Under the Highlander's Spell (25 page)

“Did you discuss Ronan?” Artair asked anxiously.

Zia shook her head. “But then, that wasn't really your question. You think my grandmother and I keep something from you about your brother.”

“Do you?”

“I have confided everything to you except one thing. I gave my word to someone and I cannot go back on it.”

Artair rubbed his chin and nodded.

Zia knew he would remain calm and think over
her response. He was and would no doubt always be a sensible man, except when it came to her. She almost sighed at the beauty of it.

“Does this promise interfere with me locating my brother?”

“No, it would no way impede your search for Ronan.”

He nodded again. “What of Bethane? Does she know more than she tells me?”

Zia sighed and dusted her hands over the plate. “I truly don't know. I was surprised when we returned to my village and found Ronan gone.”

“What you tell me is that it would have been difficult for him to leave your village without someone knowing of his departure. You said so yourself when you told me and my men about the posted sentinels.”

“You're right. Someone would have seen him,” Zia confirmed.

“Or helped him?”

Zia nodded.

“And you know who that is?”

“As do you,” she said.

“Bethane.”

Again Zia nodded. “She had to have given her word if she has not confided this to you.”

“Which means—”

“She will not tell you why your brother left or where he goes.”

“Y
ou know I will need to tell Cavan of this,” Artair said with a sense of betrayal that disturbed him. Either way, he felt as if he betrayed someone with his decision. If he didn't confide in Cavan, he would betray his brother, and if he told Cavan, then he felt as if he betrayed Zia. He did not like the position he was in and would not tolerate it.

“I assumed you would, but then I believed you and Cavan already had plans to speak with my grandmother,” Zia said, gathering up morsels of the food that fell on the blanket, to place them on the empty plate before bouncing off the bed to take it to the table.

“I would have spoken to you first.”

Zia turned, slipping her robe off and walking toward him. “I know that.”

Artair's loins tightened rock hard and his mind began to muddle with each lazy step she took toward him. “I—I—”

“Want me,” she said, her voice dripping with a sultry passion.

Or was it simply what he wanted to hear? Artair shook his head.

“You don't want me?” she asked, pouting as she stopped by the bed.

Artair had lost all sound reasoning, and while somewhere his mind reminded that he should pursue questioning her about Ronan, another part urged him to assuage his aching loins.

Zia settled it by throwing the covers off him and crawling over him with a sexy grin that promised paradise on earth. Then he surrendered to her with each tantalizing touch and intimate kiss.

 

Artair paced in Cavan's solar.

“Everyone tried to help,” Cavan said.

“And made it worse,” Artair spat. “The village makes Zia appear a saint, which only fuels the bishop's perception of her as a witch. And that fool Neil gloats over what he assumes is a victory…the witch will burn.”

“We both know that will not happen.”

“How do we stop it?” Artair asked desperately, looking to his brother as the powerful laird who could do the impossible.

“I don't know, but we will stop it,” Cavan said with a firm grasp of his brother's shoulder.

Artair calmed and nodded. He and Zia weren't alone in this. His family was on his side and would do all they could to keep Zia from being taken away.

A knock interrupted their concerns and forced a different set of worries on them.

“You will be kind to her?” Artair asked of his brother, knowing Bethane waited beyond the closed door.

“I want my brother home,” Cavan said sharply, and called out for her to enter.

Bethane entered with a flourish, her cheeks dashed pink, her green eyes aglow and her smile generous.

“What an honor to be invited to your solar, Cavan,” she said, and extended her hand to his.

He took it, and she held firm to it with both hands for a moment, then smiled wider and released his hand.

Bethane nodded. “You will serve your people well.”

“I am more concerned at the moment with finding Ronan,” Cavan said, and directed her to one of the chairs in front of the large hearth where he stood.

She stretched her hands out to the warm flames. “Winter will be upon us soon.”

“And I would like my brother home for the solstice.”

“Your brother is a strong one. I have no doubt he will find his way home,” Bethane said.

Artair stepped forward and sat in the chair beside Bethane. “Why did Ronan leave your village?”

“Someone followed him,” she answered.

“Why didn't you tell me this when I first asked?” Cavan asked, bewildered.

“I had given my word.”

“To who?” Cavan demanded.

“Your brother,” Bethane said softly.

Both brothers shook their heads.

“Yet you tell us now?” Artair asked, as confused as Cavan.

“Enough time has passed to ensure Ronan's safety, which was what he had asked of me.”

“But we're his brothers,” Cavan said.

“Yes, you are.”

Cavan and Artair stared at each other, shaking their heads until Artair looked at Bethane and glared at her.

“Ronan was protecting us!”

She nodded, smiling.

“From what?” Cavan demanded.

“That I'm not at liberty to say,” Bethane said regretfully.

Cavan began pacing in front of the hearth. “This makes no sense.”

“Did Ronan know of our victory against the barbarians?” Artair asked Bethane.

“Yes, he did,” she confirmed.

“Then why not simply come home?” Cavan asked with annoyance.

“It isn't that simple for your brother,” she said. “And I would suggest that you let him be, for his own safety.”

“Ronan's in trouble?” both brothers asked at once.

“He will tell you all of it when he sees you,” she said.

“That's not good enough,” Cavan said curtly.

“I'm afraid it is all I can offer you.”

“Do you tell me you refuse to answer any more questions?” Cavan demanded.

“Of course not, but I doubt my answers will satisfy you,” Bethane said firmly.

“You speak in constant riddles, while I want facts,” Cavan said.

Bethane stood. “Riddles lead to facts. Think about it and you may learn something. Now I must go see how my people fair.”

She had dismissed Cavan rather than him dismissing her.

“I should be furious with her,” Cavan said after she left. “I should lock her up in the dungeon until she decides to tell us what we want to know…and yet I can't, for I feel I have something to learn from her words.”

“Besides, we don't have a dungeon,” Artair said, grinning.

“Shut up,” Cavan warned, and dropped into the chair beside his brother. “Don't tell me this doesn't disturb you. It sounds as if our brother is in more trouble than we first thought. But with whom and how, and how the hell do we help him?”

“According to Zia, we can't. It would appear that our interference would only make it worse.”

“We can't just leave him,” Cavan said, exasperated. “We must do something.”

“Then let us find out what is going on before we rush into anything,” Artair suggested. “Once we know what we're dealing with, we'll be better able to formulate a plan of action.”

“Good idea,” Cavan said. “But where do we start?”

Artair smiled. “I will talk with Bethane and find out.”

Lachlan burst into the room. “You better hurry. That fool Neil is causing more problems.”

 

Artair entered the great hall behind his brothers to hear Neil complaining to the bishop that the witch was working her magic on them and they would soon be under her spell like all the others there.

“Zia helps my wife and sons,” Cavan said.

“We do not know that!” Neil shouted. “She could be hiding away mixing her potions, casting her spells…” He lowered his voice. “…bringing evil down upon us.”

“I'm going to kill him,” Artair whispered to his brothers.

“I'll help,” Lachlan offered.

What angered Artair even more was the way the bishop let the man rant on. In any other village or keep, Neil would have had others believing him by now, and if he were allowed to keep it up, he might just get a few in Caithness to start doubting, and that would be all they would need.

The bishop finally raised his hand for silence, then turned his attention to Cavan. “When night falls, I will have the wedding documents in my hands and speak with Zia, or I will inform the council of your reluctance to cooperate and have a troop dispatched here to take Zia into custody until further notice. And then the Sinclares would be investigated for harboring a witch.”

Fury rushed through Artair like a raging fire, and he barely managed to contain himself. No options were left to him. How did he protect his wife?

“See it done,” the bishop ordered Cavan before retiring to his bedchamber for afternoon prayer.

Artair took a menacing step toward a retreating Neil, but Lachlan blocked his path. “There are more important things to worry about. Save him for last.”

Bethane entered the hall then, and Artair stared at her, as did his brothers, as if she might provide them with a solution.

She walked over and patted Artair's arm. “Speak to Zia.”

“What good will that—”

She shooed him away. “Speak with her.”

He didn't argue, and as he walked away he heard her order Cavan, though in a pleasant tone, to visit his wife and sons, and Lachlan to take his mother for a much needed walk.

Artair shook his head. He wondered how it seemed that Bethane always sensed how people needed healing even if they appeared well. She always knew the right thing to say or the right advice to offer or how to listen. He truly admired her.

 

He found Zia alone in the sewing room working on a tiny robe.

She laughed, patting the seat of the chair next to her. “Honora just realized that she would need to double the clothes she had made, so I'm helping her.”

“She and the babes do well?”

“They are wonderful, and ready to leave the confines of her bedchamber,” Zia said, placing the garment aside and reaching for Artair's hand. “But you didn't come looking for me to ask me about Honora. What has happened?”

He covered their clasped hands with his other hand, hoping in some strange way that they would be bound together so no man or force could separate them.

“Speak up,” she ordered, “for your silence frightens me.”

He kissed her softly, brushing his lips across hers, then recounted in fine detail what had just happened in the great hall.

Zia sat silently for a moment and then spoke. “For your family's safety, it is better I leave here.”

Artair stood and yanked her out of her seat. “Don't you dare let me ever hear you say that again.”

“But—”

“Never!” he warned adamantly.

Zia pressed her hand to his chest. “You tremble—”

“With anger that you could even think to leave me.”

Zia gasped. “I do not choose to leave you. I choose to keep you safe.”

“I,”
he said empathically, “keep you safe.”

“I,”
she emphasized equally, “keep you safe.”

He lowered his lips to hers. “Then we do it together, but never, ever, do we part. Promise me.”

She did, and he captured her promise with a kiss.

They hugged each other tightly.

“What are we to do?” Zia asked.

“I don't know, but your grandmother suggested I speak with you, and I'm glad she did. Just holding you in my arms make me feel better.”

Zia nestled closer against him. It wasn't until a few minutes had passed that he realized she was crying softly.

“What's wrong?” he asked, upset, trying to pry her burrowed face away from his chest. He finally managed to grab her chin and force her to look at him, and her tear-filled eyes broke his heart. “Everything will be fine, don't worry.”

She sniffled and shook her head, freeing her chin from his grasp. “It isn't that. It is when I see your passion flair that I know and feel down into my soul how very much you love me, and I know how lucky I am to have found you.”

“We're both lucky, and I intend for us to stay that way. As for how it happened?” He shook his head. “I don't know, but I believe the magic of love will find a way to help us now.”

“That isn't practical,” she teased.

“We—our love—were never practical from the start. Why should it be any different now?”

They both laughed, and after a brief kiss Zia said, “There's something I must tell you.”

He sat in the chair, pulling her into his lap. “Tell me, I'm listening.”

“I want to tell you the story I just heard, about my mother and father.”

Artair nodded. “I'd like to hear it.”

Zia recited the story her grandmother had told, growing teary-eyed once again.

He kissed her and hugged her close. “How sad for them and for you. I would have never believed someone could die from a broken heart, but now I know it is possible.”

“I felt the same as you when my grandmother told me, but there is more.”

“More that causes you hurt?” he asked with concern.

She nodded.

He held her tight. “I am here for you and always will be.”

She smiled and rested her hand to his cheek. “That is good to know, for my father is in your home at this very moment.”

Artair scrunched his brow and shook his head. “I don't under—” He grew pale. “Oh my God! Bishop Aleatus is your father.”

“Yes, he is. My grandmother warned me that the information could prove more dangerous than helpful and told me to be careful what I did with it. That is why I waited to tell you.”

“It is a secret no one would have blamed you for keeping,” he said, “but I'm glad you entrusted me with it.”

“But what do we do with it? Will it help us or harm us? That is what I have been trying to decide.”

Artair thought a moment. “Your grandmother claims
that your father loved your mother beyond all reason. I cannot see a man who loves a woman so deeply do any harm to the child born of their loving union.”

“You think I should tell him who I am? Though my grandmother says he will know, for I look just like my mother.”

“Then how can the bishop not love you, his daughter?” Artair encouraged.

“We don't know that for sure. Perhaps the years have not been kind to him and he is now bitter.”

“A few moments ago I told you I believed the magic of love would help us find a way out of this mess.” He smiled. “I believe it just has. You need to believe the same.”