But she didn’t have too much time to ponder this as Domhnall gestured for her to follow as he rose from his seat. He said nothing as he accompanied her from the great hall to her chamber, where he gave her a hard look.
“I meant what I said in the great hall,” he said firmly. “Ye’re here for a fortnight and no more.”
“Yes, you made yourself very clear,” she said, another stab of hurt piercing her.
Domhnall started to walk away, but she couldn’t stop herself, reaching out to grab his arm. Electricity raced through her veins at the feel of his muscular arm, and she quickly withdrew her hand.
“Is it truly honor that makes you not want to use my magic—or fear?” she asked.
Domhnall’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward, causing a heated awareness to spiral throughout her body. “I donnae understand what ye can do, aye, but I donnae fear it. Fear has no place in the heart of a chieftain; my father taught me that. I donnae ken how it is in this time ye purport tae be from, but in this time, honor is everything. And I willnae sacrifice my honor, no more than I already have.”
More than he already had? Before she could question what he meant by that, he turned on his heel and stalked away.
Astrid watched him go, wariness settling over her. She had her work cut out for her, and not just to get Domhnall to trust her enough to use her abilities . . . but to stem her overwhelming pull of desire toward the stubborn man.
After their heated encounter, Astrid assumed Domhnall would allow the fortnight to pass without calling on her services out of spite, but to her surprise he sent for her the very next morning. As she approached his chamber, she silently prayed that he’d changed his mind and would use her magical ability.
When she entered the chamber, which appeared to be a study of some sort, he was standing by the window not looking at her as he studied a parchment in his hands.
“My advisor Ruarc needs a healer tae tend tae his pregnant wife Siomha. She’s been ill as of late and her midwife cannae help; she’s away for the birth of one of my nobles’ sons. Ye can help her, aye?”
A mix of disappointment and relief filled her. Disappointment at his not using her magic, and relief that her medical services were needed. Magic was still new to her, but medicine was her passion, and something she could do well.
“Yes,” she said.
Still not looking at her, which caused her more hurt than it should have, he dismissed her, and a male servant accompanied her to another chamber at the far end of the castle, which Astrid realized was larger than she’d initially estimated.
A young chambermaid ushered her inside.
The same man who had been at Domhnall’s side last night, Ruarc, stood there, hovering at the bedside of a young blonde woman who looked close to six months pregnant. The woman, who she guessed was Siomha, gave Astrid a look of such . . . knowing that it was disconcerting.
“I’ll leave ye,” Ruarc said, leaning down to place a loving kiss on his wife’s head. He moved past Astrid, giving her a polite nod.
Astrid approached Siomha, taking a seat by her side and giving the woman a kind smile, which she returned. “How far along are—" Astrid began, but Siomha interrupted her.
“Ye’re a stiuireadh,” she said calmly.
Astrid stiffened with surprise. She’d thought Domhnall wouldn’t have told a soul about her, but he clearly had. A current of fear rippled through her. If enough people knew what she was . . .
“Oh, ye have nothing tae fear,” Siomha assured her, seeming to read her mind as she gave her another smile. “Ruarc would never betray Domhnall’s trust—he didnae tell me. I sensed yer presence.”
“Sensed?” Astrid echoed, baffled.
“Aye. My ancestors were stiuireadh, direct from the line of druids. I donnae have any magic of my own, but I have echoes of the Sight . . . I can sometimes see things that are tae come. Something dark is coming tae the isles, something that threatens us all. Ye’re the one that can stop it.”
Chapter 7
Astrid paced the length of her chamber, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She closed her eyes, shaking.
I can’t do this, she thought frantically. I just want to go home.
Siomha’s revelation had been a bombshell.
“Ye’re here tae bring peace tae the isles, tae stop the Norse. But ye willnae do it alone. I cannae see it clearly, but ye are the one who will bring about an alliance between the witches and the lairds of the isles. I’ve seen visions of it,” Siomha told her.
Astrid had frozen as the full implication of her words settled in. Unable to come up with a coherent response, she’d excused herself and stumbled out of Siomha’s chamber.
Now, her heart pounded with the fury of a sledgehammer against her ribcage. She knew exactly what Siomha was referring to.
She should have realized. As soon as Domhnall had told her what year it was, she should have known.
Astrid closed her eyes, mentally crawling through her childhood memories, to memories she had long since banished.
“There was a Pact made centuries ago, between the stiuireadh and the lairds of the Scottish Isles, to help ward off the Norse invaders,” a witch in her coven had told her and several other children as they sat around her, listening to tales of past stiuireadh.
Domhnall had told her the present year was 1266, and by the weather she’d gleaned it was early fall. That meant it was not long after the Norse and Scots signed a peace treaty. Based on what she knew of this time and the circumstances surrounding the Pact, the Norse were still a threat even after the treaty was signed. Since the Pact clearly hadn’t happened yet . . . Astrid must be the one who had to put it into motion.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, shutting her eyes.
How could she, a weak and nonpracticing stiuireadh, who’d only come to this time to stop visions and nightmares from assailing her, be so influential in such an important magical and historic event?
There has to be some mistake. Siomha must have meant someone else. I can’t be responsible for something so monumental.
But her gut instinct, the same instinct that made her feel a powerful connection to Domhnall, the same instinct that had brought her here, told her that this had to be the case. She thought of all the images she’d seen in her visions of the past—the approaching ships, the battles on land and at sea. Time, fate, and magic had guided her to this time and place for a reason.
She was meant to set the Pact into motion.
Overwhelmed, Astrid swayed on her feet as blackness descended on her like an ominous cloud. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard a panicked voice—Domhnall’s voice.
“Astrid? Astrid!”
His voice brought a sense of calm with it, and the darkness gradually cleared.
Astrid opened her eyes to find herself in Domhnall’s arms. She was on the floor of her chamber, and Domhnall held her, his blue eyes filled with concern.
“Are ye unwell?”
She looked at him, trying to steady her still rapid breathing.
It’s up to me to stop another potential war. But I can’t do it, she wanted to scream. I’m not the one who should be helping you. I don’t have the power or the knowledge.
But she said none of this.
“I need to tell you something,” she whispered. “Something about the future.”
Domhnall, Ruarc, and Siomha sat in silence as Astrid stood before them in Domhnall’s private chamber.
Domhnall had asked her to repeat her story, in its entirety, several times. Siomha was looking at her with a look of abject calm as she already knew what Astrid had told them, while both Ruarc and Domhnall were pale.
Astrid had just told them of a future in which the Norse were successfully defeated with the help of the stiuireadh, ushering in a Pact that would forever bind the lairds of the isles and the stiuireadh.
“She speaks the truth,” Siomha said as the silence stretched. “I’ve seen it in my dreams.”
&n
bsp; Domhnall stiffened in surprise, looking back and forth between Siomha and Ruarc. Ruarc gave Domhnall an apologetic smile.
“I’ve kent of Siomha’s ability of the Sight, but she wanted to keep it between us. ’Tis why I believed in Astrid’s abilities when ye told me of them.”
“It’s best if nae many ken of what I can do,” Siomha added, giving him an apologetic look of her own.
Domhnall still looked quietly stunned, but gave Ruarc and Siomha nods of understanding.
Astrid waited, tense; he was the one she needed to believe her. And as he met her eyes, she could see that he did.
He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples before he spoke. “My line is both Norse and Gael—my father’s side Gael, my mother’s Norse. My Norse cousin and his allies want tae take back lands given tae the Scottish king in the recent treaty. I’m pretending tae go along with my cousin, but in truth I’m working against him.”
“The treaty only increased resentment among the Norse,” Ruarc added. “While formal colonization stopped, there have still been raids. And the raids have begun tae increase.”
“But according tae what ye say, we win the war,” Domhnall said, studying her.
“Not so fast,” she said, holding up her hand. “Time isn’t a straight line—it can twist and change. If we fail, the future may turn out very different. It’s not set in stone. Some things can’t be changed, others can. There are witches called fiosaiche—seers, who monitor events in time and can tell what can and cannot be changed. Siomha has traces of this ability. I’m not a fiosaiche, but I can only assume that since my magic wants me here, this is an event that can be altered, for better or worse.”
She allowed her words to settle for several moments before continuing. “Now that you’ve heard me out, are you willing to use my abilities? The abilities of other stiuireadh I find?”
Domhnall looked conflicted, his brows knitted together in a frown, his face still pale.
“Magic is as natural as breathing, my laird,” Siomha spoke up, her tone gentle. “The verrae fact that it exists makes it natural. Astrid was sent here for a reason.”
Astrid gave Siomha a smile, liking her even more. Ruarc reached for Siomha’s hand, lifting it to his lips in a kiss.
“And I believe Siomha. I’ve told ye, it would be foolish tae nae use what we can tae bring about peace,” he said.
Domhnall stood, pacing briefly before stopping in front of her. “I confess I still feel unease at the thought of using abilities I donnae understand, abilities I donnae think are natural, but as chieftain and laird, ’tis my duty tae bring about peace. Tae bring about this future in which the people of the isles can live in peace. How do we make this future come about?”
Relief and anxiety swept over Astrid. This was what she wanted, Domhnall’s cooperation, but the sheer magnitude of what she had to do still overwhelmed her. She made herself push past her fear as she addressed them.
“You need to keep working together with other lairds and clans who have been attacked—alliances are key. And I think you should keep the subterfuge up with your cousin. Any knowledge from him will be valuable.”
Domhnall nodded his agreement. “And what do ye need?”
“I need to find other stiuireadh in this time. Since the Pact happened, I know they’re here. I just need to find them.”
“I can help ye,” Siomha said. “I ken of one who resides on this isle.”
Both Domhnall and Ruarc looked at her with surprise. Siomha just gave them a serene smile.
“There are more of us with magic than ye ken,” she said simply.
“That would be wonderful,” Astrid said, smiling. “Thank you.
Ruarc and Siomha left them alone, and Domhnall moved over to the window, his troubled gaze finding hers after a long stretch of silence.
“Ye think it is wise what I am doing, betraying my cousin?”
“You’re not betraying him,” Astrid said with a frown. “He’s the one whose being dishonorable, violating the terms of the treaty. By being a double agent, you’re protecting your people.”
He frowned. “Double agent?”
“It’s a term from the future,” she said. “It means exactly what you’re doing—using subterfuge to make the enemy believe you’re working with him.”
“’Tis odd tae think of my cousin as an enemy,” Domhnall said with a sigh. He raked a hand through his hair as his gaze shifted to her, his troubled look shifting to one of curiosity. “How is it? This future of yers? Ye said ye were a healer?”
“Yes,” she said, a pang of longing piercing her. “I had just completed my studies, and I was on my way to becoming a GP—a doctor.”
“Ye have a family in this future? A husband?” he asked, something dark flaring in his eyes before it was gone again.
“No. My uncle raised me, but he died a couple of years ago, and I don’t have any close family left. Still, I like my life there. It’s a normal life . . . despite what I am. And I want a normal life after—" Flashes of memory from her childhood pierced her thoughts, and she had to forcibly push them away. “It’s a life I want to get back to. My magic . . . it assailed me to come here. Imagine an invisible force, like a gale of wind, pushing you in a direction you don’t want to go. And if you don’t obey it, it just keeps pushing.”
Frustration surged within her, and she blinked back tears. Domhnall strode across the room until he was only inches away from her, giving her a look of sympathy.
“I’m . . . sorry,” he said quietly. “It must be hard for ye, lass. I ken I wasnae kind tae ye before. It was just difficult for me tae believe—"
“No. I understand. I’m a time-traveling witch, and even I don’t believe it sometimes,” she said, forcing a smile.
“I ken ye were forced tae be here by yer—magic. And I thank ye. I hope that we can end this and bring peace tae the isles. And then ye can get back tae the time ye belong.”
He smiled down at her, making her heart perform a catapult in her chest. Her breath hitched in her throat as his eyes dipped to her mouth. The moment seemed to become frozen in time, and then everything was set into motion again as he leaned forward to capture her lips with his.
His kiss was fervent and demanding, and Astrid’s pulse thrummed wildly as she responded, her arms seeming to have a life of their own as they wound around his neck.
His arms went to her waist, pressing her flush against his muscular body, and the fiery heat of arousal coursed through her, seizing her very core. He tasted like ale and honey, and she couldn’t get enough of the feel of him; his firm lips on hers, his tongue exploring her mouth, the broadness of his chest pressed against her. It seemed as if time, that pesky force of nature that held her prisoner, had completely frozen, and there was only this moment.
When he released her, she could barely breathe, and her heartbeat was a furious drumbeat in her ears. His blue eyes were alight with desire as they roamed over her face, and he leaned forward as if to kiss her again, when there was a knock on the door and the inquiring voice of his servant.
The knock caused the heated moment to dissipate, and Astrid forced herself to step back.
“I—I should go,” she said hastily, and before he could reply, she hurried out of his chamber, her entire body still pulsing with desire.
Chapter 8
Domhnall watched Astrid leave his chamber, the need for her still coursing throughout his body. He ached for more than her sweet mouth . . . he wanted to bed the beautiful witch. For several tantalizing moments he allowed himself to imagine taking her to his bed, kissing her breathless, and tasting the sweetness between her thighs before claiming her body with his own.
He had to force the images out of his head as his cock stirred with arousal. There was much to be done, and he didn’t have time to lust after Astrid. He should have restrained himself and not allowed himself to kiss her. Because now that he’d had a taste . . .
Gritting his teeth with frustration, he stalked to his door to answer it, or
dering the hovering servant to send for his messenger.
“I need ye tae send these messages post haste,” he told Aodh, the man who served as his most trusted messenger when he arrived later, handing him several carefully rolled pieces of parchment. He’d composed messages to the other chieftain and laird of Barra Isle, Neacal, and another one to Ulf. “Keep them safe.”
“Aye, my laird,” Aodh said, with a respectful bow of his head.
Domhnall watched him leave, anxiety tightening his belly. With Neacal working alongside him, he hoped to organize a strategic alliance to protect all of Barra.
Neacal’s clan, Clan Laidirh, had once been the mortal enemy of his clan, fighting for generations over the scant but fertile lands of Barra. But ever since the conflict with the Norse, they’d formed an alliance. Ruarc’s wife Siomha was a cousin of Neacal’s; it was another thing that linked the two clans.
He wouldn’t tell Neacal about the stiuireadh, not yet; he suspected that Astrid would know when it was best to inform the other chieftains of their existence.
A pull of something that was more than desire swept over him as he thought of the newfound trust he had in Astrid. Only days ago he’d been ready to imprison her for her seeming lies, something that made him feel a stab of guilt now.
He’d lied to her about not having fear of her magic; indeed, he did fear it. When magic was spoken of by those who believed in it, it was always with fear and association with darkness and evil. There was nothing dark or evil about Astrid; he may have only known her briefly, but he could tell she was all kindness and light.
And beauty, he thought, his cock stirring once more as he thought of their kiss and what he wanted to do to that desirable body of hers.
He forced aside the distracting thoughts, recalling that according to Astrid, magic would become an intrinsic part of the isles when it came to bringing peace. Peace. Something he ached for after the long conflict with the Norse. Something his people deserved, that all the people who dwelled on the isles deserved.
Domhnall's Honor: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book 3) Page 4
