Under the Highlander's Spell(74)

Artair shot daggers at him with his eyes.

Lachlan grabbed his chest. “Damn, but if you could kill with looks, would I be dead.”

“Watch it,” Artair cautioned.

“I’m trying to help, if you’d just hear me out.”

“By telling me my wife is passionate?”

“Yes! Zia is passionate about life. You can see it in everything she does. In her work, when she talks, when she laughs—”

Artair grinned though barely. “Her laughter is unbelievably sensual.”

“Damn right.”

Artair shot him another murderous look.

Lachlan threw his hands up. “Sorry, but you need to really know Zia to deal with her.”

“I do know her. She’s obstinate, insistent, inflexible—”

Lachlan interrupted. “You’re repeating your—”

Artair’s icy glare shut him up. “How? How do you deal with a pigheaded woman?”

“You’re asking the wrong question.”

“Really, almighty know-it-all of women?”

Lachlan bowed. “At your service.”

“Tell me what question I should be asking?”

Lachlan obliged. “How do you deal with a passionate woman?”

“And pray tell, how do you deal with a passionate woman?”

“Brother, brother, brother,” Lachlan said shaking his head and slapping Artair on the back. “Need I detail it?”

Artair curled his hand into a tight fist. “So help me, Lachlan…”

Lachlan leaned in close and whispered as if the answer was a secret. “You deal with her passionately.”





Chapter 26




Zia thought over the situation and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t find anyway to be practical. It just wasn’t in her to do it. She was who she was and Artair had to accept her that way or a marriage could never work between them. She loved who she was and she had worked hard to be who she was in spite of obstacles along the way.

Besides, she couldn’t live without the zest that claimed her every day. Sunrise always brought with it a joy, a thrill that she embraced and gave thanks for. Her grandmother had taught her that each new morn was a gift to be unwrapped and cherished. She had never forgotten that, and each day she unwrapped her gift, she appreciated it more and more.

Her grandmother would also tell her that she was being stubborn, that if she wished Artair to accept her for who she was, then why not accept him for who he was? But in a way, wasn’t she? After all, she loved him and did not plan to simply walk away because at times he could be a practical fool. She knew that about him and loved him anyway. Just as she knew he loved her, but could he truly accept who she was? She had easily voiced her love for him, and he had yet to voice his. She wondered how he would choose to do so. Or did she doubt that he would?

She chuckled at the question. He loved her—of that she had no doubt—and when the time was right for him, he would seize the moment and claim his love.

Would it be enough?

Her own query startled her.

Why wouldn’t it be enough? Was it because he would see the rational side of their union    , while she was looking for him to see…what? The miracle of it all? He had rescued her from a burning stake, and though he had done it for his own reasons, he had never stopped protecting her from the moment he freed her. He took hold of her and never let go.

To her, he had proven a hero beyond measure and a man she could easily love.

Night was falling and the air grew cold. A storm was brewing off the coast, the waves more vicious than usual, and a constant mist blew in off the sea. She was glad for the warmth of her wool cloak on her walk to the keep. She wasn’t looking forward to the evening meal, would much prefer to isolate herself this evening, to tuck herself away from questions and demands and worries of her own. Or better still a birth that would occupy her mind leaving no time to think.

She stopped and stared up at the sky, which had darkened, the mist kissing her face. “Send me a joyful birth so I may have peace this night.”

Her wish was granted as she reached the keep stairs, an urgent plea from a young lad to help his mother, who was writhing in pain.

She was familiar with Jonas, barely six, and his mother Dora, who was expecting her fourth child. No amount of reassurance helped the worried lad, and after stopping at her cottage for her healing basket, Zia hurried with the lad to his home.

Dora was doing fine, each of her babes having been delivered without a problem. Zia was more concerned for her young son, who felt sure his mother was dying.

“Your mum is doing fine, Jonas. There is nothing to worry about. But I need a favor from you now that I am here to take care of her.”