Under the Highlander's Spell (3 page)

She was a tempty morsel, but Artair's hunger was for information and food and he intended to assuage both as soon as possible.

The meal was amazingly delicious, and the men ate with vigor, not one of them mentioning anything about witches. With everyone relaxed, conversation was lively, and when all the meat had been cleaned from the bones, James stood and volunteered for the first watch.

“That's not necessary,” Zia informed him.

“And why is that?” Artair asked.

“These woods are safe.”

“No woods are safe,” Artair said.

“These woods are. Trust me.”

James glanced around the landscape skeptically. “Are there wee folk about?”

“James!” Artair warned sternly.

“Don't tell me you don't believe,” James argued. “You heard yourself how the wee folk stole all of Bogg's coins and left him near the river to almost drown.”

“Bogg drank himself drunk and had to concoct a good tale to appease his wife, or she'd have drowned him herself.”

The others laughed.

“He knew no one would dare speak against the wee folk,” Artair finished. “Bogg used his head, once it cleared, and told a tale that keeps growing taller with each telling.”

The other men nodded in agreement.

James looked to Zia for clarification. “If not the wee folk, then how are these woods safe?”

“Sentinels.”

Artair sprang to his feet, he and his men drawing their swords as Nessie sprinted to his side.

“Y
our weapons are not necessary,” Zia said. “Besides, they are useless. Our sentinels are excellent archers. If they intended to kill you, you would have been dead when you first stepped on our land.”

Artair ordered his men to put away their swords. “They have been watching us all day?” he asked.

Zia could see uncertainty in his eyes. He was probably debating his next move, though ordering his men to sheath their weapons was a wise choice. She didn't wish him to suffer needlessly. After all, he had saved her life.

“There is nothing for you to fear. They will not harm you. They are there to protect our land.”

“Our land?” Artair questioned.

“The village Black. It belongs to all of us who live there, though it is named after my family, who founded it. Believe me, Artair, we mean you and your men no harm. The village is probably grateful you rescued me.”

“How would they know? I have only rescued you today.”

He was quick-witted, though cautious and he seemed to apply sound reason to his decisions. He had realized fast enough that the only way he would be able to have what he wanted from her was to free her and he had paid handsomely for the decision. And he hadn't hesitated in paying the coins, which made her realize how important his brother Ronan was to him.

It seemed every step he took was toward finding his brother, and she couldn't blame him. If she had a missing sibling, she would do the same. Unfortunately, she was alone, without father or mother, but she was ever so grateful to have her grandmother.

“They keep track of my whereabouts,” she answered, not ready to admit to the odd connection between her and her grandmother.

“You give me your word that we are safe?” he asked.

Strange, but comforting, that he would accept her word. It meant he trusted her, and that pleased her.

“You have my word that no one will hurt you or your men. The sentinels protect from danger. You and your men are no danger to us. You can rest easy tonight.”

Artair signaled his men that there was no threat, and the other three men spread their blankets and sought a good night's sleep.

He however did not, and Zia knew he intended to speak with her. She was ready. Actually, she looked
forward to the discussion. Artair intrigued her. He had remained calm and in control throughout the whole ordeal in the village as if none of it had disturbed him. Even now he seemed in control and unperturbed, and she couldn't understand why that troubled her.

His men were soon snoring around the campfire, and she and Artair were left to themselves, Nessie cuddling beside her. It didn't take long for him to begin questioning her about Ronan.

“My brother was brought here to your village?”

She had questions of her own as she responded with a nod. “Ronan made mention of three brothers.”

“Cavan, the oldest; then there's me; Lachlan follows; with Ronan the youngest.”

“Ronan worried about Cavan.”

“Cavan and Ronan were captured by barbarians during a battle. They were separated, and Cavan finally returned home after a year of captivity. He worries daily over Ronan's fate,” Artair said. “He also worries about his new wife, Honora, who is to give birth in a couple of months.”

“And Lachlan? Is he wed?”

That brought a smile to Artair's face. “Lachlan wed? Not likely. He likes women too much, as they do him.”

“Ronan missed you all, especially his father and mother.”

Artair's joy vanished as quickly as a snuffed out candle, and Zia realized the news wasn't good.

“Our father was murdered a few months ago, and while the culprit was caught and punished, my heart breaks to have to tell Ronan.”

“I am sorry for your loss. It must be difficult for your mother.”

“She claims she is fine, but we all see how much she misses our father. They were together many years and never tired of each other. I never heard either of them speak ill of the other. They respected and loved each other from the day they met.”

“They made a good match.”

“A perfect match, my father claimed, and urged all his sons to do the same.”

“You look for a perfect woman?” she asked, curious.

His smile returned. “There is no such thing.”

“Isn't there?”

“No man or woman is perfect.”

Zia sighed dramatically. “When you're in love, everything is perfect.”

“You know this from experience?”

“No, only from what I've been told, though I'm looking forward to experiencing it firsthand. And what of you?” she asked. “Have you known love?”

“No, duty comes before love.”

Zia's eyes popped wide. “You would marry out of duty?”

“I almost did,” he said. “Cavan's wife Honora was to be my bride. We even exchanged vows.”

She gasped. “What happened?”

“Cavan returned on my wedding day, but due to the marriage papers stating that Honora was to wed the next chief of the clan Sinclare, she was actually wed to Cavan and not me.”

“You had no feelings for her at all?”

“I barely knew her. What mattered was that I was doing my duty as the next clan chieftain.”

“But you said your father encouraged you to find love.”

Artair nodded. “Yes he did, and I chose a woman who I felt would make a good wife, and in time I believed we would grow to care for each other.”

“Caring for a wife is far different from loving her.”

“Caring is an essential part of love,” he argued.

“I care for many. I wish to love—passionately love—the man I wed.”

“Passion eventually dies; caring lasts forever.”

She smiled. “Passion only dies if you let it, and it is not only the passion of intimacy I refer to, it is pure passion for life.” She stretched her hands up to the night sky. “Life is full of passion. You only need embrace it.”

Artair stared at her, his eyes narrowing.

“You think me crazy,” she laughed. “But I will take being crazy over your mundane sense of duty.”

“You do
your duty
when it comes to your healing.”

With a huge smile, she hugged herself tightly. “With joy and gratitude and tons of enthusiasm.”

Artair smiled, her zest contagious.

“What of your brother Cavan?”

“What of him?”

“He found himself wed to a complete stranger. Didn't he object?”

“At first, adamantly.”

“But he realized his duty and did it?” she asked.

Artair nodded. “It actually turned out well for him and Honora. They fell in love.”

“Love found them, which is usually the way.”

He chuckled. “You believe love finds us, we don't find love?”

“I do,” she said bluntly. “I believe love is much wiser than we are.”

He rubbed his chin. “You are a strange one, though interesting.”

“Another compliment. You do touch my heart, Artair,” she said with repeated taps to her chest.

“You're an easy woman to compliment, Zia.”

She sighed. “How lovely my name sounds coming from your lips. It's as though you felt my name and somehow touched me with it.”

Artair coughed lightly and shifted his legs where he sat on the ground.

Had she made him uncomfortable? And why did it matter to her? She did find him appealing. He was a handsome one, but she actually found his company more enjoyable. After she got past his sense of duty, she spied a different man—one she wouldn't mind getting to know better.

It was best to end the conversation now, so she gave an exaggerated yawn. “Time to sleep. The sun will
rise soon enough.” She hunkered down on the blanket Artair had provided for her. “Pleasant dreams.”

“The same to you,” Artair answered.

 

Artair watched Zia's chest rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm as she slept. The firelight danced over her hair, making the golden strands appear as flickering flames.

He had enjoyed their lively conversation, and only now realized that he had learned nothing about Ronan from her, but she had learned much about him. He hadn't realized at the time that she was asking most of the questions, and that he generously supplied the answers. She certainly knew how to get what she wanted from a man, and she did it so effortlessly.

He could understand why any man would declare her a witch. Without candor or malice, she made men feel inferior to her. Hurt a man's pride and he would go to any lengths to seek retribution.

Zia, however, was who she was. There was no pretense to her, and that made the knowledge of a man's own stupidity too much to bear.

He laughed at himself, and he hadn't done that in a long time. He hadn't been able to. With Cavan and Ronan's capture came more duty for him, and he embraced it for he knew he had to. There were times when he hadn't wanted it. So many times, he had wished for his brothers' safe return, but time passed and his duties increased.

He had never told anyone that he was relieved when
Cavan returned. Many wouldn't have believed him. After all, with Cavan gone he would be the next chieftain of Clan Sinclare. But he hadn't wanted that distinction. It belonged to his brother Cavan, who had been raised since childhood knowing it would be his. Artair felt the same. Cavan was born to be chieftain, and he would serve Cavan, as would his brothers. It was the way of things, and Artair had no difficulty accepting his station in life.

He was actually pleased with it. His desire was to meet a good woman, settle down with her and raise a brood of children. He would always serve his clan and family well. That was the way of it and that was his intention.

Passionately love
.

Zia's words rang in his mind.

Even though his father advised him to find love, Artair was more practical and knew that finding a good woman who would share his plans for the future would serve him much better than finding love.

Love could be unsettling, uncertain and unpredictable. He favored the opposite. A settled relationship, whose predictability he could rely on. And yet her words nagged at him.

Passion eventually sizzled, while commonality remained dependable.

Passion only dies if you let it.

More of her words to haunt him. And his father and mother were proof of Zia's statement. They loved passionately, each other, family, clan, and life. They were
always there for one another. His father had respected his mother and often sought her counsel when matters proved difficult. They would huddle away in their bedchamber, and if he and his brothers happened to sneak by, they would hear them talking, laughing, and…

Artair grinned. It wasn't until later, when they were old enough to be aware of what their parents were up to in their bedchamber, that they stopped sneaking by. The thought that his parents continued to love each other so passionately had pleased him. It was good to know their love was strong and firm, for it told him that they loved their sons just as much.

He finally settled down on his blanket to sleep, his thoughts still heavy on his mind. He shouldn't be thinking of Zia, passion, or love. His only thought should be his brother Ronan. Tomorrow, God willing, they would finally reunite.

He prayed that nothing would prevent their reunion, but couldn't help but worry. It had been over a year of searching and following gossip and messages that proved false. With so many paths that led nowhere, he worried this would turn out the same and once again he would be left wondering the whereabouts of his brother.

Cavan had ached to join him on this mission, but Honora hadn't been feeling well, and even though she urged him to go, he felt he could not abandon her. Artair understood. If anything had happened to Honora and the babe while Cavan was gone, he would have never been able to forgive himself.

Cavan still continued to blame himself for Ronan's capture, though he had actually come to his brother's defense in the battle that saw them taken as prisoners. But that didn't matter to Cavan. He was obsessed with finding Ronan, and Artair knew there would be no rest for any of the clan until they did.

Whether they found Ronan alive or dead, Cavan wanted him brought home. It was Sinclare land he belonged on, and it would be Sinclare land where he would rest.

Artair fervently hoped that tomorrow would end their tireless search, that he would return with Ronan, alive, and they all could finally lay the past to rest and embrace the future.

He yawned, sleep poking at him, though he fought it. He had to make certain he had thought of everything, covered every possibility, prepared for the unexpected. He could not—would not—fail either brother, Cavan or Ronan. Both had suffered enough, and it was time for family to be reunited once and for all.

In the meantime he would learn more about Zia. She appeared a good woman, and he was looking for a good woman to make his wife. She seemed a viable candidate, and she was a healer, another good quality and definitely an asset to the clan.

Artair shook his head.

It was a thought, no more than a thought.