A Highlander Christmas (22 page)

“And we can be together if I agree to this rite?”

He nodded. “But there is a price for us to be together. Once we are eternally bound, you cannot leave Annwyn—ever.”

Her heart sank. To never see Fiona again, or her father. To never see her soon-to-be niece or nephew . . .

When she looked up at him, it was through tears. “You speak of eternity. Are you immortal?”

He stroked her cheek. “We can be killed, by iron and black magic. But if left in peace to live out our natural lives, it is possible for my kind to live many hundreds of years, and when it is our time, our magic dies, our inner light wanes, and we fade into Summerland.”

“Would I live that long then?”

“In Annwyn you would. Once you are bound to me and my magic, I will make it so.”

“Everyone I love will be long dead before I die.” Biting her lip, she forced back the croak in her voice. “And in the afterlife? Where will I go? To our heaven or to your version of it?”

“I do not know.” His gaze softened, and he kissed her brow, then her nose, before softly brushing his mouth against hers. “ ’Tis much I ask of you, Isobel. I know that. I will not press you. I will release my spell on the pin, and my hold on you. You see,” he said, cupping her cheek, “I love you too much to see you unhappy. Come willingly to me, understanding all that you will give up, or come not at all and be happy and know that I will always love you.”

“Daegan!” she cried as she threw her arms around his neck. “Why must it be so hard for us!”

“It is the way of star-crossed lovers, is it not?”

She grumbled, but then sobered. “I nearly forgot,” she said, pulling away from him. “My father has organized a hunting party for tomorrow morning—”

“And I am to be hunted?” he asked with a grin.

“Do not make light of this,” she said, slapping him lightly on his arm. “You must take care to keep hidden.”

“You worry?” he asked, rather pleased.

“Of course I worry. My father wants your head mounted and hung above our fireplace, for heaven’s sake.”

He laughed and gathered her close. “I can take care of myself,
muirnín.
There is no need for these tears, for come the night I will be waiting for you. You will see.”

She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

He nodded and settled against the headboard. “I will stay with you. Forever if you will have me,
muirnín.
”

In the morning he was gone. Isobel hurried and got up from bed and rang the bell for her maid.

Elizabeth arrived seconds later. “Ack, Miss,” she cried, rushing over. “Donna rush. Breakfast is nae ready yet.”

“My father and brothers,” she grunted, twisting in order to undo the buttons of her nightgown. “Have they left yet?”

“Nay, miss. The horses are only being saddled now.”

“Good, then fetch my riding habit and leather boots.”

“You’re gonna ride this morning, before tea?” Elizabeth asked. “That’s not like you, miss.”

“I know,” she huffed, straightening her hair as her maid pulled the black-a nd-gold habit from the wardrobe.

“Why donna you sit, miss, and I’ll se tae your hair.”

“I’m in something of a rush, Elizabeth. I won’t be fussing with it today.”

She shocked her maid speechless when she pulled the wool skirt from the hanger and jumped into it without her drawers and petticoats. “Help me, Elizabeth. I can’t manage the buttons by myself.”

“Are you all right, miss? You ’aven’t taken ill, ’ave you?”

Isobel laughed. “Perhaps taken leave of my senses, but I assure you, I’m hale and hearty in every other aspect. Now then, Elizabeth, if you will inform the groomsman to prepare my horse.”

She had Daegan to save this morning.

In the end, Daegan had evaded them. Thank the Lord, she thought, glancing up at the sky. Daegan was safe. But for how long? she wondered.

Well, at least he had not come to any harm. She had been terrified for him. Every time she had seen the trees of the forest sway she had feared he would emerge, prepared to charge.

But he hadn’t. She wondered what had kept him away. Instinctively she knew it wasn’t fear. Daegan was fearless. Perhaps it was for her own peace of mind.

Closing her eyes, she thought of him and the night they’d shared. She also thought of his proposal, if it could be called such. A rite, he had called it, a way to bind them together forever. She only had to sacrifice her family to his.

Why could love never be easy? she wondered. As she patted her mount’s muzzle, Isobel turned away. She was cold and hungry. A good meat pie and a cup of tea is what she needed.

“Don’t go.”

She gasped and looked up as she caught the shadow of someone emerging from her horse’s stall.
St. Clair
.

“Good day, my lord.”

“Good day, Isobel. I trust your ride was successful.”

“The hart was not found.”

St. Clair looked relieved. “But you’ve seen him, haven’t you?”

Isobel cocked her head to the side. “Not of late, my lord.”

“The hart. He is yours.”

Isobel took a step back as the earl came closer. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“He was going to impale me, and yet, when he saw you standing there, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. To murder me before you.”

She laughed, a tight, high-pitched sound. “He’s an animal, my lord.”

“Aren’t we all?” the earl murmured as he came to stand toe to toe with her. “But to return to the hart. For some reason he’s marked you.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I’m really rather hungry and would like to change clothes before luncheon—”

His arm shot out, preventing her from moving. “They say the hart is really the ruler of Annwyn. And Annwyn is always ruled by the Sidhe.”

Isobel swallowed hard, but held his gaze.

“Have you seen the hart in his man’s form, Isobel?”

“Of course not!” she cried. “This is just rubbish!”

“I have watched you, you know. You always seem drawn to the woods. Now more than ever, I see you looking at them.”

“I like nature.”

He smiled, but there was little warmth in it. “Last night, at the table, did you believe me?”

“About faeries?”

“Aye.”

She cast about for an answer, anything that would make him leave her alone and protect Daegan.

“I think you did,” St. Clair murmured. “I saw the recognition in your eyes when I raised the athame. You’ve seen it before.”

Isobel shook her head, but the earl quieted her protests. “I will tell you now what I couldn’t say last night. The woods, Isobel, are alive, teeming with Sidhe. My mother knew that. She was seduced by their magic. By one of their males—”

Isobel tried to step to the side, but St. Clair wrapped his hands around her shoulders, caging her. “My mother began to waste away. She would sit for hours and hours, staring out the window, watching. Pining for her lover.”

“My lord, really—”

“Her lover came for her; I saw him. I knew that night I would never see her again.”

“And what do you mean by telling me this?” Isobel asked.

St. Clair’s eyes turned molten. “I believe you are under the same spell.”

Her whole body went rigid. “You are insane,” she scoffed.

“You don’t know, do you? Theirs is a dwindling race. They have resorted to stealing the odd human woman to . . . procreate. But in this case, I believe my mother was taken for another reason, namely her knowledge of the dark arts.”

“What do you mean by dark arts?” she asked in a whisper.

“My mother was a skilled herbalist. She practiced only for the good, but she well knew the ways of the other side, the herbs and spells of dark magic, or necromancy as it is known. This is why she was stolen by the Sidhe, to act as a priestess for their dark arts.”

Isobel felt goose bumps rise on her arms and neck. Daegan had said nothing about dark magic. It could not be true.

Could it?

“My lord, I beg of you, you must stop this foolishness—”

“The dark arts can be a seductive lure, Isobel. But once you’re ensnared, you’ll never be seen again. No mortal can save you.”

“I thank you for your concern, but you needn’t worry.” Isobel pushed firmly on his arm and moved past him.

St. Clair raised his voice. “I saw my mother, some years later, lying at the edge of the wood.”

Isobel stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.

“She was dead, her skin marked with strange symbols. Ask your gamekeeper—he’ll tell you, for it was he who found her.”

“Symbols?” she asked, swallowing hard.

“Dark magick.”

“You seek to frighten me.”

St. Clair studied her. “Are you frightened, Isobel?”

Lifting her chin, Isobel met his gaze. “Not one bit, my lord.”

It was Christmas Eve, and the hall was decked out for the ball. Everywhere one looked there were garlands and mistletoe. The fires in the hearths were blazing; the chestnuts, roasting and popping.

The local merchants and their wives along with the surrounding gentry had descended upon them only minutes before.

Isobel greeted each guest at the door with her father, brothers, and Fiona, while St. Clair mingled in the ballroom. Isobel tried to smile and be gracious; after all, it was Christmas Eve. But the truth was, her heart was not in it.

Two nights had passed since she’d seen Daegan. And true to his word he had not tried to lure her into the forest. The pin had not called to her as it had in the past, and she was saddened by the thought that he had removed the enchantment spell.

St. Clair’s words had ceased to bother her. She did not believe the man. She knew with complete certainty that Daegan would never hurt her. There was nothing sinister about him, nor the passion and love they shared.

It was not the earl’s talk of black magick that made her stay away from Daegan, but the thought of leaving this world behind. Of never seeing her family, or holding her niece or nephew.

Would she even have a child of her own? Daegan hadn’t mentioned that. Could a human and Sidhe create life? Could she have the things she longed for in life if she left her world behind to go to Daegan?

“Shall we, Miss MacDonald?” Isobel looked up to see St. Clair standing beside her, offering his arm. With a weak smile she accepted and allowed him to maneuver her onto the dance floor.

“You dance very well,” he murmured as they waltzed together.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Permit me to say that you look tired, Isobel. I have noticed these past few days that you are not yourself. Are you unwell?”

“No, I’m very well, thank you.” Except it was a lie. She was not well. She was sad, and that sadness seemed to be consuming her. Laughter erupted from the corner of the room, and she saw it was Ewan and his friends jesting. In another corner sat Stuart and Fiona. He was holding her hand and kissing it when no one was looking. Her father was with his cronies talking politics and finance, and she saw how he smiled and laughed. It seemed her family members were all content. Everyone was alive . . . except . . . well, it was a melodramatic thought, but she could not help it. It was as if everyone was living and she was merely existing.

“I hope I have not given you reason to be angry with me. I sought only your protection, Isobel.”

She smiled at him, for the first time truly seeing him. “You are a good man, my lord. I do believe you feared for me, and for that, I thank you. But there is no need. There is nothing that will harm me in the woods.”

St. Clair studied her. “You seem to be . . . resolved to something. I see it in your eyes.”

She laughed for the first time in days. “I do believe I am.”

When the music ended, she excused herself and left the ballroom, running through the halls and up the stairs to her room. Once there, she flung open the door and raced to the wardrobe where she had hidden the pin.

This is what she wanted. A life. A future with Daegan.

Rushing to her writing table, she took out a sheet of paper and wrote a letter to her family. She propped it up against a glass perfume bottle, knowing her maid would find it there tomorrow. And then she held the pin in her palm and closed her eyes, wishing with all her heart for one more chance with Daegan.