Under the Highlander's Spell(73)

She didn’t like hearing the disappointment in his voice. She liked even less that he challenged her on it. “You don’t trust that what I tell you is true?”

He looked startled. “It is you who does not trust me. Cavan tells me to speak with you for he believes that a good wife would keep nothing from her husband. He has given you a chance to confide in me, and if I deem the information useful, I can share it with him. If not, he knows that it is not significant, and the news remains between you and me.”

“I am not your wife,” she said sadly, not wishing to hurt him.

“You are in all ways but one,” he said. “Exchange vows with me and be done with it.”

“I will not wed a man whose proposal holds no passion.” She turned and hurried from the keep, not stopping until she was past the village, at the moor. She stopped to look out over the expanse of empty land, and realized that was how she felt at this moment—empty.

If he had uttered one word of love to her, she might have considered his proposal. After all, she did love the sensible fool. But he’d made no mention of it, and that hurt her heart. She had blurted out her love for him, and in front of his mother. It needed saying or she would have exploded with the joy of it. She needed to say it, hear it spill from her lips.

Of course, she could have waited until they were alone. But no! She wasn’t afraid of someone hearing her declare her love for Artair. Why should she? Love should be shouted from the highest hill and echoed through the valleys and over the dales. Love should not be confined or tucked away to bring out at the appropriate time.

“Love is magical,” she chuckled. She probably would be accused of casting love spells if anyone heard her. But wasn’t it she under Artair’s spell, and hadn’t that been true from the start?

She had felt the magic between them from the very first moment their eyes met. They couldn’t have fought it if they had tried, and she hadn’t wanted to. She had wanted to see where it would take her.

She had fallen so easily under the Highlander’s spell and she didn’t care, because she knew she wove her own spell, like so many women before her. This rift between them could not be allowed to grow. They would have to discuss it, but not now, perhaps later, when they both had time to think and reason. She laughed. Artair reasoned all the time, perhaps she should learn something from him and apply reason to this matter and see what happened.

She would have loved to walk the moor, but had work to do and had to be sensible. She laughed again as she turned and walked to her cottage shaking her head.



Artair’s naked chest glistened with sweat, his hands ached, and still he swung his sword, taking down his third opponent.

“Who’s next?” he asked, challenging the warriors who stood in a circle around him.

“None are foolish enough to practice with a crazed man,” Lachlan called out, and entered the circle to throw him his shirt.

Artair flung the shirt over his shoulder and watched the warriors disperse. “You chase them away.”

Lachlan laughed. “It is you who frighten them off. You’re like a madman with your sword today, which can only mean that you fought with your wife, and why only the single warriors were fool enough not to recognize the signs and agreed to practice with you.”

“Shut up,” Artair said and walked over to the water bucket and drank from the dipper.

“I knew I was right,” Lachlan said with glee.

Artair dumped a full ladle over his head, feeling a sense of relief as the cool water trickled down his face and onto his chest.

“Good idea. Cool your anger,” Lachlan said, braced against a thick tree trunk with his arms crossed. “So what did you do to incur your wife’s wrath?”

“You’re asking for it, Lachlan,” Artair warned, brandishing the ladle like a weapon.

His brother held up his hands. “Don’t take it out on me. I’m only trying to help.”

“How? By aggravating me even more?”

“No, by pointing out that you’re allowing your anger to get the better of you, when you usually handle problems with calm sensibility.”

“How can you be sensible with a woman who refuses to listen to reason?” Artair asked, running his fingers through his wet hair.

Lachlan looked ready to laugh.

“Don’t dare!” Artair warned, swinging the ladle at him.

Lachlan wisely hid his chuckle.

Artair dropped the dipper in the bucket and shook his head. “I don’t know how to make her see reason.”

“Zia doesn’t strike me as a reasonable woman.”

“No kidding,” Artair said.

“But you sure can see the passion in her.”