Under the Highlander's Spell

by Donna Fletcher

  “Can take Zia from us.”

  Chapter 32

  Zia rejoined her grandmother, easing into the empty chair beside her only a short distance from the bed where Honora slept peacefully. She sighed softly, stretching out her legs in front of her.

  “Content, are you?” Bethane asked.

  “Ever so much,” Zia said, giving herself a huge hug.

  “Artair makes you happy?”

  “I never imagined such happiness or that he would fall foolishly in love with me.”

  “He is good for you,” Bethane confirmed with a strong nod.

  “So you told me from the beginning.”

  “You needed to find out for yourself,” Bethane said, glancing at one of the babes, who stirred restlessly in his cradle then settled once again.

  Zia sat forward in the chair and took her grandmother’s hand. “All will turn out well, will it not?”

  “A problem with the bishop?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  The door creaked opened and Addie slipped in, closing it quietly behind her. Zia got up and plopped down cross-legged on the floor, leaving the chair vacant for Addie. She shook her head at Addie when the woman tried to protest, and Addie relented with an appreciative smile and sat in the chair.

  “There is some trouble,” she whispered.

  Bethane and Zia leaned in closer, not wanting to wake Honora or the babes.

  Addie continued. “The bishop insists on seeing the marriage documents by tomorrow.”

  “Shouldn’t the cleric be here sometime today?” Zia asked.

  Addie shook her head. “He’s been detained due to ill health.”

  Zia almost laughed for here she was a healer and out of reach of healing the man who could possibly solve all her problems. “What happens now?”

  Addie shrugged. “I don’t know. Cavan will meet with Artair to talk over possibilities.”

  “Can the bishop’s mind be changed?” Bethane asked.

  “I don’t know how,” Addie said again. “The bishop seemed adamant in his edict.”

  “What is the bishop doing now, at this moment?” Bethane asked.

  “He strolls the village again, visiting, or so he says, but it seems he investigates and interrogates without anyone realizing it. And while many offer praise, they unknowingly provide fodder for doubt.”

  Bethane nodded knowingly. “Many do not realize that generous praise can be misconstrued to make an innocent healer appear a witch who works magic.”

  “What am I ever to do?” Zia asked, wishing she possessed a magical potion that would chase away ignorant notions.

  “Leave it to my sons,” Addie said. “They will find a way.”

  “Addie is right,” Bethane said, and reached her hand down to Zia. “What say we talk?”

  Zia looked to Addie. “Would you mind watching Honora and the babes for a short time? We’ll be close, in my bedchamber.”

  “What a silly request to ask of a new grandmother,” Addie said, grinning proudly as she got to her feet and shooed them toward the door. “You have had no time alone to talk. Go, I will send for you if necessary.”

  Zia thanked her with an exuberant hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I won’t be long.”

  “Take as long as you want,” Addie assured her.

  Zia eagerly ushered her grandmother into her bedchamber and fixed cups of their favorite brew, a mixture of herbs that soothed and relaxed. They settled in chairs she arranged in front of the hearth, the heat of the flames toasting their feet stretched out in front of them.

  “I have missed you so much, Grandmother,” Zia said.

  “And I you, my child, but there is an important reason I wished for us to talk…there is a tale I wish to tell you.”

  Zia settled comfortably in her chair, tucking her warmed feet beneath her, ready to listen as she had when she was young. Her grandmother’s tales never ceased to fascinate her. “I am listening.”

  “Many years ago in our village there was a young beautiful girl schooled in the Old Ways of the healers. She was an exceptional healer, always had a kind word for everyone and always generous with her time to those who required her talent. She traveled when necessary to different villages, just as you do. During her travels, she met and fell in love with a young man, and he with her, but there was a problem. The young man came from a noble lineage that expected obedience from their son, which included an arranged marriage. The couple dreamed of a life together, marriage and family, and when the young man’s father denied him his dreams, he and the young woman wed in an old ceremony forgotten by many and acknowledged by few.

  “Unfortunately, the young man’s family refused to recognize the ceremony as valid and forcibly took him from his bride. They sent him away, and try as she might, his young wife could not find him. She was brokenhearted and missed him more each day. She soon realized that she was with child, but her heart refused to heal, and hope died slowly with each passing day, so that when she delivered a daughter, she smiled and took her last breath.”

  Zia had tears in her eyes. “You speak of my mother.”

  Bethane nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner that my father was forced to leave my mother?” Zia asked, sniffing back her tears. “I would have looked for him.”

  “That was exactly why I didn’t tell you. You would have insisted on searching for him, and that would not have been good for you or for him.”

  “If he loved my mother, surely my father would have been overjoyed to learn that she had given him a child,” Zia said, fighting back the tears that refused to remain locked away.

  “I have no doubt he would have, for he loved your mother very much.”

  “She certainly must have loved him, to die of a broken heart.” A tear slipped free and ran down her cheek.

  Bethane reached out and took her hand. “Don’t think for one moment that your mother didn’t want or love you. She knew she carried a daughter and spoke of you often to me. It was just that she lost her passion for life when she lost your father.”

  Zia nodded, slowly wiping away her tears. “I never truly would have understood that if I had not fallen so deeply in love with Artair. I don’t shed tears for myself, but rather for my mother and the love that was stolen from her—not only my father’s love, but mine.”

  “You are much like your mother, and she would have been proud of you.”

  “That means a lot to me,” Zia said, her eyes drying. “I’m curious, though. What has changed that led you to tell me all this now?”

  Bethane gripped both her hands tightly. “The Bishop Aleatus, the man sent to judge and condemn you, is your father.”

  Zia shook her head slowly. “The bishop? My father?”

  Bethane nodded.

  “I cannot believe…” Zia continued shaking her head, astonished by what she had heard. The man who would decide her fate was the man who had given her life.

  “I know this is hard for you to believe.”

  “Are you sure?” Zia asked, thinking it must be a mistake.

  “Yes, I am certain. I learned several years ago that he had become a bishop.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” she asked, not angry with her grandmother, but rather, disappointed.

  “What good would it have done? Even now you must be very careful what you do with this knowledge, for it can be more dangerous than claims of you being a witch.”

  “Do you think if he knew who I was, he would want to do me harm?”

  Bethane pressed a gentle hand to her granddaughter’s face. “I believe he would love you immediately, for you look exactly like your mother.”

  Zia gasped with the realization and jumped out of the chair. “Then I surely must stay out of bishop’s way until…” She shook her head. “Eventually, the bishop will insist on speaking with me. What then?”

  “You will know what to do,” Bethane assured her.

  Zia collapsed back into the chair. “This news stuns me, but what could hap
pen because of it startles me even more. The only thing I know for sure is that I will not see my husband—” She shook her head, correcting herself. “I will not see Artair suffer because of me.”

  “To you, Artair is your husband. You need no document to prove that to yourself. Follow your heart,” Bethane advised. “You can’t go wrong when you follow your heart.”

  Zia looked after Honora and the babes, and later that day realized she wasn’t needed. Both Honora and Addie had the situation well in hand, and Cavan too. He visited with his wife and sons as often as he could.

  She wished she could leave the keep for at least a short while, just to breathe the cold autumn air, feel it fresh against her cheeks. She recalled her visit to the battlements, and grabbing a wool cloak from her room, hurried up the stairs, rushing to taste the joy of a moment’s freedom.

  The cold air stung her cheeks and whipped through her hair and she stuck her chin up enjoying the invigorating assault. She hugged the cloak around her and couldn’t help but think of her father.

  Was he still the man who once loved her mother, or had he become cynical and indifferent to others because of what had been done to him? And did she dare take a chance and find out?

  It wouldn’t be only her life she placed in danger, and she couldn’t live with the possibility of being the cause of the Sinclares suffering because of her. What choice did she have then?

  “You frightened the hell out of me!”

  Startled, Zia swung around to see Artair descend on her. He looked in a rage, and grabbed hold of her and gave her a shake.

  “Don’t ever frighten me like that again,” he ordered sharply.

  “What have I done?” she asked, perplexed and concerned, for she had never seen him so upset. His dark eyes glared and he actually looked pale.

  He shook his head and then rested his forehead to hers. “I couldn’t find you, and feared the bishop had sped off with you when I wasn’t watching.”

  You mean my father. She almost said it aloud, but the words were so foreign to her that they never reached her lips.

  “I would fight like a wild animal if anyone tried to take me from you,” she said with a soft kiss to his flushed cheek.

  “I would kill anyone who tried.”

  She thought she heard him snarl, and shivered at the thought of the animal inside him that could materialize when necessary.

  “You’re cold,” he said, and scooped her up in his arms.

  She wanted the crisp air to sting her cheeks and shiver her flesh, but she could get the same from her husband, and much preferred to do so.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered in his ear.

  He laughed. “You read my mind.”

  “That is because we are one and will always be.”

  He stopped abruptly before going through the arched doorway. “Promise me that. Promise me we will always be one no matter what.”

  “I promise,” she murmured against his lips and then let him have his way with the kiss and he took it. Instead of quenching her lust it ignited it and shivered every inch of her flesh.

  “You are cold,” he said, hurrying to take the stairs down to their bedchamber.

  “I am hot,” she teased with a nip to his ear.

  “I intend to make you hotter.”

  “Then hurry, for I am already near boiling.”

  He laughed. “This will be a night you long remember.”

  How appropriate that the day remained consistent, for it surely was a day she would never forget.

  Zia stretched her naked body along the bed, arching her back to welcome Artair deeper inside her. They had wasted no time in divesting themselves of their clothes and falling on the bed together. And she had wasted not a moment of getting him inside her.

  She needed him and the satisfaction he would bring her, though he would take none himself, not yet. He would wait and bring her to pleasure over and over, making her body squirm with his intimate touches and breath-stealing kisses.

  It was a dance of sorts, and one she never tired of. And how could she when he would sweep her off her feet with a new step or two and in no time have her groaning, whimpering, pleading, and crying out in pleasure?

  “You are the witch,” she breathed heavily as his mouth tormented her nipples with the most delicious swirl of his tongue. “You bind me with a wicked—” She gasped as he plunged into her suddenly and steadily.

  They both were soon lost in a maze of lovemaking, twisting, turning, grasping, gasping, as they made their way through the tormenting maze that took them ever deeper into the center, the apex of it all. When they could no longer contain themselves, they burst like a torch ignited and allowed the fire to consume them and the maze.

  After her sanity returned, Zia bounced up, crawling over Artair to slip off the bed.

  “I’m starving,” she said, and went straight to the table where hours ago platters of food and pitchers of wine had been left for them. Once there, she munched on a hunk of cheese and reached for a slice of black bread.

  “You should eat while naked more often,” he said sitting up to rest against several pillows he piled behind his back. “I enjoy watching you.”

  With a start, while still munching, Zia hurried into a soft green silk robe Addie had given to her recently.

  “I am so hungry that I forget myself,” she said with a grin.

  “Forget yourself all you want. I love seeing you naked. You are beautiful.”

  “For that,” she said raising a finger, “I will bring you food.”

  “I feared you would let me starve.”

  “Never,” she said hurrying over to him with one of the smaller platters of cheese, to which she’d added cold mutton and bread.

  “Mother tells me that you had time to speak with your grandmother today,” Artair said while digging into the plate of food.

  Zia knew it appeared a casual question, but it was far from one. And she would give him his answer if…“Ask me directly what you wish to know and I will tell you.”

  But would she? She had given thought to her grandmother’s warning, and knew that Bethane was right. The information could prove more harmful than helpful to far too many people. With that in mind, Zia had decided that for now her father’s identity would continue to remain a secret.

  “Did you discuss Ronan?” Artair asked anxiously.

  Zia shook her head. “But then, that wasn’t really your question. You think my grandmother and I keep something from you about your brother.”

  “Do you?”

  “I have confided everything to you except one thing. I gave my word to someone and I cannot go back on it.”

  Artair rubbed his chin and nodded.

  Zia knew he would remain calm and think over her response. He was and would no doubt always be a sensible man, except when it came to her. She almost sighed at the beauty of it.

  “Does this promise interfere with me locating my brother?”

  “No, it would no way impede your search for Ronan.”

  He nodded again. “What of Bethane? Does she know more than she tells me?”

  Zia sighed and dusted her hands over the plate. “I truly don’t know. I was surprised when we returned to my village and found Ronan gone.”

  “What you tell me is that it would have been difficult for him to leave your village without someone knowing of his departure. You said so yourself when you told me and my men about the posted sentinels.”

  “You’re right. Someone would have seen him,” Zia confirmed.

  “Or helped him?”

  Zia nodded.

  “And you know who that is?”

  “As do you,” she said.

  “Bethane.”

  Again Zia nodded. “She had to have given her word if she has not confided this to you.”

  “Which means—”

  “She will not tell you why your brother left or where he goes.”

  Chapter 33

  “You know I will need to tell Cavan of this,”
Artair said with a sense of betrayal that disturbed him. Either way, he felt as if he betrayed someone with his decision. If he didn’t confide in Cavan, he would betray his brother, and if he told Cavan, then he felt as if he betrayed Zia. He did not like the position he was in and would not tolerate it.

  “I assumed you would, but then I believed you and Cavan already had plans to speak with my grandmother,” Zia said, gathering up morsels of the food that fell on the blanket, to place them on the empty plate before bouncing off the bed to take it to the table.

  “I would have spoken to you first.”

  Zia turned, slipping her robe off and walking toward him. “I know that.”

  Artair’s loins tightened rock hard and his mind began to muddle with each lazy step she took toward him. “I—I—”

  “Want me,” she said, her voice dripping with a sultry passion.

  Or was it simply what he wanted to hear? Artair shook his head.

  “You don’t want me?” she asked, pouting as she stopped by the bed.

  Artair had lost all sound reasoning, and while somewhere his mind reminded that he should pursue questioning her about Ronan, another part urged him to assuage his aching loins.

  Zia settled it by throwing the covers off him and crawling over him with a sexy grin that promised paradise on earth. Then he surrendered to her with each tantalizing touch and intimate kiss.

  Artair paced in Cavan’s solar.

  “Everyone tried to help,” Cavan said.

  “And made it worse,” Artair spat. “The village makes Zia appear a saint, which only fuels the bishop’s perception of her as a witch. And that fool Neil gloats over what he assumes is a victory…the witch will burn.”

  “We both know that will not happen.”

  “How do we stop it?” Artair asked desperately, looking to his brother as the powerful laird who could do the impossible.

  “I don’t know, but we will stop it,” Cavan said with a firm grasp of his brother’s shoulder.

  Artair calmed and nodded. He and Zia weren’t alone in this. His family was on his side and would do all they could to keep Zia from being taken away.