Under the Highlander's Spell Read online

  Artair’s words reminded her that it sometimes took a tremendous amount of courage to enter villages, and even more courage to try and heal, for when she failed, it hurt her heart. Her grandmother had told her that time would teach her how to deal with such loss, but she feared she’d never learn.

  What then?

  She sighed and shuffled along, going nowhere in particular and not in a hurry to go anywhere.

  Not only did she have her healing work to concern her, but she now had a make-believe husband. She thought she would have been married long before now. At twenty and two years, most women were married several years already, but she had been so involved with her healing work, a husband simply never materialized.

  Now she had a good man, but he lacked passion. He was practical about every single solitary thing he did. You couldn’t ruffle his feathers. He remained calm and in control even when passion sparked in his eyes.

  It was a good quality, so why then did she question it? Why did it bother her?

  Zia.

  It sounded as if her name drifted on the warm night air, coming from far away. She looked around and saw no one.

  Zia.

  She smiled and knew her grandmother thought of her.

  Artair is good for you and you for him.

  Her grandmother must have thought she needed reminding. She smiled, realizing that perhaps she did.

  “Zia.”

  She tilted her head to listen more closely. Had someone actually called out her name?

  “Zia.”

  She turned, and seeing Artair, smiled. He was such a handsome man, she thought, watching him approach, so confident in his stride, his muscular body so deliciously appealing. Damn, if her body didn’t tingle just looking at him.

  “Have you come to collect your battle booty?” she teased with a laugh.

  He knocked her laughter out of her when he scooped her up, flinging her over his shoulder. “No, I came to sweep you off your feet.”

  Chapter 14

  Artair hadn’t planned on scooping her up and carrying her off, but when he saw her standing alone, and with such a concerned look on her face, he didn’t hesitate. He snatched her up, wanting her in his arms where he could heal her.

  Zia needed someone to look after her. She pushed herself until exhausted and barely ate enough to keep her going.

  And yet?

  Her zeal for her work kept her going regardless of anything else.

  But it was different now. She had him, and he would be more sensible than Zia was. He’d see that she was taken care of, whether she liked it or not.

  He had expected her to complain, but she remained quiet after he scooped her up. He wondered if she was just too tired to voice her opinion. He smiled and almost shook his head. Zia would never be too tired to give her opinion.

  Yet she hadn’t said a word to him since he hefted her over his shoulder.

  He entered the cottage and kicked the door shut behind him. Walking straight to the bed, he gently lowered her down onto it.

  He rested her head against a pillow and ordered, “Stay.”

  She made a move to bolt off the bed, and he pointed a finger at her. “Stay where you are. I’m going to fix you the brew that you favor.”

  “Really?” she asked with a tender smile, and leaned back against the pillow.

  He fussed with the leaves, hoping he’d watched her enough to know how to prepare the concoction the way she liked it. “How is everyone doing?”

  “Much better. Old Mary has improved greatly, and most have no fever. I think the illness is finally under control.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he replied.

  “It’s a relief for all concerned,” she said.

  He brought the mug to her and after handing it to her, he nudged her legs over so that he could sit down beside her. “Tell me about you.”

  She sipped then shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”

  He smiled warmly. “I beg to differ. There’s more to you than anyone can see. Or should I say, that you allow anyone to see.”

  “Isn’t that true of us all? To an extent, we all keep something of ourselves secret.”

  He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “I want to know all your secrets.”

  “And will you share yours with me?”

  “I keep no secrets.”

  She laughed. “We all keep secrets. Some large, others small, but they are there, tucked safely away where no one will ever find them.”

  Artair smiled sadly, her remark reminding him of an incident when he was young.

  “See, you recall one of those tucked away moments,” Zia said. “Tell me.”

  “I haven’t thought about it in years,” he said, shaking his head. “I suppose I wanted to keep it so safe that I forgot about it until this very moment.”

  “Please,” she said, taking hold of his hand. “Share it with me.”

  Her hand was warm from the mug, and he watched her slowly lace her fingers with his until their hands were wound together snug and firm, a perfect fit. Would their joining be as perfect?

  He chased the lustful thought from his head and returned to the memory she had inadvertently stirred. “I was just a young lad of five and my brother Cavan and I were playing in the woods. He was seven, old and knowledgeable to my young mind.

  “Cavan had a wicked imagination and would create a world where we were mighty warriors fighting hordes of all manner of imaginable enemies. Cavan would have us gather fallen branches and use them as weapons. He told me that we must always be prepared. One day while I was supposed to be gathering branches, I got lost in my own imaginary world and started tracking a hare. Slow and steady the little beast moved, and I inched right along with it, thinking it an enemy I had to keep in my sights.

  “I lost track of time while tracking the hare and didn’t bother to gather any weapons when I heard Cavan yelling. I ran to him and stared in horror as he tried to fight off a wild dog with what sticks he had. He saw me and called out for me to use my weapons. I had none, and Cavan saw that.”

  Artair shook his head. “Cavan continued to battle, and after I finally got my wits about me, I picked up stones and started throwing them at the dog. Together we chased him off. Cavan never asked me why I didn’t have any weapons. Instead, he claimed me a brave warrior.

  “I did not feel like one. I felt ashamed that I had not followed his orders. I wasn’t prepared to help him defend against an enemy.”

  “And you never told him that you were tracking a hare instead of gathering weapons,” she said.

  “I was too ashamed and I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me, so I never told him the truth.”

  “But he wasn’t disappointed, for you didn’t fail him. You came to his aid and used weapons at hand. Your brother spoke the truth when he claimed you were a brave warrior.”

  “Perhaps, but as I said, I didn’t feel like one, and from that day on I made certain I was always prepared.” He looked at her then. “Now it’s your turn to tell me a secret.”

  Zia sipped at the brew and wrinkled her nose.

  “Too many to choose from?” he teased.

  “No, I want to share a special secret with you. One I have kept close to my heart.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’d like that, and know that your secret will always be safe with me.”

  “I know, or else I would never chance sharing it with you.”

  It pleased him that her trust in him was growing stronger. It was a good sign, for trust was important to a marriage, and the more he got to know Zia, the more he realized that she would make him a truly good wife.

  Zia began. “There was this place on the hillside I liked to go to pick flowers and just sit and watch the sky. I loved the clouds and the way they would float by in all different shapes. I would talk to them, ask them where they were going and make up answers.

  “One day while talking to the clouds, I suddenly got an idea. I asked them if they would go find my fath
er and bring him to me. I told them that I missed him, though I had never met him, and I was sure that he must miss me. I was only five that first time I asked, but I continued asking and only recently stopped.”

  She handed the empty mug to him. “That was delicious. Could I have another?”

  He took the mug from her and raised their joined hands to gently kiss her fingers. “You never shared this with your grandmother?”

  She shook her head. “I think I was afraid she would tell me that it was a useless task, that my father was never returning. And as a young child I didn’t want to think that I had a father who not only didn’t want me, but didn’t love me.”

  He felt her ache, her emptiness, and the fear that goes with not knowing where a loved one was or if that loved one was all right. Ronan’s disappearance had taken its toll on him and his family, and it was drawing close to two years since he’d been gone. He couldn’t imagine what the pain was like for a child who longed to know her father.

  “I will help you find him,” Artair said.

  “Perhaps someday,” she said with a sad smile.

  Artair stood, kissing her fingers one more time before releasing her hand and walking over to the hearth to prepare another mug of tea for her. “Whenever you’re ready, you just say the word and I will find him.”

  “You sound so confident that you could,” she said, surprised.

  “Just as I search tenaciously for my brother, I would search the same for your father.”

  “That is generous of you. But why? You barely know me.”

  “Barely know you?” he said in feigned surprise. “We just shared intimate secrets no one else knows about us. I’d say that makes us at least best friends.”

  Her face lighted with joy. “I’d love to be best friends. You share everything with your best friend.”

  He handed her the steaming mug. “I want you to share everything with me, and I will do the same.”

  She placed the mug on the chest beside the bed. “Good, then since you’re my best friend, I wish to ask a favor.”

  “Anything,” he smiled. “Within reason of course.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “What if it’s not reasonable?”

  “I’ll consider it but I can’t make any promises.”

  She bounced off the bed and took his hand. “Come take a swim with me.”

  “You need food and rest,” he argued.

  “But I want to take a swim.”

  “The water will be—”

  “Warm and welcoming,” she finished, and tugged him toward the door.

  He stopped abruptly, jolting her to a halt. “Early morning would be better.”

  She stood staring at him for a moment, then smiled. “I’ll go myself.”

  She was out the door before he could stop her. He stood for a second, cursing her stubbornness, then went after her. She shouldn’t be going off to the river at night by herself. All kinds of danger lurked in the dark.

  He had forgotten how swift she was on her feet, and by the time he found her, she had already stripped and entered the water. The partial moon cast a soft glow along the surface of the river, and he watched her swim, her hands and arms skillfully cutting through the water.

  She was a vision to behold. Her wet ivory skin glistened in the moonlight and the blond tips of her hair sparkled like stars around her head. She turned, her chest arching as her arms churned in powerful backstrokes, her tight nipples cresting the water just enough to send a flash of heat to his loins.

  Join her.

  He shot down his wild thought before it could gain momentum. He had no intention of taking advantage of her. She had invited him for a swim, not sex.

  Or had she?

  Wishful thinking, he told himself. He wanted her, that was a certainty, but he wanted more than just sex from Zia. The more he learned about her, the more interesting and appealing she became, and the more he wanted to know.

  She turned again, spotted him and waved for him to join her.

  Should he? Was it wise? Could he keep his hands off her?

  She bounced along in the river, her persistent wave continuing to urge him to join her.

  “Hell,” he muttered, and striped off his clothes.

  He hit the water in a run and dove in, coming up not far from Zia. With a few quick strokes he was beside her and speechless. Her wet flesh shimmered like the dew on a blooming white rose and gave her a luscious appeal. His only thought was to touch and taste her.

  “Warm and welcoming,” she said.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “The river is warm and welcoming,” she repeated.

  It wasn’t the river he wanted to greet him. He stared at the droplets of water that clung to her lips and thought of licking them off one by one. A quick lick with the tip of his tongue and they’d be gone, and he’d want more.

  He played it safe and kept his distance.

  “It’s not wise to swim naked with a man.”

  “True enough, but you’re a safe man to swim naked with.”

  “Why is that?” he asked, not sure if he should be insulted or pleased.

  “You’re a practical man I can trust, especially when I’m not being sensible.”

  “Like now?” he asked, forcing a smile.

  “Precisely. I know you will not do anything improper.” She reached out and patted his shoulder. “You’re a good man.”

  “That I am, wife.” His hands shot out and took hold of her waist, dragging her against him.

  Their bodies connected with an impact that sent water shooting up between them, and by the time it settled over them, he had his mouth against hers, hot and urgent and looking for more.

  She didn’t protest. She returned the kiss with even more fervor.

  His hands slid up her midriff until they rested beneath her breasts, and his thumbs began to play against her hard nipples. They felt so good that he had to taste them, and he tore his mouth away as he lifted her up and settled his lips over one nipple at a time.

  She dropped her head back with a groan, and it fired his loins to an awful hard ache. He knew if he didn’t stop, if he didn’t put distance between them, that in the next few minutes he would slip inside her and make her his, and permanently.

  Passion had quickly consumed both of them, and he could quickly satisfy it, but he wasn’t looking to give Zia a quick romp in the river. He wanted something more with her, something that would last their entire lives and always remain special to them.

  He didn’t want only sex with her; he wanted love.

  He eased her back down into the water, not daring to let her flesh meet his, and pressed his wet cheek to hers. “Another time, another place, and I’ll make you mine.”

  She wasn’t only stunned; he saw disappointment on her face.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  Surprisingly, she followed him without protest. She didn’t utter a word, not when he stepped out of the water before she did or kept his back to her while he dressed, affording her the privacy to do the same.

  Silence went home along with them, even into the cottage. He didn’t join her in bed until after she had changed into a linen shift and climbed under the light blanket. With only his plaid on, he climbed in beside her and fitted himself against her back, wrapping his arm around her, his hand resting firmly beneath her breast.

  “Rest well, I will be right here,” he whispered, and kissed her cheek.

  Chapter 15

  Zia lay awake long after Artair fell asleep. She couldn’t get the strange evening out of her mind. Artair had startled her in more ways than one. First, when he swept her off her feet. She was too shocked to protest, but liked that he’d done it. And then she was shocked again when he fixed her favorite brew.

  She had assumed that after depositing her on the bed, he intended to kiss her. While she would have invited it, she thought it endearing that he made her favorite brew, and even knew what it was. And made it so perfectly. She wondered if he had prac
ticed.

  And then their tryst in the river. She had realized she was tempting fate, actually tempting him beyond reason. She chuckled. She hadn’t really expected him to join her, especially after he suggested that she wait until morning. And once he did join her, she wanted much more than it seemed he was willing to give.

  She smiled, recalling his words.

  Another time, another place, and I’ll make you mine.

  Just the thought enthralled her, tingles prickling her skin.

  And then, when their brief tryst was over, he’d been such a gentleman. He didn’t gawk at her, but instead he respected her privacy.

  And finally, she recalled how he wrapped himself so lovingly around her when they were in bed, and assured her that he’d remain beside her.

  His body continued to warm her and his muscled arms kept her in a protective embrace. Even his steady breathing soothed her while faintly tickling the back of her neck.

  It hadn’t been two full weeks since she met this man, yet she thought of him as a friend she’d known since she was young. Someone with whom she could safely share secrets, tell her troubles to, laugh with and when necessary cry with.

  She wondered how they had bonded so quickly, but then silently laughed the thought away. Her grandmother had told her that Artair was good for her. Why question it? Why not simply wait and see where it led? He would reason over it enough for the both of them; for her part, she would let fate take its course.

  It had been an interesting evening, and she could only imagine, with a flutter of anticipation, what the immediate future would bring.

  With exhaustion overwhelming her bevy of thoughts, Zia fell asleep with a smile.

  Their departure was delayed because of a young child whose fever remained constant. Until the fever broke and the child’s appetite returned, Zia refused to leave, and Artair remained concerned.

  The villagers thought highly of Zia and treated her with respect, and Artair suspected that much of it was because they believed she was his wife. His men had confirmed his suspicions when they shared what village gossip they heard.

  James, with Patrick corroborating, told him how the women believed that Zia and he were a good match, and how lucky she was to have a husband who not only allowed her to heal, but was patient while she did. Yes, the women had claimed them an extraordinary pair.