Laird Cade’s broad shoulders and wide back, trying to prepare herself for what it would feel like to kill him. Would she feel happiness? Regret? Horror when she felt his blood splatter her?

  He was scarred already, long, jagged marks that crisscrossed his back from a weapon she was unable to imagine but which seemed much larger than the dagger in her hands.

  Releasing her breath, she raised the blade high above her head, failing to notice his near imperceptible tensing.

  She closed her eyes again and gave herself up to her fate. She was about to discover whose side her god was on.

  The second her hands began to descend, Cade snatched her.

  Isabel’s eyes flew open, and she barely had time to breathe let alone register what happened next. One moment, she was on her feet, preparing to stab him and the next, the world was a blur of moonlight and darkness. She was suddenly on her back, his muscular form pinning her to the ground, his silvery eyes inches from her face, and both her wrists clenched in one of his massive, warm hands.

  She stared up at him, unable to move, afraid to breathe. Up close, his was a savage beauty, as harsh as the lands whence he came, as strong as the naked, muscular torso atop her body. His size, accompanied by the coiled power he was waiting to unleash, terrified her. Richard was half this man’s size and left bruises that made her weep for days. What would Black Cade do to her?

  Why was she once more unable to look away from his piercing gaze, unwilling to move beneath his thick frame? Why did her heart beat faster now, and the fever burn hotter?

  She became aware of her breathing, ragged and uneven, and the panic stirring within her the longer he stared at her and the more time she had to imagine what horrific deeds he was about to commit.

  At long last, she closed her eyes to escape his scrutiny, though it did nothing to buffer her from the tension stretched taut between them.

  “Slay me,” she whispered, hating her trembling voice. She had hoped to go to her death brave and resolute and instead, was ready to weep. Her family’s honor died with her failure.

  “I won’t kill ye, lass.” His tone was low, rough. “How did ye find me?” His question held a dangerous edge, one that made her flinch.

  “I followed you,” she replied.

  “’Tis not possible t’follow me through the forest.”

  His silver-blue eyes cored her, made her breath catch, and she hesitated to respond, fearful yet fascinated. His scent – of forest, heather and pure male – sent dizzying awareness through her. It was a warm, welcoming smell. “There is a path,” she said finally. “How else would I follow you?”

  His jaw ticked. For a moment, he studied her, before he spoke again. “What did you see?”

  “You. The water. The lanterns that glow with unholy fire.”

  “Ye shouldna ‘ave followed me.” This time, there was no mistaking the lethal threat.

  “Then … then kill me.” She swallowed hard, and tears stung her eyes. “I am prepared to meet my god.”

  He twisted the dagger loose from her hands and tossed. “Ye bring a child’s weapon t’slay a man?” He shook his head once. “Nay, lass, ye wanted me t’kill ye.”

  “I did not,” she breathed. “But I was prepared for this outcome.”

  Cade considered her then sat up, straddling her thighs. He took her upper arms and pulled her into a seated position, glaring at her. “What madness is this?” he whispered. The mad rush of floating gems had grown into hues of every shade. They floated in the air above them, around them.

  Clouds shrouded the moon, moving fast enough for their movement to be unnatural.

  “You would speak of madness?” she countered softly, glancing towards the gems.

  “Ye steal my property?” He looped a finger beneath the long length of leather around her neck and tugged the pink talisman free from her clothing.

  She shivered at the touch of his skin against hers. “I did not steal it,” she replied. “I borrowed it.”

  He sat back on his heels, and she sensed more than saw he was furious. His features were shadowed and dark, sinister almost, his exposed form tense. She refused to allow her eyes to caress the smooth skin covering his warrior frame but was far too aware of his nakedness, his nearness, to prevent the fever moving through her.

  The lanterns darted into the sky and bloomed into clouds that spread rapidly overhead. Where the night had been clear, thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Was it … was it possible he caused
the thunder?

  “It cannot be,” she whispered, a streak of coldness replacing the unnatural warmth inside her.

  More lanterns appeared, these pink. “What are these?” she asked and reached out to touch one. Her fingers passed through it as if it were not real at all.

  “Do not touch them!” Cade snatched her wrist. “Yer filthy, lying English hands shouldna be nigh them.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap, trembling. “They are magic, are they not?”

  “Magic doesna exist.” He rose and paced a short distance, his scarred back to her once more.

  “How can you deny it? We are surrounded by it.”

  “You should no’ be able t’see it.” He was still. She sensed danger even though he no longer held her to the ground.

  Isabel glanced towards the path leading out of the forest, prepared to make a run for it. His quietness was worse than his direct attention.

  “My family has kept these secrets for generations and one foolish, beautiful lass discovers it. Niall was right. I ne’er shoulda let ye near my home,” he said darkly. “Why do ye seek t’kill me, Lady Cade?”

  “’Tis of no concern. I have failed in my vengeance and will suffer whatever punishment you de –”

  “Do not test me!” he roared.

  She gasped, not expecting his outburst, and braced herself for what followed whenever Richard shouted thusly.

  “No more lies!” he added more calmly and knelt before her. “Do ye understand me?” He reached for her arm.

  She flinched and ducked her head. A man like this could surely kill her with one blow.

  His hand dropped. “I would n’er strike ye, Lady Cade.”

  She did not speak.

  “Ye’ve placed me in a difficult state. I canna let ye leave knowing what ye do of what I am.” He swept his arm overhead, and the lanterns vanished, along with the clouds. Pale moonlight pierced the night once more.

  “You … you did that?” Her whisper was barely audible to her own ears.

  He spoke words she did not understand, and the clouds returned, blocking the moon.

  “My god,” she breathed. “What are you?”

  “A man charged with protecting his kin who fergot hi’self when he saw yer beauty.” He reached for her again, this time ignoring her instinctive reaction and lifting her chin. “A warrior who canna understand why his magic betrays him t’an English lass who brings danger to my land.”

  She glimpsed a shadow pass through his eyes. “You cannot free me, do not wish to kill me. What will you do?”

  “I wanna ken why ye carry writs from two kings.”

  Not expecting the response, Isabel rose, panic racing through her, and darted to the forest.

  Black Cade caught her with an arm around her midsection and pulled her into his body, wrapping both his arms around her and lifting her off the ground.

  Panting, frantic, she strained against the unyielding tree branches of his arms. His solid, heated frame was at her back. He felt so much more powerful than she ever had, and for a moment, she envied him the strength that earned him a reputation of a killer.

  “Release me!” she ordered.

  “Be still, lass,” he said. “Ye tried t’kill me. I’ll treat ye as I see fit.”

  She ceased struggling.

  “We can ‘ave this talk with my arms around ye or civilized, as ye prefer. Yer choice.”

  “We will not discuss it at all. It is not your concern!” she retorted.

  “Ye claim t’ be me wife and carry a writ from my king making it so,” he mused. “What would Lord Richard do if he saw it? If he saw them both?”

  “Do not threaten me!” she responded.

  “Ye are no’ in a state t’command me, Lady Cade. Doona mistake me for a man who is civilized.” As he spoke, lightning rippled across the sky overhead.

  She blinked back tears, her erratic emotions overwhelming her briefly while she determined what to do. “If you read the writs, you know what they are,” she said at last.

  “Yea but not why. Or how or why ye chose me of all men.”

  “Because you slayed my brother,” she said hoarsely. “Because I have no intention of ever marrying any man.”

  His grip loosened, and he released her. “I ‘ave kilt many men, Lady Cade,” he said, the dark edge in his tone once more. “What do I care if one of them was yer brother?”

  She turned on him, anger replacing her fear and confusion. “Because he was a good man. Because he was my brother!”

  He gazed down at her, the hardened warrior she had come to kill, and she wondered if he had looked upon her brother the same way before killing him. The patter of rain against leaves began from somewhere in the forest, though no rain yet reached them.

  “Who was your brother?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

  “The future Baron of Saxony. John of Saxony.”

  Cade shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  Her heart felt like it broke anew. “You slayed my brother! My father could not live with his death and went mad before he threw himself from the spire of our church. Have you no decency? No morals or compassion or goodness?” she demanded.

  He was unmoved. “I dream of those I kilt every night, Lady. They n’er let me rest, so what do I care if yer brother is among them? What do I care if any o’ them have names.”

  Horrified, speechless, she stared at him. The man who granted her mercy, who seemed to have a flicker of goodness, cared not one thought for those he slaughtered, innocent or not.

  “Return my knife so that I may kill you properly,” she said.

  “Now ye wish me dead.” He appeared darkly amused. “Go back t’yer bedchamber, lady. The forest is no place fer ye.” Black Cade tugged on his tunic and sheath and slid the massive sword into place at his back. He seemed to completely forget her or perhaps, no longer cared she was present. “I shall decide yer fate in the morning.”

  Helplessness returned. It was the same feeling she experienced watching her father waste away. Isabel was no threat to Black Cade, and he was not going to listen to the concerns of an Englishwoman who felt wronged by him. He had not the capacity to care, and she had no weapon to wield against him.

  At court, she had learned how to plot and escape the plots of other nobles, many of whom wished to claim – rightfully or not – her father’s wealthy lands. Physical force was no longer an option against this savage, but she had more than knives and swords to use against him.

  “My mother was a MacCosse,” she said. “Once I submit my claim to the Crown, I will turn on you before the ink is dried on the king’s decree. You shall never be safe, never have refuge where my gold and influence will not find you!”

  “The lass who rescued her sworn enemy in the river willna hurt the innocent,” he said with a glance in her direction. “I wish ye good fortune. Our king canna spare the men required to enforce yer claim, and ye’ve nothin’ but the clothes I gave ye t’pay fer yer own army. I need only wait fer yer betrothed to drag ye back to England, where ye belong.”

  Finished dressing, Cade started towards the forest. He did not walk to the path she had traveled. Instead, the forest created a new one for him as he approached. Her gaze was caught by the movement of shrubs and trees leaning out of his way.

  The fiery gems were floating in the space between them, around them. The grumble of thunder sounded farther away, and the rain had stopped.

  Cade turned his back to her and began walking.

  Her hand went to the pendant. “Richard, or either your king or mine, would be interested in knowing what lurks in the Highlands. The power to defeat the Saracens, perchance, or another of their enemies? Your healer fixed my broken leg, and your magic controls the sky. If I were to tell either king of the source of such power, he will grant me whatever lands I wish and the army to protect them.”

  Cade froze. “Ye think I’d let ye live if ye threatened my clan?”

  “I think the man who seeks to protect me from my b
etrothed will not let anything happen to those he cares for.” She continued, sensing his anger once more but not caring after all he said of her brother. “Anyone with power or influence would tear your clan apart to control this magic of yours.”

  “You havena the heart to hurt others.”

  “You destroyed my home, my life, my family,” she replied. “What would you do to the man who did this to you?”

  He paced towards her, eyes flashing with anger and jaw clenched. His hands were in fists, the tension of his frame clear in his rigid stance. “Yer anger is with me, not my clan.”

  She at once regretted threatening his family, but anger made her speak out where she should not. “I know,” she said. “Forgive me for it, but you are making this very difficult for me.”

  “Ye made this difficult when ye chose t’flee yer betrothed into my lands with writs that might be viewed as treasonous.”

  She flushed, hating the truth of her situation.

  “I see a beautiful, lost, angry yet strong lass whose heart is larger than the moon. Yer circumstances were bad, and ye made them worse, and now, I am the laird who must sort it out. I won’t kill ye, Lady Cade, if that’s what ye were hoping,” he said. “What was yer plan, assuming ye succeeded in running a knife through my heart? How would ye handle yer betrothed then, if ye outlived my clan hunting ye down?”

  She said nothing. She had never thought this far ahead. Perhaps once, she had hoped she could disappear with her father’s wealth, but Richard’s claim on Saxony had all but ended that.

  “I do not know,” she whispered, stricken. “You took everything from me. All I wanted was to feel whole again or to know the man who hurt my family was dead.”

  Some of his tension released, and he cupped her cheek in one hand. “Ye canna find peace in vengeance, Lady Cade,” he said with unexpected softness. “Ye canna e’er find peace in blood spilt.”

  “What else is there?”

  “Ye go home t’Saxony. If yer as wealthy as Richard says, ye sit atop yer gold and weep o’er yer finery and coin.”

  “I cannot go home,” she replied. “It was never my home. I was but a guest, and Richard …” She stopped and stared at his chest.