Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends, Book 1) (6 page)

Strong hands gripped both of my arms below the shoulders, hoisting me straight up, my feet dangling until Iain lowered me to the ground. His eyes sparked fiery brilliance under furrowed brows. Another giant plucked Brigid up in the same manner. Neither removed their hold, but the iron clamp around my arms gradually loosened, allowing blood to flow again.

Iain took a slow, deep breath. He bit out words through gritted teeth. “Lass, look forward when you walk.” He glanced at my companion. “Brigid,” he growled, “
you
know better.”

He turned back to me, scowling. The man didn’t seem to know whether to be concerned or angry. “I doona want there to be a next time with you hurt .
 . . or worse.”

Iain stepped back, roughly spinning me around. Incensed, I opened my mouth to object to the callous manhandling, but a tic in his jaw and his daring glare made me reluctantly bite my tongue.

He squinted, holding my body still for his scrutiny. I glared back at him. Intimidation never worked with me. Despite his anger and my irritation, the air between us sizzled. My heart rate and breath accelerated. A flash of erotic heat snapped through my body, settling into a deep ache between my thighs. I gasped, and his nostrils flared. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly bone-dry as Iain smirked . . . with pride
?

“Brigid, take Isa inside. Have Mairi draw you both a bath.” He pierced me with a hard look. “You’ll both join me at my table tonight, clean and in fresh gowns.”

Without warning, Iain released his hold. I flailed my arms from the loss of support, nearly falling. Brigid was freed at the same time, but found her balance with a tad more grace. The men departed in silence, but a good distance away, they broke into low rumbles of laughter.

I grumbled, “Men find stupid things amusing.”

Brigid laughed, locking our arms. She whirled us around, guiding us up toward the keep.

“Are you with the man who helped you up?” I asked, wondering if she’d been married off yet.

“Nay. I’m fond of Fingall, though.” She turned, walking backward, wistfully watching the group of men head toward the widest part of the stream. She pointed to the far right. “He’s the largest in the laird’s guard.” The man she’d indicated dwarfed the others in height and mass, including Iain, by a good half foot. “I hope he’ll notice me in the days ahead.” The longing in her voice was unmistakable.

“Tell me about the festival.” A springtime event pairing off young lovers intrigued me. Her perplexed look hinted that Iain’s “festival” label was not common. “The days ahead,” I clarified.

She tore her gaze away from the men, speaking in hushed tones about the upcoming event. “They’re a glorious few days, filled with fresh flowers and sweet kisses.” She blushed at the apparent thought of receiving a kiss from Fingall. “
Bealtuinn
is my favorite time of year.”

Of course. Beltane
. The first day of May.
Beltane marked the passage of spring to summer—a celebration of fertility and hope for a strong harvest. Gaelic lore believed otherworldly spirits danced dangerously close to entering our world at Beltane and Samhain, the last day of October.

In
all my studies, there had never been mention made of a mating ceremony at Beltane. I wondered about the omission’s significance. Could the clan, with its unique castle and prehistorical tartan, have been somehow protected or isolated from the rest of Scotland? The idea seemed implausible with the Viking conquests, clan wars, and English invasions over the centuries, but the day had taught me a valuable lesson: I needed my mind open wider than the Grand Canyon.

“Brigid, Iain told me Beltane is also a mating festival. Is that true?”

Her brows shot up, her mouth falling open. “Laird told you that? And you call him Iain?” A smile spread wide across her face, revealing a dimple on one side. Mischief danced in her eyes, making me worry I’d said something unusual.

“Yes .
 . .” I hesitated, uncertain of how much to reveal for fear of exposing myself. I cautiously kept the disclosure brief. “He told me single men and women take mates. He also said a woman not claimed . . . is fair game—at risk of being taken whether she’s agreed, or not.”

Brigid burst out laughing. “Ah, Isobel, Laird had a bit of fun with you. I’ve seen women thrown over a drunken shoulder, but I’ve not heard of one bein’ .
 . .
taken
.” She paused. “Then again, I doona know of any opposed to bein’ carried off.”

Although I wanted to believe her version, I was fairly certain Iain hadn’t been outright lying. “Are you sure, Brigid? Iain seemed very serious about the point.”

Her fits of laughter subsided. “’Tis possible Iain spoke the truth—our warriors live by rules that I’ve no desire to be well versed in—but I thought only those wantin’ to wed took a husband. I could’ve married many summers ago, but I’ve been waitin’ on Fingall. He told Hamish, who told his wife Agnes, who told me, this is the year he’ll take a wife.”

I turned my head toward her as she grew pensive. “Do you think he’ll choose you, Brigid?”

“I doona know,” she replied. “He flirts a bit, but he also flirts with every other lass who shows him attention.” She scowled. “They gather around him, twittering nonsense.”

Her disapproving jealousy and my cunning mind roused a plan. “Brigid, we’ll make sure Fingall has eyes for you and no other when the time comes for choosing a wife.”

She stopped walking, clapping her hands once in excitement. “You have a plan?”

I laughed, plucking a blade of grass from a lock of her shimmering copper hair. “Yes, I do.”

Brigid squealed, hugging me tightly and knocking us into the keep’s unforgiving wall with her exuberance. We stayed there, huddled together, hashing out ideas as a rough strategy unfolded.

My refugee status in a foreign land had been forgotten. Serious girl talk banished anxiety about magick boxes, living walls, and forced soul mates. Hope
welled anew. An old-as-time scheme to catch a man’s attention had forged more than an alliance—I’d found my first friend.

Arm in arm, we walked inside and up the stairs to follow
Laird’s
orders . . . and then some.

CHAPTER Six

Steam rose off the surface of the water in dissipating tendrils. Soothing heat penetrated tight muscles, easing the stress of a challenging day. I stretched my limbs in an oblong wooden tub, ignoring the absurdity of enjoying my first spa day ever, nearly a millennium in the past. After being yanked into a world without my permission, I soaked in the blissful irony of a mini-vacation.

Brigid and I bathed in the sitting area of a bedroom that had to be Iain’s, since the largest bed ever created practically obscured the far wall. The stately piece of furniture made me uneasy by its very presence. Where Iain slept—and pleasured—both intimidated and aroused me. My unruly imagination spun visions of his body exploring mine, taking what he wanted, giving what I needed . . .

Damn, Isobel. All the talk today of claiming and taking has guttered your mind.

I reined in my wayward thoughts and rioting body, scanning the rest of the room from my medieval bathtub. Iain had generously appointed the room with both small conveniences and generous comforts. A dark-chocolate bearskin rug spanned the oak floor between the bed and a large stone hearth where a fire blazed. Silver goblets sat on a polished oak table with a carved armchair on either side. A tapestry woven into a luminous nightscape covered a tall window. At the foot of the bed, two wooden chests stood guard, their sides sparkling with dark jewels. Treasures themselves, the locked trunks piqued my curiosity. Did they protect secrets? Did they hold answers to the mystery of the box . . . or the wall?

A ticker tape of questions flooded into my mind, followed by excitement for the upcoming dinner. I glanced at my splashing companion. Her wet curls dripped onto the wood floor. She’d been graced with an angelic face, porcelain skin, and curves capable of taming any beast of her choosing. With her humor and quick wit, she’d easily snatch the one she wanted.

I wondered how I’d know for certain if Iain was the one I wanted. “Brigid, why Fingall? What’s so special about him?”

“Ahhh,” she drawled, staring dreamily into the far-upper corner of the room. “Fingall’s a fearsome warrior, but underneath all his power beats a kind and generous heart.”

I smiled at how the mere mention of his name affected her. “And you’re certain he’s interested enough to pursue you?”

A deep pink blush spread across her cheeks. “Aye, I think he likes me enough.”

“Any worry he’d choose another?” I rubbed lavender-scented soap into a wet linen square and stretched a leg above the water, dragging the fragrant suds over my calf.

“I doona know for certain,” she admitted.

I sighed. “Well, we’d better get busy then. Starting tonight, we have two days for our plan to work.”

Before our water cooled beyond lukewarm, two ladies-in-waiting appeared with towels, fresh clothes, and accessories. I stepped from the bath and dried off with a warmed linen towel as my maid arranged a silk chemise and gown on the bed and placed matching slippers on the floor. My fingers feathered across the dark-blue velvet gown, admiring the gold-braided threads that trimmed the square neckline and cuffs.

The efficient hands of my maid turned me, lifted my arms, and floated the silken chemise down my body in thirty seconds flat. The beautiful gown followed, its ribbons pulled tight across the bodice. Then she herded me in front of the fire, into a chair next to Brigid, and our hair was painstakingly arranged for us by the drying heat of the hearth. My spa experience apparently included an appointment in the medieval salon.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked as the maid tugged at my hair.

“Aye,” she replied without further elaboration. “Do you?”

I watched her attendant pin glossy ringlets up one at a time with swift precision. “No. I’m an only child.” The admission brought forth the memory of my
seanair
and a stark reminder: I had no remaining family. Crestfallen by the realization, my curiosity sails lost their wind.

Brigid pulled me by the hand from my blue mood and out of the chair. She led me in front of a ten-foot-tall mirror perched against the wall. It reflected the artistry our maids had performed. My gown hugged and displayed every gentle curve on my willowy form, the sapphire blue setting off my creamy skin. Blond curls, woven with shiny gold ribbons, fell loose about my shoulders. Inside of an hour, I’d been transformed into a temptress.

Brigid nudged into my side, and it suddenly occurred to me the two of us could have been related. Wild, copper curls had been piled on her head with reckless fallen spirals teasing her cheeks and neck. She wore an emerald-green gown, cut nearly identical to mine.

“Isobel. We’re sisters!” She twirled, bumped into me, and grasped my hips for balance.

I laughed.
Jinx!
“No stranger would ever think otherwise.” Besides our similar curly hair, fair complexion, and lean build, we even shared dimples in common when we smiled.

Framed by ornate gold gilding, the glass captured the image of two beautiful goddesses. The fire’s orange glow cast shadows in the backdrop, creating a striking scene worthy of the Louvre. Our success tonight hinged on garnering the attention of more than just Iain and Fingall, so I hoped we wouldn’t be the only ones to take notice.

* * *

My nervous stomach fluttered like a million netted butterflies. Brigid and I descended the stairs to the great hall where the festivities were underway. The room had been filled to capacity with well over a hundred people standing about talking, flirting, and laughing.

Men wore white dress shirts with the clan plaid draped across their chests and fastened securely around their hips. Their functional, muted attire, however, was completely outshone. Vibrant-hued gowns sparkled like emeralds, rubies, and sapphires as the women moved through the room, bringing a lazy kaleidoscope to brilliant life.

Additional seating had been brought in to accommodate the guests in attendance. Tables were laden with sumptuous delicacies as if Iain was entertaining for royalty. Stuffed swans, surrounded by apples, pears, and onions sat on silver platters at the head of each table. Fully dressed peacocks and pheasants were arranged farther down in line. Fragrant rounds of herbed rosemary and garlic breads were piled high between the beautifully arranged fowl dishes. I even glimpsed an artfully prepared salmon on a board.

Brigid looped her arm in mine, pulling me out of my awestruck fascination and leading me down the stairs. She elbowed me in the ribs.

“Owww .
 . .” I glared at her, catching her wide grin before she yanked me to a stop. We’d only gone midway down the wide stone staircase. Her attention shifted beyond me, and I turned. Every gaze in the room fixed squarely on us as a hush spread like God had extinguished a raging wildfire with a single breath.

Heat flushed under my skin so quickly, from my breasts into my cheeks, I must have beamed crimson like a neon light. I took a steadying breath, examining their faces, wondering what they thought of me, a stranger who’d been welcomed within their protective enclave by their laird.

Turnabout in uncomfortable situations always settled my nerves, so I scrutinized them in return. Of those considered Iain’s closest companions, who would I deem friend, or adversary? Had any been privy to the same secrets I’d discovered?

More importantly, were the oddities within Iain’s castle even secrets at all? With his map room trustingly unlocked, he showed a clear lack of concern for protecting the unique, responsive wall. Maybe artifacts like the box, with its ritual purpose passed down through their generations, were a part of their lore and, therefore, common knowledge.

On my mental treasure hunt, each question became a clue leading to the next question. Had Iain shared with anyone that I’d been plucked out of another time and deposited here? I frowned, searching for Iain in the crowd. Regardless of my plan for independence, I needed reassurance that he still had my protection as a priority.

The last question shimmered to the surface as if summoned through a reverse Magic 8 Ball.
Had other women been stolen out of their time?
The thought faded as quickly as it had formed. Iain had said women came when their laird took a mate, but the last would’ve been his mother. Unless she still lived, and he’d made no mention of her, no other time-displaced women existed.

Where is Iain?

Done standing under the scrutiny of the party’s microscope, I squeezed Brigid’s hand, tugging her arm, but she held her ground. Patience had never been a strong point for me. I bit the inside of my cheek, waiting. Since my only experience in gaining a man’s interest by disinterest might’ve been a fluke with modern-day Iain at the games, I trusted our rough plan—and Brigid’s intuition—to guide our way.

Distracted by my chattering mind and the crowd’s intimidation, I didn’t notice the disturbance in the air behind me until the weight of pure power pressed into me without contact. A chill raced up my spine. The heat of his breath flowed up my neck to the shell of my ear, scattering every thought I’d had like a dandelion bloom bursting apart on a gust of wind.

The thunder of my heart muffled my loud gasp. I tried to turn—uncomfortable being sandwiched between eager voyeurs and their laird—but Iain gripped my hips, immobilizing me.

He inhaled, drawing my upper body back until he’d become the only thing holding me upright. I swallowed hard. A novice to any kind of intimate handling, I felt vulnerable under his command, and I forgot all about my plan and the audience below.

A low growl rumbled at my ear. “Isa, you devastate me.”

I sighed out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d held. Well, damn. At least I wasn’t the only one incapacitated. Angling my head against his chest, I looked up into dark, lustful eyes. That amazing mountain scent of Iain’s enveloped me. His long hair curtained down, shielding our faces from view. I reached a hand up, caressing his bearded chin. He smirked. I smiled.

Okay. Fine. I conceded the match to him. Five minutes into an evening together, and I’d literally fallen into his hands.

“Well, what now, big guy? Are you going to kiss me, or stand here holding me all night?”

He chuckled and forced me upright, smacking my ass. “I’ll do neither, lass. I’ll be escortin’ you to a seat beside me at my table.”

I straightened my dress as an odd disappointment replaced the arousal thrumming through me.

He took my arm, and I looked around, not seeing Brigid anywhere. He leaned down, whispering in a thicker-than-usual brogue, “
That
was me claimin’ you before them. I’ll not give another man the chance to sneak up to your enticin’ backside . . . or any other side, for that matter.”

Had the man read my mind? Maybe my schemes were that transparent. For the first time, I entertained the notion that I might be trying to outfox a master strategist.

The crowd slowly animated again, rotating. Glances darted toward us often, whispers and hushed conversations igniting. Iain led me into the room with a firm hand at the small of my back. We wound our way through the crowd, stopping briefly when someone waylaid Iain.

Not one woman seemed welcoming when we approached, balanced by speechless stares from every man. Gaping looks switched from me to Iain, then back, making it difficult to discern whether the commotion was caused by
my
presence or by
ours
.

I spotted Brigid in the center of the room, talking with a group of Iain’s soldiers. Several other beautiful women were there. Some stood too close to one man or another, loudly broadcasting their claim or intentions.

Iain’s possessive hold moved up to my shoulder as we stopped before the familiar group of his men. Every woman, aside from Brigid, faded back into the room as if implicitly instructed.

Brigid smirked at me. Her mischievous expression prompted me to reassess my new friend. Her earlier disappearance, along with Iain’s usurping our game plan, made me wonder if a cunning mind hid beneath that innocent exterior. I winked at her, unquestionably hoping so.

Iain squeezed my shoulder. “Isa, these men are most of my clan guard. You’ve met Robert and Duncan. This is Jamie, Calum, Ailig, Bryce, Seamus, and Fingall. They’ll watch over you, protectin’ your life as if it were mine.”