Highlander Enchanted(61)
She held her breath. “What do you mean?”
“He took away my madness and made it his own. ‘Twas how he earned the name Black Cade. It was stronger than he thought it was, and it nearly claimed him as it tried to claim me. He wanted to save me, and I destroyed us both.”
“No, John,” she said, hugging him harder. “You are alive, and so is he.”
“I saw what he did in the Great Hall. He unleashed the madness and forced you to wed him.”
“He is a tempest, oft-times too distant to reach you and oft-times, overhead. He forced me to wed but he never hurt me, ever, in the time I have known him.”
“He frightened you.”
“Of course!” she exclaimed. “Did he not ever frighten you?”
John snorted. “He did.”
“Cade is …” She paused. The Highlander was vexing, as moody as the weather, and strong. But he had never raised a hand to her. “A barbarian. But he is good of heart, I believe.” When he is not tearing off men’s heads with his bare hands, she added silently. “He wed me for my lands and nothing more.”
“What does a Highlander want with Saxony?” John asked, genuinely confused.
“No, not …” She drifted off once more. “John, Father told me the truth before he died.”
John lifted his head from her shoulder and gazed at her with his piercing green eyes. “That he was not your father.”
“You did know.” She frowned, dismayed.
“I had to know. I was the next Baron of Saxony. Father believed your true father to be invaluable, if we needed his power or influence.”
She sighed.
“Your mother was a courtier to a king. Should you not rejoice to learn you will not suffer the curse of madness befalling Saxony?” he asked.
“Do you think less of me for not being your natural sister?”
“Do you think less of me for bearing this face?” he returned with some of the fire she remembered. Her John had always been strong, direct and quick to call another’s bluff or lie.
Isabel began to smile and held his gaze. “Never. I love you more for bearing your scars.”
“Forgive me for not protecting you,” he said and cupped her cheek in his scarred palm. “Cade knew of your birthright?”
“He does now,” she admitted. “I wanted to find him, to seek revenge for you and Father, and I did not care what befell me. I was careless.”
“Revenge. You tried to kill him?”
“Once or twice.”
John laughed, a sound as broken as his voice. “’Tis your Highland blood, sister.”
Her cheeks grew warm.
“You came so far for vengeance,” he continued, humor fading. “Why did you not wed Lord Richard and remain at Saxony?”
“I could not,” she replied firmly. “I did not belong there, not if you and Father were gone and I was never … we are not blood.”
“Saxony is your home. Our father adopted you as his and you will always be my sister.”
She hugged him. “My heart broke when I heard you died.”
“Richard would have protected you.”
She debated how to tell him about Richard, a knight who had gone on campaigns with John. “It is of no concern now. I am wed to Laird Cade.”
“It can be annulled, if you wish to return to Saxony.”
“Are you to return?” she asked, searching his features.
It was his turn to hesitate. “I do not belong at court with this face.”
“You do not belong here, either, John. Saxony is yours. You must claim it.”
“I have thought long on this,” he said. He moved away from her and stretched for a water bladder. “I am not the man I was when I left. I do not think I can be the man Father would have wanted me to be.”
“Father died believing you dead. All he wished was for you to return. He was consumed by grief,” she said softly. “He would have loved your scars as I do.”
John was quiet.
“If you do not claim your birthright, another will take our home,” she added. “Cade does not want it. He wished for the MacCosse lands that belonged to my mother. Our uncle is regent but there is someone else who has sought our Saxony lands by any means.” She sought some indication in his features he was interested in his home. The competitive knight before her had once been very proud of his nobility.
He seemed to wrestle with himself, his jaw clenched and gaze stormy.
“You cannot think to stay here,” she said with a glance around. “You are the son of a baron favored by the English and Scottish courts. You have been through enough, John.”
“I was not there for you when Father passed. I caused his death, Isabel. I do not deserve Saxony.”
She heard the firmness in his tone and also the conflicted note. She feared saying more about Richard when her brother had been a companion of his. Perhaps, if he witnessed the noble’s ambition, he would be more willing to reclaim his birthright. However, for now, she sensed he was closed to the idea.
The door creaked open. An exotic woman with dark features, hair and eyes entered and paused, looking them over.
John motioned her to enter. “Isabel, this is Fatima. She rescued me from the dungeons and healed me.”