Bhaltair's Pledge: Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book Two

by Knight, Stella

  Gritting her teeth, she followed Lioslaith toward the castle. She looked around as they walked, but it was difficult to see through the heavy fog. Before Lioslaith had taken her, she’d mentioned something about Arran Isle. Was that where she was now? The thought brought her a sliver of comfort; her knowledge of the Scottish Isles was limited, but she knew Arran Isle wasn’t too far from Skye.

  “We are indeed on Arran Isle,” Lioslaith said, and Avery jerked in surprise. Could Lioslaith read her mind? The amber-eyed witch turned and gave her a wry smile.

  “I can see the curiosity in yer eyes,” she said, answering Lila’s silent question as she turned back around. “Here we are.”

  They were only yards away from the looming stone castle now, imposing in the darkness. The two guards standing by the castle gates seemed to recognize Lioslaith, giving her a nod, though their eyes slid over Avery with curiosity. Avery flushed under their scrutiny, glad that she wore a period-appropriate gown and not the comfy jeans and T-shirt combo she usually wore in her own time.

  As they made their way past the front gates and into the courtyard, she tried to quell her awe at the enormity of the castle that loomed before her. She’d just come from a castle, her sister’s new home, but this one seemed even more grand, with its gray stone towers arching toward the night sky and the sprawling courtyard that lay before it. She paused momentarily, suddenly struck by a powerful wave of déjà vu, though she was certain she’d never come to this castle—or even Arran Isle—before.

  “Come,” Lioslaith urged, and Avery forced herself to move forward, trailing her inside.

  Lioslaith seemed to know the castle well, leading her down the main corridor and up the winding stairs to the end of the long hall. The sense of déjà vu lingered, and Avery looked up and down the corridors, trying to recall if she’d been here before, but nothing prickled at her memory.

  Lioslaith continued toward a chamber, turning to gesture Avery inside. The spacious chamber looked like a study of some sort, complete with a medieval-era desk and cabinets filled with rolls of parchment.

  A broad-shouldered man stood by the window, his back to them. Avery stiffened; the man looked vaguely familiar.

  He turned, and her heart stopped. It was the man she’d seen in the great hall back at Gawen’s castle. She’d only seen him from a distance, but she could now see how devastatingly handsome he was.

  He was tall, especially for a man of this time; she estimated he was nearly six feet four. His wavy, dark hair was almost down to his shoulders, and a pair of stormy gray eyes framed by long, dark lashes met her own. A square jaw and a wide, sensual mouth rounded out his handsome profile, and Avery was momentarily tongue-tied, her heart performing wild catapults in her chest.

  “Avery Fletcher,” Lioslaith said, and Avery nearly jumped; she’d forgotten Lioslaith was here. She swore she heard a trace of amusement in the young witch’s voice as she continued, “This is Laird Bhaltair MacAidh. I’ll leave ye two tae discuss the matter. I’ll return for ye in two days’ time.”

  Two days' time? The words lurched Avery from her stupor, and she whirled to face Lioslaith. But before Avery could protest, Lioslaith vanished. Avery glared at the empty spot where she’d just stood.

  “It seems she does that often,” Bhaltair said with only the slightest trace of amusement. His voice was a deep, sexy rumble; it did the same thing to her stomach that his physical appearance did.

  “I don’t know why she brought me here . . . there’s been some sort of mistake,” Avery said, trying to quell her thundering heartbeat as she met those startlingly gray eyes of his. “I—I just came to this time for my sister’s wedding. I’m sorry about what you’re going through, but there has to be another stiuireadh who can help you.”

  His handsome face creased with a frown; she didn’t know if it was because of her accent or her words themselves.

  “She said ye were the one tae help me, though ye donnae look like ye can,” he said, his gaze raking over her with cool dismissal, and Avery felt herself bristle.

  He started to say something more, but before he could, a little girl’s cry pierced the silence. His dismissive expression dissipated, and he charged past her out of the study and down the corridor.

  Avery hesitantly trailed after him, but he didn’t seem to notice her as he entered a chamber several doors down from the study. She made her way to the doorway, watching as Bhaltair moved to the side of a bed where a girl ,who couldn’t be more than eight or nine sat, her arms wrapped around herself, whimpering with fear. She looked too upset to notice Avery hovering by the doorway. At the sight of the little girl, Avery’s heart clenched with sympathy.

  “All right, lass,” he said gently, picking up the girl and settling her on his lap, rocking her. Avery had the feeling he’d done this many times before. “Another nightmare?”

  “Aye,” the little girl whimpered, burying her face in Bhaltair’s chest. “I saw Mother and Father. They were drowning. I kept trying tae reach them, but I couldnae.”

  The girl began to weep, and sympathy once again washed over Avery. This poor little girl must have lost her parents; she wondered if it was connected to the danger she was in.

  “Remember what I told ye about nightmares?” Bhaltair asked gently.

  “They’re nae real,” the little girl whispered.

  “And?” he prodded.

  “And I always wake up,” she murmured.

  “Aye,” he said. He smiled, and Avery’s pulse raced. His smile transformed his already handsome features into a work of art.

  She watched as he helped her into bed, just as a harried-looking young woman hurried past her and entered the chamber.

  “M’laird,” she said, taking him in with surprise, her eyes briefly turning toward Lila with confusion. “I just heard Cadha, I—”

  “’Tis all right, I’ve comforted her before,” he said, reaching down to stroke Cadha’s face. “Will ye stay with her? And let me ken if she has another nightmare.”

  “Of course, m’laird,” the nurse replied, moving to the side of the girl’s bed. She gave Avery another curious look as she and Bhaltair left.

  As soon as they returned to his study, the softness in Bhaltair’s expression vanished, and he glared at her.

  “Ye cannae help us? Then why did Lioslaith say ye could?”

  Avery hesitated; the distress on the little girl’s face had imprinted itself on her mind.

  “What—who—exactly is your niece in danger from?” she asked finally. “Lioslaith mentioned a dark witch and a rival clan?”

  “My niece is heiress to fertile lands, lands a rival clan has wanted for generations. My spies have seen their men scouting these lands. My brother feared for her safety before he died, made me pledge tae keep her safe. I believe they want to take Cadha. But they’re working with a witch—one of yer kind. I cannae fight against magic.”

  He closed his eyes, but not before she saw the fear and frustration flare in their depths.

  Avery considered his words, her heart hammering. She was a strong stiuireadh, like her parents and Lila, but that was only when it came to time-travel magic. She’d never fought another stiuireadh. She’d only used her magic for her travels, exploring the various time periods the past had to offer. In her opinion, she was a glorified time-traveling tourist. What Bhaltair requested was a serious matter, something to be handled by a witch capable of such magic.

  Frustration seared her chest. Lioslaith was powerful. Why couldn’t she have taken this on? Lioslaith—or someone like her—was who Bhaltair needed.

  “I wish I could help you,” she said. “But I wouldn’t know where to begin, and you—your niece—deserves someone who can help. I’m sorry.”

  His handsome face tightened. He stepped forward until he was in her personal space, and a heated awareness seized her. He was even more striking up close, with those sensual lips that seemed out of place on such a masculine face, the dark, wavy hair, the intense gray eyes. Her breath hitched
involuntarily, and for a wild, reckless moment, she wondered—hoped—that he would kiss her.

  Something unreadable flared in the depths of his eyes as they dropped to her lips. Heat seared her chest, and she struggled to swallow, her throat painfully dry.

  “I think ye can help, ye just donnae want tae,” he rasped, his eyes returning to hers, filling with contempt as he stepped back, and the heated moment came to an abrupt end. “I’ve heard of witches like ye. Stiuireadh who use their power for selfish pleasures and nae tae help others. I’ll have a maid put ye in a guest chamber until Lioslaith returns. Then I want ye out of my castle.”

  Chapter 3

  “My laird?” Hamish asked.

  Bhaltair blinked, realizing that Hamish and the other men gathered in his study were looking at him expectantly. He’d been struggling to concentrate on Hamish’s words during his morning meeting with Hamish, Odhran and the other nobles.

  Avery had lingered on his mind ever since she’d appeared with Lioslaith, distractingly beautiful with her golden hair, sky-blue eyes, and lush curves. Despite his burning anger when he’d confronted her, a fierce desire had seized him, and it had taken great strength not to pull her into his arms and taste those plump lips of hers.

  Irritation skittered through him at the memory; his entire focus needed to center on the safety of his niece, not lusting after some selfish witch. He prayed she stayed in her chamber until Lioslaith came back to fetch her; he didn’t need her wandering the castle nor the grounds with her tempting beauty.

  “I apologize,” he grunted. “What were ye saying?”

  “A guard stopped two men from attempting tae breach the castle just before dawn this morning. At first he thought they were mere thieves from the village attempting to steal food from our stores, but they were dressed finely for thieves. They got away before he could stop them.”

  Bhaltair stiffened, alarm coursing through him.

  “How come this was nae brought tae me immediately?”

  “The guard only started his post recently; he was told that sometimes poor villagers attempt to breach the castle walls tae steal. He didnae think anything of it until he was asked by the senior guard.”

  “Given the ongoing threat tae my niece, such incidents need tae be shared immediately,” Bhaltair growled. “I want more guards—not just at the gates, but on the surrounding lands. If these men—or any strangers—are seen again, I want them brought tae me so I can question them myself.”

  Bhaltair turned to Odhran. He was relieved for his cousin’s presence; he couldn’t wait to pass the burden of leadership to him.

  “Is there anything else ye suggest, cousin?”

  “Perhaps ’tis best tae keep all yer guards here at the castle. Cadha is here on the grounds; that’s where her protection needs tae be.”

  “I think the laird’s suggestion is a fine one,” Hamish protested.

  “Aye,” agreed Seamus, a noble who’d been his brother’s most loyal man. “Ye can never have tae much protection.”

  The other nobles nodded their agreement. Odhran glared at the men, and Bhaltair sensed tension between them.

  He stiffened. If Odhran was to lead the clan, he needed the nobles to respect him.

  “We’ll do both,” Bhaltair said, hoping the concession would ease the tension. “I’ll add more guards tae the castle and more on the surrounding grounds.”

  The nobles looked satisfied by this, though he noticed his cousin’s face remained tight with anger.

  “I’ll spare some of my men from my manor tae add more protection,” Odhran said finally, giving Bhaltair a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  Bhaltair thanked Odhran, and then with a nod of his head to the other nobles, he dismissed them. All the men filed out except for Hamish, who watched Odhran leave with a tumultuous look in his eyes.

  “Hamish?”

  Hamish shifted his dark eyes back to Bhaltair, hesitating before he spoke.

  “Are ye certain ye want tae give the lairdship tae yer cousin?” Hamish asked.

  “Aye,” Bhaltair replied without hesitation. “Why do ye ask?”

  “Yer cousin is a good man,” Hamish said quickly, though Bhaltair noticed he avoided his eyes as he spoke the words. “But I ken ye’ll make a better laird. Ye’re already doing a fine job of handling things. And ’tis yer birthright. The nobles donnae respect yer cousin; they see him as a spoiled lad.”

  Bhaltair frowned. Odhran was several years younger than his thirty-two years, but he was no lad. Odhran was next in line should he or his brother be unable to lead; it was what their fathers had decreed when they were still lads. His cousin did a fine job of running his own manor and had loyal men of his own; Odhran would make a fine chieftain and laird.

  “We’ve discussed this, Hamish,” Bhaltair said with exasperation. Ever since he’d told Hamish he was handing over leadership to his cousin, Hamish had tried to persuade him to change his mind. “I’ll talk tae my cousin, and the nobles, but they need tae give him a chance. They’ve no choice in the matter.”

  Hamish looked as if he wanted to protest but seemed to decide against it, heading out with a polite nod. Bhaltair scowled after him, taking a long swig of ale a servant had left for him before moving over to the window, considering Hamish’s words.

  Hamish was in his late fifties now; he’d worked as a steward for both his father and his brother. He was akin to family, and Bhaltair trusted him with his life. Hamish had grieved with Bhaltair after Boyd’s death, and Hamish was the first one Bhaltair had confided in about his brother’s fears.

  The only thing they’d ever disagreed over was Bhaltair handing the lairdship over to his cousin. Bhaltair wasn’t born to be a leader, not when he craved his solitude so much. The chieftain and lairdship had always belonged to his brother. If his brother couldn’t have it, he was happy to hand it over to Odhran.

  He froze as his gaze landed on a blonde figure standing just beyond the gates, the sight pulling him from his turbulent thoughts. He glowered at the form, setting down his ale so violently that some liquid splashed onto the floor.

  “That damnable witch,” he muttered to himself before tearing out of his study.

  He made his way past the front gates, approaching Avery from behind. She stood a good distance away from the castle, but she was still visible. Was she attempting to perform magic in plain view? Just because he and a handful of nobles knew about the stiuireadh didn’t mean it was safe to openly practice witchcraft.

  Gritting his teeth, he reached out to grip Avery’s arm, whirling her around to face him. He tried not to admire the way the sunlight shone off her blonde strands, or the loveliness of her angry blue eyes as they clashed with his.

  “Are ye mad?” he demanded. “Nae everyone kens about witches and magic. If ye were seen—”

  “I’m off of the castle grounds,” Avery returned, yanking her arm from his. “And I’m not going to perform a spell right here—I’m not a fool, I know what people think of witches in this time. I just needed air, I’ve been cooped up in my chamber. I’ve already tried every Transport spell I know, but none of them are working. The sooner I’m gone from here, the sooner Lioslaith can bring someone to you who can actually help.”

  “Lioslaith doesnae want ye tae leave yet,” he snapped, “and I told ye tae remain in yer chamber until she returns. If ye’re nae going tae stay, I donnae need the gossip yer presence will cause.”

  Avery opened her mouth to protest, but he had already taken her arm, practically dragging her inside. Her tantalizing scent of lavender and rosewater wafted to his nostrils, making his senses stir with arousal. Just get her back tae her chamber, he told himself. And keep her there until Lioslaith returns.

  Avery wriggled to remove herself from his grip, causing her left breast to graze against him, and sparks of desire ignited in his belly.

  “You don’t have to drag me,” she hissed. “I’m coming with you willingly.”

  He released her, and she shot him a glare
, one which he returned, and they made the rest of the way to her chamber in tense silence.

  “Stay here until Lioslaith returns,” he said firmly.

  “Fine,” Avery said, scowling. He started to walk away before she called after him. “Wait.”

  He turned, raising an impatient brow. He wanted to get out of her distracting presence as soon as possible.

  “I saw a group of men leaving earlier,” she hedged. The irritation had vanished from her expression, replaced by concern. “Is—is it about the danger your niece is in?”

  “I thought ye didnae care what happens tae my niece,” he grumbled.

  “I never said that!” Avery protested. “I just don’t think I’m the one who can help her.” She paused, seeming to consider, before adding, “I assume you just had a meeting? At the very least—maybe I can give you advice. It’s not like I have much else to do until Lioslaith returns.”

  He considered telling her that none of this was her concern, given that she’d refused to help. Yet anxiety still lingered over what he’d learned at this morning’s meeting. He needed any advice he could get.

  “A guard stopped two men attempting tae enter the castle,” he said finally. “I fear Clan Roideach is becoming bolder in their attempts to kidnap my niece. But I willnae let that happen.”

  Avery seemed lost in thought for a moment, biting her lip.

  “How much do you trust your men?” she asked.

  “With my life,” he said sharply. “Why?”

  “It’s just—” She hesitated, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

  “If ye ken something—”

  “It’s just—if you’re relying on your men to keep her safe, I hope they all are trustworthy. If all it takes is one guard letting those men inside—”

  “Enough,” he barked, though a fissure of alarm skittered through him at her words. “I trust my men. I donnae need an outsider telling me who or who nae tae trust.”

  “Very well,” she said, her mouth tightening as she turned to head into her chamber. “You’re right—this is none of my concern. Once Lioslaith returns, you’ll never have to see me again.”