Highlander Enchanted

by Lizzy Ford

  She felt her knife pierce flesh, and Richard went still, landing beside her.

  Isabel scrambled to her feet and gazed from the bloodied knife to Richard. She had sliced his head, and blood poured down his face. With some knowledge of wounds, she understood her blow to be glancing despite the blood. Why, then, was he not moving?

  She waited to see if he would awaken then knelt beside him and witnessed the blood matting the back of his head. Shifting forward, she spotted the gnarled tree root his head had smacked when he fell.

  “May God have mercy,” she whispered, horrified by the thought she had killed him, even if unintentionally, even if in defense of herself. “Richard?” She shook him.

  He did not move.

  Tears welled, and she dropped the knife. She had broken a commandment and committed one of the greatest sins in Christianity. If her soul was lost to her, why did it have to be lost because of him?

  Aware of how sinful it was to resent the man she had slain, she crossed herself and bowed her head to begin praying for forgiveness.

  The whinny of a horse, followed by the rustling of someone leaping from its back, reminded her she was likely to have a much larger issue. Isabel rose and turned, expecting to find Richard’s men waiting to confront her.

  But the men before her were of a completely different make entirely with faces painted red, well-worn clothing, trappings and boots, and wild gleams in their gazes. They were armed. One of them was halfway to her when he stopped.

  They appeared curious, if not surprised to find her there. The leader, a burly man with a huge beard and a curved sword, studied her.

  “English?” he asked. “This far north?” He looked past her to the Richard’s unmoving form.

  “We were … I was … this …” They will hasten my journey to the lake of fire, she thought. Squaring her shoulders, she decided to face him head on. This never worked with Richard, but these Highlanders appeared to favor displays of strength over tears. “If you have any wisdom in your bushy head, you will know better than to raise a hand to me.”

  The red-faced man appeared startled and then laughed. “Ye speak with the fire of a Highland woman. Are ye certs yer English?”

  “My name is Isabel de Clare, sole heir to the seat of Saxony, distant cousin to his lordship the King of England. I am, without a doubt, English.”

  “I doona care who ye are, lass,” he said, smiling broadly. “I care who’ll pay me gold t’ransom ye. Is there someone who’d pay me no’ t’kill ye?”

  “Most certainly,” she said without hesitation. Would her uncle pay ransom to these heathens after he had been so quick to trade her to Richard? She was not about to let her doubt and hurt show when dealing with a man of the same mold as Cade.

  She sensed the bushy bearded man debating what to do with her and refused to lower her gaze or back down.

  “Verra well, lass,” he said. “I willna kill ye. Who is he?” He motioned to Richard with his sword.

  “This man was supposed to be my escort and attacked me. I was forced to defend myself against him.”

  He appeared impressed, or perhaps amused, before turning to motion to a younger man who had not yet begun to fill out. “Tie ‘er! Leave ‘im!”

  “No, wait!” she said, disturbed. “Should you not give him a proper burial?”

  The man’s bushy eyebrows twitched. “You doona think me letting ye live is enough?” he challenged, a flash of hardness in his gaze.

  “I mean no disrespect.” She released her breath, recalling the savagery of the Highlanders. “May I at least pray for his soul before I leave?”

  He snorted but motioned towards Richard in what she took to be permission.

  Isabel knelt beside him. With some anger, she realized she was getting exactly what she deserved for taking a life – enslaved by the wild men of the Highlands. She said a quick prayer over Richard’s body and asked God to send his men back when it was safe so they could bury him.

  When she finished, she rose and presented her hands to the barbarian awaiting her. Whatever happened to her, she had to appear as strong as she was scared inside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cade had little time to think let alone confront his cousin over the next few days. With Lady Isabel gone, he was left alone to manage the household and failing where she had succeeded. Between housing and feeding the MacDonald clan, training with the few warriors they possessed and tending to duties around the keep, he had not stopped to sleep except when too exhausted to move.

  He had hoped the activity would keep his thoughts from Isabel, from the guilt in his gullet, and the growing sense he had wronged her and her brother’s memory by letting her go.

  Exhausted, he rubbed the beard he had not had a chance to shave.

  He leaned away from his bed, where the elderly MacDonald lay listlessly, and glanced at Niall. His cousins were present, as was Father Adam. The three made up his advisors, the only men he truly trusted to guide him as the leader of their people.

  It was quiet and tense, with both his cousins fidgeting and Father Adam wide awake for once. The priest clutched two missives.

  “Read it t’me again,” he said to Father Adam.

  “Laird Duncan of clan MacGomery orders ye t’turn out the MacDonald’s, the enemy to his kin and clan,” Father Adam said.

  Cade dwelt on the command given to him by the laird whose generosity had given his clan a home, even if temporarily. He was disappointed in the man who had taken mercy on his people only to turn out his own neighbors. This was the fourth messenger to be sent, and this one was much less patient than the others. He could not afford to thrall this messenger and recognized he had to make a choice this day.

  “Can we no offer t’pay him more to let the MacDonald’s stay?” Niall asked, pacing nearby.

  “Yea, if we had coin of any kind. We gave him every last copper just to house our kin for the year,” Cade said with sarcasm. “We canna turn out women and children and,” he waved to Laird MacDonald, “the near-dead to be kilt by their enemies, but I doona ken what else to do.”

  Niall was rubbing the back of his head, staring hard at the wall. Cade sensed what was going through his cousin’s head.

  “We turn them out, and we have a home for several more fortnights,” Brian mused. “But that’d mean yer wedding is off.”

  Thank Isabel’s god for that, Cade answered silently.

  “I doona wanna say it, but it’s our clan or theirs,” Brian said.

  “Ye canna be serious!” Niall objected. “D’we not have some honor?”

  “I’d rather we had a home.”

  “We must leave before winter! We doona have a real home now!”

  “Cease arguing,” Cade growled at them.

  They obeyed, glaring at one another.

  “Or, ye marry her and claim her land. Then we go to war with Laird Duncan,” said Niall.

  Cade alone heard his reluctance to utter such words. If Niall was willing to give up his lover, he was as worried as Cade.

  At least he’s thinking of his clan not himself.

  “Yea, except we have no warriors!” Brian retorted.

  “This is a laird’s decision,” Cade said firmly. “I willna make it without great thought.”

  “He requires yer answer tonight,” Father Adam added.

  “Then I will think quickly.”

  “Niall is wise for once,” Brian said. “None of us can e’er forget war or what it does to those who doona deserve it.”

  Cade leaned back, unwilling to let his mind bring up the images of all they had seen and experienced in the Crusades. By the looks on his cousins’ faces, they, too, were trying to suppress the memories.

  “We canna turn out the MacDonald’s,” Brian said. “We canna turn out our own clan, either, by supporting them. Either we join them, or we are all lost.”

  Niall’s jaw was clenched so hard, the muscles in both cheeks ticked. Cade gazed at him for a moment, pitying his cousin yet also angry with hi
m for his secret.

  “D’ye love her?” Cade asked.

  Brian blinked, surprised, while Niall froze.

  “Does who love … who?” Brian asked with a frown.

  “Niall love the lass I’m supposed t’hand-fast,” Cade said.

  Niall wore the expression of a deer about to flee. He shook it off and glanced quickly at Brian, his face growing pink.

  “I couldna wed a girl my brother loved,” Cade said. “But I could a lass ye were rutting.”

  “Yer what?” Brian demanded, turning on the eldest of the three of them. “Ye covet yer kin’s betrothed?”

  Niall made a sound of frustration. “It wasna planned! I promised her before the Crusades we’d hand-fast upon my return and then … we had nowhere t’live when we returned, so I told her I couldna wed the daughter of a chieftain if I had no gold and not when our clan needed us. Cousin, if I- ”

  “Be at peace, Niall,” Cade said, amused to see his battle hardened kin panicking over a woman when he had never once backed down in a confrontation.

  “At peace?” Brian demanded. “He didna tell me either! How can ye keep a secret from us? We are closer than brothers or did ye forget the years we spent fighting Saracens and the months in their dungeon?”

  “Brian!” Niall exclaimed. “I didna plan for this to happen! But when I saw her again …”

  “Ye betrayed yer kin.”

  Cade laughed, surprising himself with the sound. Brian was sensitive, Niall brutish, and he too tired to contain his emotion.

  “How do ye not have a sword at his throat?” Brian demanded, turning on him.

  “Yea. Why am I still standing?” Niall seconded.

  Cade’s laughter died, and he considered. By all rights, his cousin should be begging for mercy at his feet with a knife to his throat. Was he so tired that he did not care one hair on his head about Niall sleeping with the woman he was supposed to wed?

  “I canna wed her if ye love her,” he said.

  Niall and Brian exchanged a look. “’ave ye gone mad?” Brian asked.

  “Or soft? Are we never to war again?” Niall pressed.

  “Neither. I doona wish t’wed her. I ne’er have,” Cade said. “I doona wish for war either, but I feel it will come to us, whether or not we wish it.”

  “’Tis already here,” Father Adam said, lifting the missive. “We must choose a side by tonight.”

  A somber quiet descended. Cade rose, restless. “I had hoped to leave war far from our clan.”

  “We canna turn them out,” Father Adam said.

  “No, we canna,” he agreed. “We already chose.”

  Brian nodded. “We need a plan before ye send back your response. We are not completely without defenses. The forest will protect us, and we have magic in place of warriors.”

  “Yea,” Cade said.

  “You … you are not angry?” Niall asked.

  “Ye lied t’me, Niall. That displeases me,” Cade replied. “But Brian is right. We are brothers, and we fight this battle together.” He started to smile. “And, I believe ye just solved one of our problems.”

  “How so?”

  “Yer gonna marry a MacDonald and become their laird and shelter yer kin.”

  Niall considered. “But yer our laird, Cade.”

  “Yea, and I will remain so. But I’ll also lead our few warriors into battle and when it’s done, I’ll leave t’find a place for our kin while ye protect them.”

  “With me,” Brian said.

  “And ye’ll stay behind t’defend our clans.”

  “Cade!” Niall objected. “I belong with ye both in battle!”

  It was almost a relief to relinquish part of his duties to his cousin. Niall would die before he would allow harm to befall their clan. All they had to do was win back the MacDonald’s land first.

  Though how, Cade did not yet know. He shook his head firmly. “This is yer penance fer lying t’me. Ye get t’stay behind.”

  Niall appeared ready to object. Brian punched his arm.

  “Did ye no hear the man?” he snapped. “Ye get yer lass and a keep.”

  Niall’s expression softened, though he scoured Cade’s face. “This isna because I shamed ye?”

  “Ye shame me only if ye fail to protect our kin,” Cade responded.

  “Verra well. If ye wish it.”

  “I do.” He rose. “Give me peace, cousins. I need to talk to the priest. Brian, send up the healer. Niall, assess our warriors and weapons.”

  “MacDonald’s healer or … ours?” Brian asked.

  “Ours.”

  “Cade,” Niall breathed in objection. “Ye risk discovery by healing a man older than most those in their graves.”

  “I mean t’heal him,” Cade replied. “He needs t’witness yer wedding.”

  “I will tell him I prayed him back to life,” Father Adam offered.

  Niall appeared ready to challenge him but relented, following Brian out of the bedchamber.

  With them gone, Cade’s mood began to sink once more. Fatigue weighed heavily on him, and he wolfed down bread and dried meat before sitting across from Father Adam.

  “Ye didna tell me what the second message is,” Cade said, glancing at the two scrolls Father Adam held. Both were damp, an indication they had arrived at the same time, not too long ago.

  “It doesna matter,” Father Adam said.

  “What is it?” Cade plucked it from his hand and turned it around, unable to make out any of the writing. “This is Duncan’s seal.”

  “Yea.” Father Adam took the write from him. “But ye said ye doona want t’hear anything about her.”

  “About who?”

  “Lady Isabel.”

  Cade lifted his gaze to Father Adam’s. “What can Duncan say about her?”

  “Just that she is still his prisoner.”

  “Still?”

  “Yea. He captured her the day she left.”

  Startled by the news, it took a moment to find his voice. “Why didna ye tell me?” he demanded.

  “You said ye didna wanna hear about her,” Father Adam repeated.

  “I meant …” Cade stopped himself, uncertain why his stomach was in knots knowing she was in danger. “Why does he address me about her?” He ripped the missive from the priest’s grip once more and stared at it, willing the foreign squiggles to speak to him.

  “He wants ye t’affirm her story, that she is a lady who can be ransomed. He hasna the coin t’feed her through the winter if she canna bring him a purse of silver at least.”

  Cade bit back the yell at the tip of his tongue. Two days before, in a fit of temper, he had told Father Adam in no uncertain words he never wanted to hear her name again, even if Father Adam wished to tell him about the information contained in her writs.

  “Where is Lord Richard?” he snapped.

  Father Adam shrugged. “Laird Duncan only speaks of her.”

  Cade had hoped her departure would assist his ability to focus on the matters at hand and found the contrary to be true. Whenever he considered his clan – and the MacDonald’s – might both be homeless by winter, he began to look upon her wild claims with more interest. Niall’s claim to the MacDonald’s land would mean nothing if they could not force Laird Duncan off it.

  Too many lives were at stake for him to ignore any small hope of sheltering his people and soon, Niall’s. At least, this is how he convinced himself to ask about a woman he knew was more trouble than Duncan MacGomery.

  “Shall I confirm her story when I send back the response about the MacDonald’s?” Father Adam asked.

  Cade almost cursed afore the holy man. If he had any tie to Isabel, he risked her life if his answer this night angered Laird Duncan. The lady, however misguided and lost, was an innocent caught in a Highland struggle.

  “I will think on it,” he replied, mind on her large blue eyes and quiet strength.

  “Laird Cade, I ken ye do not want t’ken more of her, but the writs. They are important,” Father
Adam ventured.

  Cade nodded once brusquely and leaned back. He was once more sensing the danger of learning too much about the English woman and her secrets. “Verra well.”

  Father Adam’s face brightened. “’Tis a scandal!”

  How can a scandal help me? He thought. A tiny part of him wanted him to turn away now, as if it knew the more he learned about her, the less likely he would be to let her leave the Highlands despite their arrangement.

  Doubtful, he listened to Father Adam explain the complicated secrets he had uncovered in the documents Lady Isabel carried. As he did so, he began to understand why the priest had been so eager to share the information.

  A thoughtful silence ensued after the tale, and Cade’s eyes went to the sickly old man sleeping in his bed. He considered himself shrewder than most men, but he was baffled.

  “This doesna make sense,” he breathed at last, unable to untangle the mysteries of the English noble even after learning what they were.

  “She carries the land grants once carried by the MacCosse. She has a claim to their lands,” Father Adam said. “She was telling the truth.”

  “We ken this. Niall was told thus before by the king’s stewart. How does the daughter of an English noble come by this?” Cade demanded, mind working furiously. “Yer assured of the final writ?”

  “I translated it twice. I am certain.”

  “Lady Isabel is the illegitimate daughter of our king.”

  “Yea.”

  “She isna English at all.”

  “Nay.”

  Cade started to laugh then stopped, baffled by the turn of events. He had not expected this in any way. “How can this be true?”

  “I doona ken.” Father Adam shrugged. “But these writs bear the king’s seal. If ye have her, and ye have the writs …”

  “I have the MacCosse lands and the secret daughter o’the king, which might force him t’defend her claim. Can it be this is why he hasna allowed any other t’claim the lands?”

  “’Tis possible.”

  “’Tis madness.” Cade mulled over what he had heard. “A clever man could take her and her lands. Except she’s a prisoner of the man soon to be my enemy.”

  “Is that all?”