Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (35 page)

She was not a saint, he realized, but an angel, a narrow, fleeting slice of perfection that he neither deserved nor had ever hoped to know. Indeed, these past days with her were more than he should have ever had, for she was all goodness, all hope.

And he would not let her die!

The thought crashed abruptly through him. He tried to push it back—to find the sweet oblivion they had built here, but he knew suddenly that it was gone. He could pretend no longer. Not even for the blessed feel of her flesh against his. Twas nothing short of a miracle that they had survived this long. He had known they would die, that Warwick would find them, and maybe, somehow, that knowledge had set them free. Free to revel in their last days. But the wizard had not come.

Miraculous as it was, they remained alive, and now his wounds were mended enough to see him from this paradise.

He could delay no longer.

"When is Shona's babe to be born?"

Rachel stopped her humming to glance up at him, and for a moment he forgot everything but the fire-bright beauty of her eyes.

"In a few months' time," she said, straightened slightly. "As you well know."

"You will tend to the birthing?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I simply ask," he said, but pain nagged at his soul as he wrapped his cloak more firmly about him.

"I will tend her."

"Then I needn't worry for her welfare."

"Nay." She sat down next to him and swept a lock of hair from his forehead. "You needn't worry. Shona is strong, the strongest of we three cousins."

He knew he should draw away from her, for even her slightest touch made him weak. But he couldn't quite muster that much discipline. "Tis you that is the strong one," he countered softly. "Tis you who will keep them safe."

She canted her head at him, her expression concerned. "Liam, is something amiss?"

"You will escape."

"What?"

He tried to ignore the emotion in her eyes. For her he could be strong. "When they come, you shall escape, no matter what happens to me."

"What are you saying?" she asked, and reached for his hand.

"You know very well what I speak of, Rachel."

She shook her head, but he gripped her arm hard, pulling her closer to him.

"When Warwick comes, you must not fail. You must not! You shall return to your family."

"Don't say his name."

"There will be a riderless horse, Rachel. That much I can do. You will take that horse and flee."

"So even now, after everything we have been through together, you expect to die, to sacrifice yourself for me."

The woods were silent.

"How many lives have you saved?" he asked.

She yanked her arm from his grasp. "I've no idea what you speak of."

"How many?"

"It does not matter," she whispered. "Not if I cannot save you."

"Rachel—" he began, and snatched up her arm again.

"Nay!" she snapped. "You do not—" she began, but she stopped abruptly. Her eyes went wide.

"He's coming."

Terror, as cold as hell, sliced through him. So it was a premonition of his approaching evil that he'd felt. He jerked to his feet, pulling her up with him. Too soon! Dear God, it was still too soon, Liam thought. He didn't have his full strength. What if his plan didn't work? What if... But he must not fail. He would not.

"Give me the dragon!" he rasped.

"Why?"

"Tis what he wants. Give it to me and flee." Please, God, make her see the sense in this.

"We've discussed this before, Irishman," she said, her words barely audible. "If you choose to die, I choose to die with you."

Frustration and terror roared up inside him. "Give me the dragon!" he demanded, but she leapt back, out of his reach.

"You want to save me, Liam?"

"Please, Rachel." He lurched after her. "Don't do this."

"Then come and get me."

He lunged. Desperation made him quick. Premonition made her quicker. She jumped back. His fingers grazed her arm.

"Rachel—"

"Nay!" she rasped, and spun away.

Pain ripped through his chest. Branches slapped at his face, but he wouldn't stop, wouldn't lose her. He could hear her frantic breath, could hear her racing footfalls. But the terror was running them down, looming over them.

From somewhere behind he heard a man yell. Rachel turned back momentarily and stumbled.

Liam was upon her in a moment, clutching her arms.

"They found our camp." Her words were no more than a whimper.

"Aye." He pulled her against his chest, breathing in her presence. "Please, Rachel, give me the dragon."

"I cannot—"

"Then I will take it from you."

"And let me die alone?"

"You will not die," he snarled through gritted teeth. "You will not."

But she nodded jerkily. "I cannot survive without you Liam. I swear it."

He snarled something then snatched her to his chest.

The sound of hoofbeats tore them apart.

"Hurry!" Liam gasped, and spinning away, pulled her after him.

Terror pursued them like rabid hounds. Distance rushed past on dark wings, but whether they went miles or yards, he couldn't tell.

"There!" The cry came from behind, spearing through him.

"Liam!" Rachel gasped.

"Run!" he ordered, and pulled her on, though there was no hope. They'd been spotted like wild hare, and like wild hare they fled, blindly racing through the woods.

But in a moment the trees thinned.

They burst into the full light of day. Ahead of them, the land disappeared as if sliced off by a giant knife.

"Halt!" a voice shrieked, but hope flared through Liam. The river must lie just ahead. It had saved them before. They lurched forward. Just a little farther. A wee bit.

"Jump!" he yelled. But in that instant, he realized there was no water below them, only a long drop to death. He stumbled to a halt, dragging her with him. She staggered, dropping to her knees at the edge of the cliff.

Stones, disturbed by their frantic, pace, hurled into space and down to the dry gulch an eternity below them.

They stared in mindless defeat, all hope blown away like dust in a wild gale.

"Liam." She whispered his name. Her hand trembled in his.

"I'm sorry. So sorry." He turned slowly to face their pursuers. There was no longer any point in running. Open land rolled away from them on three sides. Their only escape lay straight below them.

Rachel glanced down the hopeless precipice one more time then slowly rose up beside him.

A half dozen men rode toward them.

"Stay back," Liam warned.

A chuckle escaped from Warwick. His cowl had fallen off during his wild ride through the woods, and his head looked grotesque and terrifying, his eyes like glass orbs in his scarred face. "Of course not," he said. "I have only been following you so that we might talk."

"Don't come closer," Liam repeated, and reaching toward Rachel, grasped Dragonheart's chain.

She stiffened, prepared to have it yanked from her neck, but the amulet slid easily from her into his hand.

"I'll toss it! I swear I will."

Silence echoed around them.

"Liam." Warwick's tone had changed to wheedling care, though his men kept advancing.

"Would you do such a thing just to wound me?"

"Tell them to stop."

He did so abruptly with a simple movement of his hand. "What now, my son."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? You know tis the truth. You are mine. Spilled from mine loins."

"Maybe from your loins, old man, but not from your soul."

The wizard laughed again. "So you still wish to believe you are different from me?" He opened a hand and swept it in a slow arc before him. Suddenly there seemed to be nothing but the wizard, nothing but the power he wielded like a spiked mace. "But why, Liam? Why? Do I not have the power you desire?"

"Nay, you don't," Liam said, but twas all he could do to force the words past his terror, for the entire universe seemed filled with Warwick's presence. "You have nothing I desire."

Again the old man laughed. "Tis not true." His hellish eyes turned toward Rachel and he smiled.

"You wish for power. You wish for wealth."

"Nay," Liam countered.

"Aye. You wish for her—the daughter of a laird."

"You're wrong."

His steed took a few steps forward. "I am right. But you know you are not worthy of her, for you have nothing."

"You are wrong," Liam repeated, his voice rising.

"You have nothing. No riches, no home, no power."

Dear God, it was all true. She'd been raised to wealth and privilege, the treasured daughter of a powerful laird. Liam had nothing to offer her. Nothing.

"Join me." Warwick's voice was as deep as the cliff behind him. "Together we shall take what we will."

The wizard's power reached out like a powerful hand, drawing Liam in.

"She shall be yours, my son. Her and all that is her father's."

They had been happy in their simple haven. How much happier would she be in opulence? Glen Creag could be theirs. Servants. Comfort.

"No longer the bastard from Firthport." Warwick was approaching slowly, his voice a soothing murmur. "But a prince among men. You have the gifts, lad. You've but to use them."

Liam still held the dragon, but no longer was it clenched to his chest. Instead, he held it before him, palm up, his fingers open.

"Come to me," Warwick entreated. "And all shall be yours."

Liam took a step forward.

"Nay!" Rachel gasped.

Her fingers closed over Liam's arm. Reality jolted through him like forked lightning. He jerked toward her. Her gaze struck him, bright as the promise of hope.

"Please, Liam. Don't do this."

His soul shook.

"Join me!" Warwick hissed.

The command pulled at Liam, drawing him in. He turned.

Rachel's hand tightened on his arm. "If he has the dragon, all will be lost."

The truth of her words seared him like a hot lance. Liam clasped a desperate hand over hers, filling his soul with her strength.

"All will be yours!" shrieked the wizard.

Liam's heart seemed to burst in two, his mind torn asunder, dragged apart by the force of the wills that battled for him. But where Rachel was a glowing flame, Warwick was a roaring inferno.

"It shall be yours," he repeated, his voice like thunder.

Without volition, Liam's legs moved, pulling him away from her. Her tiny flame of goodness flickered.

"I love you," she whispered. "I'll love you for all time."

The breath was dragged from Liam's lungs. He turned stiffly toward her. Their gazes met and melded. Peace flowed from her touch like a river of sweet wine, filling his soul, his mind. He was lost in her eyes, in her truth, in her goodness, drawn toward her like a saint to heaven.

"For all time," he whispered, and lifting the amulet, slipped the chain over her neck.

"Nay!" screamed Warwick. "Take him!"

Hell exploded around them. The warriors spurred forward. The very earth trembled beneath their horses' pounding hooves, but Liam's gaze was caught on her face.

"Forever and always," she whispered.

Death thundered nearer, opening its slavering jaws.

Liam glanced at the riders, then down the endless precipice. Twas no hope that way. None at all. But there would be no torture. Only death. "I am sorry," he whispered.

"Nay." She touched his cheek with fingers that trembled. "We shall be together," she said, and clutching each other, they turned toward the cliff and jumped.

The air was sucked from Rachel's lungs as they plunged toward the earth. Fear wrapped about her, pulling her down toward the jagged jaws of death. She clung to Liam, waiting for the pain, the ripping agony.

But time had stood still. Death was in no hurry. And now, instead of falling to their doom, it seemed almost as if they were floating.

She heard something billow above her. What was it? Angel’s wings? She could see nothing, nothing but the flaring bloom of Liam's cloak, and then it came—the landing.

She shrieked as she felt the impact. Liam was ripped from her arms. But the solid crash of earth didn't meet her. Instead, she streaked through something semi-solid. Claws scratched at her face.

Demons snagged her clothing, and suddenly she was snatched to a halt.

She gasped for air, for reason, but there was none. Where was death, where was pain?

Where was Liam? She glanced about. Branches scraped her cheek, but there, not more than a few inches away, Liam hung by his cape upon the gnarled limbs of an ancient sycamore.

She tried to reach him, and in that moment, realized that she too was suspended—with his cape stretched tight over the branches between them. Glancing down, she realized she couldn't see past her own feet. Still, her movement shook her precarious balance. Beside her, a branch creaked. She caught her struggling breath and grappled for a hold. Already it was too late. She was falling again.

But even before the thought registered in her scrambled mind, the drop had ended. She struck the earth with her rear and stayed where she was. Liam dropped beside her like a bad apple.

They were both gasping for breath and reason.

"God's mercy!" she cried. But their relief was snatched away as arrows rained down from the cliff above.

Lurching onto their hands and knees, they scrambled toward the center of the tree that had saved them and ducked there beneath the dense leaves. The arrows sputtered to a halt, but in an instant they heard the thunder of galloping hooves.

Warwick could not descend as quickly as they had, but neither would he give up.

"Hurry." Liam gained his feet first.

Rachel felt the tremble of his hand as he closed his fist over her fingers. Or was it, perhaps, her hand that shook so?

She managed to stand, though her knees threatened, for a moment, to spill her back to the earth.

"Can you walk?"

"Aye."

"Good. Could you..." His voice shook, and he paused for a moment, glancing up the cliff from which they'd just jumped. "Could you carry me?"