And he would do what he must to bring it about.
“I’ll be meeting with Neacal in three days’ time. I want our clans tae unite tae fight this renewed threat from the Norse,” Domhnall informed his nobles.
It was midday the next day; Aodh had returned quickly with a response from Neacal. After discussing the message with Ruarc, he’d called for a meeting with his top nobles.
His nobles looked pleased at his announcement. Domhnall met Ruarc’s gaze, ignoring the guilt that pierced him at the information he’d withheld, that he was using the aid and advice of a stiuireadh. He’d decided it was best to tell the nobles the non-magical part of their renewed offense against the Norse for now, and Ruarc had agreed.
After he answered some questions from his nobles about the meeting with Neacal and they’d discussed clan matters, his men dispersed.
Domhnall stiffened with surprise as Astrid entered the hall, moving past his men who gave her curious—and appreciative—looks as she approached Domhnall.
She looked breathtaking in a high-waisted heather-gray gown, her long dark curls now plaited into a long braid down her back. The dress did nothing but highlight those tempting curves of hers, and he had to ignore the lust that swept over him, filling him with instant arousal.
“Are you meeting with the other chieftain of Barra?” she asked without preamble, giving him an accusatory look.
He forced himself to lift his gaze from her bosom to her angered gaze, narrowing his eyes. “Were ye listening at the door, lass?”
“Yes,” she said, without a flicker of shame. “I went looking for you, and your manservant told me you were here. I was waiting until you were done and I overheard your discussion. Domhnall, I need to be informed of these things.” She hesitated for a moment, lowering her eyes as she continued. “Just because we—we shared a kiss, doesn’t mean I’m here for anything else than to help.”
“I ken that,” he returned, ignoring the surprising shard of hurt that pierced him at her words. “I didnae want tae tell my nobles about the stiuireadh yet. I donnae ken how they will take it. Remember, I didnae believe ye when ye first arrived. I need them in accord with the non-magical part of the defense plan before I tell them more.”
“Fine. But I should at least come with you when you meet with this chieftain.”
Domhnall glowered at her. He was chieftain; not even Ruarc challenged his authority on such matters.
She has magical abilities, abilities ye need, that can help with this fight, he reminded himself, taking a breath to calm himself.
“I’ll inform ye of what happens. It would look odd, and suspicious, tae take an unkent lass tae such a meeting,” he said shortly. He started to move past her, to not only end the discussion but to get out of her distracting presence. But she reached out to place a hand on his arm, sending a rush of heat through his body.
“As a stiuireadh, there are things I can . . . sense about people. It’s plagued me all my life even when I wasn’t practicing magic. Now I can put that skill to use. It’s best if I’m there, so I can hear everything that’s said. Tell them I’m a healer tending to one of your men recently wounded. But I’m coming with you, Domhnall. I didn’t travel all this time to sit in my chamber.”
He scowled at her, and she returned it. Neacal was an honorable man and posed no threat, but he was still wary. He was protective when it came to Astrid even though she possessed magical strengths he himself wasn’t capable of.
The silence stretched as Astrid held his gaze, defiance shining in her lovely eyes.
“Verrae well, lass,” he said grudgingly. “But ye’ll linger behind me and my men and nae say a word, aye?”
She nodded her agreement. The defiance left her eyes, but instead of relief there was . . . vulnerability. A hint of fear.
“Astrid?”
“I’m just overwhelmed,” she confessed. “I feel as if so much is dependent on my ability to help you. But I’m still magically weak, and I don’t know the ins and outs of this time. I don’t like that lives depend on whether I succeed or fail.” She closed her eyes briefly, rubbing her temples before giving him a weary smile. “I shouldn’t have told you that, should I? Not when I just convinced you to let me come with you.”
“I’d be afeared if ye didnae have doubts,” he said, returning her smile. And though he’d tried to leave just a moment ago, he found himself extending his hand. “Come. I ken of a place that will ease yer fears.”
She took his hand, and warmth enveloped him, a warmth that felt like the soothing fire that roared from the hearth in his chamber.
He kept her hand in his as he led her out of the hall and the castle, taking her through the courtyard. He had a guard lift the rear gates for them, and he led her to a section of rocky shore that surrounded the castle, where he reluctantly released her hand.
The blue waters that surrounded the castle sparkled beneath the bright sunlight, a vast sky dotted by patches of clouds stretched over the islets and islands in the near distance. The air smell of salt, and there was only the sound of the waves lapping against the rocky shore, the distant call of birds.
He came here when he needed time alone to reflect; he’d come here after the death of his father, and after he’d made the fateful decision to work against Ulf.
He stood back, watching as Astrid stepped forward, taking in the surroundings with awe.
“This is beautiful,” she said, shaking her head with amazement.
As are ye, he thought, admiring the way a few stray strands of her curls danced around her face in the breeze. He allowed himself to take in her beauty for another long moment before speaking.
“Aye,” he agreed, pride swelling over him. “Farraige Castle was built generations ago by my ancestor, Diarmadh. It began as a temporary fortification against his enemies before becoming his home.”
“You grew up here?”
“Aye. ’Tis always been my home. Ruarc, my cousin and I would swim in these waters when we were lads despite the nurse and my mother telling us how dangerous it was, how we’d be pulled under if the waters were tae take us. But my bloodline is of the sea. I ken it well; I respect it enough tae ken when ’tis dangerous.”
“Young men are the same in any era,” Astrid said with a chuckle. “Proud and reckless.”
“Tell me more about this time ye’re from,” he said, curiosity tugging at him.
“What exactly do you want to know about it?”
“Where do people live? Do the wealthy have manor homes and castles and the poor live in cottages?”
“Not much has changed in that regard,” she said with a smile. “Most people live in regular-sized homes or apartments. The very rich live in large homes—mansions. Most people don’t live in castles in my time, not even the rich. They’re more like a relic of another time. People visit them—like museums.”
“Museums?”
“Places where people view things from the past.”
“That seems like an odd thing tae do,” Domhnall said, frowning.
“People have an appreciation for the past in my time. Things are . . . easier, so there’s time to do things like visit the museums. For many people, at least people in my country, there’s an abundance of food. Technology has also made things run smoother.”
He didn’t understand most of what she’d said, but a pang pierced him at the longing in her eyes. This was clearly a time she missed, a time she wanted to return to.
“Ye must be looking forward tae returning.”
“Yes,” she said, though her voice sounded strained as she added, “it's my home.”
Ignoring the lingering sting he felt at her words, he listened intently as she continued to describe this distant time; the types of people who would live and how they would live, the different places that would come to be, many of which weren’t yet discovered.
At his prodding, she told him more about how she’d traveled through time, by leaping into one of the fairy pools of Skye, which was called a �
��portal” that transported people through time. He’d long heard rumors of mystical occurrences around the fairy pools. Before he met Astrid, he’d assumed they were just rumors; he now knew better.
Astrid described time travel as a rushing darkness, and then the feeling of plummeting through air as if falling from a great height.
Though awe filled him at her words, he was mostly enthralled by just the soft timbre of her voice, and watching her. He could watch her for an eternity; those sensual lips, the intense green of her eyes, the enticing curves of her body
“Now it’s your turn. Tell me more about this time,” she said, forcing him to quell his lustful thoughts.
“I can only tell ye of my lands, my people,” he said, feeling a slight ripple of shame. She had traveled through time; he had rarely ventured off his lands.
But Astrid only looked intrigued, leaning forward. “Tell me,” she said, looking at him with such eagerness that he couldn’t help but smile.
“The clan is of the utmost importance; the people of the isle ken they are protected, and ’tis my honor tae protect them. Honor is valued above all; ’tis why ’tis so difficult for me tae betray my cousin, though I ken it must be done.”
Astrid listened intently as he continued, telling her of his ancestors who had built this castle and claimed the lands for their own, soon becoming a Norse-Gaelic culture that was independent of even Scotland. That was changing, especially since the war and the aid of the Scottish king to ward off the Norse; it was the frequent incursions of the Norse that was forcing his people more to Scotland’s side.
He didn’t realize how much time had passed until the sun began to sink beyond the horizon. He realized he was reluctant to leave her side; Astrid’s presence made him forget the stressors of his duties, the responsibility that had become a great weight to bear.
But he made himself accompany her back to her chamber, resisting the urge to kiss her as he bade her a good night.
As he turned and walked away from her chamber, his heart grew heavy as he reminded himself that her time here was temporary, and as much as he ached for her, he must continue to keep quelling his growing need for the bonnie witch.
Chapter 9
“What is it ye want?”
Astrid stared down at the petite, freckled, red-haired woman who glared up at her. She barely came up to Astrid’s shoulders, and would have been adorable if it weren’t for the hostile look she was giving Astrid.
Astrid swallowed hard, turning back to glance at the distant lone figure of Ruarc. He’d accompanied her here to meet with Fyfa, the local stiuireadh Siomha had referred her to, not wanting the pregnant Siomha to leave the castle. They’d decided that until the nobles knew of the stiuireadh, Domhnall shouldn’t accompany her to see Fyfa to avoid scrutiny.
A part of her was relieved that Domhnall wasn’t with her, another part disappointed. The sexual tension between them had only grown since their kiss, a kiss she’d thought about nonstop.
Never had she experienced a pull of heated yearning like the one she’d felt when she was in his arms. Just the memory of his mouth against hers caused a tingle between her thighs. During their long conversation the day before, she’d had to fight to keep her eyes off of his mouth, to quell the steady hum of desire that coursed through her veins at his nearness.
Now Astrid forced her thoughts away from Domhnall and turned back to Fyfa, who was glowering at her. Siomha had assured them that Fyfa knew she was coming, but Fyfa was looking at Astrid as if she were an enemy combatant encroaching upon her territory.
“Siomha sent you a message telling you I was coming,” Astrid said, trying to ignore her blatant hostility, giving her the friendliest smile she could manage. “I’m—”
“I ken who ye are,” Fyfa practically growled. “I like Siomha, ’tis why I agreed tae see ye. But I want no part of helping ye.” She took a menacing step forward, her eyes narrowing. “My line is of the fiosaiche—seers. I kent ye were coming. And I ken of the darkness in ye.”
Horror bloomed in Astrid’s chest; she took a faltering step back.
“I see that ye ken of what I speak. I’ll nae help someone like ye. Get out of this time and go back tae where ye’re from, and take yer evil with ye.”
Fyfa shut the door. Astrid just stared at it, panic and dread clawing its way through her chest. She closed her eyes, pressing shaking fingers to her forehead. She should have known that someone would figure out who she was . . . what she was.
“Astrid?”
Ruarc’s voice was heavy with concern as she approached him a moment later, keeping her gaze averted so he wouldn’t see the torment in her eyes.
“What did she say?”
Astrid tried to form words, but what could she say? She knows there is evil in me. She knows the true reason I’ve avoided magic my entire life. She knows everything that I hate about myself.
“She’s unable to help,” Astrid said finally, still not looking at him as he helped her up onto her horse. “It’s all right. I’ll keep searching.”
She was thankful he didn’t press or attempt to talk to her during the brief ride back to the castle, though he did give her a long, probing look as he helped her down from her horse in the castle’s courtyard.
Avoiding his gaze, Astrid hurried out of the courtyard to her chamber, where she sank down onto the floor, wrapping her arms around her body as she rocked herself back and forth.
You’re not them, Astrid, her Uncle Peter would whisper to her, rocking her back and forth in his arms whenever she awoke from nightmares as a child. You’re not your parents.
But now, as she recalled the hatred in Fyfa’s eyes, she couldn’t help but feel as if her parents’ crimes were her own.
Memories that she’d tried for so long to suppress rose to the surface, like drowning swimmers coming to the surface for much-needed air.
The screams of the man her father killed before her eyes. His pleas for mercy. Her parents linking hands as they recited a spell over his tortured body. The madness in their eyes as they turned toward her, stretching out their hands, urging her to join them. Her terror as she ran, desperate to get as far away from them as she could.
Astrid stumbled to her feet, feeling the rise of a panic attack. She needed air.
She stumbled out of her chamber, making her way to the section of rocky shore that Domhnall had taken her to the day before. She found a place to sit, trying to calm her panicked, racing thoughts. But she kept hearing the man’s screams, seeing her parents’ looks of dark glee in her mind’s eye.
She didn’t know how long she was sitting there before she felt a presence behind her; she knew without looking up that it was Domhnall. He sat down at her side, but somehow seemed to sense that she needed silence, for which she was grateful.
After an interminable stretch of silence, Astrid spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, the words spilling from her lips like water.
“My parents were aingidh . . . what the stiuireadh call dark witches. It’s why Fyfa turned me away; she believes I have the same darkness in me. When you have the power of time travel and magic . . . it’s very easy to corrupt you. That’s one reason there are covens, to contain such power. My parents were obsessed with the power they had to travel through time. They wanted to go back and change events in the past to acquire wealth for themselves in the present, which is forbidden among the stiuireadh, especially when you try to change things that can’t or shouldn’t be undone. They were expelled from our local coven, and that’s when they grew more dangerous. One night . . .”
Astrid closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath before forcing herself to continue.
“ . . . there was a man. He was a member of our coven, and he was threatening to tell the coven leaders that my parents were still using dark magic. They—they tortured him before killing him with their magic. I ran away that night, went to the local coven leader and told her everything. Killing another witch is the most severe crime you can commit as a stiu
ireadh. I pleaded for their lives despite what they did, so the coven leader exiled them to a distant time from which they couldn’t return—and one they likely wouldn’t survive. They never told me what time period that was, but I was told they died there.”
Grief and guilt momentarily enveloped her, and she clenched her fists at her sides as tears threatened to spill. “My uncle took me in, raised me, showed me what love was, what normalcy was. But I never forgot. What they did haunted my nightmares, and I feared I would turn out like them. So I turned my back on magic, time travel, all of it. I became a doctor, thinking I could somehow make up for what they did by healing people.”
Domhnall said nothing, and dread tightened her belly. Would he send her away? But the hand she felt on her chin was gentle as he tilted her head up to meet his gaze.
“Listen tae me, lass. I may nae ken nothing of magic or time travel, but I do ken that we’re nae our parents. We make our own path in life. And I ken that just by coming tae this time, whether yer magic compelled ye tae or nae, means ye’re a good person. I’m sorry for nae trusting ye before. But ye cannae let yer parents’ darkness hold ye prisoner.”
His words were similar to what her uncle had told her countless times, words she had tried to tell herself, but hearing it from Domhnall gave her an even greater sense of comfort.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He reached out to pull her into the warm circle of his arms, and they just sat for several long moments. Along with the desire that pulsed through her at his nearness, a calm settled over Astrid. And though she still felt tormented over what her parents had done in the past, Domhnall’s words had given her a momentary peace.
“I’m going to try again with Fyfa,” she said finally, pulling out of his arms, though her body ached to lean closer.
Domhnall's Honor: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book 3) Page 5