Highlander Enchanted (11 page)

He strode into his keep and started towards his bedchamber before recalling he had lent it to a certain Englishwoman who claimed to want him dead. The mere thought left him smiling, despite knowing her anger towards him was sincere. He had lied about not remembering her brother, even if the circumstances she assumed true were in fact not.

Cade had not killed Saxony, but he had left him to rot in a prison. Would she care about the distinction?

If what she said of her father’s madness was true, her brother’s descent into a similar state was not brought on by war or the dungeon. He began to wonder how much more the woman with the large, blue eyes was going to handle before she, too, succumbed to the madness that ran in her family.

He stilled the urge to ask Father Adam what else he had learned from her documents. When Father Adam was finished translating them, he would not hesitate to approach Cade. The two missives, addressed to neighboring kings rarely on good terms, disturbed him. How had one woman managed to wrangle such promises from powerful men such as these? What was her story, and more importantly, were her secrets dangerous to his desire to claim her lands?

And … did the potential dangers really matter when his magic was clearly in her court?

The next morning, Niall listened to Cade’s quiet words about his proposal and the mystery of the English. They waited at the gate in oiled cloaks, dripping with rain from the boisterous thunderstorm raging around them. Lightning split the skies in every direction. His plan had managed to delay the Englishman’s travel but not prevent his neighbor from the dangerous journey.

“’Tis simple,” Niall said. “They’re English. Ye canna trust them. They bring trouble. What is it about this lass ye canna see past?”

“I canna explain it.”

“Lust. Ye’ve not had a woman in too long.”

“That, too,” Cade agreed. “But the forest brought her t’me last night instead of hiding me.”

“Mayhap ye werena careful.”

“I was. I always am.”

“Cade, if this is true, if yer magic chooses a woman ye canna marry …”

“Why can I not marry her?” Cade growled. “Am I not laird?”

“But ye doona know if she is lying. If she has no claim to the MacCosse lands, and ye marry her, we make an enemy of the MacDonald’s and we have no land.”

Cade heard the sense in his cousin’s words, along with the consideration. It was not unheard of for the magic in their blood to choose mates; it happened at times, and often those chosen to enter their secret world were not seillie at all. His father had been one of them, a warrior chosen by his mother to protect the gentle seillie.

“I will send someone to court to verify her claim,” he said with reluctance.

“This is wise. Ye canna act if ye doona ken.”

“I canna make sense of this,” he said in frustration. His eyes scanned the hunkered down MacDonald’s clan members entering the walls of his keep. “I didna expect so many.”

“Laird MacDonald brought enough people for a wedding.”

Cade suspected the same. This encounter was supposed to be about hammering out the contract, to include setting a date. There were entirely too many people in attendance for this to be anything other than a wedding.

Rarely indecisive, Cade was having a difficult time determining how to stall the aging Laird MacDonald, despite intuitively knowing Lady Isabel would never agree to wed the man she blamed for her brother’s death. She was in danger from Richard and had witnessed his magic. By his honor, she should not leave, even if she refused his proposal.

He ignored the tiny whisper reminding him his confusion lay not in what Lady Isabel would decide but because he did not understand his magic’s insistence she had to stay.

The more time he spent with Lord Richard, however, the more he believed the English noble would return with an army to claim her, if Cade held her captive. Lord Richard was perhaps the most resolute man Cade had ever met.

As for what to tell Laird MacDonald, Cade was torn between the duty to his kin and the magic that wanted Isabel by his side.

He soon lost count of how many MacDonald’s passed through his gate. The number of women and children was unsettling, and they were escorted by no more than four warriors.

“I think something is amiss,” he said to Niall.

Niall frowned as he took a closer look at the people flooding into the bailey. “Yea. And they arrived with a small escort.”

“The MacDonald’s are no’ known for warring. He sent all his warriors to the Holy Lands.”

“A laird that wealthy has his enemies. We ‘ave none, because we ‘ave nothing for them to want,” Niall said wisely.

“This isna a good sign.”

“No. ‘Tis not.”

A boxy wagon rolled through the gates close to the end of the procession. Cade openly scowled, protected from anyone’s sight by the thick sheet of rain. The wagon bore the woman he was supposed to become hand-fasted to this very day. He had never met her, only heard tales of her sharp tongue. It was said she was laird of the MacDonald’s, not her father.

“Can we no’ determine if yer English lass tells the truth?” Niall asked. “T’be first in line to claim the MacCosse land is t’be favored by the king. She is wealthy?”

“She is the sole heir t’her father’s wealth. Yea, she be wealthy if she is t’be believed, which I am not convinced yet.”

“And Saxony’s sister.” These words were more hushed. “I ken we dinna do him wrong, and his mind left him, but oft, I think of him.”

“I do as well,” Cade said. “I wouldna left ye in that dungeon. I shouldna left him.”

“Ye had no choice and yea, ye’d leave me, because I wouldna let ye all die for me,” Niall said firmly. “He was taken by madness. Ye nigh destroyed yer mind t’help him.”

Cade was quiet, aware of the efforts they had all made to help the English noble named Saxony. His magic had helped at first, led the madman from his madness back to the world. But even it ceased to work after a length of time, and they had been forced to leave him or risk all their lives.

He had debated revealing the truth to Isabel last night. He had seen none of the madness in her, only sorrow and anger, emotions he understood too well after seeing so many deaths in the Holy Lands.

If he had to wed, he would prefer a wife as beautiful and gently spirited as Isabel, assuming she was not a pretender or lying to him or worst of all, a danger to his clan.

“Bid Father Adam to hasten with the other writs. We need to know what they say. I canna ken fer certain if she is truthful about her wealth.” Cade said and nudged his cousin.

Niall obeyed.

Cade waited in the rain until the last of the procession was safely within the bailey before ordering the gates closed and trailing the nobles of the party into the Great Hall. Warmth and light chased away the dreary cold from outdoors, and he handed off his cloak to a waiting servant before striding forward to greet the elderly Laird MacDonald. Tall and stooped, the aging patriarch peered up at Cade with sharp blue eyes.

“Laird Cade,” he said with a smile and held out his knobby hand.

Cade dipped his head to kiss the knuckles of the old man. “Laird Hugh. You brought many witnesses for our contract.”

The elderly laird offered a deep sigh. “I hadno the time t’warn ye. We were driven out by the MacGomery clan. Laird MacGomery’s gold has bought Crusaders with nothing to lose and nowhere t’return. He ran us through and our neighbors as well. We had no warriors t’defend my keep, but I thought it best to bring the weaker somewhere safe.”

Cade listened, his gaze roving over the people filling the Hall once more. “Yer wise, as always.” But his thoughts were on how Laird Duncan was going to react when he realized the MacDonald’s were hiding out in one of his own keeps. Duncan MacGomery was Cade’s current laird, the man who provided a home fer his clan.

“Ye’re almost kin,” Laird Hugh continued. “And the nearest of all my kin.”

“It is my pleasure. My hall and sword are yours.”

“You are a good man, Cade.” The elderly man rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Come. Sit.” Cade took his arm, sensing his weariness.

“We have wounded and ill and young. I must attend to them.”

“Yer in no shape t’attend t’anyone. Ease yer mind, Laird Hugh. I’ll attend t’yer clan.”

Laird MacDonald glanced around at the people crowding the hallway, his haggard face worn.

“Brian!” Cade beckoned to his cousin. “See that all of Laird Hugh’s people have a pallet and those in need of a healer are attended to.”

“At once,” Brian said and darted off.

“Ye see? Done,” Cade said to the elderly man. “Ye need yer rest.”

Laird Hugh leaned against the table with a weary nod.

Uneasiness swept through Cade. His clan needed land and a place to live; it was the only reason he had humored Laird MacDonald in the first place. Normally, he would not dare listen to such a request from a man with neither knowledge nor blood connection to the seillie. With an entirely unsuspecting clan living alongside his, in a space already too small, he began to think it impossible for someone not to discover the secret his people had hidden for so many generations.

He helped Laird MacDonald sit before a hearth, troubled by the appearance of someone he was debating breaking off any talk of establishing kinship ties. It was not right to broach the matter now, when Laird MacDonald had no home to return to.

“I overheard the trouble.” Isabel’s soft voice drew his gaze instantly. “May I be of service, Laird Cade?” The small woman with serene features and grace unlike any he had seen approached, followed by the handmaiden that had adopted her. None of her anger from the night before was visible, though she kept her distance and appeared tense. By the bulk in her pocket, she was also carrying another of his knives, which he found amusing.

“Nay, Lady Isabel. Yer a guest,” he replied. “And do ye not hate me?”

“It is my Christian duty to help those cast out from their homes.” One of her eyebrows went up in delicate offense. “May I remind you I managed a household several times larger than this one, to include visits from the king and members of his court?”

“English?” Laird MacDonald squinted at her.

Cade snorted. “Laird MacDonald, this is Lady Isabel de Clare of Saxony.”

“Ne’er heard o’it,” Laird MacDonald replied. “Must be far away or small.”

“Both, my lord,” Isabel said politely with a curtsey. Her gaze returned to Cade.

A solid leader of warriors, he was not prepared to lead a clan of non-seillie. Her offer, however sincere, would prevent Cade’s temper and customs from causing conflict with the MacDonald’s. Further, it might help distance the unnatural members of his clan from their unsuspecting guests. His clan used magic on a daily basis to maintain their home, and he dared not expose the MacDonald’s to the seillie sorcery.

“Verra well, Lady Isabel,” he decided aloud. “I will direct ye first.” He motioned for her to join him, away from the others, beside the fire. “They canna ken what ye do of how different my clan is.”

Her gaze was on his face, her expression unreadable, though her jaw was clenched. “You mean ‘tis not common knowledge?” she asked. “Not all Highlanders are like you?”

“They are not,” he said. “My clan is the last of our kind.”

She regarded him closely. “You will have to tell your betrothed, will you not?” She started away, cheeks flushed with pink anger.

Cade caught her arm. “Doona think to judge me when ye were followed here by yer own betrothed,” he growled. “Ye doona understand.”

“Oh?” she asked, the lethal edge of an angered woman in her tone. She faced him fully, too cultured to plant her hands on her hips but glaring at him all the same. “I do not understand? Because I am a woman to be treated as a possession? Used to gain my lands? Incapable of making a decision without a husband to guide me or support any claim I make?”

“Nay, lass,” he said, chuckling. “And ye better not ‘ave stole my good knife as ye have my amulet.” He glanced down at her heavy pocket.

Her hand went to the pendant at her chest. “You offered to marry me last night. Did you not think to mention you were already betrothed?”

“I am no more inclined to hand-fast with a MacDonald than ye are Richard,” he said, a note of warning in his tone. “Ye’ve lied t’me since you arrived. Ye think I trust ye with all my doings?”

She pursed her lips.

“Or are ye jealous, lass?” he asked. “I’ll wed ye both, if it please ye.”

“Your treachery is not appreciated, Laird Cade,” she snapped.

“Go and do what ye do. Ye ‘ave my authority and if anyone disobeys, send ‘im to me,” he said and motioned to the people before them. “Take care of my guests, lass.”

Flustered, Isabel spun and stalked away, trailed by one of his younger cousins, who regarded her with nothing sort of awe. By the time she reached the door, she had seven of his clan members in tow and was issuing orders to Brian, who glanced towards him in surprise.

Cade lifted his chin, indicating his cousin should go with the small Englishwoman he had placed in charge of running his keep.

He caught himself smiling before his attention shifted to Laird MacDonald.

“Pretty lass. Too bad she’s English,” the elderly laird said and leaned heavily on the table before him.

“Words have ne’er been truer.” Cade poured him warm wine and sat beside him.

“Now my lass, there’s a woman to keep a man straight.” The old man’s eyes glowed as his gaze fell upon someone.

Cade looked with some dread, relieved when he saw Laird Hugh’s daughter was not the woman he had heard of, at least in appearance. With dark red hair, brown eyes and a tall, slender body, she was pretty in a way very different than Isabel’s refined beauty – and nowhere near the size of a wagon as he had heard told.

“Doona look so. She isna yer wife yet.” Laird Hugh smacked Cade’s arm. “It is ne’er good t’be run out of yer keep, but perhaps ye’ll cease stalling and sign the contract if I’m in yer home.” He gave a hoarse laugh.

Cade said nothing, unwilling to upset the man seeking refuge in his walls, the one he suspected he would have a blood feud with by the time he left.