Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends, Book 1) (11 page)

Brigid didn’t respond. Outside the tent, a boy shouted hello to her as he walked by the entrance. She waved to him.

“Do you know what the wall does?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I was born in the castle. The wall has always been there. I played in the room as a young child, but plannin’ and war strategizin’ is not for me. Those things doona interest a lass who runs through the grass collectin’ flowers.”

I persisted. “What about a box of the same sparkling material? Have you seen the box?”

“Aye,” she replied. “’Tis held in an outer room next to the keep.”

“But .
 . . do you know what it does? How it works?” I pressed.
Is it tied to the wall that came alive?
I didn’t want to interrogate her, but in my first chance to ask anyone, I determinedly seized the moment.

“Nay. The box is important to our clan. The wall protects us. ’Tis all I know.”

I pondered her statement.
The wall protects them. How?
“The ceiling above the great hall has the same kind of stone,” I mumbled to myself, working through my thoughts.

She heard and responded. “Aye. The box, the map room, the great hall, and the wall all have the same stone.”

Brigid popped up and grabbed a piece of cheese from the table. She held the white wedge between her teeth as she awkwardly dragged a chair to the tent entrance.

Spectators filed back to their tents. With the rectangular arrangement around the field, everyone had a great view from the shade of their own canopy.

“Wait, you said the map room and the wall. Aren’t they one in the same?” I’d thought she’d repeated herself.

“Nay. The map room has a wall made of the stone. Our curtain wall has the same stone in large pillars at the corner points .
 . .” Brigid’s voice trailed off as she turned and sat in her front row seat.

The blare of a horn sounded the start of the events, marking the end of our conversation; however, my tireless quest for the unearthing the truth had only just begun.

CHAPTER
Nine

For the third time in under an hour, the piercing ring of swordplay dragged my troubled mind from pondering new secrets. I focused once again on a competition that I would’ve given a vital organ to attend a few short days ago. Our tent’s prime location afforded us an unparalleled view of the action, and I trained my gaze to Iain as I effortlessly jumped back into spectator mode.

Iain arced his enormous sword high in the air and dropped it onto his opponent’s blade, sending another clash echoing into the courtyard. The brave young warrior fighting him took a step back from the brutal force of the impact.

I’d imagined as laird Iain would’ve assumed a role as overseer, but he participated in every event. Past experience should have warned me that his well-deserved pride dictated his actions. In
California, among a class of men striving to be his peers, he’d surpassed every competitor. In the Highlands, with warriors living and breathing battle readiness at their core, he stood out even among his equals.

The man’s shirtless body, coupled with his prowess on the training field, did not disappoint. Iain wielded the claymore against his opponent as if he waved off a fly. I focused on every double-handed stroke he made as the bronzed muscles of his back flexed, glistening in the sun.

It astounded me that someone who employed brute force and aggression in a fight could caress skin with a butterfly’s touch and ignite blast-furnace heat with a whisper. Iain’s many intriguing facets attracted me on a level I hadn’t expected. The girl who’d spent a life searching for mysteries buried deep in the past had found a new challenge: unraveling what made up the essence of a man.

A horn blared, ending their match. Iain strode over to the area on the side where his guard sat, but his intense stare was pinned on me. I bit my lip, unable to contain how my heart raced with every penetrating look.

No longer hell-bent on schemes to make Iain compete for my attention, my nonstop brain had thought the tournament would be a perfect distraction for exploring the castle grounds to discover more about Iain and his people. However, the excellent idea had turned impossible with Iain’s possessive glances toward me at the beginning and end of each event. Brigid’s constant company was another snooping obstacle. With a mutual interest in watching our men compete, I gained no new knowledge from her, our conversation remaining superficial and brief.

Gloaming painted the sky in muted bluish grays as my eyelids grew heavy from the long day. I nestled into an inviting, pillow-filled corner next to an already-napping Brigid.

Dimly aware, I felt soft lips brush across mine. My lids fluttered open, and I saw Iain grinning at me through my drowsy haze. I smiled, closing my eyes on a sigh.

Iain’s soothing voice whispered into my ear, “Sleep, my beauty. We’re goin’ to bathe down at the stream. Seamus’ll stay with you both.” I snuggled deeper into the pillows, his soft-spoken words floating into my dreams.

* * *

A dark tent startled me to full attention. I patted around for my companion, wondering why Iain had left us alone so long. Brigid squealed at my frantic prodding.

“Isobel, och! What’re you doin’?”

I laughed. “Waking you up, apparently. Where is everyone?”

Lights flickered across the courtyard and soft orange glowed from along either side of our tent. My eyes adjusted to the darkness in ours as I pulled Brigid up from our impromptu bed.

She shrugged. “Let’s go find out.”

We stepped out into a torch-lit fantasy. Seamus stood guard at the entrance, nodding once as we passed. A crowd had gathered at the base of the keep, where tables covered in food had been arranged. Iain stood among a large group of his guard on the far side of the banquet.

Brigid yanked my arm, the rest of my body jerking to follow with no other choice. “Come,
sister
, we need to change.”

Less than thirty minutes later, we emerged from the front of the great hall and stepped into a scene bursting with life. Bagpipes played, people danced, and ale flowed freely. Small groups sat around long tables eating. Most of the men stood, talking animatedly, many with a drumstick in one hand and drink in the other. The delicious aroma of savory meats and baked desserts made my mouth water, but after grazing on the rich buffet in Iain’s tent all afternoon, I wasn’t hungry.

The familiar faces of Robert, Duncan, and Gawain approached us right as I spotted Iain and Fingall talking with two of the newest recruits for their coveted guard. They stood a dozen yards away from us in the center of a pressing crowd of admiring women.

Gawain deposited his goblet on the table and stepped close to me, grasping my hands, pulling them wide. “Isobel, you’re the bonniest lass here tonight.” He glanced at Brigid standing right next to me and valiantly corrected himself. “Second only to the fair Brigid, of course.”

I laughed at Brigid’s eye roll. “Thank you, Gawain.”

“One need not be bonnier than the other,” Robert interjected, then took a hearty swallow from his cup. “The two are the only lasses I want to lay eyes on, this fine night.”

Duncan threw an arm around Robert, snickering. “
Only
your eyes, Robert? Can you look without actually touchin’?”

A moment’s silence passed before we all burst out laughing.

My cheeks cramped as I enjoyed the drunken men harassing each other. Gawain leaned in. “You’re not wearin’ our plaid.”

I looked down at my beautiful scarlet gown, running my fingers over the plush velvet, then glanced at Brigid, who wore her clan plaid neatly draped over her gown. “No, I suppose not.” Brigid hadn’t said anything, and I hadn’t wanted to fuss with it upstairs.

“Och, no matter,” Gawain retorted. “You’ll be one of us soon enough.”

“Aye, but to which of us will she belong?”
Duncan posed.

As if on cue, Robert and Duncan pressed in, countering Gawain’s closeness by asserting their interest. Surprised, I stepped back, increasing my personal space from the sudden onslaught of men.

Duncan lifted a goblet of ale to his mouth, but I swiped it from his hand and swallowed down the entire cup before taking a breath. Stone-cold sober Isobel was about to become toast.

I handed the cup back, squinting at the threesome as they gawked at my boldness. “I belong to the man of my choosing.” I gave the solid statement before I lost my filter and my inhibitions.

Robert grinned. “She’ll need a man who knows how to handle a woman.” He stared intensely at me. “Isobel, I’d have you screamin’ my name into the night.”

I glanced toward Brigid. Unfortunately, I’d lost my backup to a group of nearby women. Uncertain how to respond, I grabbed Robert’s ale and drank his very full cup.

Duncan clapped Robert so hard on the back, he stumbled forward. I took another step back. “Robert, you’ve handled every woman willin’ and able to be handled . . . again . . . and again. How could you ever be satisfied handlin’ only one?”

Robert’s smile fell from his face at
Duncan’s question. I bit my lip, restraining laughter, watching Robert seriously ponder the dilemma.

Duncan
shoved Robert behind him. “I, fair lass, would show you what it means to be loved. While my beddin’ talents have always been prized, I’d be loyal to you.”

Gawain’s deep chuckle resonated out. He placed a hand between my shoulder blades, turned me, and guided me through the crowd. I glanced over my shoulder. The two abandoned men stared at us for mere seconds before a bevy of women eagerly occupied the vacuum we’d left. Available warriors were on the menu tonight. The way the meat-market crowd rotated partners, tonight seemed like an early predecessor of speed dating.

“Doona pay them any mind. Their blusterin’ is not without merit, but how can you choose a man on claims alone? You need to see for yourself whether a man is worthy of you.”

I stopped, searching Gawain’s dark eyes. He’d spoken as if he’d read my whirling mind. “Exactly,” I replied. I looped my hand in his elbow as we wandered toward a thinner crowd. “I’ve not had enough time to decide my perfect match.”

The one who spoke to my heart.

One romantic date with a man claiming to be my soul mate did not eternal love make. Was I attracted to Iain? Absolutely. Did feelings tug at my heart? Definitely. But I wanted a fire burning so hot for a man that I couldn’t breathe without him. With so many shocking things happening at once, in the struggle to adjust, I hadn’t even had time to miss the man supposedly destined for me.

Or
. . .
had I?

The half-dozen times I’d searched for Iain in the crowd tonight certainly counted for something. The more I questioned
do I
. . .
or don’t I
. . . the more confusion reigned.

Gawain stopped and looked down at me. “Time is somethin’ you doona have, but I’m a patient and kind man. Like Robert, I’ll help you discover the passionate woman inside you. Like
Duncan, I’d be loyal to our bed and our marriage. But unlike them both, I’d listen to you, share stories of my adventures, and seek to fill our house with laughter and love.”

I grasped his forearms, looking up into the eyes of a man promising the world from any woman’s perspective. Gawain’s vision of marriage bore as close a resemblance to a modern-day equality of partners as I’d ever hoped to get in a medieval world.

I realized that I had no idea what kind of husband Iain wanted to be with his wife. Our heated chemistry melted every thought in my head anytime we were together, making it impossible to formulate the question, let alone ask it.

Gawain suddenly dropped his lips to my mouth in a tender chaste kiss. I had no time to react. He lingered for a moment, then broke contact, lifting his face from mine. His weak smile said it all: there’d been no spark. He raised his eyebrows optimistically despite the lackluster connection. I shook my head, shrugging.

Memories of the passionate fire that had sizzled with Iain’s kisses flooded into my mind, followed by hope that Iain would be everything his men had promised to be as husbands . . . and more.

Brigid barged in between us, and Gawain stumbled back, gaping at her.

“Isobel, I’ve been lookin’ for you. So has Iain. Off with you, Gawain.” She shooed away the man larger than her by half. “Go find your men and get drunker.”

Gawain laughed and winked at me. On a turn, he disappeared into the crowd.

“Fingall—” Brigid paused, catching her breath. “We’ve been handfasted.”

“Handfasted?” I stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, murmuring, “Are you not to be married tomorrow?”

Her brow furrowed. “Nay. Seamus and Gawain leave with him tonight. They’re to resolve a dispute between two clans about their border lands.”

The crowd milled around us as we talked. I faced her, squeezing her upper arms. “He asked, though. And you accepted?”

“Aye, I did.” A broad grin returned to her face, flashing her cute dimple.

I hugged her. “Of course you did. I’m thrilled for you.”

My heart twinged with a touch of envy. She’d had years to discover the right man for her. Brigid knew what she wanted, and she had known it for a long time. Time for me had become a lost luxury . . . and a bane to my existence.

“Och, I’ve to tell Agnes.” Brigid darted away.

I tried to follow her, but my body got tossed and turned through a tight mob of people until I ended up at the edge of the crowd near the isolated tents. The peaceful quiet of the crisp night air lured me away from the noise, smoke, and frenzy. With lazy steps, I strolled along the perimeter, staying in the torchlight, casting occasional glances at the crowd a dozen yards away.

I enjoyed the accidental solitude, wondering about what would transpire tomorrow—my foretold wedding day. Not exactly what a girl dreams about: alone in the middle of someone else’s extended family. As if I would’ve had any family in attendance, anyway. The bittersweet memory of my
seanair
floated into my mind. The faded loss of my parents followed. An only child, orphaned by their tragic car accident, I didn’t harbor dreams of idyllic fairy-tale nuptials. No family would’ve ever been on my side of the aisle.