Under the Highlander's Spell (21 page)

Z
ia ran past villagers who called out greetings to her, though she was in too much of a hurry to reciprocate. She kept her frantic pace, it taking her on the moor with a stitch in her side that finally forced her to stop running.

She leaned over, splaying her hands on her thighs and taking in laboring breaths while her rampantly beating heart felt ready to explode. But was it from exertion or did her heart pound because of Artair's most impractical declaration of love in front of everyone?

“Stand up straight and don't fight your breaths.”

Zia stood and turned though paid no attention to the warning of fighting her breathing, which only made it worse. But Artair had followed her and now stood staring at her. Expecting what?

“I didn't expect you to run, but after the initial shock I realized why you did,” he said. He yanked his fur-lined cloak off and handed it to her.

She took it, realizing she was shivering, and wrapped it around her. “Why did I?”

An easygoing smile surfaced across his face. “Your honesty is one of the things I love about you.”

“Do you love that I ran from you when you declared that you loved me?”

His smile turned to a chuckle. “I could be insulted, but I'm not.”

“Why? It wasn't very nice of me. I should have flung myself in your arms, especially since you didn't care if you made a complete fool of yourself in front of everyone.” She giggled at the memory.

“Someone reminded me that love makes fools of us all, so I decided to let love have its way with me.”

“Why, then, did I run?” she asked with a confused shake of her head.

“Because you're afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of us being in love,” he said.

“But that's a wonderful thing.”

“Yes,” he agreed nodding and approached her slowly. “But it also means that now you can marry me for we marry for love.”

She gasped and jumped back. “That's it. As soon as you declared your love I knew my fate was sealed.”

“You make it sound like a death sentence,” he chortled.

“No, no,” she hastened to explain. “I have thought often of how right it feels calling you my husband.”

“That is good,” he said with a pleased grin. “For it feels right calling you wife.”

“I only wish to know that you can accept me for who I am, what I do, and the passion with which I live.”

Artair reached out again and gently guided her into his arms. “That woman you describe is the woman I love, and I wouldn't have her any other way.”

She brushed her lips over his. “It is you who are the witch, for you cast a spell over me from when we first met.”

“Damn, I was hoping you didn't notice, but since you did—I intend to keep you under my spell forever and always.”

Zia poked him in the chest playfully. “You might have to refresh that spell every now and again.”

He kissed her softly, though lusciously. “I do, every time we make love.”

She sighed. “That you do. I have never known such magic.”

“We make magic together and always will,” he said, and kissed her quick. “We will marry immediately.”

“No!”

Artair shook his head. “Why not?”

“I want my grandmother to be here when we exchange our vows.”

He nodded with a smile. “You're right. Bethane should be here to share in the celebration.”

“Your family will not think it odd that we wish to wed again?”

“I will explain that we wish to refresh our vows in front of both our families. They will be pleased and ready to celebrate.”

Zia cuddled in the warmth of his arms, pleased that
this was settled and she would wed for love, as she'd always wanted to. “This is good; I am happy.”

He hugged her tightly. “I will try to always make you happy.”

She ran a tender finger over his lips. “You don't have to try. I am happy just seeing your face when I wake in the morning, or when you wait for me to finish my work, or when you argue with me over a point which we both know I'm right about.” She laughed joyously then sighed. “You are happiness to me.”

“Damn, but I love you, Zia.”

“And that makes me the happiest of all, hearing you say you love me. I will never grow tired of hearing it.”

“Good, for I will never grow tired of telling you.”

“We are made for each other. A perfect fit.”

They kissed on the windy moor, impervious to the chill and the fine mist that began to fall. They were in love, and lost in that love. Nothing else mattered, nothing would.

 

Artair stopped with Zia at James's cottage. He was doing better, not a complaint from him. The only thing he talked about was Mave's impending arrival. He had received a message from her expressing her concern and letting him know she would take good care of him.

Zia examined his wound, which was healing much better than she'd expected. “You are moving it like I told you?”

“I better,” James said quietly. “If I don't, Addie's in here making me work it even harder, and Neddie's been stopping by as well, not to mention all the other women who remind me while dropping off food. Everyone is surprised I still have the arm or that I'm still alive. I think most thought I'd never make it.” He shook his head. “For a while there I didn't think I would either.”

“Nonsense,” Zia scolded gently. “You're a strong, determined man and you fought to live.” She walked over to the fireplace to prepare a brew for him.

Artair leaned over James. “I'd say Mave had something to do with you wanting to live.”

James grinned. “She's been in my thoughts since we left the village Black, though I've been wondering…”

“Speak your piece,” Artair urged, sensing the man's reluctance.

“What if I wanted to return to the village Black with Mave?”

“I would wish you both a long and happy life together.”

James sighed with relief. “Thank you, Artair, though know I would serve you if ever you should ask.”

“I had no doubt of it.”

Artair took Zia's hand when they left the cottage.

“I heard,” she said. “It was good of you to release him to live elsewhere.”

“Actually, it is up to Cavan, but I know he would do the same, which is why James asked me first.”

“Your brother is a good and fair laird.”

“Yes he is,” Artair agreed.

“Has he asked if you've spoken with me?”

“Not yet. He waits, for he knows I will have an answer for him.”

“You expect me to change my mind?” she asked.

He tapped her head. “I expect that I understand my wife and trust her word.”

Zia threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly.

“Be careful,” he whispered in her ear, “or I will carry you into your healing cottage and brace the door so no one can enter until I have had my way with you.”

“Promise?” she begged breathlessly.

Artair shook his head as he pointed at her cottage. Five people were already waiting outside her door.

“Later,” she whispered, before rushing her lips across his and hurrying off to tend the ailing.

Artair entered the keep with a sense of relief and joy, hoping to find his mother and tell her all about Zia and his plans. He was certain she would be thrilled and get busy immediately with the preparations, which in turn he hoped would alleviate her sadness, if only for a while. He knew his mother felt lost at times without her husband, and while she kept her spirits up in front of everyone, suffered when alone. He worried about her, but then so did his brothers. If only Ronan would return, that would surely make all the difference to her.

“You're wanted in the solar,” his mother said as soon as he entered the great hall.

Artair could tell by her serious expression that some
thing was wrong, and he hurried into the solar, to find Cavan and Lachlan waiting for him.

Cavan held up a paper with an official seal. “The church council will arrive in a few days to speak with Zia in regard to claims of her being a witch.”

Artair felt as though an arrow had struck his heart. He grabbed hold of the top of a chair and took a breath. “Who do they send?”

“Bishop Edmond Aleatus,” Cavan said.

“He leads the witch hunt in this region,” Lachlan said. “Many say he is a fair man.”

“Fair to whom?” Artair asked.

“Bishop Aleatus knew Father and respected him,” Cavan said. “Once the bishop realizes it is the Sinclare family he deals with, I am sure there will be no problem.”

Artair nearly swore aloud. He knew this farce of a marriage would return to haunt him. He should have forced Zia to wed him from the start.

“Have your marriage papers ready to present to the bishop,” Cavan said to him.

“The villagers will be a help since they speak highly of Zia,” Lachlan said.

Artair listened to them talk, though he barely heard their words. He could arrange for Zia and he to exchange vows secretly, but what of the documents? The date would need to be forged, the cleric bribed, but if he learned or knew of the claims of witchcraft against Zia he would never agree. He would report the matter immediately to the church.

“Though her remarkable healing talent could work against her,” Cavan said. “For instance, James's recovery. None expected him to survive. Many claim it a miracle.”

Lachlan shook his head. “That's all the bishop needs to hear.”

“Artair and Zia being wed will probably do her the most good. The Sinclare name is a respected and honorable one. I doubt there are many who would go against it,” Cavan said. “And with the bishop having known father, I believe all will work out well.”

“I don't think Artair is feeling the same way,” Lachlan said, looking at his brother.

“Don't worry, Artair, all will be fine,” Cavan reassured.

Artair shook his head. How could he have ever been so stupid to get not only Zia but his family into such a serious situation? Reason had warned him to wed Zia, and yet he'd allowed her to have her way. And now look at the dangerous mess they were all in.

“It can't be that bad,” Cavan said once again, trying to reassure him.

In fact, his brother's confidence and support made him feel worse. He had always been the sensible one, the one to do the right thing. No one ever had to clean up after him. He had made sure of it.

“Cavan's right,” Lachlan said. “It can't be that bad, and besides, we're in this together. We won't let you down.”

That made him feel even worse, for he had certainly
let them down and all because he had allowed a woman to enchant him. He shook his head. He was even making it seem that Zia was a witch and that this was all her fault and it wasn't. He had created this mess, and he would need to find a way out of it. But first he needed to be honest with his brothers.

“Have your say, Artair, and we will work this out together,” Cavan said with the confidence of a powerful laird.

Artair spit it out before he changed his mind. “Zia and I are not married.”

Z
ia received an urgent summons to the keep. She finished tending a minor burn on a child's arm and quickly glanced over the three people who waited to see her, dispensing salves and a potion and advising the last one to return to his cottage and she would come see him as soon as she could. Feeling better that there were no serious ailments, she hurried to the keep.

A knot tightened in her stomach with each step she took and caused her to grow apprehensive. Something was wrong; she could feel it.

Patience
.

Her grandmother's strong voice resonated in her head and she halted her rushed steps. Bethane sensed something as well, which meant she needed to keep her mind clear and remain alert. Her grandmother would help guide her; she wasn't alone.

And she had Artair, but most importantly she had his love.

She entered the keep just as a clap of thunder sounded and the ominous warning caused her to shiver. A ser
vant directed her to the solar and when she entered she knew without anyone saying a word that their marriage ruse was known.

They were all there, brothers, their mother, and Honora, and they looked alarmed.

She walked straight to the middle of the room and looked to Artair. “I sense that it was somehow necessary that you tell them the truth.”

He nodded. “The church council sends a bishop to investigate.”

“We need to get you two wed immediately,” Cavan said, standing beside the chair where his wife sat.

Zia noticed that Honora seemed more pale than usual, and restless, shifting as if uncomfortable in her seat. She should have been more concerned with her own predicament, but it was Honora who worried her.

“Cavan has sent for a cleric,” Addie said.

Zia didn't like seeing their worried expressions. Addie's few brow wrinkles seemed more pronounced from her worried thoughts and Cavan wore a continuous frown, while the usual joyful Lachlan had not made one joke of the situation. That they were all worried was obvious, and Zia didn't like being the reason for their distress.

“You and Artair will wed as soon as the cleric arrives,” Cavan said, though it sounded more like a proclamation.

“What of the date?” Zia asked. “The clerics are most precise about a document they affix a seal to.”

“The cleric we have sent for is faithful to the Sin
clares,” Addie said. “He will record whatever date we request.” She smiled sadly, though with pride. “My husband saved his life when he was young and he feels indebted to the Sinclare clan.”

Zia listened while keeping an eye on Honora. Something was definitely wrong and she didn't like what she was sensing.

“You'll need to temper your enthusiasm while the bishop is here. It would be better if you appeared pious,” Cavan said.

Zia would normally have argued. The thought of her remaining pious was simply ridiculous. But it wasn't she who presently mattered. She had brought her problems down upon the Sinclare family, and she would do whatever was necessary to protect them, as they attempted to do the same for her.

“I apologize for the trouble this has brought to your clan,” she said to Cavan.

“Your apology is not necessary, Zia,” Cavan assured her. “Artair explained everything. Now it is just a matter of doing what should have been done.”

She simply nodded, and actually felt a pang of guilt. If she hadn't been so stubborn and had listened to Artair, all of this could have been avoided. And Artair probably confided the truth to his family, telling them how he had wanted to wed and she had refused, making her feel guiltier.

Artair joined her, slipping his arm around her waist and gently drawing her to his side. He leaned close, kissing her cheek and whispering, “We will have
our
ceremony, the way you wanted it; you have my word.”

She swelled with love for him, but her smile never surfaced. As soon as she saw Honora cringe she was at her side. “What's wrong?”

Cavan hunched down beside his wife and took hold of her hand. “What is it, Honora?”

“Pain,” she answered both, while cradling her protruding stomach.

“Has it been steady?” Zia asked, hoping the babe wasn't demanding to be born. It was too early. Another week and the babe would have a better chance to survive.

“No, but I haven't felt right since I woke.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Cavan demanded.

“That doesn't matter,” Zia said with a gentle squeeze to his arm.

He got the message. “Zia is right. What matters are you and the babe. You need to rest.”

Zia smiled. “Now Cavan is right. Rest is what is best for you at the moment. So let's get you settled in your bed.”

Cavan lifted his wife gently and carried her to their bedchambers while everyone tried to follow.

Zia turned to Artair. “Please, keep Cavan busy for a while so that I may examine his wife without interference. Your mother will help me, and she'll bring word when it's all right for Cavan to return.”

“Zia is right,” Addie said. “He will worry about Honora and she will worry about him and—”

“Say no more,” Lachlan said. “Artair and I will keep him entertained until you summon him.”

“Will Honora and the babe be all right?” Artair asked.

Zia knew that question was on everyone's mind, and she tried to reassure them. “If the babe can wait at least one week, he will have a better chance, and with rest, Honora should be fit for the delivery.”

“This is going to be a
long
week,” Lachlan said.

 

Surprisingly, Honora did well and listened to everything Zia told her. She remained abed, and everyone took turns keeping her occupied, while at other times she preferred to do her stitching, sewing garments for the babe.

Zia spoke with Cavan about his wife every morning and evening, letting him know how well she was doing and keeping him from worrying more than necessary. With only three days until a full week passed Zia was hopeful all would go well.

The cleric would arrive in two days. No word had been heard from the bishop, and Zia sensed that her grandmother was close. She had hoped that when word was sent for Mave to come help James, her grandmother would also come.

Zia desperately missed her and their conversations especially about healing. Such discussions helped her to learn and to solve problems. Artair would listen to her talk about various ailments but he hardly had the knowledge to respond with suggestions, though of late
she had to admit he had impressed her. He had actually suggested a treatment that worked though he credited her. He had recalled her using it for some other ailment at one of the villages and thought that it might suffice in the present case as well and it had. So he did truly listen with sincere interest when she spoke with him and that pleased her very much.

Things would be good, all would be well.

Then why did a feeling of foreboding hang over her?

“You're deep in thought,” Artair said, sitting on the bed beside her. “And you look much too tired.”

Zia laid her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “I am, but it is late and everyone rests well, which means that I can also rest well.”

He slipped his arm around her and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “This will all pass soon enough and life will be good for us.”

“I just thought the same myself.”

“We are of one mind, that is good,” he said.

She lifted her head. “Do you worry at all?”

He eased her gently down on the bed and leaned over her. “Know this…I would enter hell itself to see you safe. I will never let anyone harm you, and never—ever—would I let anyone take you from me.”

Zia had never seen such a vicious scowl on his face. It actually distorted his handsome features and made him appear more feral than human. This was the warrior who resided within him, the one who would fight to the bitter end, and would fight for her.

She smiled softly and spoke from her heart. “I do not want to leave your side.”

“You're not going anywhere,” he assured her with a lingering kiss.

He needn't do any more, for her body responded instantly. “It has been too long that you have been inside me.”

He smiled. “It's only been two days.”

“Much too long,” she said, ran her fingers up the back of his scalp and drew his mouth to hers. She tasted him with a hungry need, and he responded in kind. Their last joining had been slow and gentle, but this time they both were in no mood to take things slow. Or perhaps they feared that at any moment someone would knock at the door and their precious time together would end.

They were naked and rolling on the bed in no time, their limbs entwined and their lips locked in a heated kiss. Zia rose over him and hurried him inside her, but he allowed her only a few minutes before grabbing hold of her waist and swinging her beneath him so he could take command.

“I love the feel of you,” he whispered on a kiss.

She could only moan a response lost in the feel of him as he moved powerfully inside her. They were one and would always be, and the thought made their joining all the more powerful and her climax all the more potent as she cried out her pleasure.

He finished along with her, and wrapped in each other's arms, they fell into a deep sleep, both of them exhausted.

An agonizing scream tore them apart, and in seconds and they were both up and dressed flying down the stairs to Cavan and Honora's bedchamber. They came upon Addie on the way, and Lachlan was already in the hall, wearing only his plaid and looking terrified.

Cavan threw the door open for them, a look of pure fear on his face. “You have to help her.” He grabbed hold of Zia and dragged her into the room, over to the bed.

Honora was crying and she reached out for Zia. “The babe. There's something wrong.”

Zia took hold of her hand and tried to calm her, but the tension in the room was palpable and not good for Honora.

“I need all but Addie to leave,” she said, and placed a gentle hand on Honora‘s stomach. “We have a babe to deliver.”

“I'm not leaving,” Cavan said.

Artair went to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, you are. You need to let Zia do what she does best.”

“He's right,” Lachlan agreed. “So please don't make Artair and me drag you out of here.”

“That I'd like to see.”

Everyone turned to see Honora grinning.

She nodded to her husband. “Go, I promise if I need you or just want you with me, I will send for you.”

Cavan bent over her and gave her a kiss. “I love you and I will wait for your summons.”

“I am strong. I can do this,” she assured him.

He nodded and kissed her again, then leaned next to Zia and whispered, “I don't care if you must use witchcraft; don't let my wife and child die.”

Zia was shocked. Did he really believe her a witch or was it his fear talking?

“I will do all I can,” she promised, for that was all she truly could do. Sometimes it didn't matter how hard she fought to heal, to save lives, in the end it wasn't her choice.

The men left the room, and Zia got busy along with Addie.

Servants were summoned so that cauldrons of water could be kept hot in the hearth. Artair retrieved the healing basket kept specifically for deliveries, and stacks of towels and fresh cleaned bedding were kept close.

“Tell me what you haven't told me, what I believe you have feared to tell me for some time,” Honora said when it was only she, Addie, and Zia in the room.

Zia hesitated and attempted to reassure her.

Honora held up her hand before she could begin. “It's time for the truth.”

“Please,” Addie said. “Something has been on your mind about the babe. Honora and I have both seen it.”

A pain suddenly struck Honora and she yelled out, grabbing Addie's arm.

Zia placed her hand to Honora's stomach and probed for further evidence of what she suspected.

“What is it?” Honora begged once the pain had passed.

“I think you carry more than one babe.”

“Twins?” Honora asked with excitement.

Zia nodded. “Twins who may not be in the right position for delivery.”

“Will you be able to do anything to help them?” Addie asked.

“I can't say for sure. Only time will tell.”

“Don't say anything to Cavan,” Honora said. “He is worried enough. Wait until you know something for certain.”

“I will discuss it with you, and the decision will be yours,” Zia said. “In the meantime, let's be prepared for anything.” She turned to Addie. “The bread I asked left to mold, could you please get it?”

Addie nodded and left.

Hours passed, the pains remaining too far apart for the birth to be anytime soon. Still Zia wouldn't leave Honora's side, especially since she had calmed considerably since the first agonizing scream.

With the birth apparently hours away, Honora asked to see Cavan. She didn't want him to worry needlessly, and knew he wouldn't if he saw that she was doing fine.

When Cavan entered the room, Zia left, giving husband and wife some privacy, though both were anxious over her departure. She assured them that she would be in the great hall having breakfast with Artair.

She no sooner sat down beside him than Artair asked, “What did Cavan say to you that upset you?”

She reached for the pitcher of cider, but he brushed her hand away and filled her tankard. She flavored her bowl of porridge with a drizzle of honey before answering. “He didn't upset me. He surprised me.”

“Why was that?”

“He told me to use witchcraft if it would help save his wife and child.”

Artair was struck silent.

“He spoke out of fear, not reason,” she said.

“I never would expect him to say such a thing,” Artair admitted.

“Would you use witchcraft if you feared I would die?” she asked, or was he too sensible to believe it even possible?