Highlander Enchanted (29 page)

“Isabel,” Cade breathed. Heat lit his blood, and he was momentarily stuck staring at her figure, uncertain whether it was affection or fever that set him afire. Ready to protect a people she barely knew from danger, she rode between a man in black hood and Brian.

A solid punch knocked him off the horse. Cade landed with a grunt on the ground in the mud and glared up at Richard.

“Do
not
ever say her name again!” Richard snapped and swung down off his horse. “We will finish this now!”

“M’lord! ” one of the guards objected. “Laird Duncan –”

“Turn your backs or I will have your heads!”

The four Highlanders assigned to Cade glanced at one another before obeying.

Cade struggled up. Richard planted a foot against his shoulder and shoved him onto his back, a boot to the chest pinning Cade in place. Richard drew his sword and lifted it.

Lightning rippled overhead, and Cade calculated his chances of living through a direct strike, if he used the power to smash Richard. Unseillie magic bristled and tumbled within him, begging to be free, and black clouds formed directly overhead in response.

Sneering, Richard raised it and prepared to lop off Cade’s head. “When I have destroyed your clan and claimed my lands, I will –”

Before he could finish, he slumped and dropped onto his side, unconscious, beside Cade.

His seasoned master-at-arms, a man with bright blue eyes and a beard, lowered the sword in his hand. The hilt was bloodied from where he hit Richard, and his eyes were on Cade.

Cade scrambled off his back, into a kneeling position, waiting warily to see what the English knight would do.

“Did you speak the truth?” the knight demanded. “Does Lord John live?”

“I doona ken for certain. I left him alive in the dungeon.” Cade tugged the medallions free of his tunic with slow movements so as not to spook the edgy knight. “But I ken he would ne’er give this up willingly.”

The master-at-arms’ gaze was riveted to the medallions. “He and Richard served under me in the Crusades,” he said gruffly. “Lord John was the bravest, most honorable man I commanded, until he was lost in a Saracen battle our first months fighting. Lord Richard was sound with a sword but did not care for battle and was of little use. But, he appointed me master-at-arms upon my return and showed me great favor. It pains me to betray him, but it pains me more to betray a man as honorable as Lord John.”

“Ye betray him and his father by fighting his sister,” Cade replied.

The knight’s sword lowered. His gaze was troubled, distrusting of Cade yet torn by his sense of duty. “I stood by once when Lady Isabel was in danger,” he said finally. “I cannot do it again.” He offered Cade a hand and pulled him up.

Cade steadied himself and nodded. “I willna forget this.”

“I would hope not. I may have no home to return to after this.” A flicker of mirth was in the older man’s gaze.

One of the guards glanced back then whirled with a shout.

The master-at-arms shoved a sheathed short sword at Cade and whirled, slashing one challenger down before locking swords with the other. Battle lust flooded him, and Cade pushed his fatigued body to fight. He and the knight hacked through the guards and those allies who chose to remain rather than flee.

Breathless, Cade leaned heavily against the horse he had been riding.

The knight stood beside him, observing those in the valley.

All but Isabel and another warrior had left the ridge opposite them and barreled down into the valley, striking while the first line of Laird Duncan’s army was in disarray. Trees, rocks and mud continued to assist the seillie and MacDonald warriors. A low fog bloomed into existence suddenly and spread until it covered the entirety of the valley, blinding Cade’s enemies.

“This is not natural,” the knight muttered.

“’Tis not,” Cade agreed. He straightened, keen mind acknowledging the seillie tactics would work well for a quick battle, but they would need more than mud to drive Laird Duncan from their lands. “Ye ‘ave a name?”

“Geoffrey.”

“Cade.”

“Can you ride, Cade?”

He nodded and mounted his horse. Settling with the short sword in one hand, his gaze locked on Richard’s knights, headed up the opposite ridgeline towards Isabel and her single guardian. Fear tore through him, driving back his weariness.

“Ride, Geoffrey!” he said and kicked his heels into the horse’s sides.

Cade raced down the hill, whispering for the seillie magic of his clan not to impede his path. Boulders rolled away, and mud solidified into dirt beneath his horse’s hooves. The tree trunks had not made it this far down the valley, but the fog parted for him to pass through it.

Reaching the lines of Laird Duncan’s men, he began to hack and maneuver his way through the warriors, followed closely by Geoffrey. The fire of battle lust drove him beyond his exhaustion. The men of clans MacLachlainn and MacDonald fought a short distance ahead of them, striking Laird Duncan’s men under the cover of seillie treachery. Cade guided his horse with his knees in their direction. His short sword was light enough for his tired body to handle but also made it far more difficult to slay those before him. It did not sweep off men’s heads with one stroke. It barely kilt men with a single stab, and he was soon frustrated by the small weapon.

Reaching a pocket of quiet, Cade glanced up.

Isabel and her guardian were charging down the hill, fleeing the English knights pursuing her.

“Brian!” he bellowed and held his breath, uncertain where his cousin was on the battlefield.

“Yea!” the answer was faint, distant.

“Isabel!”

Cade plunged back into the battle, fixated on the scarlet cloak visible through the fog. Swords sliced his arms and legs, but he forced himself onward, maiming and killing as he went, unable to think of anything other than Isabel in danger.

A surge of Laird Duncan’s warriors fleeing boulders or mud or some other seillie treachery smashed into him and carried him away from Isabel, towards the center of the battle. Cade’s horse went down under the retreat of the panicked men. His own fall was broken by the body of a warrior, and Cade scrambled up quickly to avoid being stampeded. The wave of men slammed into another large group before stopping. Cade staggered and struggled to find his footing. His weapon was gone, and a quick look left him dismayed.

He was too far to help Isabel, whose attackers were closing in.

With a roar, he shoved those nearest him away and snatched a sword from the hand of a dead warrior, stumbling and fighting as he plummeted through the bodies towards the scarlet cloak. He scanned those between him and her with desperation, praying to find a familiar face. Blood poured into his eyes from a cut across his temple, and he swiped it away.

Fear and anger fed his strength, kept him on his feet when the muscles of his arms and legs burned and quaked. The shouts of men and clash of weapons faded until it was a dull roar, and all he heard was his haggard breathing.

He saw naught but the scarlet cloak and slashed at anything that came between him and it. His own body was beginning to slide from his control, and he stumbled often enough for new pain to shoot through him.

The scarlet cloak disappeared once, and he panicked, screaming for Isabel at the top of his lungs.

Onward he plowed through the men, driven by the madness and unseillie magic that were quickly becoming his only buffer against collapsing.

At long last, Cade broke free of the battle and sprinted. The fog cleared for him, displaying the scarlet cloak once more.

She was kneeling on the ground, surrounded by the English knights, with a furious Richard pacing before her.

Isabel disappeared from his view as another swarm of men came between them. Cade hacked and shoved his way through them, relying on brute force. He dropped to his knees as he emerged on the other side and struggled to catch his breath.

Forcing himself up, he became aware of the thunder, the slashes of lightning roaring behind him, the howl of wind that whipped the scarlet cloak of Isabel around her body. He was losing his bid for control over his unseillie magic, beginning to fall prey to the darkness and madness that waited for him at the edges of his mind.

As he watched, transfixed and helpless, too far to act, he saw Richard’s sword raise into the air and plunge downwards, severing the hooded head of Isabel from her body.

Fire surged through Cade, as if he had been struck by lightning. Unseillie power unfurled within him, and darkness robbed him of sight.

Black Cade emerged from the depths of his heart and mind, bearing unholy magic, sorrow and rage. Cade sank into himself and allowed his madness to take him.

Chapter Twenty Four

Two days without sleep, except for short naps atop the horse, rendered Isabel almost too tired to see straight. But the moment she witnessed the melee in the valley, cold fear drove off her fatigue and replaced it with familiar despair. She had traveled as fast as possible. Was she too late?

She stopped her horse at the top of the hill overlooking the valley, dismayed by all she saw. Laird Duncan’s men had swept down one side and the few MacLachlainn warriors – including her brother and Brian – down the other. Fog and magic created a chaotic display, and she was able to make out no one she knew or even who fought on what side. Laird Duncan had sent down an initial group of warriors and was preparing the bulk of his force to overrun the valley. All the fog in the world was not going to protect an army of a few dozen from one twenty times its size.

Niall reined in his horse beside hers. His breath caught.

“I cannot see John or Cade or Brian,” she said, distressed by the madness in the valley. She gripped the fur-lined, blue cloak – a gift from King John – to prevent the strong ocean breeze from whipping it around her.

“Cade is here.” Niall’s tone was hushed.

She realized he was not at all interested in the valley but staring into the sky. Black, roiling clouds laced with lightning were closing in from all sides, stretching from the earth to the sky.

“Is this … him?” she whispered.

“This is how Black Cade destroyed five Saracen villages.”

The man who saved her brother, who rescued her on countless occasions, who thought only of protecting his clan, was capable of great mercy and kindness and of equally great fury. But understanding what she did now, that he had gone mad to heal her brother, she was unable to condemn him as she once had for being a barbarian. Cade was a good man with a pure heart incapable of fending off the madness inside him. The storm was a part of him that had escaped his rigid self-mastery, and she found herself awed by the ability for him to contain turmoil so great. Once she saw the power of his madness splayed across the heavens, she admired him more for having ever mastered such darkness.

The wind turned to a gust that shoved off the helmets of those with her, and fat raindrops splashed onto the rocky terrain beneath their feet. Over the ocean, hail had begun to fall. Thunder smashed across the sky, shaking the ground and drawing a chorus of panicked whinnies from the horses.

Niall muttered under his breath. “I have to find him,” he said and twisted in his saddle. “You, with me!” He motioned to the dozen Scottish knights behind him he had selected to accompany him. “Stay here, Lady Isabel!”

She squeezed the reins, unable to take her eyes off the broiling tempest growing closer. She would never understand seillie magic or what it drove Cade to do, but she had seen it take hold of him before, in Laird Duncan’s Great Hall.

“I would recommend engaging Laird Duncan quickly,” said the man on her other side. The stewart, a cousin to the King of Scotland, had been educated in the English court and plucked for service after he came of age. Long of tooth, he was nonetheless sharp and wise and sent with her by her true father to ensure she secured the lands belonging to her mother.

“I am not a warrior,” she replied. “Do what you must to protect my lands.”

He signaled the commanders of the small army of knights and warriors lent to her. Two hundred men poured past them into the valley and vanished into the fog.

“The others?” he prodded at her silence.

Isabel could not look away from the storm, could not help but believe Cade would lose control only if he were suffering greatly. What had caused such suffering? How was she to remain here when he was in pain? Most importantly, how did she help him as she yearned to do?

“I do not know,” she said and shook her head. “My brother wished them to be closer to the ocean, away from the valley.”

“I rode across this land on many journeys in my youth. They could hide beyond the valley, near the cliffs.”

“Find them,” she replied.

“’Twill be done.”

In her interactions with him, the stewart had asked no questions. She innately knew from speaking with her adopted father’s stewart on a daily basis before she left Saxony that a man in his position would accomplish his duty without hesitating as to the means required. She was grateful, for her mind was focused on not losing those she loved.

Another party of his men broke away at a gallop, headed towards the ocean rather than the valley, leaving her and the stewart with a personal guard of six. A lance floated before her eyes and smashed into a boulder. A sheepish guard hurried in front of the two of them to snatch it only for the wind to pull it out of his hands again. He shielded his eyes against the rain.

She frowned and looked up. The ocean breeze reached her, as did light sprinkles. But the gusting wind shoving horses to the side seemed to skip over her, along with raindrops around her.

Colorful lanterns – Cade’s spark of magic – appeared in the valley, obscured by the fog and blinking faintly. Green, yellow, pink. She watched as they disappeared, dispersing into the oncoming storm forming above their heads.

A black funnel cloud swept through the far side of the valley, devouring men and horses and throwing them far from the battle. It fizzled and dissipated, leaving only death in its wake.

The stewart crossed himself, murmuring a prayer, before he spoke loudly enough for her to hear. “’Tis unseillie magic. I did not think to believe you when you spoke of the seillie.”