A Highlander’s Homecoming (26 page)

“We established that fact quite some time ago, did we no?” Robert did his best to tamp down his impatience. Obviously she was headed somewhere with this prattle, and obviously wherever that somewhere was, it was important to her.

“Aye, we did.” She paused to take in a deep breath, lifting her chin defiantly before she continued. “But
that’s no to say I’m like everyone else. My mother was one of the Fae folk and, as a result, I’m possessed of a terrible magic I canna control. Or . . .”—Here she stopped, lifting her hand to stare at the duplicate of his Guardian Mark. “I
was
possessed of such a magic. But now . . .”

Her voice trailed away as she looked up at him. Her expression so lost, so frightened and unsure of herself, it dug into the small places of his heart and made him feel small and powerless.

Once again, he gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly to him. “Tell me of this magic, Isa, and of what’s happened to it.”

“That’s just it. I dinna ken what’s happened—only that it’s gone and that I feel somehow less without it.”

He nodded and tucked her back under his arm, gradually urging her forward, one step at a time, as she continued to speak.

“Before this morning, before this”—she held up her hand as if to show him the mark—“it was as if the weather, as if all of Nature herself, were somehow tied to my emotions. When I was sad, it rained. Happy? Bright, sunny, warm days. And if I were afraid, or worst of all, angry, it was as if hell had been released from the very clouds.”

So it was true. He felt as if his heart paused in his chest, just long enough for him to have to work at that next breath. Was there no part of his life the Fae hadn’t penetrated?

His mother said the Fae had predicted his birth while she herself was yet a child, and, for a fact, he knew they would have a hand in his death soon.

Confirming that Isa was one of them simply tied the whole of his life up into one tidy little package of Faerie interference.

Yet, in spite of that, he couldn’t hold them to any blame. All things considered, who was he to question the workings of the Fae? If not for them, he wouldn’t have had a second chance at life.

Wouldn’t ever have met Isa.

Wouldn’t have discovered his Soulmate, no matter how few the days he was destined to share with her in this lifetime.

And
that
was the true crux of the pain he suffered at this moment. Though he’d danced his way all around it for days, there was no denying it any longer.

Isabella was his Soulmate.

Everything that had happened made sense once he accepted that single fact, from his having arrived twenty years later than he planned to the mark on Isa’s hand. All of it, right down to the way he felt when he held her in his arms.

He’d taken the Guardians’ Pledge to reunite the broken Soul Pairings, and in doing so, he had enabled the Magic to direct him to his other half. That she might never accept the truth of it was beyond his control, beyond even the Magic’s control.

And though they’d be separated soon, he now had no doubt that one day, one lifetime, they’d be together again.

His arm tightened automatically when she pulled to a stop again.

“What’s that?” she asked, looking up at him, wrinkling her nose. “Do you smell that?”

“Aye. Fire.”

They started forward again, their speed increasing until they ran. Robert took the lead, with Isa trailing farther behind as they raced through the trees.

He spared only a moment to wondering whether Isa’s hand tingled as his arm did now, whether she realized yet to pay attention to that feeling. No time to let himself be distracted. He blocked that thought as he blocked the pain burning through his chest. His mind focused on the cottage where he headed and the small boy he’d left sleeping there, and he pushed himself to run harder.

Smoke drifted through the trees toward them. Sharp and acrid, it stung the back of Isa’s throat as she gulped in air. Her chest and legs ached from running but she couldn’t stop. Robbie’s long legs had left her too far behind already.

Up ahead, where the trees gave way to her little piece of cleared forest, Robbie stopped. One hand clutched to his chest, he bent from the waist, obviously catching his breath.

As she drew close, he held up his arm, apparently signaling something.

Stop? Keep silent? She had no idea. And looking beyond where he waited, she lost any interest in trying to figure it out.

Her cottage, her wonderful, lovely cottage, was burning, flames leaping up into the sky from what had been her thatched roof. The same roof she’d repaired herself just last summer.

“No,” she whispered, her feet moving her forward as if through a haze.

Her home. Her animals.

Oh God!

“Jamie!” she screamed, rushing forward, swerving to avoid Robbie’s outstretched arm. “Jamie!”

She ran, powered by a burst of fear-induced energy coursing through her limbs. Out into the open, racing over the uneven ground to the stream, she plunged in. Oblivious to the water pushing at her body, she crossed and scrambled up the other side, not stopping until she neared the inferno that had been her home.

Lifting her arm to shield her face from the heat, she took a step back from the horror, her legs struggling to hold her weight.

Nothing. Nothing could survive that fire.

Vaguely, as if from another place, she heard Robbie calling her name, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the flames.

It was so wrong for this to have happened to poor, wee Jamie. Fire. Why did it have to be fire?

Yelling came from all around her as she sank to her knees, unable to stand any longer. Men she didn’t recognize, brandishing swords and angry faces, circled around her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about any of it. Not the men, or the heat from fire—not even the smoke that clogged her lungs. None of it mattered.

Until she thought of Robbie, and by then it was too late. Rough hands held her pinned to the ground with her arms wrenched up behind her.

She could see him, battling his way across the open ground. He fought magnificently, pulling one man
from his mount and leaving his body crumpled in the grass as he ran toward her. The late-afternoon sunlight flashed brilliantly from his blade as it sliced a path through the next two men. The glorious tales of her father’s battles that her grandfather had told her when she was small pushed their way into her memory, and for a short while she had hope.

In the end, though, there were simply too many of them. Too many men, both mounted and on foot, all converging on Robbie, burying him under their weight.

Isa squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for whatever might come, wanting nothing more than to have it done with. These beasts who called themselves men had trapped little Jamie in the blaze, and now they’d taken Robbie to the ground. What they did to her after those horrors didn’t matter. They’d already destroyed all that she held dear.

“Drag him over here next to the madwoman.”

After their actions here this day, they dared call
her
mad?

She fought against an uncontrollable laughter bubbling up from her chest. Tried so hard to hold it in, all to no avail. It burst forth, surprising her when it sounded more like broken sobs.

“No, Isa. Dinna cry, love.” Robbie’s voice, no more than a ragged whisper.

Two men held him to the ground next to her when she opened her eyes, his face streaked with dirt and blood and soot. Beaten, battered, but he lived.

“How do you want it done, Shaw?”

The question came from somewhere behind Isa. She tried not to think about what the words meant. Robbie’s
gaze held hers, even when one of their captors placed his boot on the side of Robbie’s head, pushing his cheek to the ground.

“Take their heads. They’ll serve as Lardiner’s proof.”

“Close yer eyes, love,” Robbie whispered, struggling against the men who held him even as the foot ground into the side of his face.

She did as he said, wishing she could but touch him one last time as she heard the sound of steel being drawn behind her. If only the magic she had hated for so long hadn’t deserted her now that she really needed it.

“Stay yer swords!”

The order rang out over the thunder of approaching horses.

“It’s a grand mistake you make here, lads. Yer new laird is no likely to appreciate having his bride delivered without her lovely head, now is he?”

“I dinna ken who you be,” the one called Shaw responded, “but we act on the orders of our new laird.”

“No, I dinna think you do.”

The pressure on Isa’s arms lessened and then she was on her feet. Her eyes flew open when an arm encircled her waist, and her feet left the ground as she was lifted up to sit in front of one of the riders.

“And as to who I am?” The large man settled her against him on his mount. “Patrick MacDowylt, brother to yer new laird. Bring him.” He motioned toward Robbie before tugging on his reins to turn his horse back in the direction of Castle MacGahan.

Chapter 24
 

“Where have you taken Rob—” Isa stopped herself, glaring at the man who so arrogantly occupied her grandfather’s chair. “What have you done with MacQuarrie?”

“Dinna fash yerself over yer guardian’s well-being, lass. Lardiner is seeing to his accommodations. Ah!” Malcolm MacDowylt looked past her as the door opened. “And here’s our ever-helpful friend Lardiner even now.”

Isa sat on the edge of a small chair the man called Patrick had pulled up in front of the MacDowylt before returning to his brother’s side. Though they’d not bound her hands or feet, she felt every inch the prisoner as she surveyed the faces of the people in the room.

Several warriors—all MacDowylt’s men, no doubt— crowded into the chamber. One fellow she’d seen before.
Roland’s man, Shaw, leaned against the back wall. And Agneys, perched daintily on a chair on the far side of the room, watching everything with her usual air of disdain.

Isa worked at gathering her scattered thoughts. Robbie lived. They’d brought him here as captive, but he lived. All was not lost.

Roland strode into the room, sparing her one of his greasy sneers as he neared. Before he reached the MacDowylt’s side, Patrick stepped forward, his hand on an empty chair across from Isa, clearly indicating to Roland he should be seated.

“Good.” Malcolm steepled his fingers on the table in front of him. “Now that we’re all here, perhaps we can settle this matter.”

“We’ve no a need for the half-wit to be present,” Roland snarled. “I can have my man, Shaw, see to her.”

Shaw seemed to shrink in his spot near the wall, glancing to the men on either side of him, their hands lying loosely on their weapons.

Malcolm shook his head. “I dinna think that would be our wisest course of action, eh, Isabella?” He turned to her, a grin splitting his face. A grin that didn’t touch his eyes. “In fact, Isabella’s our guest of honor. Which is only fitting for the woman I’m to wed, is it no?”

“You canna do that! There’s no a reason for it. You ken my own Agneys carries the old laird’s heir. If yer to wed any it should be her,” Roland blustered.

Isa could imagine nothing more repugnant than to be on the same side of an argument as that slimy bastard, but in this case she agreed.

“I’ve no intention of being yer wife, MacDowylt.”
Hands clasped in her lap, Isa waited for the silence to draw out as inspiration struck. “I . . . I’ve already given my vows of marriage. To MacQuarrie.”

“Vows dinna mean so much if yer a widow,” Roland snapped.

“They also dinna mean much coming from a fickle, murdering whoreson like yerself,” Isa retorted, forcing herself not to think on that
widow
remark.

Roland lunged from his seat, his arms outstretched, but two of the MacDowylt’s men stepped in front of him before he’d taken a single step, encouraging him back into his chair.

She wouldn’t be stopped by his anger. “Yer a child-beating bastard and you murdered my grandfather,” she accused, pointing a shaking finger his direction. Whatever was to come, she meant to make sure everyone heard what horrible deeds lay on Roland’s hands, whether they believed her or not.

Malcolm sat back, turning his steely gaze on Roland. “These are serious accusations. Is this true, Lardiner?”

“She lies,” Roland answered through gritted teeth. “I told you she was mad.”

“So you did.” Malcolm nodded, turning back to her. “I dinna suppose you’ve proof of yer charges? A witness, mayhaps?”

Isa shook her head, struggling to speak around the lump that formed in her throat. “There was one. But Jamie, the child who saw what Roland did to my grandfather, slumbered in my cottage when those men put it to the torch.” More words refused to come and hot tears streaked unbidden down her cheeks while silence filled the room.

“My, but isna that convenient?” Roland’s sarcastic tone grated on Isa’s ear. “You claim there’s only one witness to yer sack of lies but you canna even produce him. You see? You canna believe the blether of a madwoman, MacDowylt.”

“Perhaps it is as you say, my friend.” Malcolm stroked his chin as if deep in thought. “But I’m of a mind to hunt for the truth in this matter before I make my decision. Until that time, I think it best we confine you all to yer chambers.”