Highland Mist (6 page)

Her soft laughter floated around the room. “I think I could sleep right here if only the water would stay hot.”

This conversation was getting out of control, but apparently he was the only one who thought so. He turned his gaze to the floor. “I just came to see how you were faring.”

“You shouldn’t be in here. Not while I’m at my bath.”

Finally a sane thought
. “I wondered if the wine had sped common sense from you.”

She laughed again, the sound bringing a small tilt to his own lips. “I’ve never drank so much wine before, and I don’t think I shall again. I’m fairly certain I should be demanding that you leave immediately.”

“And why aren’t you?” What devil prodded him to ask that he would never know, but now that it was asked, he wanted to know the answer.

She sighed and put a hand to her forehead. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her eyes leaving his, but not before he saw the desolation.

He wanted the mischievous grin back, but he had a feeling she was sobering rapidly.

“Am I to be kept in this room?”

He raised his eyes to find her gaze on him. “If I wanted to imprison you, I’d have put you in the dungeon. I’m not a monster.”

“I know. I simply wanted to know of your plans.”

He shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t thought about it really, but I don’t plan to confine you to this chamber.”

“What if I told you I wanted to explore outside the castle walls?” she asked, and leaned up.

For a moment he forgot to breathe, forgot her question, forgot everything except the water that beaded on her heated skin and rolled down her bare neck and shoulders. He wanted to follow those droplets with his tongue and nibble her skin while she squirmed beneath him.

He blinked and focused back on her face. “If you want to explore, then I’ll take you.”

A bright smile illuminated her face. “Really?”

“Aye.”

“Would it be sacrilege if I said I didn’t want to be returned to MacNeil?”

“No one wants to be returned to a monster, even if that monster is one’s father.”

She pulled her knees up and wrapped her slender arms around her legs. “You have much hatred for MacNeil. Tell me what he’s done.”

“You’ll learn a lot about your clan while here.” His body burned hotter with every inch of skin exposed. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand there without yanking her from the tub and tasting her.

“Clans are always at each other’s throats and stories get distorted.”

“We don’t lie,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He couldn’t blame her. He had been thinking the same thing. Still it stung.

“All I know is this feud has gone on for generations. Who even knows how it began?”

“I know,” he said, and watched her eyes grow round. “As you’ll soon find out. Your father took the feud to a new level when he became laird.”

“How?”

He heard the fear in her voice, but he couldn’t stop the truth from leaving his lips.

“He isn’t called a butcher for nothing.”

Glenna sat back in the water after Conall departed and thought over his words. Her mind buzzed with questions about her father and clan, but she really didn’t want to know. If what Conall said was true, then it was no wonder his clan had such hatred for her.

The peace of the water eluded her as her wine-addled brain sobered. She stepped out of the now-tepid water and quickly dried off. The heat of the fire kept the chill from sinking into her bones but not from her soul.

What had prompted her to act like the wanton? She could blame it on the wine, but if she were honest, she would admit to liking the fire that kindled in Conall’s eyes.

Now that the wine was wearing off, she was mortified at what she had done. When she turned back to the bed it was to find a simple white nightgown lying at the foot. She hobbled to the bed and wiggled into the gown.

She had just sat down when she noticed a small blue jar sitting beside the bathtub. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. With a sigh she stood and slowly made her way back to the tub. With great effort she bent down and retrieved the jar. Once she was again seated, she opened it.

Inside she found a brownish-colored cream. She sniffed and the smell of mint filled her senses. It was a healing cream she held, and there was only one thing wrong with her. With a shrug, she pushed up the hem of her gown and rubbed the cream into her legs.

After her legs had been thoroughly doused with the cream, Glenna began to feel restless. It was a strange feeling since she was used to long periods in her chamber at home, but here it was different. Ever since she had left MacNeil Castle, she had had an unmistakable sense that there was magic surrounding this land.

Whatever it was must be absent from her home. She chuckled, the sound bouncing off the walls in the chamber. She stood and found her legs didn’t ache as they had just a short while ago.

The window beckoned and she peered outside. The night cascaded with stars as clouds fluttered across the moon’s path. A flash caught her attention. It was outside the castle walls in the forest. She strained to find it, and was about to give up when she saw it.

It was a light so bright it shown white in its intensity. It wasn’t large, no larger than a man, but Glenna still couldn’t make out what it was.

Magic
, the night seemed to whisper.

Aye, it was probably magic, for it had been magic that brought Iona to her and freed her from MacNeil. A special magic beat in the heart of Scotland, and she wondered why it was so strong here and nonexistent at MacNeil’s?

Regardless, she was determined to find out what the white light was and delve deeper into the mystery of this magic land.

* * * * *

The two Druids stared at the castle. “Did it work?” the man asked. “Did she see?”

“Aye, Frang,” the woman answered. “She’s come home at last.”

They turned when the Fae being approached them. “You don’t have much time.”

“Glenna will be ready, Aimery,” the woman stated.

Aimery smiled. “Glenna already feels the magic here. She will come to you eagerly, Moira. Make sure she learns all that she needs to know for MacNeil will challenge her.”

Frang shifted and peered again at the castle. “How much do you think we should tell her about her parents?”

“Nothing,” Moira hurriedly answered. “Not yet.”

“She needs to know,” Aimery said. “Without that knowledge, she cannot battle the evil.”

“Then she will know,” Frang said, and put his hand on Moira’s shoulder.

“Until next time,” Aimery said, and disappeared in a flash.

“Moira,” Frang began, but she shook her head.

“I don’t want her to know.”

“She must,” Frang insisted. “The Fae know much more than we do. It’s they who bestowed Glenna her powers. Who are we to question them?”

“Who indeed?” Moira repeated while she stared at the castle. “She watches us even now though she cannot see.”

“She sees what the Fae want her to see.”

Chapter Five

The next day Conall strode into Glenna’s chamber and said in no uncertain terms, “You’ll spend the day by my side.”

“By your side?” she asked stupidly when he handed her a simple yellow gown. “You’re laird and have many things to do. The last thing you need is to have me in the way.”

“It’ll get your legs moving to work out the soreness, and my clan will become accustomed to seeing you.”

She opened her mouth to protest but quickly closed it.

He raised a black eyebrow. “Have you something to say?”

Her throat tightened. Would he punish her as MacNeil did for speaking her mind? It was a chance she wanted, nay needed, to take. With her heart in her throat, she said boldly, “I’d prefer to spend the day in my chamber.”

“And I’d prefer you with me. I’m concerned about your safety.”

“In other words, you don’t trust your clan?”

“I trust them with my life.” He paused and crossed his arms over his chest. “However, their minds are clouded with hate and they will turn it on you.”

“While your clan will see me I’ll be with you so you can protect me.”

A slow, sensual smile crept across his face. She was sure that smile had left many a maiden with broken hearts.

“Aye,” he said. “But there’s one catch.”

The grin she had worn slipped. Why must there be some sort of catch. Here she thought he might be a good man who had her welfare in mind. He lowered his arms and stared at her fixedly, his silver orbs fierce and uncompromising. She knew whatever he had to say would be final and no amount of arguing would budge him.

“Keep the MacNeil plaid if you must, but you won’t wear it here.”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected to be asked so little. Setting aside the MacNeil plaid wouldn’t be difficult since she had never been a part of the clan. Actually, she was grateful to set it aside. She had wanted away from that clan for many a year. She had the chance and wasn’t about to pass it up.

“I’m asking this for your benefit,” he continued, unaware that she had eagerly set aside the plaid. “My people react harshly to the sight of the MacNeil colors.”

Let him think she wanted to keep it, she thought. He was making this very easy on her, but was it in her best interest to let him know that? “Give me a moment to change.”

He stopped and pointed to the blue jar. “Where did you get that?”

“I don’t know. I thought you brought it. I found it after my bath last eve.”

He shook his head but said no more about the jar. He stepped out of her chamber and she quickly shed the MacNeil plaid, folded it and placed it in the small chest in the corner.

She slid the gown over her head and was surprised to find it nearly fit her perfectly. It was just a wee tight across her chest. It was also a little long, but she could tell it had been hemmed.

It wouldn’t be difficult to keep from stepping on the lovely gown. It wasn’t new, but she was determined to make sure it was returned to the owner in this same condition.

She took one step, expecting her muscles to scream in agony, but there was only tightness with slight soreness. Whatever was in that jar worked wonders to work out the stiffness, she thought.

With a shaky breath, she masked her pain and opened the chamber door to find Conall lounging against the opposite wall as if he had all the time in the world. He nodded his approval and held out his arm.

She noted his wound had been tended and it didn’t seem to bother him in the least.

“Who do I thank for lending me this gown?” she asked as they began to descend the stairs.

“Iona.”

Glenna’s knees buckled. She briefly saw the stairs fast approaching, but her mind had frozen at hearing Iona’s name. Strong hands grabbed hold of her waist and jerked her up. Her breath stopped as she looked into his silver depths.

“Are you all right?” he asked, a mixture of irritation and concern in his voice.

She swallowed hard and nodded.

“I forgot about your legs,” he said, and wrapped an arm around her for support.

She hastily blinked away her tears and continued down the stairs, her mind turning to Iona. Their time together had been brief, but they had become fast friends. But she wasn’t given long to reflect on her days with Iona as she entered the hall with Conall. His soldiers turned and stared angrily at her.

She waited to feel their hate. Her lungs squeezed, but it wasn’t near as debilitating as before. She contributed it to the fact she wasn’t wearing the MacNeil plaid, either that or the fierce scowl on Conall’s face. It didn’t matter what stopped them, she was just delighted that something worked.

Conall didn’t stay long in the hall and ushered her outside. Once they were in the bailey, he placed her next to the wall. “Stay here,” he ordered, and turned to begin to practice with his soldiers.

She became mesmerized by the play of his muscles in the morning sunlight as he swung his sword as if it were an extension of his arm. He moved with the grace of a horse and the strength of a lion.

It took only seconds to best his men yet there were no harsh feelings when he did. She couldn’t stand there and not compare this training to MacNeil soldiers. There, the MacNeil commanders would ridicule and torment anyone who couldn’t disarm them.

There was hardly a day that went by that a soldier wasn’t killed during their so-called training. Her legs began to ache from standing so long. She slowly lowered herself to the ground with the help of the wall and was surprised to find this gave her a better view of Conall.

The sound of someone approaching drew her attention. She grudgingly dragged her gaze from Conall to find a very old man standing beside her. His beard was matted and what hair was left on his head was solid white. He had also seen battle by the scar that ran across his face. She followed the scar and found half his ear gone.

“Like that scar, do ye?” he asked, a sneer on his wrinkled face, showing toothless gums.