A stunned silence filled the chamber and stretched. Astrid looked down at her hands and then up at Domhnall, who looked at her with pale-faced astonishment. How had she done that? She hadn’t even thought of an Offensive spell. It was as if her magic had reacted out of an automatic protective instinct.
Propelled into action, she turned to the candle, murmuring the words of the Incendiary spell once more. This time candle roared to life with a strong flame. Heart hammering, she turned to the fireplace, where the flames were dying out, and issued another Incendiary spell. The flames obeyed her command immediately, roaring to life.
Only then did she turn to face Domhnall, breathless, as his eyes went to the flames, and her, in astonishment.
“Now do you see,” she said, “that I’m telling you the truth?”
Domhnall blinked, his face still white as he stumbled forward. He again studied the flames as if they could somehow provide answers. His hands shook as he lifted one to rake through his hair.
“I—I cannae deny what my eyes have just seen,” he rasped, “but I need some time for what I’ve seen tae settle in my mind. I—I will see ye on the morrow.”
“But—”
“I’ll see ye on the morrow,” he repeated firmly, still not looking at her. “Ye’re no longer my prisoner, Astrid. But I ask ye nae tae leave.”
He left her then, and Astrid watched him go, defeat settling onto her shoulders like a great weight. She thought she’d feel triumph after she convinced him of what she could do. Instead, she couldn’t get the way he’d looked at her out of her mind. Like she was . . . unnatural. A freak.
That old insecurity, the hatred of what she was, came roaring back to the surface. She clenched her fists, closing her eyes. It was why she told no one what she was. It was why she wanted no part of witchcraft, time travel, any of it. She’d seen firsthand where it could all lead to.
Grief and anger filled her as she thought of her parents, emotions she quelled as she expelled a breath, blinking back tears. You’ve convinced him. Now all you have to do is hope he lets you help him and then you can go back to your normal life.
That night, images of a dark figure who stalked her from the shadows dominated her dreams.
Despite the chill that hung in the chamber, she awoke bathed in a hot sweat. She took in her surroundings, closing her eyes. For a moment she’d hoped she’d wake up in her comfy Los Angeles condo. But no, she was in the thirteenth century, trying to convince a handsome Scot to allow her to help him with a mysterious, looming threat.
The same chambermaid who’d bathed her the day before entered, silently helping her dress in a high-waisted gown of deep green. The maid left her a tray filled with bread and hot broth before leaving her alone. It was odd having a personal maid, but Astrid was relieved that she hadn’t tried to engage her in conversation, given her modern accent.
She’d just finished eating when the door swung open and Domhnall strode in, looking devastatingly handsome in his white tunic and dark breeches, his hair sexily tousled as if he’d been raking his hands through it. That searing awareness pierced her, and she had to willingly calm her racing heartbeat.
“As I told ye before, I cannae doubt what I’ve seen with my own eyes,” he said, not looking at her. “I thank ye for coming tae me, for trying tae help me. But my honor willnae allow me tae use unnatural means tae defeat my enemies, especially using magic—something I donnae understand nor can control myself. I’ll have a guard escort ye safely tae wherever ye want tae go, but I do ask that ye leave and go back tae yer—tae this distant time ye say ye come from. I am laird and chieftain of my clan. I can handle what threatens it on my own, without the help of a—a witch.”
Chapter 5
“There were more raids on several outer isles by the Norse last night,” Ruarc said grimly.
Domhnall closed his eyes at Ruarc’s words, expelling a heavy sigh. It was not long after he’d sent Astrid away; he now stood in the great hall with his men. Even though he told himself he was firm in his decision, he kept seeing the panicked look in her eyes when he’d told her to leave, how her lovely skin had paled. He’d turned his back on her and left after he’d issued his proclamation, expecting her to stop him with a plea. But she hadn’t, and disappointment had pierced him at this, as if some part of him wanted her to convince him to allow her to stay.
’Tis for the best, he thought, forcing himself to concentrate on Ruarc’s words and the other nobles, who had all stiffened at his words.
“I heard there’s been an envoy sent to the Scottish king tae let him handle the matter,” Seighlin, another of his nobles, said with a scowl. “This is becoming tae great of a matter for us tae handle on our own.”
“Are ye a fool?” growled Duncan, another noble. “We cannae rely on the Scottish king. Aye, our isle falls under his protection by terms of the treaty, but the king has left this isle—and other surrounding isles—tae self-govern as we have for generations. The king may send a terse message tae the Norse, but that’s all he’ll do. The Scottish crown was bled dry by the war against the Norse. We have tae fight this as our fathers have done, and their fathers before them—on our own.”
The other nobles uttered words of agreement until Domhnall held up his hand for silence.
“I understand yer concerns, Seighlin,” Domhnall said, giving him a nod of understanding. “But what Duncan says is true—we have tae fight this threat on our own. We’ll have tae join with other clans of the isles and work together tae fight off the men who donnae respect the treaty. And I have a spy working on my behalf tae keep me abreast of what the Norse are up tae.”
He exchanged a look with Ruarc. His nobles didn’t know that he was the spy. While he trusted his men with his life, it was too great of a risk for them to know of his subterfuge against his cousin.
Domhnall listened patiently as his nobles continued to voice their concerns—who could they trust to ally with, how to protect their lands, how to convince their men to fight when it became necessary—and did his best to reassure them.
They seemed reassured by each of his answers. They would have to rely on the honor of the clans of the isles. He would send more men to help them protect their lands. Fierce pride and protectiveness for the lands that had been theirs for generations would motivate their men to fight.
It was only when he’d made certain his nobles were firmly assured of his plan to defend their lands from the Norse that the meeting came to an end and his men filed out of the hall.
“Well?” Ruarc demanded as soon as they were alone. “Ye havenae said anything about the lass, Astrid. Was she being truthful with ye or is she in the dungeons?”
Domhnall scowled at Ruarc. A part of him had foolishly hoped that Ruarc wouldn’t inquire about Astrid, that his focus would be entirely on the Norse threat.
“Did she demonstrate any magic?” Ruarc pressed.
“Aye,” Domhnall said reluctantly.
Ruarc’s eyes widened in amazement, and Domhnall recalled his own awe at what Astrid could do, an awe that hadn’t left him. The sheer power she’d displayed by lifting his body from the ground . . .
“It . . . was like nothing I’ve ever seen,” he confessed. “She hurled me across the room with her magic, set an unlit candle and a fire in the fireplace aflame. I cannae explain it.”
“Where is she now?”
“I sent her away,” Domhnall said, hoping that his regret at this didn’t show through his tone.
“Why?” Ruarc demanded, looking at him with disbelief.
“I’ll fight the Norse as my father did, and his father before him, without the use of such otherworldly things that I donnae understand—nor can control—such as magic. I’ve already sacrificed my honor tae betray my cousin.”
Ruarc glared at him in silence for a few moments before he spoke, leaning forward. “Ye are the leader of this clan and my laird, but ye’re also my friend, so I say this with respect. The Norsemen who ignore the treaty are the ones without honor. D
o ye nae think they would use magical assistance if they could? Think of the lives that would be saved if—”
“I’ve made my decision,” Domhnall growled. “Ye’ll say no more of the matter. And ye’ll keep what I’ve learned of Astrid tae yerself.”
Ruarc returned his glare, getting to his feet. “Very well. But I think ye’re being a fool.”
Domhnall clenched his fists at his sides as Ruarc stalked out of the hall. As his oldest friend who was like a brother to him, Ruarc was the only man he’d allow to speak to him in such a manner.
Ruarc had been fostered at the castle as the eldest son of his father’s closest friend. They were the same age and had grown up together; he was closer to Ruarc than he was to Ulf, though Ulf was blood. Ruarc was keen when it came to understanding men; he’d seen Ulf’s greed long before Domhnall had, and that was why he was his closest advisor.
Perhaps he’s right about Astrid as well, a phantom voice whispered in his mind, a whisper that he made himself ignore as he left the hall to attend to the matters of the day.
That evening, Domhnall sat at the head table in the great hall, trying to focus on the conversations around him. Despite his efforts not to, he’d thought of Astrid for the rest of the day, with Ruarc’s words haunting him.
It wasn’t only her magical ability that he thought of. He couldn’t stop thinking about the beauty of her features and her startlingly green eyes, the tempting loveliness of her curves. He knew what he was feeling was more than regret; it was unquenched desire. He’d only been around her for a short time, but he wanted the lass as he’d wanted no other.
He forced his thoughts away from Astrid, taking in the men and women who were gathered in the hall for the evening feast. These were the men and women he was fighting for, who relied on him for leadership and protection. It was for these people that he was betraying his cousin, that he would defeat the Norse—with honor. Not magic.
He felt eyes on him and turned until his gaze locked on Moirna, a former mistress of his who stared at him in with open longing. Moirna was the niece of one of his top nobles, Senan. He knew Senan had hoped he would wed the lass. But beyond a mild desire, he felt no great affection toward Moirna, something he would want to feel toward the lass who would become his wife.
Moirna smiled as their eyes locked. She was bonnie, aye, with lustrous chestnut-brown hair and sparkling dark eyes, but it was images of a green-eyed witch that filled his mind; how powerful she’d looked as she’d faced off with him, how desirable. He swallowed and took another large swig of his ale, averting his eyes. Perhaps he should bed Moirna again, just to get his mind off of Astrid. But the very thought sent an unsettling sensation through him, as if he’d just drank sour wine.
Surprised murmurings suddenly filled the hall, and Domhnall stiffened, following everyone’s gazes to the entrance of the hall. Astonishment, disbelief, and a slight trace of relief, flooded him as his stunned gaze landed on Astrid.
She stood at the entrance of the great hall, looking sinful in a high-waisted ruby gown, her hair defiantly worn loose around her shoulders unlike the other women of the hall. Her green eyes locked with his, and unlike Moirna’s look, it caused a firestorm of sensations to careen straight to his groin.
Ignoring the stares directed her way, she made her way over to him. A guard who hovered behind him stepped forward, but he waved him away as Astrid reached his table.
“My laird,” she said, her voice bold, though he saw traces of uncertainty lurking in the depths of her eyes. “I’ve decided that I’ll stay.”
Chapter 6
Astrid looked down at Domhnall, hoping she displayed more confidence than she felt. Her hands shook and her breathing was unsteady, but she evenly held Domhnall’s blue gaze.
She had almost left after he’d sent her away, her frustration was so great. The memory of that dark dream she’d had of that mysterious, shadowy figure, and the certainty that something evil was coming stopped her. She also knew that once she returned to her own time, visions and nightmares of the past would once again assail her. She would know no peace until she obeyed what her magic and time wanted her to do—stay put and help the stubborn, gorgeous Scot.
And there was also the undeniable pull she felt toward Domhnall, that sense of both familiarity and desire.
When Domhnall’s guard had come to fetch her, she’d lied and informed him she wasn’t feeling well, and the laird wanted her to stay longer until she was feeling better. She’d thought the guard would immediately tell Domhnall and half expected him to show up in her chamber, furiously demanding that she leave. But he hadn’t, meaning the guard must have taken her at her word, buying her much-needed time.
She’d spent the entire day tucked away in her chamber trying to figure out how to get Domhnall to accept her help, until she’d come up with a solution that might work. She’d decided it was best to approach him at that evening’s feast in the great hall; he’d be less likely to dismiss her in front of his people.
Now he looked at her with a mixture of disbelief, annoyance, and dare she hope—pride? She could have sworn she saw his lips slightly curve into a hint of a smile before they turned into a scowl.
After a long moment, he turned to a broad-shouldered, red-haired man at his side, who studied her with open curiosity and, interestingly, admiration.
“Ruarc, let the lass have yer seat,” Domhnall said.
Relief flowed through her as the man, Ruarc, got to his feet and moved to another chair, allowing her to sit down next to Domhnall.
“Smile,” Domhnall said in a low voice, “so that everyone thinks ye’re just a guest I’ve invited, and they stop staring at ye.”
Astrid forced a smile, and soon the other guests in the hall went back to their own conversations, though some stares lingered.
“I know you wanted me to leave. But please, consider keeping me here for a fortnight,” Astrid said, keeping her voice low enough for only him to hear. “You don’t have to use my abilities if you don’t want. In my time, I’m a doctor—a healer. I can help with any sick people you have here in the castle or in the nearby village. You can use that as an excuse as to why I’m here.”
Doctors were a valuable commodity in any time, but especially in the infectious and disease-ridden medieval period. She knew her medical knowledge would go a long way here, and it was something she felt comfortable with. As for her magic, she hoped that this threat she sensed was coming would force Domhnall’s hand in accepting her help before the fortnight was up.
“Like a midwife? I already have—“
“No, more than that,” she interrupted. “I can help with childbirth if needed, but I’m a general practitioner—that means I can help with all sorts of ailments. Do you have a healer who lives here in the castle?”
Domhnall’s skeptical look lingered, and her frustration spiked. She knew female doctors who weren’t midwives were practically unheard of in this time, and the notion of socially accepted female doctors was still centuries away.
“There’s a healer in the village who I call upon whenever I need him,” he said finally.
“Well, you can call upon me. And instead of having to wait on a messenger, I’ll be right here in the castle.”
“And ye willnae try tae persuade me tae use yer—abilities?”
“No,” she lied, holding his gaze. “Only if you ask me.”
“I willnae,” he said, though she noticed he looked away as he spoke the words. “Verrae well. Ye can stay a fortnight, and then ye’ll go on yer way.”
“Agreed.”
Domhnall looked satisfied, and Astrid had to push away the surprising amount of hurt she felt at his determination to send her away.
He gestured to a servant, who approached and set down a plate of roasted vegetables and fish before her. She studied it nervously; she’d only had bowls of broth and stew in this time. What would an actual meal be like?
“The food isnae poison, lass,” Domhnall said, giving her a look of wry amusem
ent.
Astrid flushed and took a bite of fish, which tasted like salted herring. It was delicious, surprisingly so. She continued to eat, not realizing how hungry she’d been.
“Ye’re quite brave,” Domhnall said, taking a swig of his ale, eyeing her as she ate, “tae have defied me and remained here.”
“I can be just as stubborn as you,” she returned, and his mouth quirked in another hint of a smile.
Her gaze strayed to the various guests in the hall, many of whom were still casting curious glances her way. “Who are your guests?”
“Clan nobles and their families,” Domhnall said, pride shining in his eyes as he took them in. “All loyal tae this clan for generations, going back tae the time of Somerled.”
Astrid bit her lip, resisting the urge to tell him that she could help protect them if he allowed her to use her magic. Instead, she kept silent and tried not to stare too much, to concentrate on her food, but it still felt surreal to be centuries in the past, to move among the people who lived here, hundreds of years before she was born. She watched as they conversed, joked, and laughed among themselves. What was it like to live in this time?
Her gaze slid to Domhnall, who was now engaged in conversation with Ruarc. What was it like to be a laird and chieftain, which in this time had to be the equivalent of serving as a mayor or a governor?
Domhnall stopped talking to Ruarc and gave her a slight scowl at her stare; she forced herself to look away. She couldn’t blame him for his obvious irritation with her. He had a load of responsibility on his shoulders, and Astrid must have turned his world upside down. You have no choice, she reminded herself, as doubt once again seized her. Your magic wants you to stay and assist him—whether he wants you to or not.
The meal soon came to an end, with many of the guests coming to bid farewell to Domhnall before they left, their gazes lingering on her with curiosity. One attractive woman in particular gave her a blistering glare, and she wondered, with a stab of something that felt like jealousy, if this woman was Domhnall’s mistress.
Domhnall's Honor: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book 3) Page 3