Highlander Enchanted(31)

He left the lovers and the stables, his mood black. Too agitated to fetch his sword, he snatched two of the wooden swords kept for practice at the lists and began beating one of the wooden dummies. Within seconds, he was lost to the fire in his blood.

Cade slammed the swords into his enemy, grinding his teeth as he fought a battle against himself. Here, he could allow his control to slip, and he did so, unleashing the fury, the confusion, the unseillie magic. As a laird, he was expected to always have answers and solutions, but often times, he had neither. He massacred the feelings such knowledge created, along with the ongoing frustration of not knowing the best way to provide a future for his clan, to protect the last of the seillie from discovery, to have a home of their own.

He fought the demons from his time in the Holy Lands, the despair he had experienced trapped in a dungeon for months, the faces of those he had killed to free his kin and others. Men, women and children fell beneath his sword and his rage, and only Niall had been able to pull him away from the edge of darkness and prevent him from turning completely into one of the dark unseillie they had been warned about growing up.

Part of him acknowledged he had already crossed that line, and his struggle now was not allowing himself to linger in the darkness but instead to continue fighting for what was good and just in a way that was also good and just.

Even if that way was harder. With dark, unseillie magic, he could take a keep large enough for his people and slaughter everyone who lived there in their sleep.

But this was not the legacy he wanted to leave, not the man he wanted to become. Sometimes, when he was exhausted and bereft of options, he started to listen to the whispers of darkness encouraging him to take instead of earn, to kill instead of respect. These whispers were louder now than usual, and he blamed the situation in his hold for it.

His clan’s need for land and soon, food.

Niall’s secret.

Isabel’s claims.

These were issues he was unable to fight with a sword or understand with his warrior mind. He had no example to follow of a good laird. His own father had become a wastrel and drunk after the death of his mother, and his uncles were dead before he was old enough to know them.

“Cade.” Father Henry’s old voice pulled him from the darkness.

Breathless, Cade lowered the swords and faced the priest, who remained beneath the eaves of the hold. “What is it?” he asked gruffly.

“Niall said ye wished to send word to court?” the priest

“We need t’ken the truth of our guest,” Cade replied. “Of the fate of the MacCosse claim to their lands.”

“Verra well. I will prepare a scroll now. Who shall we send?”

Cade debated. His first thought was Brian, who had the manners for court that he did not. The image of Niall and Siobhan was forefront in his mind, however, and he quickly decided to send his ugly cousin to court instead.

Father Henry bobbed his head at the order and hurried away into the hold.

Cade returned to his swords.





Chapter Twelve


Isabel paused in the doorway of the Great Hall, drawn by the sounds of gaiety and laughter. The merry seillie of clan MacLachlainn had formed a circle in the center of the Hall and were dancing. The music of a lute and harp filled the air and was accompanied by clapping. The MacDonald’s, wet and tired, were being drawn in slowly, some clapping and some rising to join the dancers.

Even Lord Richard and his knights were smiling as they watched from their table, seeming at ease in a hold they had not wished to enter earlier.

The longer she stood, the more relaxed she, too, became. Food was forgotten, and the wine cups empty. His guests did not seem to notice. Harp music, beautiful and soothing, wound through her senses and filled her with a sense of peace she had not experienced in a very long time. She began to think it was seillie magic causing everyone to smile when they had little reason to.

“Lady Isabel.”

She turned and blinked away the spell, recalling where she had been headed before lured to the Hall by its music. Her handmaiden, the freckled girl with copper hair, stood grinning behind her. Her hair was in no less than six braids, the same amount she had placed in Isabel’s hair earlier in the day.

She held out her hands for the load of wool blankets Isabel held.

“Oh, thank you,” Isabel said and handed them off. “It is good of your cousins to make merry with the MacDonald’s. They have endured much today, and there is little room for them here.”

“We love t’dance and sing!” Fianna said and skipped down the hallway. “’Tis in our nature!”

Isabel gave a tired smile. She was at least grateful for the music in the Hall occupying those who had nowhere to sleep yet. She trailed Fianna into a large parlor near the entrance of the keep and began helping her build small pallets beside one another. Estimating how many would fit, she determined they would need more rooms, perhaps those bedchambers on the second floor of the keep. She both dreaded and rejoiced at the idea of putting Richard and his knights into two chambers instead of five.

“Lady Isabel,” Brian called from the doorway.

“Yes?”

“We have meat fer four days and grain for ten,” he reported.

“Four days and ten?” she repeated, eyebrows lifting. “How did you plan to survive the winter?”

Fianna giggled. Brian cleared his throat. “This willna be our home come winter.”