Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends #1.5)
Kat Bastion
To every lost soul and dreamer...
May you find your happily ever after.
Chapter One
Scotland—Thirteenth Century
The forest...pulsed.
Robert Brodie stood in the middle of a bitter winter storm on a mission of debatable absurdity when something rippled through him. The vibration spread across the ground and through the forest canopy like wildfire.
“’Tis a tree like any other. I doona understand Lady Isobel’s desire with the wee sapling,” Duncan remarked as he approached a Scots fir that was substantial enough to demand his hefty ax.
Robert glanced at his two guardsmen, intrigued that Duncan and Seamus hadn’t sensed the odd change in air pressure. The lone twelve-foot pine they’d been tasked to collect from the edge of their holdings had a wide red ribbon woven through its boughs. Snow curled into a funnel beside the tree, whipped high into the air, and disappeared. Cloud cover reflected the last angled light of the sun, casting their frosty world in a silver hue.
Seamus lofted his larger ax into the air and placed a flattened palm on Duncan’s chest. “Step aside. ’Tis not the tree, but the want of the lady that matters.”
Duncan lowered his head and growled, angling around Seamus. “Touch me again, and I’ll cut you down before the tree.”
Robert turned away from the two posturing friends and squinted through dense snowfall toward the darkened forest to the southwest. Before a battle, he’d always been able to feel an approaching enemy deep in his belly, and in a similar manner, something raced their way as sure as the cruel wind blowing.
The men quieted, and Robert heard an ax blade whack into soft bark. A second chop thumped, the sound muted by the tremendous mass of the surrounding plant life and the fallen snow.
Inexplicably drawn forward, he trudged through snow that brushed the tops of his worn leather boots. He stopped just before the edge of the small glade. The snowfall continued to thicken. A gust of wind kicked up, and he blinked as fat flakes coated his eyelashes. A twig snapped a few dozen paces ahead in the blinding whiteness.
With silent grace, he unsheathed his sword from the leather scabbard at his hip. His heartbeat slowed in his ears while he forced a measured breath into his lungs.
All of a sudden, hell broke through the trees, clumps of snow launching in every direction from sprung tree branches.
He thrust his sword up, but a split second later, he shot his elbow out—leading with the hilt—to spare an unarmed rider on horseback.
The horse reared, and Robert dodged to the side. The rider lost balance and released the reins, falling backward. With his free hand, Robert fisted the rider’s cloak at the throat, and in a fluid movement, spun him around, dropped him to the ground, and knelt upon his chest, holding the razor-sharp tip of the sword’s blade to his neck.
Wide blue eyes fringed with thick, dark lashes blinked up at him. The intruder swallowed hard and trembled.
Robert scowled, easing back his crushing weight. He moved the point of his sword outward, tugging at the material tied around the rider’s neck. The fur-lined cloak fell away, and out spilled long, shining brown hair.
A wee lass was the danger I sensed?
“Explain yourself,” he growled.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll not explain a thing, Highlander. My concern is not with you. Release me.”
“You’ve breached Brodie lands. Any concern you had is now with me.”
He assessed her clothing while he pulled the rest of his weight off her. His men had already surrounded them, standing within striking distance of the lass. Their axes raised, they both looked ready to fell her slight frame with a well-placed blade, as if she’d become the tree. Her black cloak was made of the finest woven wool, its lining a rare sable fur. A silk dress, the deep color of sapphire, peeked from beneath the folds. Great wealth had clothed the lass.
Irritated on many levels, Robert grasped her forearm and yanked her up from the ground. Wet snow clung to her entire backside, but she made no move to brush it away. He sheathed his sword, keeping a wary gaze locked onto the lass. Her eyes roved over him in between intermittent glances around the clearing.
Duncan quipped, “I’d hoped to bring home a buck for tomorrow’s feast, but I dinna think we’d catch wilder game.”
Seamus laughed.
Fast as a heartbeat, a dagger flashed from beneath her cloak. The cold blade pressed against the side of Robert’s neck before either of his men caught the movement. Despite her impressive speed, he’d anticipated her action the instant she shifted her body weight. But with the frightened look in her eyes, the hesitation in her execution, and the hard swallow in her throat, he withheld his reaction—he knew she didn’t want to hurt him, and he didn’t want to injure her unnecessarily.
He slowly raised his hands, giving his men a pointed look and slight head shake as an order to stand down. The returned looks from both men held equal parts amusement and irritation.
“You’ll let me be on my way,” she said.
“Nay. I will not.” He arched a brow and leaned forward, causing her to retract or slice his neck.
She gasped and jerked her hand away. As the steel blade lifted from his neck, Robert grabbed her wrist, spun her around, and clamped his biceps around her bent arms, pinning her dangerous hands to her ribcage.