by Lizzy Ford
“It can be,” he said quietly. “A sword can either defend or attack, and so can magic.”
“Why do you not ask it to heal you?”
He was quiet for a moment. “I doona possess that gift now. I lost it when I took a dark path in the Holy Lands. Marie is our sole healer, because of this.”
This was to become her life. Black Cade, clan wars and sorcery eating at him from the inside. “I do not know if I can do this,” she said.
“All will be well.” His grip tightened around her. “We need to reach the MacCosse lands.”
If only it were that simple. She understood enough of their situation to guess they would soon face a war Cade’s clan was unprepared for.
“I must send a message to my uncle,” she said.
“And what? Beg him t’save ye from the Highland savages?” he growled.
She shook her head. “You cannot win a war without allies.”
“We have one in the Scottish court. I doona want the English fighting my war.”
“Then you should not have wed an English woman!”
“Yer not English,” he said and laughed so loudly, he drew the looks of his cousins.
She bit back her initial retort and drew a steadying breath. “At least allow me to warn my uncle about Richard.”
Cade was quiet.
“Richard will do what he must to take my father’s land.”
“I doona care and neither should you.”
“Cade! Do you have gold? Because I do!”
“Let Richard have Saxony, lass. I doona want yer English gold or yer English land.”
“Saxony is my home!”
“Yer home is where I am,” he said firmly. “Be mindful of who ye are now, Lady Cade.”
She expelled an exasperated breath. Sensing his resolve, she chose not to press the matter and also to find a way to send word to her uncle despite Cade’s wishes. It was foolish to dismiss Saxony as he was, even if he never planned to leave the Highlands.
“Must we return to the time when I wished you dead?” she grumbled.
He chuckled. “Is this an English tradition? T’kill yer betrothed?”
“If it were?”
“I would sleep with ye in my arms and a dagger behind me. But I wouldna ever let ye go.”
“To be desired for a reason other than my lands!” she snapped.
“Ah, lass. Ye are. If not fer war, I would have shown you tonight.”
Heat raced through her. Her fingertips went to her lips, and rested there as she recalled his kiss. How did she want a man who could kill so easily, who admitted to being tainted by evil?
She subsided into confused silence, too warm and too aware of the man at her back who meant to claim her as his wife.
Chapter Eighteen
Some time before dawn, they entered the wooden gates of the much smaller keep and stopped in the bailey. Even before she set foot in the stone keep, she could see the evidence of Cade’s claim to have moved as many people as possible away from the place. When she had left, the bailey had been crowded with makeshift shelters, horses and MacDonald’s clan members she had nowhere else to house in the main keep.
Tired concern fluttered through her thoughts as she considered how difficult it might be to claim the MacCosse land before Laird Duncan began pursing the clan members.
Cade dismounted from behind her. They were dry from the rain, thanks to his magic. The back of her dress, however, was soaked through with warm blood, along with his clothing. He lifted her off the horse’s back and set her down. His features were paler than usual in the torchlight of the bailey.
She bit back the instinct to order him to the healer immediately, but she did reach out to him and took his hand.
“You cannot help your clan in this state,” she told him.
Cade’s focus shifted from the stable boy to her. “We willna stay long,” he said and pushed hair from her features. “Go rest. We will leave tomorrow.”
“I will send Marie to you.”
He nodded brusquely and left her beside the horse, striding across the bailey to join the priest, his cousins, and several other seasoned members of his clan.
Isabel was only too happy for the reprieve after her days in Laird Duncan’s hold. He had treated her well, but she had at no point been comfortable among the strangers. Perhaps it was the seillie magic, or the friendliness of Cade’s people, but she felt safer inside his walls than she had anywhere else since her father’s death.
Retreating to the hold, she sent the first servant she found after Marie and went to the bedchamber that was not solely Cade’s any longer. Entering the quiet, warm, space, she released a heavy breath. There was no moonlight to make the pendants glow. The hearth was bright and blazing, and fresh rushes laden with mint had been sprinkled across the floor.
Isabel peeled off her clothing, worried when she saw the amount of blood weighing down her gown. She changed into a sleeping gown, brushed and braided her hair and was about to slide under the coverlets when the door opened.
The sight of Cade left her heart racing and caused her breath to stick in her throat. She hastily snatched the sleeping robe and tugged it around her.
He barely glanced at her and went to the stool before the fire, sitting with a grunt.
She closed the door, sensing he was more hurt than he had let on.
Cade peeled off his tunic to reveal his muscular upper body, his golden skin marred by red.
“Where is Marie?” she asked.
“Headed towards the MacCosse lands,” he replied, seemingly unconcerned. “Niall rode after her.”
“Cade …” Isabel breathed. She stood in stunned quiet, digesting the information slowly. She had been somewhat content to let him bleed all night, knowing Marie was going to heal him upon arrival.
She hurried to the table near the bed and filled the bowl on top with water before plunging several linen rags into it. Returning to him, she knelt in front of him and began to wash away the blood. The taut skin stretched across his chiseled expanse of chest was hot to the touch, and she counted three wounds. She nudged the black pendant he wore aside as she cleaned him.
“Ye doona need t’do that,” he said gently and took her hand.
“I am your wife,” she replied. “Or did you forget the marriage you forced me into?”
He chuckled. “You ought to let me bleed t’death then.”
“I considered it.” She tugged her hand free and began carefully smoothing away the blood around the wounds. Admiring his physical strength once more, she began to feel too warm afore the fire. Touching him left her exhilarated and her mind stuck on the images of a night in his bed.
One of the wounds on his chest continued to bleed, while the other two had stopped. She finished and stood, going to stand behind him to start to clean the wounds there. He was so much wider than her, his skin so smooth and soft. The reminder he was a man, flesh and blood, startled her. Of course, she knew him to be, but feeling his skin and the shape of muscles beneath it fascinated her as much as the tangled strands of his hair and the subtle movement of his torso as he breathed in and out.
She had never been curious about a man before, never experienced the stirring of lust this strong.
“Why do ye not wish me to bleed t’death?” he asked, shifting his head to look at the ground as she cleaned the back of his neck.
“You have shown me kindness. In most matters,” she added, thoughts on the forced wedding. “I do not like to see you hurt.”
“I earned it.”
Troubled whenever she thought on what he had done, she did not reply and swept the wet rag down one arm and across his large biceps. “How do you come by these?” she asked, fascinated yet alarmed by his size. She was unable to fit both hands around his bicep. “’Tis unnatural.”
He laughed. “There is much about me ye’ll find unnatural, I ken.”
She shook her head and continued, cleaning the long, roped muscles of his forearm before returning to the
broad back with its distinctive triangle shape: wide shoulders that tapered down to a trim waist.
His body was beautiful in the way of an animal’s – with such power, she did not know how he was capable of gentleness at all. She poked at his supple muscles, and traced the shapes of several with the rag.
When she had finished, she began to apply poultice and bandage him. With a great deal of care and effort, she finished and stepped back to observe her handiwork. No blood seeped through the linen, and she nodded in satisfaction.
Cade caught one of her hands and drew her closer, until she stood between his thighs.
“How d’ye ken t’treat wounds?” he asked, studying her soft hands.
Her heart was beating hard and fast, her awareness of him causing there to be a pause before she knew to answer him.
“My brother was a knight. He came home often with wounds. The first time I bandaged him, I was ten and he fifteen,” she said, smiling at the memory.
Cade traced his thumb across her palm light enough to tickle. He looked up at her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him.
Her breath stuck in her throat, and she braced herself against his chest before allowing her arms to relax and drape over his shoulders.
Cade rested his chin between her breasts, intent gaze on her. “Were I not bloody and bruised,” he murmured, glancing at her lips. “My lips are no’ wounded, Lady Cade.”
She started to laugh, nervous and giddy in his embrace.
“Kiss me, wife,” he ordered with a trace of a smile.
Isabel hesitated then lowered her head to his and pressed her lips to his, lifted her head, then tried again, this time kissing him solidly.
Cade responded with the same insistence he showed before, tugging her emotions free of their confines as he devoured her mouth with fascination. He kissed her long, deep and slow. Her tension melted from her, and she wrapped her arms around his head, allowing him to support her once more with his strong arms.
She forgot his wounds, their danger, all but his masculine scent, flavor and strength. She wanted more without understanding what it was she craved, except it involved her bothersome gown being gone, so she could feel his skin against hers.
Cade shifted one arm and tugged the ties of her robe. He worked it off one shoulder then the other, letting it fall at her feet.
Isabel’s breathing began to quicken. With less material between them, she felt more of his heat, and it stoked the fire of need racing through her.
Cade began to inch her dressing gown up her legs. She tensed at first, but his heated kisses soon soothed her, along with the tiny voice of her wet nurse in her head reminding her she was now this man’s wife. It would be a sin to deny him her body. The moment his calloused palm touched her bare thigh, she gasped and lifted her head.
He kissed her jaw and down her neck, the hot trail sending her spiraling once more into lust. Cade kissed a path to her collar then across to her shoulder, his hands shifting up her body, branding her with their heat and strength.
Capturing her lips once more, his mouth became hungry, less patient. Isabel responded out of instinct, overwhelmed by the sensation of his hands on her skin and the need to feel every part of him against her. She was drowning in him and his heat, barely aware of her reaction when she wanted so much more from him.
Cade stood, running his palms across the delicate skin of her hips to rest at her waist, the dressing gown bunched above them. Pressing one hand to the small of her back, he held her against him. The long, thick, steely length of his arousal pressed to her belly, and she moaned softly, the fire in her core demanding to be soothed.
He broke off the kiss. “My wife,” his words were soft, fierce.
“My husband,” she whispered, gazing up at him.
Cade rested his forehead against hers. They breathed the same air, and she trembled in his arms.
“Isabel.” This whisper, while low and husky, was faint. He released her gown and wobbled.
She opened her eyes to see his closed, and his head sagging. His face was flushed, his skin clammy. It was more than need.
Concern tore her out of desire.
“You are fevered,” she said. “Cade, you must rest!”
He started to object then careened into her.
Isabel planted both hands against his chest to keep him on his feet. When he was stable, she wrapped an arm around him and began the long walk to the bed. Cade pressed a kiss to her temple and opened his eyes, doing his best to help.
When they reached it, he collapsed, and she landed on top of him. Isabel straightened and maneuvered his legs onto the bed. As she did so, she saw the blood-soaked trews once more and paused.
One thigh was injured, which meant taking off his trews. Heat fluttered within her as her gaze fell to his arousal, still stiff and firm despite his condition.
Cade’s eyes were closed.
“Cade, I need to bandage the wound on your thigh,” she told him.
“Verra … well.” His voice was weaker, his cheeks red with fever.
She draped a wet rag across his forehead and stood back, bowl and bandages beside her feet at the floor. She had never seen a naked man. At least, not one full grown. She had helped wrangle the children of her wet nurse from time to time but Cade …
His breathing became deep enough to assure her he had fallen into sleep.
Face hot, fingers fumbling, Isabel untied the trews and settled beside him on the bed, beginning to work them down his hips. Desire flared uncomfortably within her, making her hands clumsy and her eyes flicker incessantly towards the bulge of his manhood. Rolling down the top of his trews, she admired the ridges of his flat stomach, the muscles wrapping around his hips towards his crotch, the trail of hair leading her towards the part of him currently mesmerizing her focus.
Unable to lift him, she shifted him from side to side until the material stuck. Isabel went to his feet and began tugging the trews from that angle, cringing every time she jerked too hard and caused his body to move.
Finally, she had tugged the trews free and stood beside the bed.
His manhood, no longer stiff, was nonetheless long and thick, draped across the top of one thigh.
Mouth dry, Isabel stared at it, almost crippled by the idea of him inside her. Her wet nurse had not warned her about the size of a man’s arousal. This was what the sacred part of her ached for – and she was far too intrigued by it, by imagining what it felt like inside her.
Crossing herself with a quick prayer of forgiveness for thinking such unclean thoughts when a man was bleeding before her, Isabel tore her eyes away and focused on the stab wound in his thigh. She quickly cleaned and bound the wound then sat back, staring once more at Cade’s manhood.
She pulled the coverlet to his waist, frowning at the flushed nature of his face. She had seen him weary and vulnerable in the forest, but this was different. The strongest man she had ever known was weak before her eyes and so unlike the person who ripped men apart at Laird Duncan’s.
She retrieved her dressing gown and replaced it then fetched clean water and rags and set them down on the table near the bed. He was sleeping peacefully, albeit fevered. Crossing to the pendants and herbs dangling from the top of the window, she wished she knew more of his magic. Her talisman helped the heart heal. Which of these might help heal his body?
Wind laden with raindrops swept into the room, chilling her. It was not yet light enough to see the sky, but she imagined it weeping for Cade, fearful for the man connected to it by magic.
Pulling the stool to the sill, she stood on it and pulled down all the talismans from their positions. Each glowed a different color, and they were warm to the touch despite the rain and cold breeze.
Isabel returned to the bed and sat beside Cade. Unfamiliar with the power of the pendants, she lifted his arm and carefully wrapped the leather necklaces of each pendant around his wrist.
She sat beside him, studying his features, and placed his hand in h
er lap.
Hours before, she had been terrified of this very man after the display at Laird Duncan’s. Now, she feared for his life.
He was a stranger, even if he were legally her husband. Why did her heart skip a beat and her chest seize whenever she considered he might not survive? Why did such a thought fill her with despair similar to what she experienced while watching her father pass away?
Gaze glued to his features, she gripped his hand in both of hers and listened to the sound of wind wail outside and Cade’s steady breathing.
A light knock sounded at the door. Reluctantly, she left the bed and went to it.
Brian stood in the hallway, carrying a small satchel. “How is he?” he asked with abruptness she would find uncomely any other time.
“Not well,” she said and stepped aside for him to enter. “I dressed all his wounds, but he has a fever.”
Brian went to his cousin’s side and dumped the contents of the satchel beside Cade. “Heat some water for tea,” he directed her.
Isabel hurried to obey, hoping Brian or his seillie magic was going to cure the husband she was not certain she wanted.
“You did this?” he asked, an odd note in his tone.
She looked up from the pot she settled into the fire.
Brian had Cade’s wrist. Pendants dangled from it.
“Yes,” she said. “I thought they might help.”
Brian allowed a small smile to slip free.
“Is that wrong?” she asked quickly.
“Ye ‘ave a good heart,” he replied. “These willna help him, but they will comfort him when he wakes.” He set down Cade’s hand.
A little embarrassed she did not know more of their magic, Isabel waited by the fire until the water was close to boiling, then filled a goblet and returned to Brian. He dumped a pungent mix of herbs into the water and swirled it, waiting for it to cool.
“Wake up, cousin,” he whispered and shook Cade until his eyes opened.
Cade’s gaze was unfocused, and he blinked rapidly.
