Under the Highlander's Spell Read online

  “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.

  Chapter 4

  “What was that you said?” Artair asked. He stood beside his horse at the mouth of two mountains that looked almost as if they touched, though on closer inspection a trail that separated the two could be spied past the dense foliage.

  “Your men will have to wait here,” Zia repeated.

  “Why?”

  “They have no business in our village. Only those who have a reason for being there are allowed entrance.”

  Artair offered a sensible reason. “They are with me.”

  “But only you have business there.”

  He knew it wouldn’t sit well with his men for him to continue on without them, and he felt the same. They watched each others’ backs; in a sense, they were one.

  “We are family, of the same clan. It is all our business,” Artair said, confident he had settled the dilemma. His men nodded and smiled, showing the same confidence.

  Zia smiled graciously and shook her head. “Your men stay here and you go on with me, or I go on alone and you all take your leave.”

  “Who’s going to stop us from following?” James asked boldly.

  “The sentinels that surround you,” Zia answered calmly, and began walking toward the mouth of the two mountains.

  Artair remained as he was, but his men placed heavy hands on the hilts of their swords and their eyes went immediately to the trees. Zia didn’t break her stride, and Artair realized the choice was no longer his. He had to follow her and his traitorous dog.

  “Make camp here—”

  “You can’t mean—”

  Artair cut off James’s protest. “If this is the only way to see if my brother is in the village, then so be it. Make camp and remain alert. I will remain in touch. If you do not hear from me each day then know that something is amiss. John, you return to Caithness and advise Cavan of our whereabouts and circumstances, tell him to take no action until he hears from me.”

  John scratched his head. “I’m not sure if I can find my way back.”

  Zia, though a good distance away, stopped and turned. “I will have one of our men take you.”

  “You have exceptional hearing,” Artair said.

  Her lovely face brightened and soft laughter spilled from her rosy lips. “Most people hear only what they want to hear, while I want to hear everything. Do you wish John to leave now?”

  “I want him set to leave as soon as I have news of Ronan,” Artair said.

  She nodded, searched the treetops and gave a wave. Suddenly, a young lanky man with bow and arrow dropped to the ground. “Terrance, please wait here with these men and as soon as word is received, escort John to the main road.”

  “How will I find my way back?” John asked.

  “Someone will see you when you return along the main road and direct you here,” Zia said.

  Artair admired the way she seemed to have a solution to most situations. He prided himself on having the same ability and thought that perhaps she was more practical than she appeared.

  With everything settled, he followed Zia through the pass, his horse following behind him. It was a narrow passage, the entrance easily missed by the visible eye. A few feet ahead the mountain pass ended and they were greeted by a dense forest of trees, or at least he thought it was.

  A short distance into the forest a path led them directly to the village. He spied it just up ahead and he felt a sense of exhilaration mixed with fear. Shortly, the long, exhausting search for his brother could be over. He didn’t want to count on it, though. Too many times he had been disappointed following leads and information that proved false.

  He knew he had taken a chance freeing Zia, for she could have lied to gain her freedom, but it was a chance he was willing to take, had to take. Even if it proved false, he needed to know if his brother was there or had ever been there.

  The village Black welcomed them with open arms. Smiles shined on everyone’s faces, fields and gardens bloomed abundantly and everyone seemed generous with health.

  There was no keep; rather, cottages dotted the landscape, though there looked to be a large communal lodge at the far end of the village. He followed Zia to a good-sized cottage that appeared partially tucked in the edge of the woods.

  “Is this where my brother is?” he asked.

  “This is where I left him,” Zia said, and smiled. “It’s my grandmother’s home.”

  Her smile offered encouragement. Here, he knew, his brother would have found solace. It was a place of peace and healing. He could feel it, strange as it seemed, knew it deep inside.

  The door swung open and a tall, slim woman with long, pure white hair that hung in a braid over her chest and fell to her waist greeted them with a huge smile and arms spread wide.

  Zia rushed into them. “Grandmother,” she cried, hugging the woman tightly.

  Artair observed them. Zia’s grandmother appeared ageless. Few lines and wrinkles graced her lovely face, but not enough to determine age. It was as if each glance offered a different observation and by the time glances were done one could only assume the woman defied aging.

  “Welcome to village Black, Artair,” she said with an offered hand.

  Had Zia informed her of his name? He didn’t recall hearing her say it, but then, enthralled with the woman’s presence, perhaps he hadn’t heard.

  He reached out and accepted her welcome. “Thank you for having me to your village.”

  “Bethane,” she said, her smile growing. “My name is Bethane, and you are most welcome here. Come. You most be parched and hungry from your travels.”

  “Stay, Nessie,” Artair ordered, but the dog ignored him and followed Bethane into the cottage. “Nessie!”

  Bethane turned. “She’s welcome in my home.”

  Artair entered the cottage behind his dog and Zia, thinking Nessie definitely needed a firmer hand. He was amazed at the size, the room being large with beautifully crafted furnishings and pottery that were certainly crafted with a skilled hand.

  He gave Nessie a reproachful glare, but the dog just parked herself beside Bethane and ignored him.

  “Please sit,” Bethane said, extending her hand to a chair at the table in front of the hearth.

  Artair remained standing, wanting to see his brother. “Zia says my brother Ronan is here?”

  “He has left the village,” Bethane answered gently, and once again offered him a seat. This time he did.

  Zia was busy filling a pitcher with a brew from the caldron that hung over the flames when her grandmother said, with concern, “He was too ill to travel.”

  Artair looked to Bethane along with Zia. “Why did he leave?’

&
nbsp; “I do not know. He was gone when I woke one morning.”

  Artair felt the familiar punch of disappointment to his gut. He had hoped beyond reason that this time would be different, but in truth he wasn’t surprised that it hadn’t. It seemed too easy that he should enter a village and simply find his brother there.

  “I am sorry,” Zia said.

  Her apology was sincere. It was obvious she had expected to find Ronan there, which brought him some relief. She hadn’t lied to him.

  “When I left, he needed more time to recover,” Zia added.

  Artair could see worry written on her face as she occasionally gnawed at her plump lower lip. She obviously had reservations over Ronan’s departure.

  “I agree, but something continued to trouble him. I can only assume that was the reason for his departure,” Bethane said with her eyes on Artair.

  “He must have been well enough to leave, if he walked out on his own accord,” Artair said and knew his brother well enough to know it was the truth.

  “He was healing nicely,” Bethane said. “He was eating well, resting and growing stronger each day. He had improved greatly from when he first arrived.”

  Zia sighed. “I feel better knowing that.”

  Bethane placed a comforting hand on Artair’s arm. “I only wish I knew where he went. I can imagine how disappointing this is for you.”

  “I had hoped,” Artair said, and was suddenly struck by the resemblance between Bethane and Zia, elegant lines and angles with softness in every tender curve of their faces. It was as if the same craftsman carved them from the same stone, and Artair realized he was seeing for himself how beautifully Zia would age.

  Zia placed filled mugs and sweet bread with bramble jelly on the table. “I would have made him stay here until he was well enough to leave.”

  Bethane chuckled. “And for you, he probably would have stayed.”

  Artair bristled. “He found you appealing?”

  Zia looked affronted. “I was his healer.”

  Bethane smiled. “Most men find my granddaughter appealing. I believe it’s her passion for life that attracts them, though her exuberance could eventually wear a man down. It will take a special man to love her.”