At first, Astrid’s magic stubbornly refused to comply, but toward the end of the first week she could issue several Defensive and Offensive spell with ease. In her own time, Astrid had ignored her magic, but at times could feel it prickling beneath her skin as if it were fighting to get out. Now, as she allowed her magic to flow freely throughout her body, she realized what a mistake it had been to restrain her magic. She shouldn’t have let her parents’ dark actions plague her for so long. It felt exhilarating to allow her magic to course through her without restraint.
“Yer power has always been there, ’tis yer fear that’s held ye back. Let go of that fear and allow yer magic tae take hold,” Fyfa urged.
“Even though there are aingidh in my bloodline?” Astrid asked, that old fear and shame seizing her.
“Aye. I was wrong tae judge ye harshly. I now ken that ye’re a good lass. Ye only want tae do what’s right.”
“The other witches don’t still trust me,” Astrid muttered, frustration surging through her.
“They will, with time,” Fyfa assured her, but Astrid wasn’t so certain.
After days of Lachina meeting with the leaders, it was a cool yet sunny afternoon on the Isle of Skye when Lachina approached her, along with several coven leaders. Astrid, who had been practicing Defensive spells with Fyfa, stilled as they approached, her heart picking up its pace.
“They wish tae hear what ye have tae say—from yer own lips,” Lachina said stiffly, looking unhappy about this.
Astrid turned to face the witches, who regarded her with looks ranging from curiosity to mild suspicion. One of them, a petite brunette with warm yet intense brown eyes who looked Astrid’s age, stepped forward.
“Tell us of these visions ye’ve seen in yer time.”
Astrid recounted the visions that had tortured her in her own time, and the witch listened intently.
“I believe ye,” the brunette witch said when Astrid fell silent, her expression grim. “The fiosaiche in my coven has sensed darkness coming.”
Lachina looked surprised by this, giving her a frown. “Why did ye say nothing about this when I first approached ye?”
“I wanted tae see the stiuireadh who told ye of this darkness for myself. I kent ye said she is kin of aingidh, but I see no darkness in her. I think she speaks truth.”
“As do I,” said another leader, a tall man with auburn hair and deep brown eyes.
“And I,” said another, an elderly woman who gave Astrid a nod.
Soon there were murmurings of agreement among all the coven leaders. Astrid watched, tense with hopeful anticipation, as they stepped back from her and spoke among themselves.
It was then that she realized just how much she wanted this all to work out—how much she truly cared that the Pact took its rightful place in magical history. At first, she’d just wanted to heed her magic’s call and get back to her normal life. Now that she’d developed feelings for Domhnall, she wanted to do whatever she could to keep him and his people safe.
Finally, Lachina emerged from the group, addressing Astrid. “The leaders are in agreement. As long as we can get assurance from the lairds, a vow, that they will keep our secret and protect us as well, we will ally with them tae stop the Norse from reclaiming the isles.”
Chapter 19
“The stiuireadh have agreed to work with the lairds. They just want assurances that the lairds will keep their identity a secret.”
Domhnall studied Astrid, who hovered by his chamber doorway, her eyes averted. He couldn’t help but drink her in; the past fortnight had been torture keeping his distance from her. He’d ached for any glimpse he got of her, and at night his body throbbed with need for her, memories of their lovemaking flooding his mind.
As much as he desired her body, he mostly missed just being in her presence. Her laughter, the musical lilt of her voice, her alluring beauty. He hated that she barely looked at him; even now, her eyes were trained on anywhere but him. Ye did this, he cursed himself. Ye’re the fool who pushed her away.
He had to force himself to focus on her words, a rush of relief filling him as they settled in. He and Neacal had been busy forging alliances with the other lairds of the isles; they now had most on their side. The recent war with the Norse was fresh in the minds of the other lairds; they knew it was impossible to fight off such a determined enemy without alliances.
“I believe Neacal and I can convince the lairds tae agree; they ken we need all the help we can get tae fight the Norse. I’ve been telling them of a powerful ally tae prepare them for learning of the stiuireadh.” He paused, wishing she would just look at him, but her gaze was carefully trained on some spot behind him. “I thank ye, Astrid. I ken it wasnae easy given that many witches in this time donnae trust ye.”
She gave him a stiff nod. “I just wanted you to know. Ah—have a good evening.”
She turned to leave, but he crossed his chamber in several long strides, reaching out to grip her arm, turning her to face him. Her startled green eyes met his, her alluring lavender scent teasing his nostrils. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to lift her into his arms, to carry her to his bed, to never let her go.
“Donnae do that, lass,” he said roughly.
“Do what?”
“Close yourself off tae me. Yer smiles . . . they’re like the sun. Donnae shield them from me.”
Astrid blinked up at him in surprise. “You’re the one who said we needed to keep our—"
“I ken what I said,” he growled. “And it was foolish of me. I never should have said it.”
“But you—you were right,” Astrid hedged, struggling to get out of his grip, but he held firm. “We have to focus, we have to—"
“Tell me, Astrid,” he growled, stepping so close to her that their bodies touched, gritting his teeth against the wave of arousal that coursed over him, “have ye been able tae focus this past fortnight? Because I havenae. I awake tae thoughts of ye, lass. I go tae sleep thinking of ye. My ache for ye has only grown, my bonnie witch from the sea. I’ve scarcely been able tae breathe without ye at my side.”
When Astrid’s eyes locked with his, he saw yearning lurking in their green depths. She didn’t have to say a word for him to know that she felt the same.
It was all he needed.
He leaned down, claiming her luscious mouth with his. Astrid moaned as he explored her sweet mouth, his need for her rising and making his cock stir. He kicked the chamber door shut and guided her back to the bed, her body pressed to his as if they were entangled in an erotic dance.
When they reached the bed, he sat her down on his lap, winding his hand through her dark curls, continuing to dominate her mouth with his. When he finally released her for air, her lips were swollen from his kisses, her face flushed. A possessive thrill snaked through him. He was the one who had made her look like that. His desirable witch. His bonnie Astrid.
“Thoughts of ye consume me, and they have ever since ye washed up on that shore. I thought that by keeping my distance I could stop thinking of ye, but it has only made me long for ye more.”
“Domhnall,” she whispered, her eyes filling with emotion. “I want you too. So much.”
Her words caused his desire to spike, and he seized her mouth once more.
“I’m afeared,” he rasped, releasing her mouth to pepper kisses along her jaw and down her throat, to the curve of her delectable bosom, “that I cannae restrain my desire for ye.”
She gasped as he hiked up her gown and adjusted himself to lower his breeches, reaching down to stroke her soaked center. He placed his fingers into his mouth, tasting her sweetness, letting out a low grumble.
“Ye taste like honey, sea witch,” he murmured, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he settled her onto his aching cock.
Astrid let out a cry of pleasure, and he moaned at the delicious feel of her tightness clenched around him. He reached out to grip the nape of her neck, forcing her to keep her eyes locked on him as he thrust into her, their bodi
es moving together in a seductive rhythm.
He gripped her by the buttocks, squeezing her flesh, and she whimpered, her lips parted, sighs and whimpers emitting from her lips. Making love to her was the sweetest pleasure, and he hungrily took in her bonnie body as she rode him, leaning forward to capture a rosy nipple in his mouth.
“Come for me, lass,” he rasped against her breast. “Come for me, sweet Astrid.”
She obliged, her body shaking as her release claimed her, the sight the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Only when she stilled did he allow his own pleasure to take hold of him, and he locked his arms around her, holding her tight as he released himself inside her.
Together, they fell back onto the bed, still trembling and breathless, their hearts thundering in tandem. Domhnall sat up and took her in with his eyes, hunger for her seizing him once more.
“That was for me, sea witch,” he murmured, reaching out to touch the side of her face. “This time, ’tis for ye.”
“Domhnall,” she moaned, as he lowered himself between her thighs, hiking up her gown, leaning down to feast upon her sweetness before he took her once more.
Afterward, once they’d reached another mutual release, they lay together entwined in each other’s arms.
He stroked Astrid’s hair, a contentment filling him that he’d never felt before, a contentment that went beyond sated lust. It was this contentment, this joy, that lulled him to a peaceful sleep, his arms around his sea witch, feeling as if he’d found his own version of home in her arms.
But when he awoke later, it was to the sound of Astrid’s screams.
Chapter 20
Joy and contentment settled over Astrid as she lay in Domhnall’s arms in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
After his confession of missing her during the past couple of weeks, joy had filled her, chasing away the melancholy that had been her constant companion during their time apart. As they’d talked, she’d allowed herself to fantasize once more about staying here in this time with him, using her medical expertise to tend to the locals, strengthening her magic, even starting a family—having children who wouldn’t know darkness, only the light of magic that she’d come to embrace.
It continued to surprise Astrid how little she missed her own time, but ever since her beloved uncle had died, there was only her career and not much else in her life. She had a few acquaintances she liked, and she enjoyed her job, but there had always been a certain emptiness in her life. She felt more fulfilled in this time after falling in love with Domhnall and accepting magic than she ever had in her own time.
But would Domhnall even want her to stay? She knew he desired and cared for her, but did he want her as a permanent part of his life? He’d never even hinted at this, and she needed to accept that it was unlikely. They had come together under extraordinary circumstances, but once things were back to normal, Domhnall would go back to his duties as laird and chieftain, and expect her to go back to her time. Then he could be free to marry someone suitable.
Astrid swallowed back a lump of hurt at the thought, laying her head down on his chest and listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. She shouldn’t think about the painful time when they’d part ways forever. All that mattered now was making certain that the man she loved and his people were safe.
“I love you, Domhnall,” she whispered to his sleeping form, before closing her eyes and allowing his soft breaths to lull her to a peaceful sleep.
She awoke not long after drifting off with a gasp, her heart pummeling against her rib cage, a sense of . . . wrongness seizing her. It was a similar feeling to the night she’d had a vision of the Norse ship approaching Barra. But this sensation felt more ominous.
She shifted, looking down at Domhnall’s sleeping form. It was still the middle of the night, and she didn’t want to cause him undue panic if this was a false alarm.
She quietly slipped out of bed, moving over to the window and pushing it open, taking in a breath of cool night air to calm herself. Yet the sense of urgency remained, her magic prickling restlessly beneath her skin.
Was another boat approaching? Was it another attack?
Taking a breath, she stretched her hands out before her, murmuring the words of a Seeking spell.
“Thoir na seallaidhean a-mach thugam.”
She waited patiently, but nothing came to her. She dropped her hands to her sides, wondering if she was just tense and on edge because of the looming conflict with the Norse.
But that dark feeling of premonition lingered. And there was the sense that during her time here, she was still missing something.
Think, Astrid. She went back to her medical school training, recalling a course where she’d learned how to detect a mysterious illness from the symptoms a patient cited. Her professor had taught her to go over any and all clues, even the most mundane.
Using that same method, she thought of everything she’d learned, and sensed, since coming to this time. The images of warfare she’d seen in her vision. That mysterious spy ship. The witches she’d met during the past few weeks.
And that’s when a face came to mind. That silver-haired witch, Erskina, who gave her an odd, dark feeling. Perhaps there was something about that witch she was missing.
Keeping the vision of Erskina firmly in her mind, Astrid closed her eyes and uttered the Seeking spell once more.
This time, an onslaught of visions filled her mind’s eye.
Erskina screaming over several dead bodies. A house burning to the ground. Rage burning in her gray eyes. Erskina meeting with a group of men she didn’t recognize—but based on their Nordic looks, Astrid assumed they were Norsemen. Erskina standing on a boat, Barra in the distance. Erskina standing over flames that were spreading, a dark look of glee in her eyes.
She didn’t realize she was screaming until she felt Domhnall’s hands on her arms. She met his concerned gaze with tear-filled eyes, her entire body shaking.
“It’s Erskina, one of the stiuireadh in Lachina’s coven,” she whispered, her throat raw. “She’s an aingidh . . . and she’s working with the Norse.”
Everything made sense now. It was why she had that sense of impending doom—an aingidh was in her very midst. One of the first dreams she’d had after arriving in this time had been of a dark figure stalking her from the shadows. And there was that sense of malignant energy she’d gotten from Erskina; she now recognized it as the same feeling she’d had around her parents as they’d succumbed to darkness.
Panic pierced her, fierce and intense. Was Erskina working alone or with a coven of aingidh? How could they defeat them if so? This wasn’t something mentioned in her time, only that the stiuireadh worked with the lairds to ward off the Norse. Had something gone differently in the patchwork of time?
She stood and moved to the bed, sinking down heavily onto it. Domhnall, who had gone pale at her words, sat down next to her.
“Ulf didnae tell me this,” he muttered.
“Maybe he didn’t know, or maybe he was still testing you.”
“Are ye certain of this?”
“Yes,” she said. She was right about Erskina; she felt it in her bones. It was the final piece to the puzzle that she hadn’t realized she was missing. “We need to tell Lachina. And we can’t delay any longer with the Pact; we need to get the lairds and witches together to seal it and get our defenses established. Erskina may have sensed that I’ve figured out what she is.”
“Aye,” Domhnall agreed, raking his hand through his hair. “But it takes time tae get messengers tae the lairds—sometimes days.”
“That’s what we have magic for,” Astrid replied, thinking of the Transport spell she had recently mastered with Fyfa’s help. “But first . . . I have a plan.”
Hours later, just before dawn, Astrid, Fyfa, Domhnall, and Ruarc stood on the edge of a glen, eyeing the cottage where Fyfa had told her Erskina lived.
Given the lack of trust that Lachina and the other witches had in her, Astrid knew she neede
d to get confirmation of Erskina being an aingidh before she approached them with what she knew. Fyfa, Domhnall, and Ruarc were here as eyewitnesses. Siomha had wanted to join them, but Ruarc had wisely refused to allow his pregnant wife anywhere near an aingidh.
Astrid looked at the cottage, her heart hammering. She’d been terrified to confront an aingidh on her own, especially when she’d never engaged in a magical attack before, but Fyfa had performed a Searching spell and confirmed the cottage was empty. Now, all she needed was to find some sort of proof to bring to Lachina.
“Must ye do this on yer own?” Domhnall muttered from behind her. “Surely there are other stiuireadh who can join ye."
“There isn’t much time; we just need proof,” she said, turning to give him a reassuring smile. “There isn’t anyone in the cottage. I’ll be fine.”
She and Fyfa had mutually decided to go in without Domhnall and Ruarc; as witches, they could hide any lingering trace of their presence in the cottage with a Cloaking spell. It would be more difficult to cloak Domhnall and Ruarc’s presence.
Domhnall gave her an abrupt nod, though he still looked on edge, his hand going to the hilt of his sword as if by instinct. She suspected this was a first for him. As laird and chieftain, he was used to doing the battling, the protecting.
But this was her battle.
She nodded to Fyfa, who took her hand, murmured the words of a Transport spell, and she found herself in Erskina’s cottage.
She took in the empty cottage; it didn’t look like the home of a powerful, dark witch. It was a relatively simple one-room cottage with a straw mattress, a hearth with dying embers, and cookware perched on a table. It was only when she looked closer that she noticed a slight lump beneath the mattress.
Moving over to it, Astrid nudged the mattress with her foot. It slid back, and a chill roiled through her when she saw that a groove was dug out beneath the mattress. Within it were various items: torn-up pieces of clothing, small sacks with clumps of hair stuffed inside, jars of blood, and herbs. All of these items would be vital ingredients for spells, but they weren’t proof of dark magic.
Domhnall's Honor: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book 3) Page 11