Highlander Enchanted(29)

There was a pause, as if they awaited him to react to her knowledge of what they were. He titled his head to the side, seconding her order, and servants dashed off to obey.

“Laird Hugh needs to rest,” Isabel said. “I have someone preparing your bedchamber for him. You may escort him there at once.” She started towards the storage chambers on the lower level. “And be quick about the storm!”

Cade watched her, amused by the alarmed looks his clan members gave him. “Lady Isabel,” he called.

She turned, her chin lifting in subtle defiance.

“D’ye wish the storm t’return before dawn?” he asked.

She did not move, did not flinch. He knew without a doubt she understood what he was asking. If the storm ceased permanently, her betrothed would drag her back to England.

“Do what you will,” she snapped and spun away.

At the very least, it was not a no.

Further frustrated to have the MacDonald’s under his protection and to be no closer to solving the mystery of Isabel, Cade found it harder than usual to control the intensity of the tempest outside. His mood was brittle, his concern for his clan and that of the MacDonald’s leaving him in need of a good battle to settle his blood.

He left to escort Laird MacDonald to his chamber and then headed to the secondary shrine tucked into a corner of the keep where only three members of his clan held the key. Swinging the heavy door open, he breathed in the scents of plants and water deeply. This chamber had been made to resemble the forest. The stone flooring was removed upon his arrival, and his people had brought saplings from the forest to plant in the rich earth. The ceiling was gone as well, and the walls were extended as high as those surrounding the bailey, so no one could see inside his private sanctuary. Magic helped the saplings grow faster than usual, to the point they now towered above his head. At the center of the chamber was a small pond tinkling with the sound of raindrops pelting it.

Cade relaxed in the peaceful setting, the only place outside the forest he had ever been able to soothe his raging thoughts and the darkness left over from his time in the Holy Lands. As always, he removed his shoes, sword and tunic before proceeding to the small altar, consisting of a round, flattened stone, beside the pond.

He sat and rolled his shoulders before breathing deeply thrice and bowing his head. Clearing his mind, he allowed the magic inside him to unite with the magic of nature, until his skin prickled with energy, and he was in tune with the swaying trees and patter of rain. Thunder growled and lightning tore across the sky above him. Even the violent aspects of nature helped him calm.

In the ancient language of his mother’s people, he began to speak quietly. “By my seillie blood, with the grace of our gods and what remains of the Light Court, I request the tempest to vanish, if only for the time it takes to hunt.” He cut the pad of his thumb to free the magic in his blood then opened his eyes. Lights danced before his eyes.

They were pink. All of them. Cade snorted and reached out to them, suspecting the magic read his thoughts as to why he wanted the storm not to cease completely. Pink was the color of heart magic, of affection, truth and warmth. It was the color of home and the emotion that emerged whenever one dwelt on his hearth.

“Isna what ye think,” he told the pink flickers. “She needs my help. I need her land.” The same was said for the daughter of Laird Hugh, but he did not dwell on this.

The sparks swarmed around his hand, turning from specks of magic into a stream. He whispered a prayer of gratitude and released it, watching the pink flash burst into pieces too tiny to see as it soared upwards towards the clouds.

Assured the magic would do what it should, he centered himself, unaffected by the rain that soon drenched him. He enjoyed the peace of uniting with his magic and nature. The momentary calm did not often last long. He barely slept, and his waking moments were a struggle against the memories, the faces of men he had murdered in battle, justly or unjustly.

Aware he had little time to himself with the refugees in his Hall, he rose and dressed once more before leaving the quiet sanctuary.

The keep was packed. Every hall, every common room, every inch of dry, sheltered space was filled with guests and his own kin. He walked through the hallways, observing the gradual change as the night progressed. Isabel placed the wounded into one solar, the ill in another, far enough away from the Great Hall not to be disturbed by the gathered people. She managed to find pallets for every guest who was not afforded a bedchamber and put more than half a dozen more clan members to task assisting those who needed it.

Food began pouring into the Great Hall as she ordered the cooks to open the storage chambers to feed their guests. The scent of bread cooking and meats on the spit soon filled the keep, along with the gentle music of his people, and every goblet was kept filled with wine.

By midnight, the MacDonald’s had all but forgotten the reason they fled their home. Filled with meat and drunk on wine, they formed a merry bunch in the Great Hall, seated side by side with the MacLachlainn clan and a handful of English knights.

Cade folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorway to the Hall, pleased with the results. Lady Isabel did indeed know how to manage a household. No one in his hold, including him, knew how to manage a household without using magic.

Thoughts on his future, he scoured the Hall for Siobhan without seeing her. Unconcerned, he pushed away from the door to join the English who had sequestered themselves away from the raucous Highlanders.