Under the Highlander's Spell Page 15

  Artair was struck silent. All he’d heard was the word love, and it continued to reverberate in his head like a tower bell that refused to stop tolling. He had thought it a practical decision to wed Zia, but could the decision truly be perpetuated by love?

  Lachlan smacked him on the back. “I’m right; the poor fool is dumbstruck by love and doesn’t even know it—much like you, Cavan.”

  “Just you wait. I’m going to enjoy watching the bittersweet agony of you falling in love,” Cavan said with a sneer.

  Artair finally found his voice and joined in the teasing. “I agree with Cavan and look forward to the same for you.”

  “Too bad you’ll both be disappointed,” Lachlan said with smug confidence. “I intend to be wise when it comes time to choose a wife.”

  Lachlan went on to explain how he would not suffer any pains or pangs of chasing after a woman. He would make it known he was interested in acquiring a wife, and would then choose between the viable candidates and it would be done—he’d have himself a dutiful wife.

  Artair and Cavan laughed so hard it brought their mother to the door.

  “What seems to be so amusing?” Addie demanded.

  Cavan and Artair couldn’t contain their laughter enough to explain, so they both pointed to Lachlan, who reiterated to her what he had told them.

  Addie burst out laughing herself, before shutting the door in their faces. A minute or so later peals of laughter echoed from inside the room, which only caused Artair and Cavan to laugh harder and Lachlan to walk away in disgust.

  After the two brothers’ laughter subsided, the door to the bedchamber opened once again and Addie summoned them inside.

  Cavan went directly to his wife, who sat in a chair by the window. “You’re feeling better?”

  “Much better after speaking with Zia,” she confirmed.

  Relief brought a huge smile to Cavan’s face. “No more fainting, then?”

  “Zia assures me there will be none if I follow her instructions,” Honora said.

  Cavan looked at Zia. “We’ll do whatever you say.”

  She grinned. “It is Honora who will need to follow the prescribed diet.”

  Cavan turned an anxious look on his mother.

  “I’m already prepared to see that she eats as Zia has suggested,” Addie said. “Which is why I’m going to get her a little something to eat right now. And, Artair,” she added, turning in his direction. “You need to find a nice cottage where your wife can work. I’m sure many in the clan are going to seek her healing skills.”

  “That would be nice,” Zia said. “I could use a place where I can prepare my brews, mix potions, and blend salves while seeing to ailments.”

  “Timmin’s cottage,” Cavan said to his brother. “You know the one. It’s been empty for a few months.”

  “That’s at the far end of the village. I’d prefer my wife closer to the keep.” He slipped his arm around Zia’s waist. It was something he found himself doing often and without thinking. It was as if he felt empty without her in his arms, like a part of him was missing. Whatever it was, he knew he felt whole when he felt her there, pressed close to him.

  “There’s Biddie’s cottage,” Addie suggested. “It’s more in the middle of the village, though it is small. Good enough for one, as Biddie said many a time throughout the years. I believe she would be pleased that her home became a place of healing.”

  Artair nodded, familiar with the place and the woman who had passed three months now. “I’ll take Zia there and see if it will suit her.”

  Zia leaned her head back to look up at Artair. “Let me see to your mother’s hand first, and then we can go.”

  Love.

  The thought smacked him suddenly between the eyes, hit him in his gut, and caused his heart to thump madly. Is that what he felt—love? Did he see the same in her eyes? Could love’s arrow have struck them simultaneously?

  “Artair?” Zia said.

  He shook his head, regaining his wits.

  “It’s not all right?” she asked hesitantly.

  He went from shaking his head to nodding while trying to recall what he was agreeing to.

  “Good,” Zia said with a smile. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you outside the keep.”

  As he walked to the door and he fought to remember why he was meeting Zia outside, Cavan slapped him on the back and said, “Thanks for waiting with me.” Then, in a hurried whisper, his brother said, “Biddie’s cottage.”

  It all came rushing back then, along with the color to his face. He could feel his cheeks blotch red, and was glad no one could see his discomfort.

  “Love really has you by the…” Cavan did not finish the thought, but laughed as he walked away, to return to his wife.

  Artair didn’t find Cavan’s teasing amusing, and in an effort to further pull himself together, left the keep, intending to camp beneath a large pine tree. The needles it had dropped provided a cushion for him to sit, but he hadn’t sat there in thought for long when Zia plopped down beside him.

  “That was fast,” he said, taking hold of her hand. He liked the warmth and softness of her skin, and he loved when their fingers entwined, locking together, keeping hold of each other.

  “It was a minor abrasion and should heal well now.”

  She didn’t appear in a hurry to see the cottage, and neither was he. He preferred to take a few moments and sit here under the shade of the tree with her and talk.

  “I can see there is something on your mind,” she said.

  She waited, not insisting or pouting or demanding that he tell her what it was. She simply waited to see if he wished to share it, a reasonable approach that left him confident in discussing the matter with her.

  “You have repeatedly told me you wish to marry for love,” he finally said.

  “Yes, I have, and that has not changed,” she replied.

  “What if I loved you? Would your thought on wedding me change?”

  She appeared startled. Was it because he had shocked her silent, or that she wasn’t sure how to answer him? Either way, he didn’t think it boded well for him.

  “If you loved me?” she snapped. “Are you trying to decide if you could love me? If there’s even the remotest chance?”

  “You misunderstand me.”

  She yanked her hand free of his. “I think it is you who misunderstands. Love comes from deep in here,” she said, resting her hand to her chest. “It can strike in an instant or develop slowly, but whichever way it arrives, it comes from the depth of the heart, and nothing—nothing at all—can stop it, not even logic.”

  “Let me explain—”

  “No,” she said curtly. “I will ask someone to show me Biddie’s cottage, and get busy staking my claim on it while I’m here.”

  She stumbled to her feet, and he quickly stood to help her. He knew her stubbornness had taken hold and if he wasn’t careful he would make the situation worse, though he wondered how much worse it could get. He did not want to find out.

  “I will take you,” he said.

  “No, I prefer to go alone.”

  “How will it look to others if I let my wife find her healing cottage on her own?” he asked.

  “That your wife is angry with you, and deservedly so.”

  Artair kept his patience. It would do him no good to argue with her; that would only fuel the disagreement. So he did what was necessary and sensible. “I am sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “Why am I sorry?”

  She nodded. “Yes, why do you apologize? Do you truly mean it or is it the logical thing to do?”

  Her intuitive response caught him unprepared and he hesitated.

  “I knew it,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “Your apology meant nothing. You simply did it because it appeared the logical course of action.” She grunted angrily. “You are impossible. You wouldn’t know love if it struck you straight in the heart or punched you in the gut. You see only reason, and being in
love is far from reasonable. I doubt you will ever fall in love.”

  She turned and marched off, and he almost followed, but stopped himself. She needed time to calm down, and then he would speak with her.

  His brother Lachlan approached. “You should go after her. She’s very angry. She didn’t even acknowledge me when she passed.”

  “That’s why I will wait until she calms down.”

  Lachlan chuckled. “You can’t be practical when it comes to women, Artair, because women aren’t practical. Zia wants you to follow her. That would show her that you care.”

  “She’d continue to fight with me if I went after her.”

  “Of course she would—that’s what she wants.”

  “To fight?” Artair asked, and shook his head. “That makes no sense.”

  Lachlan placed a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Back to lesson one—women aren’t sensible.”

  “Then how can anything ever be settled?”

  Lachlan chuckled again. “It can’t, because women never forget. They’ll remind you of something you did years after you long forgot it.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I learned it firsthand from every woman I’ve gotten to know.”

  “You mean every woman you’ve bedded,” Artair said.

  “Women love to talk, especially after sex. That’s when I find out a lot about them.” He grinned. “And oh how I look forward to every lesson.”

  Artair shook his head. “I prefer my own approach. It’s more sensible.”

  Lachlan chuckled some more. “You better keep lesson one in mind or you’re going to find yourself in deep trouble, especially with a woman as passionate as Zia.”

  Artair smiled broadly. “I admire her passion.”

  “That’s because you have none of your own.”

  “I do so,” he said, insulted.

  “No offense, brother, but passion isn’t your strong suit—reason and dependability are, which is great because you can always be counted on to do the right thing. And nothing stops you from doing it. Look how it helped you rescue Zia before she was burnt at the stake. When you told us the story, I thought how I might have considered that she was a witch and let her burn.”

  “Even when you knew she had information about Ronan?”

  Lachlan shrugged. “I’m not taking chances with a witch.”

  “But Zia is no witch.”

  “I know that now, but I would have had doubts once I heard that the whole village condemned her.”

  His brother’s words angered him and he was about to argue when he realized what Lachlan was saying. “You warn me that most think like you and trouble still brews for Zia.”

  “True enough, the clan will need to look out for her, but I was more concerned with your response to my even suggesting that your wife could be a witch. Your response was sensible.”

  “You would have preferred for me to knock you on your ass?”

  Lachlan grinned. “That would have been passion.”

  Chapter 20

  Two days had gone by since Zia made use of Biddie’s cottage. No sooner had she gotten the cottage cleaned and ready than people started arriving, most of them with minor ailments that could be taken care of easily enough. When word spread about how much better Honora was feeling, the pregnant women in the village descended on Zia’s doorstep.

  She focused on her work while immersed in it, but otherwise couldn’t help but think about Artair. It was an effort then to push such thoughts away so he wouldn’t plague her every moment of the day and night.

  She had been disappointed when he didn’t follow her to the cottage the day they’d argued. She had hoped he would, even if it meant continuing to argue, but he hadn’t. And that night, again to her disappointment, they had no time to discuss love or passion, because she was summoned to deliver a babe that in the end decided it wasn’t time to be born after all.

  Artair’s approach to their situation remained sensible. He kept to his side of the bed, while she didn’t. He acted like a dutiful and attentive husband, while she did as she pleased. It was not an intolerable situation. On the contrary, it was fast becoming comfortable, safe, and loving, as if the two of them had been together for years rather then months.

  “I’ve come to walk you home,” Artair said, ducking as he entered the short, open doorway and easing around the table. “Are you certain this space is not too small for you?”

  “It will do. I won’t be here that long.” She was glad to see him, but then, she was always glad to see him.

  “Still, I would prefer that you were comfortable and had sufficient room,” he said, and moving behind her, inched his arms slowly around her waist until they hooked in front of her, then he settled her close against him.

  He was forever affectionate, his arms always going around her, his lips pecking her cheek, her neck, or stealing a kiss. The other night, when she was kept late at the cottage of a young lad with an ailing stomach, he had waited outside for her, and afterward they walked to the keep hand in hand. He had stopped, and under the brilliant moonlight kissed her, and she’d welcomed it. She had actually ached for it.

  It had been an amazing kiss, and it lingered on her lips for hours and tingled her senses far longer.

  Now when he took her in his arms, she thought of that kiss, deep and lazy and loving, and she wished for more.

  “The cottage is fine for now,” she said, wishing he would remark on her obvious intention to leave.

  Didn’t he care? Didn’t he want her to stay? He hadn’t mentioned love again since they’d argued. And she was too stubborn to be the one to broach the subject. He was the one who had asked the question, after all. If he cared enough, he would pursue it. Wouldn’t he? She wanted to cry out in frustration. She had no experience when it came to falling in love. She only knew she had these crazy feelings rushing and twisting inside her, and that they grew more maddening whenever she was with him.

  She felt Artair blend against her as if becoming part of her, and she hoped he would kiss her. Good heavens, but she wanted him to kiss her.

  He is good for you.

  Her grandmother’s voice reminded her, and while grateful for that, she didn’t need it. She knew as much herself. Artair demonstrated his considerate nature every day. It was his unbridled passion she wished to see. Or was she looking for a hint of love? Just once she wanted him to do something completely illogical, when it came to her.

  Suddenly feeling the need to demonstrate her own passion, she turned in his arms and whispered across his lips, “I want you to kiss me.”

  Without a word, he obliged, sweeping her mouth with his in a kiss that made her legs tremble and toes tingle as she melted in his arms. Lord, but the man could kiss. His kiss consumed and completed and made her want more, so much more.

  She rested her cheek to his chest and splayed her hand over his heart. She thought she felt it thump strongly. Could it be thumping loudly for her?

  “I love your kisses,” she said softly, and thought she felt a quickening of his muscles. But it was only for a mere second, and she dismissed it, thinking her mind played tricks on her, while wishing that it hadn’t.

  “I love kissing you,” he said, and gently skimmed his lips over hers. “Whether tender or passionate, every kiss stirs my soul.”

  Her heart soared along with her smile. “There you go being romantic again.”

  “One reason I would make a good husband.”

  She inched out of his arms reluctantly and could feel that he let her go with reluctance. She walked around the table, gathering items as she went, and when she stood opposite him, said, “Tell me other reasons you would make a good husband, and not the obvious ones.”

  “Protecting you, then, would be one of the obvious ones.”

  She nodded. “I’ve heard it enough. Tell me something different.”

  She waited, thinking he was stumped and feeling a sense of disappointment when he finally replied.

 
“You fit perfectly in my arms. I feel complete when I hold you, as if part of me has returned and I am finally whole.”

  He expressed beautifully what she felt herself, and it stole her breath away.

  “A good reason?” he asked when she didn’t respond.

  She nodded and in a bare whisper said, “Another reason.”

  “We make good bed partners,” he said with a grin. “I love that you can’t stay to your side of the bed and that you are all over me throughout the night.”

  She chuckled, since that morning she woke wrapped around him, and he had made a hasty exit out of bed under the pretense of meeting with Cavan. She recalled how empty the bed felt without him. Or had it been that she felt empty without him?

  “Finished,” she said, dropping the last of the items she held in a basket on the table. “We can go now.” She didn’t want to hear any more reasons that he’d make a good husband. The two he’d cited were reason enough, besides loving his kisses, and the way he held her, and the way he worried over her safety, and, damn…

  She hurried out of the cottage, her thoughts chasing after her.

  Damn, she loved him.

  She’d known it for a while, though refused to acknowledge it to herself. She had never been drawn as swiftly to a man as she had to Artair. He’d been right—they made each other feel whole. It was simple—they had been made for each other.

  Then why was she annoyed? Isn’t that what she wanted, a man made expressly for her, and her for him? Even though he was too sensible at times, he’d proved he was romantic, so he surely possessed the passion to love. But was it an everlasting love passion, or merely a random passion?

  She jumped, startled, when Artair draped her shawl across her shoulders.

  “You need this with autumn in the air.”

  Zia tied the ends tightly together and took his arm with a smile. She didn’t want him to know that thoughts of him and of love disturbed her. She needed to work this out for herself, make sense of it all, and—She almost muttered beneath her breath.