Highlander's Magic

by Joanne Wadsworth

  “So I see.” Her gaze softened. “You are one very intriguing man. There is a soft heart under all that hard muscle.”

  “Nay, no’ soft. Weathered and tough from the trials of time, but I find pleasure where I can.” Aye, and she was a treasure trove of new experiences. He’d certainly never had such a deep conversation with a lass like this. ’Twas refreshing, and enjoyable all in itself. “If you are ever willing, mayhap you will allow me to give you pleasure.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I thought Highlanders were all about maintaining a lady’s honor.”

  “Your honor would never be in jeopardy with me.” He brushed a kiss across her lips.

  * * * *

  “I’m sure it won’t.” What a revelation. There were many sides to Archie she’d had no idea existed. She liked. “May I kiss you?”

  “You never have to ask.”

  Time for him to experience her twenty-first century way of taking charge. Grinning, she pulled the neckline of his shirt wider and exposed his glorious chest. Thank goodness she hadn’t told him where she wanted to kiss him. She pressed her mouth to his flat nipple then teased the tight flesh. Ah-huh, she could get used to the Highlander’s way of retribution.

  “’Tis an interesting kiss.” He caressed the sides of her breasts. “I wish equal rights to do the same.”

  “You’ve already—”

  “Nay arguing.” He rolled her onto her back, lifted her breasts clear of her shirt then laved the tips in the most erotic kiss. “So beautiful. My mouth waters for these sweet morsels.”

  “I’d say help yourself, but should we be doing this out here in public?” Even though surrounded by low bushes, anyone could walk around the corner.

  “My chamber would be best for the way I wish to kiss you.” He righted her shirt. “My apologies. You have a way of making me lose track of my thoughts.” He heaved to his feet and tugged her up. “Let’s return to the others.”

  “Good idea.” There was no need for them to take things quite so fast. They wandered back to the village. His men had returned to work, and several labored on each wall. They molded clay into large bricks, and with a touch of water, smoothed out the surface. Others shaved the bark from a half dozen cut logs, preparing them for the high roof beams. “They work together so well.”

  “We’re one clan. Do the fae no’ labor equally as so?”

  “I’d say they’re too busy playing, or that’s how it appears to me.” Beside the fire, Mary was bent over a pot, rubbing her lower back. “I need to go and help her.”

  He gripped her hand. “I’d rather you take Mary home so she can rest. She tires easily this near her bairn’s birth. James will aid you.”

  “It’s still early. Will she go?”

  “Night falls quick this close to winter, and ’twill be upon us within a few hours. She’ll go.”

  James whistled as he worked, his arms coated to his elbows with the clay. “He loves it here.”

  “Aye, this is his clan, and one day he’ll be chief. Mary finds great comfort in having him close while his father isnae here. He’ll understand why he must return with you.” He called out to James, “I need you to travel with your mother.”

  “Coming, Captain.” James dashed to the water barrel, dipped his arms and scrubbed them clean.

  This was what she’d missed in life, having family like this. A clan. She squeezed Archie’s hand. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, okay?”

  “I’m never in trouble, and I will see you this eve so we may continue our earlier discussion.” He dropped a soft kiss on her lips then crossed to George and clapped him on the back. “Take our ladies home.”

  “Aye, Captain.” George sauntered to the barrel, cleaned up and ruffled James’s gloriously bright red-gold locks.

  Hmm, provided they indulged in more kisses, that discussion could get mighty interesting. She hiked down the hill toward Mary, George and James on her heel.

  Mary groaned and rolled her eyes as they approached. “I should complain. Three against one isnae fair.”

  “As you wish, my lady, but home you go.” George offered her his arm, which she grudgingly took, then he pressed his other toward Marie.

  “Thank you, George.” Together they wandered across to the cart and she seated herself next to Mary on the front bench.

  The driver slapped the horses’ reins, and their guardsmen rode into their positions. They were off, following the trail beside the coast toward the forest. James bumped about on the bare raggedy boards behind, his feet swinging over the tail edge. The birds chirped and James added his own pretty trill.

  “He’s so content.” She nudged Mary’s arm. “You’ve raised a wonderful son.”

  “There’s naught James loves more than being around his clan, although he is ready and longs for his training. I dinnae want to see him go, but ’tis past time he’s fostered.”

  “Where will he go?” Fostering seemed like such a sad thing to do, to lose one’s child when they needed you the most.

  “To his Uncle Donald on Skye, provided the king has released the Chief of Sleat.”

  “Hold.” George flung up a hand and the driver hauled the cart to a rumbling stop. “I’ll scout ahead. Listen for my call.” He galloped away and the warriors accompanying them inched their mounts closer. Such care was taken for their safety. She relaxed against the backboard. Even with the frustration she’d experienced today, there had been an equal number of new firsts. Archie for one, and his kisses for—

  “Did you hear that?” Mary peered into the trees then gripped the driver’s arm.

  “Nay, my—” An arrow thunked into his chest and he toppled from the bench.

  Terrified, Marie screamed, and Mary’s shrieks echoed in her ears.

  “Down. We’re under attack.” A warrior bounded from his horse and covered them as an arrow shot whizzed by.

  Another guardsman groaned then a blood-curdling battle cry pierced the air as a score of warriors crashed through the trees.

  “Remain where you are,” boomed a man from somewhere near the thick brush.

  The guard protecting them launched to his feet then grunted. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, a massive battle-axe wedged into his back.

  This couldn’t be happening, had to be a nightmare.

  She scrambled down and heaved the warrior onto his side. Blood flowed from his mouth, down his neck. His eyes were blank.

  A dark shadow fell over her and the slain warrior. “Get. Up. Now. Or you shall be the next to die.”

  “Do as he says, Marie.” Mary clambered down and grabbed her arm.

  She staggered to her feet.

  The murderer seized his axe and slung it into a catch at his side, splattering the dead warrior’s blood.

  “W-what are you doing here, Lachlan.” Mary’s grip tightened on her.

  A thick buckskin vest covered Lachlan’s dark tunic, and a strip of leather tied back his blond hair, the same pale shade as hers. “I’ve come to fetch you, sister. I hear Angus awaits his death in the king’s dungeons. ’Tis time you returned to your clan.”

  “I go nowhere, and the king’s men will come for you too.”

  He snorted. “No one comes for me and succeeds. Who is this lass?”

  “Marie MacLean.” Mary edged in front of her. “She’s my kin, our kin.”

  “A MacLean?” He circled them both, inspecting her from head to toe. “Then why does she travel with MacDonalds?”

  “She is fae. The Guardians of Dunyvaig sent her.”

  “Interesting.” MacLean caught Marie’s chin. “You bear a striking resemblance to my daughter, Bethag, though she is very young.”

  “I—I am a MacLean. My father was Locky.” A shortened version of this man’s name. “Please, don’t hurt me.” Katherine would be furious if she died.

  “I would never take the life of one of my own clan, or the fae. You will live.” He released her and signaled to his men. “Grab my nephew as well. We leave for the Rhinns and mak
e haste. I wish to lure MacDonald into a battle. I want my land returned.”

  His men cheered.

  This was not the kind of adventure she’d signed up for.

  Chapter 5

  With the skies toward Dunyvaig darkening, it appeared Archie’s faerie had taken the sunshine with her. She’d been wrong to demand she go with him into battle when their women had to remain safe. He’d speak to her this eve and ensure she understood he needed her magic from a distance, not on the battlefield.

  The pounding of hooves shook the ground as a rider galloped into the village. What was George doing back so soon?

  “Attack.” George slumped forward and spat out blood.

  “What happened?” He caught George as he toppled.

  “Mary. Marie. James. All taken.” An arrow, embedded deep into his man’s side, had him gasping for breath.

  “Was it MacLean?” Fury taking hold of him, he wiped the blood from George’s mouth.

  “I didnae see. Scouting. Hit. The others. Dead and injured.”

  Damn it. He shouldn’t have underestimated MacLean, not after he’d attacked so close to Dunyvaig. “I’ll bring them home.” He handed George into the care of one of the village women who’d tended the midday meal. He snatched his sword propped against the water barrel, holstered it across his back and hoisted himself onto George’s destrier. Mounted along with his warriors, he raised an arm and pumped his fist into the air. “I want MacLean’s head. Now.”

  A thundering roar boomed around him.

  They would fight. To the death.

  MacLean would not survive this attack.

  * * * *

  Anger thrummed fiercely though Marie. MacLean had killed or maimed their entire guard. He couldn’t be allowed to get away with this.

  “Pick up your pace, lass.” A scraggly bearded guard prodded her from behind, his grass-stained tunic tattered and smeared with blood.

  Arms bound behind her, she stumbled across the thick roots poking from the ground. Mary and James had been trussed as she had, and they walked together with MacLean’s warriors surrounding them.

  “What will MacLean do once we reach the Rhinns?” she whispered to Mary.

  “Use us as bait.” Shoulder lifted, Mary wiped her sweat soaked brow against her puffy blue woolen sleeve. “I cannae believe the lengths my brother goes to. He’ll pay with his life for what he’s now done.”

  “Archie will come, won’t he?”

  “He’ll come, and he’ll be after my brother’s head.” She drilled a stare into MacLean’s back as he led them through the ever-thickening forest.

  “This is bad, isn’t it?”

  “He’ll have more men there, otherwise he would have made for the coast. Duart Castle on Mull is his stronghold, but he has homes on neighboring Jura and Coll. Archie will come. He’ll no’ fail us.”

  She shuddered, recalling exactly how intent Archie had already been after the attack on the village. His thirst for MacLean’s death drove him, and now, she truly didn’t blame him. Even she would be happy to see MacLean fall with how ruthlessly he’d killed. No. Slaughtered. So barbaric.

  This was such a mess, and MacLean couldn’t die. The king’s men had taken Angus and Donald MacDonald. MacLean was the loose end to the blood feud, and she had to ensure his capture.

  Goodness, how did she manage to get herself into these kinds of predicaments?

  Some faerie magic truly wouldn’t go amiss.

  Mary panted as she slogged, each breath a struggle. And what kind of man made a heavily pregnant woman hike through such demanding terrain? So much for her ensuring Mary rested. At least James remained strong. He’d stayed close to his mother’s side, encouraging her whenever she’d faltered.

  Maclean had pushed them on throughout the long night, not taking a break.

  It should have been a relief when dawn finally broke, but she had no idea how much farther they had to travel. Birds twittered, although one’s trill seemed slightly off compared to the others.

  “Halt.” MacLean lifted a hand then responded to the bird’s call with an identical answering of chirps.

  Mary took a deep whiff. “There’s a touch of salt in the air, and with the distance we’ve tread, we should be close to Loch Indaal.”

  Loch Indaal cut into Islay’s southern end. She and Katherine had driven around the coastline, passing the sparkling waters of the loch from the ferry terminal the first day they’d arrived.

  A man slid between the trees toward MacLean, his beady brown eyes surveying all as he came in alongside the chief. “My laird, there’s no sign of any of the MacDonald galleys at sea.”

  “Yet,” MacLean grunted. “Angus’s second will come once he hears of my attack. Archie MacDonald willnae allow the capture of his kin to pass. We must continue on to our men who wait, drawing MacDonald toward Loch Gruinart where I wish to make a stand, on the land which is mine.” MacLean scowled at Mary then strode toward her, flattening the underbrush as he did. Feet planted wide, he examined her. “How do you fare, sister?”

  She turned her back and pressed out her bound hands. “Untie me. Unless you’re scared I can best a man like yourself.”

  “I fear naught, but aye, I’ll no’ forget you besting me at sticks as a bairn. Your small hands aided you in the game. I could never halt the sticks from toppling.” He loosened her knots, turned her around then rubbed her hands between his. “You still have an insolent mouth.”

  “I might, but I imagine it rivals your own.”

  “Aye, and you’re as feisty as ever. Good. That will see you through.” MacLean eyed the warrior closest to them. “They’ll no’ escape. Unbind the lad and lady too.” His gaze slid away from Mary and over Marie. “So, we have one of the fae in our midst. Tell me of the little folk.”

  “They’re rather annoying.” Really annoying. His guardsman removed her rope, and blood pulsed down her arms and stung her fingertips. She shook her hands.

  Mary stepped in front of her, moving eye to eye again with MacLean. “Marie was delivered to us after Archie made a wish. ’Twas a shock to discover she was a MacLean, but ’tis what happened.”

  “Yet she appeared from the circle of stones, nay surprise at all.” He crossed his thickly muscled arms. “Which proves Dunyvaig Castle belongs to the MacLeans since a MacLean came forth from the guardians’ circle.”

  “Aye, but she is of both clans, her mother a MacDonald.” Mary gripped his arm. “You forget so quickly, brother. ’Twas you who agreed to my marriage with Angus. Why cannae you put your differences aside? Why cannae you return to Duart Castle and worry about the lands you already hold instead of fighting for those you do no’?”

  “I fight, because eleven years ago the king and council commanded Angus and I settle our dispute by your marriage to him. You were forced to wed MacDonald, to patch a feud which has never been resolved, no’ in all this time. Father gambled MacLean lands away, but I will fight until I get them back.”

  “You battle for the wrong reasons. You stole James from me when he was but five, and now you think to steal us both. There’s been so much bloodshed and loss of life, on both sides. You will lose it all if the king states it so.”

  “The king willnae take my land from me. He can send as many summonses as he likes, demanding I present myself at Edinburgh, but I willnae bow to him, no’ after I lost my sister to his so-called ‘settling of the last dispute.’” He slammed a hand against his thigh. “Tell me how Angus was taken.”

  “He went to visit Donald MacDonald on Skye. They were both captured there, when they least expected it.” Mary didn’t quail, but told him straight.

  “I see, then I should anticipate a visit from the king’s men myself.”

  “They will come for you, mark my words.” She thrust her chin toward him. Mary had guts.

  “Aye, but mayhap to Mull, Coll or Jura. They willnae think to search for me here.” He frowned then gently set his palm against her cheek. “I’m weary of fighting with you. I will return
you home to your kin. ’Tis why I came for you. I should never have let you wed a MacDonald.”

  “You’ve just taken me from my kin. You cannae defend your actions and spout your need to return me into the MacLean fold as your reasoning why. I know the truth, and willnae be swayed.” Tears leaked from Mary’s eyes. “I hate and despise you, Lachlan.”

  “Aye, little sister, as much as you love me. I’ve no doubt of it.”

  “Islay is my home. James is heir to Dunyvaig, and I cannae leave my bairns behind.”

  “I’ll rescue your young ones in time.”

  “They dinnae need rescuing. You’ve brought James and I right into the middle of your fight again. Dinnae you see what you’ve done? Archie willnae rest until James and I are back where we belong.” She sent a pleading look at Marie. “Nor his faerie. You must see reason.”

  “I’ve always seen reason.” His gaze darkened to the deepest shade of midnight-blue. “And Islay will be returned to me.”

  “So you wish to steal your nephew’s heritage?”

  “Nay, I wish to see it placed in my son’s hands, as Father should have placed the Rhinns in mine. Hector is my heir and will be the fifteenth Chief of MacLean. My line shall rule Islay, no’ Angus’s.” Snarling, he leaned in. “Make no mistake, sister, I will see this done.”

  “I hate you, Uncle.” James burst through and plowed into MacLean, hands smashed against the massive chief’s chest. “I hate you, just as Mother hates you.”

  “James, nay.” Mary tried to pull him back.

  MacLean snickered, grasped the boy and shoved him away. “Calm down, James. I only wish to see to your mother’s welfare.”

  “I hate you. I hate you.” Cheeks puffed, James’s face flared red.

  “Leave my son alone, Lachlan. You’ve hurt him enough.”

  “Your son will be a man afore you know it, and a little pain willnae go amiss in strengthening him.”

  Mary clutched James to her, holding onto him like a lifeline. She glared at MacLean. “Leave us be. Just leave us be.”

  “You’ll come to understand what I’ve done, in time.” He stormed toward the front of his men. “To Loch Gruinart,” he bellowed. “Let MacDonald come for us, but we fight for Islay.”