Gawen's Claim: Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book One Page 5

  “Where was his body found?” she asked, hoping that she could keep the quaver out of her voice. She just wanted to perform her spell and leave this place.

  Gawen gestured for her to follow, leading her to the rear of the cottage. Her sense of dread increased, and she swayed on her feet. Gawen turned to look at her, his face creasing with concern as he took in her pallor.

  "Lila? Are ye unwell?"

  She gave him a jerky nod, stepping forward. She just wanted to get this over with.

  "His wife found him here," Gawen said after a long, lingering look of concern, gesturing to a patch of ground just behind the cottage. "There was a ragged slash across his chest, just like Clinnen's."

  Lila made herself move to the spot, sinking down to her knees. She placed her trembling hands on the ground and closed her eyes, murmuring the words of a Locator spell.

  "Taispeain an medicine dorcha seo dom…”

  At first, there was no response to the command of her spell. The familiar swell of frustration rose in her gut, but she swallowed and repeated the words of the spell, over and over, until her sense of dread grew, overtaking her like the force of a tsunami.

  In her mind's eye, she could hear the rush of whispers. A swell of fury and despair filled her, so great that she began to shake. There was only pain, only darkness, and a gnawing sense of rage. She wanted to destroy everything. She wanted to watch the world burn.

  "Lila!"

  It was Gawen's arms around her that made her return to the present. She lay crumpled on the ground, and Gawen was helping her up. When she met his concerned gaze, she realized that tears filled her eyes.

  "I felt her," she whispered, still unable to shake that sense of overwhelming darkness. "The spell worked—but it didn't help me locate her. It made me feel her. She's furious, Gawen. Furious . . . powerful. And she's close."

  * * *

  “There’s someone we’re looking for—kin of mine traveling through these parts from England. We fear she may have been set upon by bandits,” Gawen told the Bhreac, the innkeeper. “Have ye seen anyone pass through here? Anyone foreign, with an accent?”

  "Similar to mine?" Lila added, forcing herself to sound casual though her heart was racing, and icy dread crept along her skin.

  They'd returned to the inn after determining they needed to ask Bhreac if he'd seen anyone strange. If a time-traveling witch from her time had been here, Bhreac must have noticed.

  She and Gawen had barely spoken a word since her revelation back at the cottage, but she could tell her words chilled him. As he should be, Lila thought. Whoever this aingidh was, she'd only just begun her path of destruction. A shudder went through her as she recalled that fury, so potent she could almost taste it. What had happened to the witch to cause such rage?

  “There was a man and a woman who passed through a fortnight ago," Bhreac said, forcing her back to the present. "They stopped here for a meal but declined tae stay the night, even though there was a terrible storm. The man sounded like he was from here, or the Highlands. The lass hardly spoke, but her accent sounded similar.”

  Defeat settled over Lila. The two people he'd just described were likely just frugal travelers from the Highlands. And they weren't looking for two people; they were looking for one.

  “Is there anything else ye can remember about them?” Gawen asked.

  Bhreac looked hesitant, and Lila stiffened. There was something he wasn’t telling them.

  “Please,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt. “If there’s anything . . .”

  “I’m getting older, so my eyes may nae be truthful at times,” Bhreac said, after a long stretch of silence. “But I did notice that, well, the lass seemed like an older woman when she first entered the inn. When she left, she seemed years younger, like a lass barely out of her youth.”

  Bhreac looked embarrassed at the confession, a faint flush staining his cheeks. The unease that swirled in Lila’s gut increased, and she clenched her fists at her sides to quell her panic. Bhreac didn’t realize that he’d seen the aging and de-aging that was common among certain stiuireadh who traveled through time, called aosu tapa, giving them the appearance of seeming much older—or younger—than their actual age, all in the space of minutes.

  “I understand. Sometimes my eyes give me trouble,” Gawen said lightly. “Do ye ken what direction they were heading? They may have at least seen the kin we’re looking for.”

  Lila was grateful for Gawen’s ability to banter while digging for information; he was better at investigating than she’d realized. Lila herself was too shell-shocked by the revelation that the stiuireadh she’d been looking for had been in this very inn not long before she had.

  “They were heading east,” Bhreac said. "I thought that was strange; there's nothing but cliffs and ocean east. The villages and yer castle are all in the other direction, unless they were heading south first, but I donnae ken why anyone would want to do that.”

  Gawen thanked Bhreac, and when they were alone in her room, she turned to face him, her heart a battering ram against her rib cage.

  “That was her,” she said. “The dark witch I’m looking for. I’m certain of it.”

  She explained the process of aosu tapa among certain stiuireadh. Gawen listened intently, his face growing pale.

  “We need to follow their path,” she said. “I need to know where she was heading.”

  “Aye, but that was a fortnight ago. ’Tis already falling dark; we cannae make our way east now. She could be anywhere on the island—if she’s still here.”

  “She’s here,” Lila said, another shudder passing through her at the thought of that rage she’d felt. She closed her eyes as that sense of rage swelled, threatening to overtake her.

  The feeling dissipated when she felt a firm grip on her shoulders. She looked up to find Gawen standing before her, his handsome face creased with concern.

  “When I was a lad, I was afeared of storms. I’d hide beneath my bedclothes whenever I heard thunder; it seemed like the heavens above were opening. My father found me hiding beneath the bed during one storm; I feared he’d scold me for behaving like a frightened bairn. But instead he told me that even the bravest men had fears, and whenever the darkness came tae take hold, tae seek harbor in my thoughts. Any time a storm came after that, I’d think of the calm waters of a loch I liked tae visit, and the fear—the darkness—would vanish. Can ye do that, Lila? Seek a harbor in yer mind from this dark magic?”

  Lila closed her eyes, thinking of a camping trip she and her family had taken to the mountains when she was a teenager. It was one of her favorite memories: the laughter of her parents in their tent, the brightness of the stars in the night sky, the soothing sound of the crackling fire they’d prepared. As the memory of it filled her mind, a calm settled over her, chasing the darkness away.

  When she opened her eyes, he was studying her intently.

  “That worked,” she said. “Gawen . . . thank you.”

  He nodded, his eyes locked on hers, the air between them taut with electricity. For a few fraught moments, she shamelessly hoped that he would kiss her again.

  But he looked away from her, murmuring a hasty good night before leaving, and as disappointment pierced her, she realized that, even if only for a brief moment, Gawen had served as that safe harbor from the darkness.

  Chapter 8

  Early the next morning, Gawen stood outside Lila’s door, his heart hammering in his chest as if he were a lad attempting to court a lass he’d just met.

  A torrent of conflicting emotions had roiled through him once he'd returned to his room the night before. He’d wanted to comfort her, to pull that haunting sadness from her eyes. But his desire for her had sprung to life, and he'd wanted nothing more than to kiss her, letting his lips trail down the long, delicate arch of her neck, where he would lower the bodice of her gown, and—

  Lila swung open the door, forcing him from the erotic thoughts that swirled through his mi
nd. Her eyes met his, startled, and he swallowed hard at the sight of her, looking especially bonnie in her dark-green traveling gown, her hair no longer in its customary braided buns but hanging loose about her shoulders.

  “Good morning tae ye,” he said gruffly. “Did ye sleep well?”

  “Yes,” she said, her tongue darting out to lick her dry lips, and he had to stymie the wave of desire that swept over him at the sight. "The nightmares weren't as horrible as I feared."

  Sympathy replaced his desire as he searched her eyes. He didn't know what it was like to sense someone else's fury and pain, and he could only imagine the toll it must take on her. His disdain for the stiuireadh temporarily faded as he considered what a cross such magic must be to bear.

  "We should get going," Lila said, moving past him. “There may still be time to pick up her trail."

  They departed the inn and made their way on horseback toward the rocky bluffs and cliffs that dotted the eastern shores of the island, a chill coursing through him at the thought of this dark witch who harbored such rage. Panic tightened his gut at the thought of someone with such dark power on his lands. He thought of Aonghus, of his loyal nobles, and the people who dwelled on these lands. As laird and chieftain, it was up to him to keep them safe. She had already murdered at least two men on his lands; he couldn't allow her to harm anyone else. He had to force himself to put his desire for Lila aside to concentrate on finding her.

  They didn't know exactly which way the dark witch and her mysterious companion had gone when they rode east, but they stopped at a stretch of rocky cliffs an hour's ride away from the inn for Lila to attempt a Locator spell.

  Lila dismounted from her horse, and Gawen held the reins of both their horses as she moved toward the cliff's edge. She took a deep breath before sinking to her knees, holding out her hands as she murmured the words of a spell.

  As he watched her, an emotion besides desire surged through him. Awe. She didn't seem to realize it, but she looked so powerful whenever she performed a spell. Now, her long, brunette hair whipped around her face in the breeze, her eyes closed and her voice quietly commanding as she issued the spell, even over the sounds of the breeze and the roaring sea.

  Her brow began to crease with frustration as she repeated the words of the spell, snatches of which he recognized as Gaelic and some Latin, before she stopped, biting her lip as she gazed out at the sea.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s the exact opposite of what I felt at the cottage. I feel nothing,” she said. “She’s cloaking herself, or my magic just isn’t able to pick her up. Or we're way off from her path.”

  "Let's have a meal, and ye can try once more. Then we’ll need tae head back,” he added, gesturing at the damp earth. “It may soon rain again.”

  She continued to gaze out at the sea before grudgingly taking the reins of her horse and following him to a nearby cluster of trees. He spread out a cloak for them to sit down upon as he handed her the bread and fresh water the innkeeper had given them for the day’s journey. Her expression lightened as she took the food.

  He followed her gaze to their scenic surroundings: the dramatic cliffs that jutted into the sea, the violently churning waters, the surrounding emerald-green fields, the sky aflame with an array of color.

  “A fourteenth-century picnic on the Isle of Skye,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I can’t complain.”

  “A picnic?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

  “It’s the term for an outdoor meal in my time. It’s an act of leisure. My parents used to take me and my sister for picnics almost every weekend during the summer when we were kids.”

  “An entire family of witches,” he murmured, shaking his head in awe. It was hard to imagine an entire family possessing the power of time travel.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling as she took a bite of her bread. But it faded as she continued, “And I'm the weakest among them."

  He frowned; she'd mentioned this before. He didn't like this lack of faith she had in her own power. If only she knew how fierce she looked when performing one of her spells.

  “What is it they do in yer time?” he asked, deciding to change the subject; he wanted to see the joy return to her eyes. “Yer family?”

  “My parents own an antique shop in North Carolina. It’s where my ancestors emigrated to from Scotland centuries ago. My sister and I help with the business—well, mostly I do. Avery likes to spend much of her time traveling.”

  “North Carolina?” he echoed. He’d never heard of this country.

  “North Carolina hasn’t yet been discovered by Europeans, but it’s about four thousand miles . . ." She stood, her skirts flowing about her as she pointed due west. “That way. People from Europe and other countries eventually settle there.”

  Amazement settled over him at the notion of lands not yet known, but he was also distracted by her beauty as she stood, the wind ruffling her skirts, giving him a tempting view of her bare legs.

  “What is it like?” he asked, setting aside his arousal as she sat back down, tucking her knees beneath her. “North Carol?”

  “North Carolina,” she corrected, her mouth twitching with amusement. “It’s beautiful. I didn’t appreciate it when I was a teenager; I just wanted to get used to my magic and travel to different times and places. But now that I think about it, parts of it are just like Scotland. I can see how my ancestors saw it as an extension of their home.”

  She nibbled on her bread, drawing attention to those sensual lips of hers, and he looked away.

  They ate in silence for several moments before she looked up with a soft gasp. He followed her gaze, a smile curving his lips. A rainbow arched over the sky in the distance.

  “My parents used to tell me and my sister that rainbows were remnants of all of the spells witches have performed throughout the ages.” Lila chuckled, amusement in her eyes. "I was naïve enough to believe them when I was a girl."

  “My parents would tell us that rainbows were the work of the sidhe," he said, smiling at the memory of the stories they used to tell him and his sister before the nurses took them to bed.

  Lila was looking at him with curiosity, and he realized she wanted him to tell her more. And for a moment, he was tempted to tell her more—the love his parents had shared, how he'd wanted a love like theirs when he was younger and hadn't yet experienced such a great loss, how his sister’s eyes would light up every time she saw a rainbow, and she would grab his hand, racing out to the courtyard so they could take it in together.

  But then he recalled their illness, the life draining from their eyes, and the refusal of Lila's kind, the stiuireadh, to help him prevent their suffering—their deaths.

  He stiffened, getting to his feet and setting his jaw. She is a stiuireadh here tae find a dark witch and expel her from yer lands. Yer people are in danger. That is yer only concern.

  “Do ye want tae try yer spell again before we return?” he asked, not looking at her.

  “Yes,” she said, after a brief pause.

  Though he wasn't looking at her, he could hear the slight hurt in her tone from his abruptness. But he kept his gaze averted.

  He followed her back to the bluff, where this time she moved along the edge, so close that it made him uneasy. She stopped abruptly, closing her eyes, her mouth murmuring the words of a spell.

  She sank to her knees as she repeated the words of the spell, raising her hands, and panic seized him when he saw that blood had begun to seep from her palms.

  “Lila!” he shouted, racing forward.

  She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands, shaking. He stumbled forward, using the cloak to wrap around her bleeding hands.

  “Why are ye bleeding?” he demanded.

  “I sensed . . . blood. Animal blood. So I used a Conjuring spell,” she whispered, her face going pale. “There was a Sacrificial blood spell done somewhere near—by the aingidh. She sacrificed an animal to perform it.”

  He f
rowned, not understanding why Lila looked so shaken by this. The druids once used animal sacrifice in their rituals, and his father had told him that sometimes the stiuireadh still performed such a practice.

  “Animal sacrifice is no longer done in my time by stiuireadh; it hasn’t been for centuries," Lila said, answering his silent question. "I came here assuming the aingidh I’m looking for is also from the present—that’s what my coven leader assumed as well. But if she’s using animal sacrifice, she’s likely not from my time. Gawen . . . I think the dark witch we're looking for is from the past."

  Chapter 9

  Lila was still reeling from her revelation when she and Gawen returned to the inn. She had even more questions now. If the aingidh wasn’t from the present, what time period did she come from? The distant past to this present? Or another time period in the past to this time?

  Before, locating the aingidh had seemed like finding a needle in a haystack, and that was with the assumed knowledge of what time she’d come from. Now that she didn’t know which time line the dark witch originated from, it was akin to attempting to isolate a single granule of sand on a miles-long beach.

  “I donnae ken all the details of yer magic,” Gawen said, forcing her from her maelstrom of thoughts as they sat down to eat in the private dining chamber. “But how does the aingidh coming from a different time change things?”

  “I’ve been using a certain set of spells from my time to locate her, assuming she’s from my time. But now that I don’t know what time period she’s from—I’m not certain which spells to use. And . . . this makes it harder to figure out exactly why she’s here. If she was from my present, we’d have the same knowledge of this time. But now . . ." She trailed off, desperation roiling through her. How on earth was she supposed to find this aingidh?

  “We can ask around this area. Perhaps someone else saw her and where she was heading," Gawen said, his brows knitted together with worry.