Highlander Enchanted

by Lizzy Ford

  Cade’s thumb stroked her cheek lightly. “Ye are no’ seillie, but I would swear upon the Light and Dark Courts both ye cast a thrall upon me.”

  “I have no magic, no home, no strength to wield a sword and claim my revenge,” she said with a spark of anger and pulled away from his warm touch.

  He chuckled. “Ye need this.” He lifted the pendant from her chest once more. “Yer heart is burdened.”

  She saw his gaze fall to the medallion dangling beside the pendant. His amusement faded, and a shadow passed over him once more. Isabel gripped both of her talismans in her hand, hiding the medallion from him.

  “You do remember my brother,” she said. “He wore a medallion like mine.”

  “Doesna matter, lass,” he replied, gaze flickering to hers. “I can no’ change what happened.”

  “What did happen?”

  His features shuttered. “Ye need t’concern yerself with yer fate, not yer past.”

  Isabel sighed. For a moment, she had been close to discovering more about her brother.

  “Your ma was a MacCosse?”

  She nodded.

  “Yer the sole heir to their lands.”

  “If I care to claim them.”

  “Yer also a de Clare, with a claim to the Saxony lands.”

  “Yes,” she said. There was more. So much more, but now was not the time to bring up how complicated her situation was.

  “Yer father was wealthy?”

  She glanced up and saw the thoughtful look on his features. “He was. But he left his wealth to my husband, as is custom. I cannot own land or wealth.”

  “A clan wife is equal to her husband here.”

  “Not in England.”

  “And ye call me barbaric,” he said with a snort. “The writs ye secreted into my bags tell a tale both kings would find of interest, were I t’show them.”

  “Those are my property. You have no right to read them!”

  He gave her a knowing look. “Yer a wealthy woman with lands in two countries but ye have no home. How ye came to torment me, I doona ken.” He looked her over then shook his head.

  He was calming and with him, the weather. The sound of rain had disappeared, and moonlight trickled through clouds that had begun to disperse.

  At a loss what to do, Isabel swiped away angry tears and batted away the lanterns that buzzed her head.

  “I need a wife,” Cade said.

  Her gaze snapped to him.

  “Preferably one with land.”

  Isabel’s brow furrowed.

  “Ye need someone t’protect ye from the man who wants to claim your land,” he added with some amusement. “A home and a clan chief t’back yer claim to the court.”

  “You think I would consider the man who killed my family?” she asked in disbelief.

  “I think ye doona want to die, and I ken ye doona want yer betrothed.”

  “And you consider yourself worthy?”

  “I consider m’self yer only choice. I’ll protect ye, and support yer claim t’the MacCosse lands.”

  “In exchange for my lands and wealth.” Isabel was surprised the savage had a mind for such an idea. It was, in every way, a contract far less intimidating and scary than Richard’s.

  “And an heir,” he added. “One who can claim MacCosse land.”

  “Lands, wealth and an heir,” she said. “It sounds as if I do not need you in this deal at all.”

  “Do ye not know where heirs come from?” he challenged.

  “Of course I do. I can find any man to sire an heir.”

  He laughed, a warm, rolling sound that surprised her. “Verra well. Ye can think on it.”

  “What is there to think about?” she returned.

  “Ye ‘ave nothin’ without a husband, and ye have two men to choose from.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  The sinking feeling in her stomach bothered her. If she had known this was how her revenge would turn out, she would have stolen the horse earlier this day and fled. “You want me in your bed, knowing I might try to kill you?” she snapped.

  “I’d gladly take m’chances.” The intensity of his look caused the warmth within her to rise once more.

  What would it be like to be married to such a man? She was unable to fathom the idea, and was just as confused by who he actually was. Ready to throw her out one moment, asking for her hand the next, he was as unstable as the clouds.

  “Give me yer answer soon, lass,” he said and turned away once more. “Or I’ll see ye married to yer betrothed before sending ye both back to England.” He began walking into the forest.

  She watched the trees and brush move from his path with no small amount of unease.

  How was it she was considering marrying such a man? His intentions seemed noble, and yet, the lust burning within her whenever they touched was certainly a temptation meant to condemn her soul.

  Unless they were married and producing an heir. The fever that lit within her at the thought of such activity was strong enough to scare her. Was this, too, part of his magic? The ability to affect her mind and body? To infect her with whatever illness this was and make her forget what she owed her brother and father?

  Isabel had not planned on living through this interaction. Now that she had, she found herself with a new puzzle: choosing how to proceed with her life.

  She betrayed her brother and father even considering his offer. But it was impossible to bear the thought of returning with Richard.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cade did not know what to think of his night. He had gone into the forest as he did often, to seek solace and guidance from the magic of nature. The forest should not have allowed Isabel to follow him let alone created a path leading her directly to him. His magic should not be visible to her, either.

  For reasons he did not at all understand, his magic rebelled against his wishes and joined nature to conspire against him. Was it, too, drawn to Isabel, as he had been since they first met? What was it about her? Her beauty and strength and the soft lilt of her voice? Her claim to the MacCosse land, her influence with two kings, her father’s gold?

  Or was this his guilt over leaving her brother to die in the Holy Lands?

  When he thought of Saxony, he all but swore Isabel should not return with Richard, especially after she witnessed his magic in the forest. Neither did he know what he should do with her once Richard left. Danger followed her, and allowing her to stay would become a daily reminder of what had happened to her brother.

  Was it guilt that made him offer to marry her, when her chances to claim the MacCosse lands were not guaranteed? He had no army to back her claim against other clan chiefs certain to attack once the king lifted his edict governing the land. His people, the seillie, were not warriors. They had not fought those who stole their ancestral home. They could not be forced to fight for the land of another. He and his cousins were the clan’s protectors. He took pride in knowing no clan in the tumultuous Highlands considered the MacLachlainn’s their enemies.

  If he were to help her claim the MacCosse lands, this would change. Marrying Isabel was too great of a risk. Cade’s kinsmen were guaranteed a home if he married the MacDonald lass and strife if he wed the English lass.

  He was decided, until he recalled how Isabel’s touch stilled the unseillie in him. No one else had ever been able to quell the dark magic, not even Marie, and the memory of Isabel’s cool touch crippled his rationale.

  Too much compelled him towards the troubled English noble. However wrong it was, he innately understood he could not oppose his magic. He trusted it as he did his instincts in battle despite how wrong it seemed to allow her into his life.

  Deep in thought, he glanced towards the sky. The Englishman had been anxious to leave this day and only remained because Isabel had been placed in a deep sleep by Marie. Tomorrow, Cade doubted there would be any such delay.

  Confused by what to do with the English noblewoman, he came to one conclusion. He needed more time to decid
e for certain.

  Whispering a short, quiet enchantment, he paused midway to the hold and bowed his head, praying for a storm large enough to keep the English visitors in his hold. Before his prayer was over, the sky grew cloudy once more, as it often did when he was angry.

  He strode into his keep and started towards his bedchamber before recalling he had lent it to a certain Englishwoman who claimed to want him dead. The mere thought left him smiling, despite knowing her anger towards him was sincere. He had lied about not remembering her brother, even if the circumstances she assumed true were in fact not.

  Cade had not killed Saxony, but he had left him to rot in a prison. Would she care about the distinction?

  If what she said of her father’s madness was true, her brother’s descent into a similar state was not brought on by war or the dungeon. He began to wonder how much more the woman with the large, blue eyes was going to handle before she, too, succumbed to the madness that ran in her family.

  He stilled the urge to ask Father Adam what else he had learned from her documents. When Father Adam was finished translating them, he would not hesitate to approach Cade. The two missives, addressed to neighboring kings rarely on good terms, disturbed him. How had one woman managed to wrangle such promises from powerful men such as these? What was her story, and more importantly, were her secrets dangerous to his desire to claim her lands?

  And … did the potential dangers really matter when his magic was clearly in her court?

  The next morning, Niall listened to Cade’s quiet words about his proposal and the mystery of the English. They waited at the gate in oiled cloaks, dripping with rain from the boisterous thunderstorm raging around them. Lightning split the skies in every direction. His plan had managed to delay the Englishman’s travel but not prevent his neighbor from the dangerous journey.

  “’Tis simple,” Niall said. “They’re English. Ye canna trust them. They bring trouble. What is it about this lass ye canna see past?”

  “I canna explain it.”

  “Lust. Ye’ve not had a woman in too long.”

  “That, too,” Cade agreed. “But the forest brought her t’me last night instead of hiding me.”

  “Mayhap ye werena careful.”

  “I was. I always am.”

  “Cade, if this is true, if yer magic chooses a woman ye canna marry …”

  “Why can I not marry her?” Cade growled. “Am I not laird?”

  “But ye doona know if she is lying. If she has no claim to the MacCosse lands, and ye marry her, we make an enemy of the MacDonald’s and we have no land.”

  Cade heard the sense in his cousin’s words, along with the consideration. It was not unheard of for the magic in their blood to choose mates; it happened at times, and often those chosen to enter their secret world were not seillie at all. His father had been one of them, a warrior chosen by his mother to protect the gentle seillie.

  “I will send someone to court to verify her claim,” he said with reluctance.

  “This is wise. Ye canna act if ye doona ken.”

  “I canna make sense of this,” he said in frustration. His eyes scanned the hunkered down MacDonald’s clan members entering the walls of his keep. “I didna expect so many.”

  “Laird MacDonald brought enough people for a wedding.”

  Cade suspected the same. This encounter was supposed to be about hammering out the contract, to include setting a date. There were entirely too many people in attendance for this to be anything other than a wedding.

  Rarely indecisive, Cade was having a difficult time determining how to stall the aging Laird MacDonald, despite intuitively knowing Lady Isabel would never agree to wed the man she blamed for her brother’s death. She was in danger from Richard and had witnessed his magic. By his honor, she should not leave, even if she refused his proposal.

  He ignored the tiny whisper reminding him his confusion lay not in what Lady Isabel would decide but because he did not understand his magic’s insistence she had to stay.

  The more time he spent with Lord Richard, however, the more he believed the English noble would return with an army to claim her, if Cade held her captive. Lord Richard was perhaps the most resolute man Cade had ever met.

  As for what to tell Laird MacDonald, Cade was torn between the duty to his kin and the magic that wanted Isabel by his side.

  He soon lost count of how many MacDonald’s passed through his gate. The number of women and children was unsettling, and they were escorted by no more than four warriors.

  “I think something is amiss,” he said to Niall.

  Niall frowned as he took a closer look at the people flooding into the bailey. “Yea. And they arrived with a small escort.”

  “The MacDonald’s are no’ known for warring. He sent all his warriors to the Holy Lands.”

  “A laird that wealthy has his enemies. We ‘ave none, because we ‘ave nothing for them to want,” Niall said wisely.

  “This isna a good sign.”

  “No. ‘Tis not.”

  A boxy wagon rolled through the gates close to the end of the procession. Cade openly scowled, protected from anyone’s sight by the thick sheet of rain. The wagon bore the woman he was supposed to become hand-fasted to this very day. He had never met her, only heard tales of her sharp tongue. It was said she was laird of the MacDonald’s, not her father.

  “Can we no’ determine if yer English lass tells the truth?” Niall asked. “T’be first in line to claim the MacCosse land is t’be favored by the king. She is wealthy?”

  “She is the sole heir t’her father’s wealth. Yea, she be wealthy if she is t’be believed, which I am not convinced yet.”

  “And Saxony’s sister.” These words were more hushed. “I ken we dinna do him wrong, and his mind left him, but oft, I think of him.”

  “I do as well,” Cade said. “I wouldna left ye in that dungeon. I shouldna left him.”

  “Ye had no choice and yea, ye’d leave me, because I wouldna let ye all die for me,” Niall said firmly. “He was taken by madness. Ye nigh destroyed yer mind t’help him.”

  Cade was quiet, aware of the efforts they had all made to help the English noble named Saxony. His magic had helped at first, led the madman from his madness back to the world. But even it ceased to work after a length of time, and they had been forced to leave him or risk all their lives.

  He had debated revealing the truth to Isabel last night. He had seen none of the madness in her, only sorrow and anger, emotions he understood too well after seeing so many deaths in the Holy Lands.

  If he had to wed, he would prefer a wife as beautiful and gently spirited as Isabel, assuming she was not a pretender or lying to him or worst of all, a danger to his clan.

  “Bid Father Adam to hasten with the other writs. We need to know what they say. I canna ken fer certain if she is truthful about her wealth.” Cade said and nudged his cousin.

  Niall obeyed.

  Cade waited in the rain until the last of the procession was safely within the bailey before ordering the gates closed and trailing the nobles of the party into the Great Hall. Warmth and light chased away the dreary cold from outdoors, and he handed off his cloak to a waiting servant before striding forward to greet the elderly Laird MacDonald. Tall and stooped, the aging patriarch peered up at Cade with sharp blue eyes.

  “Laird Cade,” he said with a smile and held out his knobby hand.

  Cade dipped his head to kiss the knuckles of the old man. “Laird Hugh. You brought many witnesses for our contract.”

  The elderly laird offered a deep sigh. “I hadno the time t’warn ye. We were driven out by the MacGomery clan. Laird MacGomery’s gold has bought Crusaders with nothing to lose and nowhere t’return. He ran us through and our neighbors as well. We had no warriors t’defend my keep, but I thought it best to bring the weaker somewhere safe.”

  Cade listened, his gaze roving over the people filling the Hall once more. “Yer wise, as always.” But his thoughts were on how L
aird Duncan was going to react when he realized the MacDonald’s were hiding out in one of his own keeps. Duncan MacGomery was Cade’s current laird, the man who provided a home fer his clan.

  “Ye’re almost kin,” Laird Hugh continued. “And the nearest of all my kin.”

  “It is my pleasure. My hall and sword are yours.”

  “You are a good man, Cade.” The elderly man rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come. Sit.” Cade took his arm, sensing his weariness.

  “We have wounded and ill and young. I must attend to them.”

  “Yer in no shape t’attend t’anyone. Ease yer mind, Laird Hugh. I’ll attend t’yer clan.”

  Laird MacDonald glanced around at the people crowding the hallway, his haggard face worn.

  “Brian!” Cade beckoned to his cousin. “See that all of Laird Hugh’s people have a pallet and those in need of a healer are attended to.”

  “At once,” Brian said and darted off.

  “Ye see? Done,” Cade said to the elderly man. “Ye need yer rest.”

  Laird Hugh leaned against the table with a weary nod.

  Uneasiness swept through Cade. His clan needed land and a place to live; it was the only reason he had humored Laird MacDonald in the first place. Normally, he would not dare listen to such a request from a man with neither knowledge nor blood connection to the seillie. With an entirely unsuspecting clan living alongside his, in a space already too small, he began to think it impossible for someone not to discover the secret his people had hidden for so many generations.

  He helped Laird MacDonald sit before a hearth, troubled by the appearance of someone he was debating breaking off any talk of establishing kinship ties. It was not right to broach the matter now, when Laird MacDonald had no home to return to.

  “I overheard the trouble.” Isabel’s soft voice drew his gaze instantly. “May I be of service, Laird Cade?” The small woman with serene features and grace unlike any he had seen approached, followed by the handmaiden that had adopted her. None of her anger from the night before was visible, though she kept her distance and appeared tense. By the bulk in her pocket, she was also carrying another of his knives, which he found amusing.