by Lizzy Ford
“You could not run a keep if the lives of everyone you knew depended upon you,” she said breathlessly, needing to put distance and emotion between them.
To her surprise, he chuckled. “I am a warrior. I ken much of war and little of aught else. We manage.”
“With magic. Without it, you would be starved.”
“Yea, Lady Isabel,” he said. “We doona ken the doings of men.”
“There is more to do this morn after your clan finishes dancing,” she snapped.
“I am grateful.”
She eyed him.
“I am,” he said. His warmth and the glow in his eyes, at odds with his periodic temper, flustered her.
“’Tis an honor, my lord,” she said and curtseyed. “I am grateful for …” She looked towards the Great Hall and the direction Richard had gone. “Why do you protect me, knowing why I am here and that I brought this all upon myself?”
Cade appeared to be deciding how to respond when someone called out for him. He turned, and she saw Brian leading in a drenched messenger.
“Laird Duncan sends word,” Brian said and stepped aside for the messenger to approach.
The man bowed hastily and held out a scroll covered in an oiled cloth. “Laird Duncan bids ye respond right away,” said the messenger.
“Brian, wake Father Adam,” Cade said.
“Do not wake Father Adam,” Isabel said softly. “He was up with me for many hours. He is too tired.”
“I canna read it.” Cade held up the missive.
“I can.” She held out her hand.
Brian and the messenger were gazing at him. Cade studied her features for a moment.
“You think it sinful for a woman to read,” she guessed, stiffening. “My father claimed it so for a woman to better her mind.”
“Ye better yer mind, and I sharpen my swords,” Cade replied without blinking. “I doona care for what the English think of a woman who reads.” He handed the scroll to her.
Not expecting him to agree, she accepted it, silently cursing herself and then him for improving her perception of him when she wanted to hate him.
Isabel stepped away, towards a torch for the added light, and unraveled the scroll. She read it through once, dread settling into her stomach. With a glance at the messenger, she motioned for Laird Cade to join her.
“What is it?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. His heated strength at her back distracted her momentarily. She recovered and read the short message.
“Laird Duncan bids you, as his obedient vassal, to honor his declaration of war against the MacDonald’s and toss them outside your walls, so he may slay his enemies,” she said quietly enough for only him to hear.
Cade was quiet for a moment.
When she twisted to see his face, he was gazing pensively towards the Great Hall.
“You cannot,” she whispered. “Laird Hugh is too weak to move, and his clan has –”
“Ye think so poorly of me?” Cade asked with a glance at her. “I swore Laird MacDonald an oath.”
She pursed her lips.
He started to smile then waved his cousin over and explained the message.
Brian frowned. “We canna decide so quickly the fate of an entire clan,” he voiced.
“Nay,” Cade agreed. “Take the messenger to the forest and thrall him.” He took the scroll from Isabel and rolled it back up, placing the oiled cover around it.
Brian accepted it.
Isabel frowned. “Thrall?” she asked. “You cannot harm the messenger.”
“Brian’s gift is t’influence the mind of another,” Cade explained. “The messenger willna remember seeing us or delivering the writ. He will believe himself lost in the forest and return to Laird Duncan.”
Isabel stared after Brian, uncomfortable with learning more of their magic. She shook her head. “And the MacDonald’s? What will you do when you cannot deceive Laird Duncan any longer?”
“I doona ken,” Cade replied. “I willna risk the lives of my kin.”
“You must protect those who require it. It is the honorable path to follow.”
“My seillie doona run a household and they doona fight,” he said. “As their laird, I will decide when I must, no sooner.”
His firm response troubled her. That he had to think about what to do was a bad omen for the MacDonald’s, who would surely be cast out if the choice came down to Cade’s kin or theirs.
Cade faced her. “Ye’ve not slept,” he observed, focusing on her features once more.
“There is much to do,” she replied.
“We will survive until ye’ve rested.”
She craned her head back to meet his gaze. No part of her wanted to move, not when his woodsy scent was as soothing as the harp music drifting down the hall. His features were more savage than usual with several days growth of a beard shadowing his jaw.
Why did she cease thinking clearly whenever this barbarian was around?
“I must prepare for the day,” she said, blinking out of his spell.
“And it will wait.” He said and bent. He scooped her up in his arms as he had in the forest.
Isabel started to object but was unable to piece together more than two words. Fire raced through her at his touch, and his strength mesmerized her with how easily he carried her, as if she held no weight at all. From this angle, he appeared more savage than usual, and this touched the feminine side of her that had dreamt – however sinfully – of how it would be to be loved by him. His ferocity and loyalty to his family were beyond any she had ever seen.
His magic … she looked away from his strong features, not at all welcoming of the reminder of how different he truly was. Fianna’s explanation of him being half-seillie did not help her stomach the thought of magic any better.
“Ye’ve healed well,” he said, glancing down at her.
“Thank you. Marie was very gracious.”
“I ‘ave storms planned fer the next three days.”
She started to laugh and caught herself, baffled by his ability to manipulate the weather. “Why would you do that?” she asked in frustration.
A shadow crossed his features. She could almost hear thunder rumbling in the distance. “Because I must,” he said at last. His words were clipped, as if he were as doubtful as she was as to whether or not he should obey his magic.
Her cheeks warm, Isabel said nothing as they walked to the second floor. He lowered her to the ground before a bedchamber.
“This is Niall’s. He is away,” he said and released her.
She caught his scent again, forest and man, and breathed it in, embarrassed to realize he was waiting for her to respond.
“I will not marry you.” Where the words came from, her tired mind did not know.
A spark of something lit in Cade’s gaze. “I willna allow ye t’leave with Richard.”
“It is not your choice.”
“Ye ferget yerself, Lady Isabel. This isna yer keep,” he warned. “I am laird here.”
“I will not answer to you or Richard.” She turned and started to open the door.
Cade gripped the door, preventing it from moving. His nearness sent heat and awareness through her, and she instinctively hunched her shoulders.
“I couldna save yer brother. I can save ye,” he said in a low, gruff voice.
“What do you mean?” She faced him. “Save him? Did you not kill him?”
He studied her. “I should no’ ‘ave said it.” Abruptly, he was closed off from her once more. He released the door and backed away. “Rest. We willna starve before ye awaken.”
I am not so sure, she thought absently. She dwelt on his statement about her brother. As before, she sensed there was so much more that Cade was not saying about what happened in the Crusades.
She waited until he had disappeared around a corner and opened the door, closing and barring it behind her.
Every interaction with the man left her addled. She wanted to blame him for her life. But the moment hi
s eyes fell to her, she became weak of will. Too weak to kill him when she had the chance, too curious and fearful to want to leave before she knew for certain what had befallen her brother.
Her stomach growled. Isabel wearily tugged off her gown and went to splash her face with water before settling into bed. The lighter the sky outside her window became, the heavier it began to rain.
She marveled at the sheets of water falling from the grey sky. That anyone could control the clouds was astounding. That someone did it for her sake …
Laird Cade did nothing but vex her.
Chapter Thirteen
Slaying his demons at the lists was becoming a routine duty he undertook every night. Four days after the arrival of the MacDonald’s, Cade was close to snapping with the amount of people around him at every moment of the day. Another messenger from Laird Duncan had arrived and been thralled, but his decision would have to be made soon.
He sensed someone approach, safe from the rain beneath the eaves of the keep, but did not dare stop when his moods were too brittle.
Cade fought the dummy until his breathing was ragged and his body began to wear itself out. Only when his blood had settled some did he drop his arms and toss his head back, letting the cold rain tickle his face. Steam radiated off his hot body, and he steadied his breathing.
Lady Isabel had been too occupied to speak to him since the night he carried her to a bedchamber to sleep. She was avoiding him, as she did Richard, and this disturbed Cade more than it should.
“Cade.”
He lowered the practice swords, unable to snap at Father Adam.
“Niall returned from court.”
Interest flooded him. He turned and strode to the eaves where Father Adam stood with a messenger’s bag still dripping with water. “What does it say?” he asked eagerly.
“Lady Isabel’s claim is merited,” Father Adam replied. “She is the sole heir to the MacCosse lands.”
Cade’s mind began to race once more as he considered what it could mean for his clan. She had refused his proposal, but he could force the issue.
The only problem: he had no warriors to stake the claim and defend it once he had.
“Ye traveled the Highlands,” he said. “What d’ye ken of the MacCosse lands?”
“They are vast but the last keep was burnt upon their laird’s death.”
“We would need gold.”
“Much of it,” Father Adam agreed. “The lands be easier to d’fend, for the laird who had the means to do so.”
Learning more only seemed to muddy his decision. “Where is Niall?”
“Here,” his cousin called from down the hallway. The ugly seillie warrior trotted towards them. “Ye told him, priest?”
“Yea.”
“I brought ye wine.” Niall pulled a pitcher from his saddlebags. “The king’s own.”
Father Adam’s eyes lit up. “No swill fer me tonight!” he exclaimed and took it, leaving them at a quick shuffle.
“Now ye ken,” Niall said, studying Cade. “What do ye think?”
Cade shook his head. “No matter what I think, we need gold. We canna stay here without it. We canna go there without it. We canna house the MacDonald’s much longer without it.”
“Brian told me of Laird Duncan’s demands.”
“I canna ignore him for long.”
“What will ye do?”
Cade was quiet, recalling how his cousin was rutting with the MacDonald lass. It was one more matter to discuss, one he did not feel ready to address yet. They needed no discord among them when their clan was in danger. “I doona ken,” he said finally. “Did ye learn more at court?”
Niall snorted. “Lady Isabel … yer certain she isna one of us?”
“She is not. Why?”
“When I asked about the MacCosse lands, I was sent straight t’the king’s stewart and given a private audience. The stewart asked after her so oft, I’d think they were wed, if he were not too old.”
Cade frowned. “How is an English noble of interest to the Scottish crown?”
“I doona ken. But she is.”
“Enough fer them t’secure her claim, once she makes it?”
“I doona ken this, cousin,” Niall said. “I saw him but briefly. But he was concerned for her, had heard she left Saxony and was wandering the Highlands.”
“We may have an ally,” Cade murmured. “If she were to stay.”
Niall’s eyebrows shot up. “Ye still consider this madness of wedding her?”
Cade shrugged.
“I, too, am guilty fer leaving her brother, but we owe her nothing. Ye’ve protected her, risked yer life fer hers. Let her go, Cade.”
He heard the wisdom in Niall’s advice but it ran adrift of what his magic wished him to do. “I have much to think on,” he said instead. “Go rest. I feel the unseillie in me stirring.” Cade flipped the swords and strode into the lists once more.
No sooner had he begun than he sensed her silent approach.
She is here. His magic spoke loudest when it involved the beguiling woman.
“What is it, Lady Cade?” he asked, facing her direction.
She stood beside the entrance to the keep with a stole wrapped around her shoulders, lit from behind by the torches from the corridor. She was watching him with no small amount of unease, as if she had never seen a warrior fight before.
“The evening hunting party has departed. I directed Brian to down as many animals as they could. You need meat,” she said. “Were you aware of how low your grain stocks were?”
“Yea.” He flung one sword across the lists at the reminder. “I am aware.”
She considered him. “And you have no gold.”
He laughed, a harsh, short sound. “’ave ye anything t’say I doona already ken?” he demanded with more heat than he intended.
Her cheeks turned pink, but she did not look away.
“This keep is ours until the weather turns,” he added. “No grain, no land, no gold.”
“This is why you are out here beating dolls,” she murmured. “But this is not why I came. I came to ask you a question.”
Cade retrieved both swords and dropped them into the barrel where they were stored. He approached her, taking shelter beneath the eaves. Isabel’s eyes went to his chest – and stuck. Drenched, his tunic outlined every muscles of his torso.
She cleared her throat and took two steps away, uneasy with his size and nearness.
“I wanted to ask you if what you said the other night was true. That you do not recall the names of those you slayed,” she said, meeting his gaze once more.
“What does it matter?” he asked roughly.
“Brian remembered my brother. I thought you may as well.”
Cade silently cursed his cousin for speaking out of turn about something he should know not to. Although, he was not completely surprised. Lady Isabel had a calming effect on those around her, and her beauty meant nothing she said was taken with offense.
Something in her eyes, a vulnerable despair, disturbed him. He was facing the difficulty of housing and feeding his clan. Why did one woman’s sorrow ensnare his focus? Of the two of them, he had the ability to cast enchantments. Of the two of them, he alone seemed bewitched whenever they spoke.
“It doesna matter,” he said. He meant to return to the lists, too agitated to be fully civilized, but found himself enchanted by the delicate strength of the woman before him.
“I must know what happened.”
“For what purpose? Isna it easier t’think I slay him?”
She hesitated before shaking her head. “I do not know why I feel as if I must ask you. I want to believe the worst of you, but the kindness you have showed me and the MacDonald’s makes me doubt all I thought was true.”
“It was a dark time, Lady Isabel,” he said in a low voice. “I was not the same man I am now.”
“Then tell me you killed him, and I will be forever silent on this matter!”
Cade’s gaze
went to the rainy night. “I kilt many but I didna kill him.”
“What happened?” She moved closer, her eyes riveted to him.
“Madness. It stole his mind after so many months in a Saracen dungeon,” he said slowly. The images in his mind of that horrific time left his body stiff and the familiar battle lust surging. “We escaped one night, Brian, Niall, and a few others. Yer brother was mad, too mad. He attacked us when we tried to free him. I couldna find his mind with my … gift. We were forced to leave him there.”
“You left my brother in a Saracen prison to die?” she whispered, growing pale.
“Lady Isabel, there was naught left o’yer brother to save.”
She gazed at him, struggling with emotions. “You swear this is true?”
“On my blood. What fate befell him after we left, I doona ken. But I didna kill him.”
“Why did you not tell me this?”
“Why did ye tell me ye were my wife when we met?” he challenged, irritated by her tone.
“It took me a year to find you and another to wrest a writ granting me …” She started and then shook her head. “All I have done is for not.”
“Ye escaped Richard,” he pointed out.
She blinked back tears. “And now I must return with him and know how angry he is.”
He sensed she was as confused about her fate as he was frustrated by his. Resting a hand on her arm, he meant to speak. The simple touch stilled the rage pacing in his blood. In the few days she had been avoiding him, he forgot how strong the effect of their skin meeting was. His eyes went to the place where his palm rested on her forearm. Her breath had caught at the touch.
What he planned to say escaped his mind. Instead, he found it hard to form any words.
“You can stop the storms,” she whispered. “I will leave with Richard in the morning.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, and he frowned.
“If I stay, he will return with an army. You have suffered enough. You and your clan,” she continued in an even tone he suspected hid a great deal of emotion. “You have a betrothed waiting for you with lands enough for your people and hers.”
“I willna leave your fate in the hands of Lord Richard,” he objected.
