by Lizzy Ford
“Nay, Lady Isabel. Yer a guest,” he replied. “And do ye not hate me?”
“It is my Christian duty to help those cast out from their homes.” One of her eyebrows went up in delicate offense. “May I remind you I managed a household several times larger than this one, to include visits from the king and members of his court?”
“English?” Laird MacDonald squinted at her.
Cade snorted. “Laird MacDonald, this is Lady Isabel de Clare of Saxony.”
“Ne’er heard o’it,” Laird MacDonald replied. “Must be far away or small.”
“Both, my lord,” Isabel said politely with a curtsey. Her gaze returned to Cade.
A solid leader of warriors, he was not prepared to lead a clan of non-seillie. Her offer, however sincere, would prevent Cade’s temper and customs from causing conflict with the MacDonald’s. Further, it might help distance the unnatural members of his clan from their unsuspecting guests. His clan used magic on a daily basis to maintain their home, and he dared not expose the MacDonald’s to the seillie sorcery.
“Verra well, Lady Isabel,” he decided aloud. “I will direct ye first.” He motioned for her to join him, away from the others, beside the fire. “They canna ken what ye do of how different my clan is.”
Her gaze was on his face, her expression unreadable, though her jaw was clenched. “You mean ‘tis not common knowledge?” she asked. “Not all Highlanders are like you?”
“They are not,” he said. “My clan is the last of our kind.”
She regarded him closely. “You will have to tell your betrothed, will you not?” She started away, cheeks flushed with pink anger.
Cade caught her arm. “Doona think to judge me when ye were followed here by yer own betrothed,” he growled. “Ye doona understand.”
“Oh?” she asked, the lethal edge of an angered woman in her tone. She faced him fully, too cultured to plant her hands on her hips but glaring at him all the same. “I do not understand? Because I am a woman to be treated as a possession? Used to gain my lands? Incapable of making a decision without a husband to guide me or support any claim I make?”
“Nay, lass,” he said, chuckling. “And ye better not ‘ave stole my good knife as ye have my amulet.” He glanced down at her heavy pocket.
Her hand went to the pendant at her chest. “You offered to marry me last night. Did you not think to mention you were already betrothed?”
“I am no more inclined to hand-fast with a MacDonald than ye are Richard,” he said, a note of warning in his tone. “Ye’ve lied t’me since you arrived. Ye think I trust ye with all my doings?”
She pursed her lips.
“Or are ye jealous, lass?” he asked. “I’ll wed ye both, if it please ye.”
“Your treachery is not appreciated, Laird Cade,” she snapped.
“Go and do what ye do. Ye ‘ave my authority and if anyone disobeys, send ‘im to me,” he said and motioned to the people before them. “Take care of my guests, lass.”
Flustered, Isabel spun and stalked away, trailed by one of his younger cousins, who regarded her with nothing sort of awe. By the time she reached the door, she had seven of his clan members in tow and was issuing orders to Brian, who glanced towards him in surprise.
Cade lifted his chin, indicating his cousin should go with the small Englishwoman he had placed in charge of running his keep.
He caught himself smiling before his attention shifted to Laird MacDonald.
“Pretty lass. Too bad she’s English,” the elderly laird said and leaned heavily on the table before him.
“Words have ne’er been truer.” Cade poured him warm wine and sat beside him.
“Now my lass, there’s a woman to keep a man straight.” The old man’s eyes glowed as his gaze fell upon someone.
Cade looked with some dread, relieved when he saw Laird Hugh’s daughter was not the woman he had heard of, at least in appearance. With dark red hair, brown eyes and a tall, slender body, she was pretty in a way very different than Isabel’s refined beauty – and nowhere near the size of a wagon as he had heard told.
“Doona look so. She isna yer wife yet.” Laird Hugh smacked Cade’s arm. “It is ne’er good t’be run out of yer keep, but perhaps ye’ll cease stalling and sign the contract if I’m in yer home.” He gave a hoarse laugh.
Cade said nothing, unwilling to upset the man seeking refuge in his walls, the one he suspected he would have a blood feud with by the time he left.
The redhead approached.
“Laird Cade, my daughter Siobhan,” Laird Hugh said proudly.
“Father, Laird Cade,” his daughter said and dipped into a deep curtsey. “’Tis an honor t’meet ye at last. My pa speaks well o’ye.”
“And ye,” Cade replied.
“Ye may be hand-fasted this very night,” Laird Hugh said with a wheezing laugh.
Hesitating, Siobhan looked Cade over, a flicker of uncertainty on her features. His size was as fearsome as his reputation, and he thought even better of her to know she had some sense about her. He was accustomed to being appreciated by any woman who saw him, and her unhappy expression struck him as odd. Was it possible she did not look forward to the match made by her father?
“Not this night,” she said. “Ye need yer rest, Father.” As she spoke, her eyes drifted to the crowd, as if she sought someone.
“An old man can hope,” came the warm response.
“D’ye no’ have a place for him to rest?” Siobhan asked Cade with some disapproval.
“We didna expect so many guests,” he said defensively.
“He is too old t’be kept wet and tired!”
“I will see to it myself.”
“There ye see?” Laird Hugh said with glee. “Yer as good as wed!”
Before Laird Hugh could force them into a hand-fast, Cade left.
The crowd parted for his large form as he headed to the door and ducked into the quieter hall. He paused and peered back into the room, taking in the crowd, the elderly laird dozing where he sat, and the woman who was supposed to wed him.
Siobhan would grace his hall well but had not seemed at all anxious to warm up to her potential husband. If anything, she had been angry. Cade sensed it was more than the state of her father, and his gaze lingered on her.
She was searching for someone once more among those in the Hall, one hand resting protectively on her father.
Dread trickled through him. What was it about women laden with secrets suddenly entering his life? He had not yet unraveled Isabel’s story, but to have two potential wives deserving of scrutiny under one roof?
He signaled the lute player and harpist to enter the Hall. Seillie music, laden with magic to calm those present, would do well for the anxious members of clan MacDonald.
He shook his head and started toward the kitchens, intent on ensuring they had meat enough to feed twice as many clan members as usual.
Lady Isabel was at the door of the kitchens, quietly issuing orders to the kitchen servants before turning to Brian and speaking to him. Cade watched her, once more drawn in when he was not yet certain how safe it was to trust one word the ethereal Englishwoman spoke.
Brian nodded at her instruction and turned, passing him with a faint smile.
“Laird Cade,” Isabel called.
“Yea, Lady Isabel.” He approached. The cluster of servants and clan members melted out of his path.
“You have not the bread or meat for your guests. I have sent Brian out to gather what warriors he can for a morning hunt.”
“The rain, my lady,” one of them said with a quick glance at him.
“I am fairly certain you can stop the tempest, can you not?” she asked him archly.
At least three of his clan members around her gasped, and everyone stared first at her then at him.
“Yea, my lady,” he said.
“You have your instructions,” she said and turned to another of the servants. “Quickly!”
There was a pause, as if th
ey awaited him to react to her knowledge of what they were. He titled his head to the side, seconding her order, and servants dashed off to obey.
“Laird Hugh needs to rest,” Isabel said. “I have someone preparing your bedchamber for him. You may escort him there at once.” She started towards the storage chambers on the lower level. “And be quick about the storm!”
Cade watched her, amused by the alarmed looks his clan members gave him. “Lady Isabel,” he called.
She turned, her chin lifting in subtle defiance.
“D’ye wish the storm t’return before dawn?” he asked.
She did not move, did not flinch. He knew without a doubt she understood what he was asking. If the storm ceased permanently, her betrothed would drag her back to England.
“Do what you will,” she snapped and spun away.
At the very least, it was not a no.
Further frustrated to have the MacDonald’s under his protection and to be no closer to solving the mystery of Isabel, Cade found it harder than usual to control the intensity of the tempest outside. His mood was brittle, his concern for his clan and that of the MacDonald’s leaving him in need of a good battle to settle his blood.
He left to escort Laird MacDonald to his chamber and then headed to the secondary shrine tucked into a corner of the keep where only three members of his clan held the key. Swinging the heavy door open, he breathed in the scents of plants and water deeply. This chamber had been made to resemble the forest. The stone flooring was removed upon his arrival, and his people had brought saplings from the forest to plant in the rich earth. The ceiling was gone as well, and the walls were extended as high as those surrounding the bailey, so no one could see inside his private sanctuary. Magic helped the saplings grow faster than usual, to the point they now towered above his head. At the center of the chamber was a small pond tinkling with the sound of raindrops pelting it.
Cade relaxed in the peaceful setting, the only place outside the forest he had ever been able to soothe his raging thoughts and the darkness left over from his time in the Holy Lands. As always, he removed his shoes, sword and tunic before proceeding to the small altar, consisting of a round, flattened stone, beside the pond.
He sat and rolled his shoulders before breathing deeply thrice and bowing his head. Clearing his mind, he allowed the magic inside him to unite with the magic of nature, until his skin prickled with energy, and he was in tune with the swaying trees and patter of rain. Thunder growled and lightning tore across the sky above him. Even the violent aspects of nature helped him calm.
In the ancient language of his mother’s people, he began to speak quietly. “By my seillie blood, with the grace of our gods and what remains of the Light Court, I request the tempest to vanish, if only for the time it takes to hunt.” He cut the pad of his thumb to free the magic in his blood then opened his eyes. Lights danced before his eyes.
They were pink. All of them. Cade snorted and reached out to them, suspecting the magic read his thoughts as to why he wanted the storm not to cease completely. Pink was the color of heart magic, of affection, truth and warmth. It was the color of home and the emotion that emerged whenever one dwelt on his hearth.
“Isna what ye think,” he told the pink flickers. “She needs my help. I need her land.” The same was said for the daughter of Laird Hugh, but he did not dwell on this.
The sparks swarmed around his hand, turning from specks of magic into a stream. He whispered a prayer of gratitude and released it, watching the pink flash burst into pieces too tiny to see as it soared upwards towards the clouds.
Assured the magic would do what it should, he centered himself, unaffected by the rain that soon drenched him. He enjoyed the peace of uniting with his magic and nature. The momentary calm did not often last long. He barely slept, and his waking moments were a struggle against the memories, the faces of men he had murdered in battle, justly or unjustly.
Aware he had little time to himself with the refugees in his Hall, he rose and dressed once more before leaving the quiet sanctuary.
The keep was packed. Every hall, every common room, every inch of dry, sheltered space was filled with guests and his own kin. He walked through the hallways, observing the gradual change as the night progressed. Isabel placed the wounded into one solar, the ill in another, far enough away from the Great Hall not to be disturbed by the gathered people. She managed to find pallets for every guest who was not afforded a bedchamber and put more than half a dozen more clan members to task assisting those who needed it.
Food began pouring into the Great Hall as she ordered the cooks to open the storage chambers to feed their guests. The scent of bread cooking and meats on the spit soon filled the keep, along with the gentle music of his people, and every goblet was kept filled with wine.
By midnight, the MacDonald’s had all but forgotten the reason they fled their home. Filled with meat and drunk on wine, they formed a merry bunch in the Great Hall, seated side by side with the MacLachlainn clan and a handful of English knights.
Cade folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorway to the Hall, pleased with the results. Lady Isabel did indeed know how to manage a household. No one in his hold, including him, knew how to manage a household without using magic.
Thoughts on his future, he scoured the Hall for Siobhan without seeing her. Unconcerned, he pushed away from the door to join the English who had sequestered themselves away from the raucous Highlanders.
Lord Richard acknowledged him with a bow of his head as he sat at the table with them. “These Highland tempests are worse than English,” he said unhappily. “How long do they last?”
Cade shrugged. “Oft-times a day, oft-times several.”
“Unfortunate. I am eager to return to Saxony.”
“’Tis large, this Saxony?” Cade asked.
“’Tis not large but the title and lands are among the first recognized by the king many years ago. The man who bears the title Baron of Saxony is held in higher distinction by the Crown than others of his rank,” was the crisp reply.
“What of its rightful heir?”
“Lost to the Crusades. Leaving Lady Isabel the sole heir to her father’s gold and lands.”
“But she canna rule as its Lord.”
“Certainly not. A woman has not the mind for matters of state and estate,” Lord Richard replied. “Left alone, she will ride off on some fanciful journey to the Highlands!” He laughed, as did those with him. “Nay, she needs discipline, similar to any horse before it can be of service. I will ensure she never acts out in such a way again. I have heard an heir settles a woman and reminds her of her place.”
Cade had heard similar sentiment from Highlanders and English alike, yet hearing it spoken about Isabel caused his anger to stir. “Does yer king approve of yer claim to her?” he asked, forcing himself to remain calm.
“He will,” Lord Richard said confidently. “And he will have little choice. No man under God can deny a husband his wife’s lands, once they are wed.”
“She need not agree?”
Lord Richard appeared startled. “She has not the mind to disagree.” He leaned forward, his voice lowering. “Madness runs in her family. Her father succumbed to it at an early age and it finally killed him. I cannot risk it claiming her before I have my title.”
“And ye will do so by any means necessary.”
“’Tis my right,” came the unsettling reply. “Her father and mine had an agreement, though both men passed before the contract was made.”
“I would think she had many suitors.”
“Had.” Lord Richard smiled coldly. “It takes but one turning up with a knife through his heart for the others to understand.”
So she ran. Cade began to comprehend Isabel’s mindset better. Cornered by an ambitious Richard, alone and angry, she had lashed out at the one man she blamed for it all.
The internal debate about what to tell her of her own brother settled some at the realization of how sc
ared the proud woman had to be in order to seek him out.
“Is it common for a clan to be run out of his keep?” Lord Richard asked, eyes on the people around them.
“From time to time, yea,” Cade answered absently and poured all of them more wine.
“We do not have such petty feuds in England. I will be grateful to have Isabel home.”
Cade tensed but didn’t allow himself to react. It was not the time to anger the lord, not when Isabel remained vulnerable to him. “I hope the rains clear up fer ye soon,” he said and rose, placing the pitcher of wine down.
Lord Richard bowed his head, dismissing him, and Cade strode away. He exited into the hallway and released his breath, surprised by how tight his chest was. He had visions of pounding Lord Richard’s face in as he spoke, and battle lust roared in his blood.
The sounds of the Great Hall followed him, and he began walking, needing a quick escape to clear his mind. His home had felt small before and absolutely tiny now. Nowhere he went was free of people, and he paused in an intersection of two corridors, agitated by the energy and noise of so many others. He was close to snapping at anyone who spoke to him and had been trapped inside all day because of the rain. He needed some time on the lists or a long ride to calm him.
Cade struck off through the halls and emerged from the loudness of his home into the cool, quiet drizzle outside. The thunder and lightning had lifted, along with the heavier rain. He strode to the stables and slid through the open doors into the interior.
Even here, there was no peace. Several of his warriors had made pallets of hay in the loft above the horses. The light of lanterns glowed, and quiet talk joined the occasional nickers and shifting of horses.
Deciding to grab his sword and head to the lists despite the cold and rain, he heard a woman’s laugh and paused, eyes traveling down the stables to the feed room at the far end. Her voice was followed by that of Niall.
Impressed his cousin had found a woman after a bout of chastity that lasted far longer than any Cade had ever attempted, he paced towards the feed room and peered into the door-less entry.
