She had no choice but to approach Fyfa again. If future events were to unfold the way they were supposed to, she needed the help of other witches. And she had the feeling that Fyfa knew of others.
“Good,” he said. “Get some rest. I’ll see ye on the morrow. And Astrid,” he added, his gaze lingering on her face, “remember what I said. Ye are nae yer parents—nor their sins.”
“I’ll try,” she murmured.
Domhnall gave her a smile that she returned. As their eyes locked, something seemed to shift in the air between them. Her pulse fluttered as his eyes darkened with lust, her mouth going dry with want as Domhnall leaned forward, claiming her mouth with his.
Astrid clung to him, her heart pounding as he probed her mouth with his, his arms reaching out to anchor her against his body. Desire flooded every part of her, making an ache grow between her thighs as the kiss grew in intensity. He tasted of a sweet wine; he smelled of both sandalwood and woodsmoke, a masculine scent that was intoxicating, that made her want him even more.
Kisses with men in her own time had been nothing compared to this; a tsunami of pleasure and need that held her captive. She wound her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer to him as he continued to dominate her mouth with his own, their bodies pressed so tightly together that she could feel his heartbeat thundering in tandem with her own. His hands gripped her hair, tilting her head back so he could gain even more access to her mouth, and she let out a wanton moan, her senses aflame for him.
When they finally broke apart for air, Astrid’s heart continued to thunder, her desire continued to rage.
Domhnall looked down at her, his eyes a storm of passion before he stood, swallowing hard as he looked away from her.
“Come. I’ll escort ye back tae yer chamber.”
It was difficult for her to sleep that night, dark thoughts of her parents and her raging need for Domhnall pulling her in two different directions. The kiss had inflamed her ache for Domhnall even more, and it hurt her that he regretted kissing her again; she could see it in his eyes. He’d not spoken to her as he’d escorted her back to her chamber, avoiding her eyes the entire time.
But he was right to regret it. A romantic entanglement between the two of them would be a bad idea; they had a vital mission to accomplish together, one in which lives were at stake.
She pushed the image of Domhnall’s handsome face out of her mind as her eyes drifted shut, willing tumultuous thoughts from her mind as fatigue finally claimed her.
She awoke moments later with a start. She had difficulty breathing as if there were a great weight pressing down on her. There was a sense of looming darkness growing within her; it felt like she was standing on railroad tracks watching an oncoming train, and she was powerless to move.
She stumbled out of bed, closing her eyes. Trying to calm her breathing, she murmured a Seeking spell, one that could conjure visions of impending doom.
“Thoir na seallaidhean a-mach thugam.”
Almost as soon as she uttered the words, a series of images flooded her mind’s eye.
A boat approaching. A view of Farraige Castle from the ocean. A firgure cloaked in shadow. Darkness descending over Barra Isle. Approaching. Approaching soon.
Astrid’s eyes flew open, and she stumbled to her window to look out at the churning waters beyond the castle walls. She could see nothing but darkness, a blanket of stars, a hovering moon. But something told her that what she’d just seen was coming very, very soon. Tonight.
She hastily put on a cloak over her nightdress and tore out of her room, making her way to Domhnall’s chamber. She rapped furiously on it until he answered, his tunic wrinkled as if he’d hastily put it on. He frowned down at her, his blue eyes filled with both concern and confusion.
“Astrid, what—”
“I just had a vision of a ship approaching this castle. But not in the future. Now, Domhnall.”
Chapter 10
Domhnall stood in tense silence on the ramparts of Farraige Castle as he looked out at the surrounding waters; Ruarc and his other men hovered around him. Below, he could see several of his men patrolling the shore that surrounded the castle. Astrid stood behind him and his men; he could feel her watchful gaze on his back.
After she’d told him what she’d seen in her vision, he’d immediately sent for Ruarc and called for his men; his instinct told him to trust Astrid’s word.
And now as he kept watch with his men, her presence somewhat eased the tension that gripped him. He didn’t know what it was about her that made him feel comforted by her presence even in light of a looming threat.
He hadn’t wanted her to come to the ramparts with him and his men, worried for her safety, but she’d insisted. He was now glad that she was here, though he knew his men were curious as to why; many of them kept giving her curious looks. He hadn’t explained her presence, but he was prepared with an excuse of her being a healer there to help administer aid should any of them need it.
He clenched his fists at his sides as he looked out at the surrounding waters, wondering with trepidation if the Norse were about to launch a surprise attack. Ulf had told him that his Norse allies were still preparing for their onslaught, sending out raids for now as opposed to an all-out invasion until they regained their strength, as they were still weakened from the recent war.
But was Ulf lying to him? Did he know what was about to happen?
Domhnall’s anxiety spiked as he continued to wait in watchful silence with his men, a silence only periodically broken by the patrol guards he’d sent to monitor activity of the immediate surroundings. But their updates were benign; there were no sightings of the Norse nor any intruders in the vicinity.
The watchful sojourn seemed to stretch for hours, with Domhnall not moving a muscle, his hand continually straying to the hilt of his sword, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings, never letting his guard down for a moment. He sensed the growing restlessness of the men around him, even Ruarc, who he knew trusted Astrid’s ability. He’d only told them a spy had tipped him off to a possible nighttime invasion; only he and Ruarc knew that he was relying upon Astrid’s magic.
As the time stretched his watchful tension did not ease; something in him told him he needed to heed Astrid’s warning.
Yet when he saw a boat approaching in the distance, panic still thrummed through his veins despite his tense preparedness. Around him, his well-trained men immediately took up offensive positions, spreading out along the ramparts.
Domhnall stiffened as he studied the distant vessel. He’d seen many ships approaching these shores during the war, but this wasn’t the determined approach of a vessel with the intent to attack. It was much smaller than a ship designed for battle, likely capable of only transporting a dozen men. And it remained resolutely in the distance as if it were trying to avoid being seen.
This wasn’t the movement of a vessel about to attack.
“Domhnall.” Ruarc’s voice at his side was urgent. “Shall we ready for an attack?”
“No,” Domhnall said, his eyes still trained firmly on the vessel. “We wait.”
A ripple of surprise sounded among his men.
“My laird,” Ruarc said tightly, reverting to his formal title, something he only did when he was trying to rein in his anger. “A vessel is approaching—"
“It isnae approaching; it lingers in the distance. I’ll nae have needless bloodshed,” Domhnall snapped. “We. Wait.”
He leveled Ruarc with a hard look before turning to face his other men. “Ye’re all tae stand down until I say otherwise.”
Ruarc’s jaw tightened, but he gave him a jerky nod. His men still looked baffled and uncertain, but they lowered their weapons.
Unable to stop himself, Domhnall turned to give Astrid a brief look. She offered a nod of her head, showing that she agreed with him. This gave him more confidence than he was willing to admit, and he turned his gaze back to the vessel in the distance, his heart thundering.
Tensio
n gripped him as he and his men kept their gazes on the vessel. It continued to keep its distance, hovering for what seemed like an eternity before it turned and drifted away, until it became a speck on the horizon.
Only then did Domhnall allow himself to breathe.
“I donnae understand,” Ruarc said, his brow knitted together in a confused frown.
“It may have been a spy ship,” Domhnall said, thinking out loud. “Perhaps testing our defenses—I donnae ken. But I intend tae find out.”
He turned to his men, ordering them to maintain their posts and to switch shifts as needed for the rest of the night.
“I’ll stay up here with the men,” Ruarc offered.
“No. I’ll stay. Ye get back tae yer wife,” Domhnall said. Ruarc looked as if he would refuse, but at Domhnall’s firm look, he obliged.
“I’m staying tae keep watch with my men,” Domhnall said in a low voice, approaching Astrid once Ruarc left the ramparts. “I’ll escort ye tae yer chamber.”
“Maybe I should stay up here,” Astrid said after a hesitant pause.
“Ye’ve already done yer part in warning me. It will do ye no good tae remain out here in the cold. My men are well-trained in case of a surprise attack. If I have need of ye, I will send for ye.”
Astrid gave him a reluctant nod, taking his extended hand as he guided her off of the ramparts. A warmth encircled him at her touch, a warmth he allowed himself to relish in.
“How did ye ken that a ship would approach?” he asked as they descended the narrow staircase back into the castle. He’d been in such a panic when she’d told him of her vision that he hadn’t pushed her for details.
“I saw it in my mind’s eye. It was . . . hazy, like something you’d see in a dream. But most of all, I felt a foreboding. It’s as if my magic wanted me to sense the danger more than anything.”
Amazement swept over him; he didn’t know if he would ever get used to her ability to perform such feats. He’d been a fool to nearly turn away such power.
“Astrid,” he said, once they reached her chamber, “what ye can do . . . ’tis truly a gift. I cannae apologize enough for nearly turning ye away, for threatening ye with the dungeons.”
“You’ve already apologized, and I understand why you reacted that way,” Astrid said, giving him a reassuring smile. “And what I can do . . . it doesn’t feel like a gift. It never has. It feels like a curse. I’m not a saint, Domhnall. You forget that I’m only here because my magic tortured me with visions. I would have ignored it if I could have.”
“But ye didnae,” he said, unable to stop himself from reaching out to touch her face. “Ye didnae, and ye came tae this time. Ye didnae even return tae yer own time when I threatened ye with the dungeons. That says much about ye.”
“You think too much of me.”
“I think that ye think tae little of herself, lass.”
As her eyes locked with his, her beauty causing a flare of heat to sear his insides, it took everything in his power to not claim those lips of hers with his own once more. It would be so easy to lean down, to wrap his arms around her, to—
“My laird, the patrol guards have a question for ye.”
The voice of one of his men behind him jerked him from his desire-tinged reverie, and he dropped his hand from Astrid’s face.
“I’ll be up shortly,” he said, his eyes still locked with Astrid’s.
There was fierce longing in her eyes, longing that made him want to take her hand and drag her into her chamber, to claim more than just her lips—to claim her body as well.
“I bid ye good night, lass,” he ground out, quelling his ache for her as he made himself walk away.
At midday the next day, Domhnall was on a boat to Leagh Isle to meet with Ulf.
The night before, after Domhnall had left Astrid’s chamber, he’d stayed on the ramparts most of the night with his men until it was clear that the boat wasn’t returning.
He’d barely slept, only going to his chamber just before dawn broke, giving orders to his spies to find out what they could about the mysterious ship. Thinking of the ship now, Domhnall had to quell his anger, praying that his cousin wasn’t behind it.
Ulf was waiting inside the cottage that served as their meeting place, warming his hands over the hearth’s fire. He turned, offering Domhnall a wide smile as he strode inside, but it faded when he saw the look of fury on his cousin’s face.
“Cousin,” Ulf said with a frown. “What ires you?”
“Why was there a Norse ship hovering off the coast of my isle last night?”
Ulf’s eyes widened in surprise. Domhnall studied him closely; there was no hint of deceit in his expression. He looked genuinely taken aback.
“I know nothing about a ship coming to your isle,” Ulf said with a fierce scowl. “We’ve had several ships go to some surrounding isles to test defenses. I’ve told my allies that you’re one of us, Barra is to be left alone.”
Domhnall continued to study his cousin, still not detecting any deceit. His anger ebbed, replaced by that familiar guilt when Ulf stepped forward and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“I swear to you, I’d never betray you. You’re my blood.”
Domhnall had to look away at his words, a sharp reminder that he himself was doing just that. He strode away from his cousin to look down at the blazing fire in the hearth.
“Ye didnae mention they were already testing defenses.”
“It was only recently decided,” Ulf said, a dark look of excitement on his face. “There’s to be a large coordinated raid on three of the weakest isles, to take place in a fortnight. The Scots won’t have time to fight back. Once we’ve reclaimed those isles, we can go after our remaining lands.”
Dread spiraled through Domhnall as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. Ye must do whatever it takes tae stop this, he told himself.
He faced his cousin, forcing a wicked smile as he met Ulf’s eyes, hating himself for the lie he was about to speak. “Which isles? I want tae ken which lands I can claim for my own.”
Chapter 11
Astrid dismounted from her horse and approached Fyfa’s cottage, nervous anticipation coursing through her veins. She’d come alone this time, determined to at least get Fyfa to hear her out.
The door to the cottage was open, and as she approached, she could hear wheezing. Her medical instincts took over, eclipsing her nervousness, and she entered.
The interior of the cottage was modest, with a small hearth, table, cookware, and two straw mattresses in the rear. An elderly man lay sprawled out on one of them, a frantic and pale Fyfa at his side, pressing a damp rag to his forehead, murmuring softly beneath her breath. As Astrid drew closer, she realized Fyfa was murmuring Healing spells.
Fyfa stiffened as she looked up to see Astrid. Her look of panicked fear dissipated, replaced by anger. “What are ye doing in here? Get out.”
Astrid ignored her, her gaze straying toward the man. She could now see the resemblance between him and Fyfa—the same sturdy features, the same green eyes. This must be Fyfa’s father. She took in his pale face and labored breathing, thinking fast.
“Is his skin hot to the touch? How long has he been breathing like that?”
Fyfa stared at her, her expression mutinous as she seemed to struggle with herself. But her concern for her father must have won out; she turned grave eyes back to him.
“He’s been hot tae the touch since yesterday. His breathing became labored this morning.”
“I assume you’ve been using Healing spells?”
“Aye,” Fyfa said shortly. “None worked. But none of this is yer concern, I’ll—”
“I’m a healer in my time. I can help him,” Astrid insisted, stepping forward. “Move him onto his stomach—it’ll help his breathing.”
Fyfa hesitated, again seeming to battle internally with herself.
“Do you want to save his life?” Astrid snapped, fed up.
Fyfa swallowed, vulnerability fli
ckering across her face. She gave Astrid a curt nod.
“Then help me move him onto his stomach.”
Astrid moved forward, and together she and Fyfa gently rolled the man onto his stomach. She knew this would ease the pressure on his lungs and help him breathe. She suspected, based on his symptoms, that he had pneumonia, for which he needed antibiotics. But given that such medicine was still centuries away, she’d have to rely on what she could do for him now, and what was at hand.
“He’s going to need fluids—water, hot broth. A lukewarm compress to bring down his fever. Ginger root for his cough and reducing chest pain. And cloves,” Astrid said, thinking out loud. “When you have the broth, you need to have him breathe directly over it to help ease his breathing.”
“I—I have some broth and water,” Fyfa said, getting to her feet. “And some cloves, but nae ginger root.”
“I can bring some back from the castle,” Astrid said, leaning down to press her head to the man’s back to listen to his lungs. She ached for her modern tools—an X-ray or stethoscope, but she had to rely on what she could hear. As the man breathed, she could hear the faint sound of fluid. A sign of inflammation.
Fyfa returned with water and a bowl of hot broth. Astrid propped the man up while Fyfa gently pressed the water to the man’s lips, urging him to drink, which he did.
“What’s his name?” Astrid asked Fyfa.
“Iurnan,” Fyfa said, her worried gaze trained on the man’s face.
“Iurnan,” Astrid said, addressing the man. He blinked, fatigued eyes settling on her. She gave him a kind smile. “You need to breathe in over this hot broth. It’ll help ease your breathing.”
“Listen tae her, Father,” Fyfa urged. “She’s from a time yet tae come.”
A jolt of surprise went through Astrid, though she shouldn’t have been. Iurnan clearly knew his daughter was a stiuireadh. Beneath the man’s haze of fever and fatigue, she could see curiosity and intrigue in his eyes before he dutifully took several deep breaths over the broth.
Domhnall's Honor: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book 3) Page 6
