Highland Sword Read online

  “Said by the woman who pulls off The Kinkvervankotsdarsprakengotchderns Anecdote off the shelf.”

  Her eyes rounded. “I can’t believe you remember that name.”

  “Or was it the Kinkerpachydermsprackens?”

  “That’s more like it. You’re fallible after all. You don’t remember everything.” She patted him on the arm. “Something else. Parents need alternative battle plans.”

  “I’ll teach them to develop an effective argument.”

  “You’ll be sorry for that. They’ll soon strip you of your authority.” She motioned toward Niall. He was on one knee, and the girls were trying to climb him like a castle wall. “Children also need physical exercise.”

  “I’ll leave that decision to their mother to decide. That is, unless she confuses the nursery with the armory. Of course, what’s the harm of a weapon or two?”

  Morrigan’s gaze flew to his face but then darted away quickly.

  Aidan cursed inwardly. What was he doing, saying such things? His life was completely at sixes and sevens right now. He had a pressing trial ahead of him. As much as thoughts about Morrigan never left him, he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by romance. Still, despite what his brain told him, his tongue seemed to have an agenda of its own.

  The sound of fiddle and pipe, the voices, and the general noise of celebrating filled the air, but neither of them could find the right word to resume their conversation. Maisie approached them and they exchanged greetings.

  “Niall and I can take the girls with us.” She turned to Aidan. “Would you be kind enough to escort Morrigan to the bonfire? She’s talked about nothing else all day.”

  Before either could say a word, Maisie ran off after her husband and nieces.

  He and Morrigan both started talking at once.

  “Do I have to stand by the trees?”

  “I didn’t mention any bonfire today. Not once!”

  They both laughed. Aidan felt a weight had been lifted.

  “Auld Jean is the best storyteller of all,” Morrigan told him. “This morning, she was trying to convince us all to wear animal heads and skins and run through the village.”

  “That would have been quite a sight.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there won’t be any naked women dancing around the fire at Dalmigavie tonight.”

  “Then we might as well go and bob for apples.” He offered his arm and she took it. “But perhaps we should stop at the fortune teller first.”

  “I need no fortune.”

  “I see you’ve been spending far too much time with those children.”

  “Just the perfect amount, I’d say.”

  She was happy again. Curious about some of the activities, she asked many questions. The crowds were growing more concentrated as the two of them walked along. Aidan drew her closer to his side.

  “Your very first Samhain in the Highlands,” he said, stopping by a fire surrounded by a group of young villagers who were cheering loudly. “Did you mark your name on a hazel nut?”

  “What for?”

  He nodded toward the fire. “Two groups of hazel nuts are placed close to the fire. One group is marked with the names of the village’s maidens, and the other with the eligible bachelors. As the nuts pop, the names of the pairs are linked.”

  “None of that silliness for me.” She shook her head and tugged on his arm to continue their walk.

  “It’s all quite scientific.”

  She laughed. Near the kirk, they found the apple dooking, the busiest activity they’d come upon thus far.

  “Among the Highland people, the apple has strong ties with the other world and even immortality,” he told her.

  “Then I’ll take one. But you should take two.”

  They moved closer, standing where she could watch as men and women waited for their turns to plunge their faces into the barrels of water and catch the fruit with their teeth. Very few appeared to be succeeding.

  “It seems easy. But it’s not.”

  They joined in with the cheering and the groans when a young man almost had one but immediately lost it back into the barrel. “You have to catch the apple with your teeth. Otherwise it’s gone.”

  “So you need a very big mouth.”

  She cheered on a young woman who went into the barrel up to her shoulders only to come out with her face and hair and clothes soaked, but no fruit.

  “What’s the prize if you get one?” she asked.

  “Good fortune for the coming year.”

  “More fortune.” She shook her head, smiling at all the excitement. “I like apples, but you won’t catch me standing in a line to dunk my face in cold water.”

  “You might be very good at this.”

  “Ha! And have you and everyone else make sport of me? No, thank you.”

  Aidan tugged at her hand. “Come with me. There is a game here I know you’ll enjoy playing.”

  “Will it involve an apple? Do I eat it afterwards?”

  Aidan recalled Briana’s grumbling about wanting an apple. Morrigan didn’t sound much different. She wanted it now. “Of course.”

  Nearby, a group of young women were peeling apples. More people stood around them, urging them on. He put a hand in the small of Morrigan’s back and guided her to the front of a crowd of onlookers.

  “This doesn’t look like a game.”

  “Ah, but it is.” He nudged her closer. “You need to peel an apple all in one paring.”

  “That’s all? That seems far too simple. Is it a race?”

  “It’s more difficult than it looks.” He motioned to the person who was handing out the fruit. She offered one to Morrigan.

  She eyed the apple. “Perhaps I’ll just eat it.”

  This playfulness in her was something new. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. Aidan wanted to kiss the smile pulling at her lips.

  “Peel it first.”

  The woman offered her a knife, but Morrigan shook her head and drew her sgian dubh.

  “You don’t need to kill it. Just peel it.”

  “You don’t need to tell me how to use a knife. As you well know, I’m an expert.”

  He snorted and she stared into his face.

  “You have no cuts or bruises at the moment, Mr. Grant. Some of these women might say you look handsome. So don’t tempt me to use this on you.”

  He took her chin in his hand. Her eyes widened in surprise. They were deep black pools with glints of firelight reflected in them. Their faces were inches apart. “There are better ways to mark me than with the knife.”

  Morrigan’s gaze drifted to his mouth. He wanted to kiss her. Right now. Aidan’s hands itched to pull her hard against his body and tell her to do her worst.

  She pulled away and fixed her attention on the fruit. A single line furrowed her brow, and her eyes focused on her task. She was all concentration as she peeled the fruit with precision and speed. Heads turned in their direction. Those around them cheered her as the entire skin came away unbroken.

  “Fine work, lass,” an onlooker called out. “Now throw the peel over yer shoulder.”

  Shouts came from all sides as Morrigan tossed the skin. The women nearby all gathered around where the peel landed. Everyone had an opinion.

  “What are we looking for?” Morrigan wanted to know, joining them.

  “The letter. What letter do ye see?”

  She took a bite of the apple and leaned down to study the pattern of the curled skin.

  “It’s an A,” she announced.

  Cheers went up all around her, and Morrigan stared at them in confusion.

  Aidan always thought of himself as a man of reason. He used fact in his arguments. He largely ignored fantasy and old wives’ tales. He liked to walk on solid ground and avoid slippery slopes. Still, he was a Highlander, and his heart beat a little faster as he stared at the shape of the apple peel on the ground.

  “What does it mean?” Morrigan asked the women around her.

>   “The peel takes the shape of the first initial of the man ye’ll marry.”

  She leaned over and stared at the pattern again for a long moment. When she straightened, her face was flushed, and she shook her head. “Rubbish.”

  Her denial prompted loud laughter, and she walked calmly toward him.

  Aidan decided that she could say what she wanted, act as composed as she pleased, but even in the light of the torches, he could see the bright splotches on her cheeks.

  “Who do you think it is?”

  She didn’t answer but held out the half-eaten apple toward him. “Would you care for a bite?”

  “I believe I would.”

  He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and slowly brought the fruit to his lips. Their eyes locked. Deliberately, he took his time—staring at her mouth, wet from the apple—before he took a bite.

  He saw her lips part, and he released her. Everything around them disappeared. The crowds, the fires, the village, everything. Only he and Morrigan existed. They were two people drawn together by an invisible tie. Caught in this moment, this sublime instant, as time stood still.

  “May I kiss you?”

  She stared at his lips and nodded slightly.

  Aidan took her hand, and the two of them moved quickly down a lane away from the light of the market square fires. Urgency seized them, and suddenly they were running. He didn’t know where they were going until she pulled him to the gate of a dark cottage.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze scouring every inch of her face. “So perfect and—”

  Morrigan kissed him. Raising herself on her tiptoes, she crushed her lips against his.

  There were no soft words. No coaxing. No wooing. Their kiss became the unleashing of repressed desire. Aidan’s fingers delved into her hair, and his mouth devoured her lips, forcing her mouth open. His tongue surged inside. She gave a stifled gasp, and her body molded against him. Her hands encircled his waist, pulling him tighter.

  Suddenly, she drew back. Her eyes were wide. She pushed him away, shaking her head. He backed up a step, his heart still racing.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, alarm evident in her voice. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

  Morrigan turned and ran up the lane, and Aidan watched her go, confused and wondering what exactly he’d done to frighten her.

  CHAPTER 19

  MORRIGAN

  Morrigan’s lips tingled from the kiss. How alive she’d felt in Aidan’s arms! As the castle walls loomed up in the darkness ahead, her heart raced. For the first time, she’d been overthrown by real passion. It struck like a summer storm, with lightning flashing and thunder shaking the ground beneath her feet.

  Morrigan wanted to give and take. To sample and feel. To hold onto him and ask him never to let her go.

  Aidan challenged her and—for all his teasing—respected her. He wasn’t intimidated by who she was or what she was capable of doing. And her heart sang every time she was near him. Right now, her body burned, knowing he wanted her. And his words. The hints about matrimony and children.

  Her steps faltered. She stopped.

  What was she thinking?

  Morrigan looked around her in the darkness. They said that tonight fairies, ghosts, and witches roamed unhindered. Spirits of mischief playing their tricks on humans. Making off with souls of the living. Tonight, she was being tricked into believing that she could have a life. Have a future filled with dreams.

  But she wouldn’t allow herself to be fooled. Aidan Grant was special. A man who cared about others. A barrister. Many hopes were pinned on his success in becoming a member of Parliament. The Highlanders needed him. And what did she have to offer? A father with radical views, shot dead by an English officer. A stepmother with a bounty on her head, married to the man who posed the greatest threat to the Crown in a hundred years. Her close connection to the rebels of the Highlands and her family presented a life fraught with scandal. And when the shame of her own past came out, Aidan would be ruined.

  She needed to face the truth, she had no place in his future.

  She stabbed at the futile tears on her cheeks, and her gaze drifted up to the castle. A light shone in a window of the ancient tower rising above Dalmigavie’s keep. The room where Wemys lay dying. As she stared, anger filled her, building on her unhappiness. That lighted window was just one more reminder that she could never have a future where happiness existed.

  Samhain. The night when time lost all meaning. Past, present, and future came together as one. Life and death too. A thin veil separated the world of the living from the world of the dead. At Samhain, the veil dropped away. The worlds merged.

  Wemys was dead to her, but she had still a promise to fulfill. A door she had to close.

  Morrigan had put it off for nine days. Nine days of fretting, of nightmares, of trying to decide if she should renege on her promise. Isabella wouldn’t blame her. She’d already told her that much. Still, she knew she had to go through with it. She’d go to Wemys and allow him to speak. He’d agreed to her terms. Done his part. Now it was her turn. She had to do it, if for no other reason, for Aidan. He might still need the blackguard’s testimony for his trial.

  Only a few people remained in the castle tonight. A watchman above the gate nodded as she raced through the entrance. Most of the Mackintoshes were celebrating in the village. Morrigan headed directly toward the old tower.

  Since they moved him here, she’d walked this way every day going up to the parapets. She’d been testing herself. Morrigan wanted to make sure she could do it and not fall apart. She’d done fairly well. Grown stronger and harder with each passing day. But tonight, each step was a stab to her heart. Morrigan felt her head pound. Cold sweat formed along her spine.

  Damn him.

  She was back in that small bedroom in Perth, trapped beneath his body. His hand was covering her mouth. She couldn’t breathe.

  Damn him.

  Damn him.

  Morrigan’s knees wobbled as she reached the floor where his room was located. She lunged into the dark corridor and stopped. She pressed her forehead against the cold stone wall and tried to focus on her breathing, waiting for the weakness to pass.

  “He can’t hurt me.”

  She reached into her boot and retrieved her sgian dubh. The feel of the weapon in her hand was reassuring.

  “He can’t hurt me.”

  A lamp hanging from the wall cast flickering shadows. Tonight, the door between the living and dead was open. Let the spirits pass back and forth. Isabella knew the truth, but this was her battle. Her future depended on it. This was her chance to shove her own demons back into the darkness. She would not let them haunt her anymore.

  She steeled herself for what she must do. Going to Wemys’s door, she knocked.

  Aidan’s clerk, Kane Branson, was down in the village too. One of the serving women answered the door. Morrigan asked her if she could wait in the corridor.

  The older woman quickly fetched her basket of mending and stepped out. Morrigan closed the door behind her. A candle flickered on a table next to the chair where she’d been sitting.

  As the daughter of a doctor, she’d grown up knowing what death looked like. What it smelled like. The air in this room reeked of it. The form of the man lying in the bed, his face pointed at the ceiling, his skin waxy and transparent, could easily have been a corpse already. Only the irregular rise and fall of his sunken chest showed that Wemys still lived. And the sound of each wheezing breath.

  Morrigan moved closer, until she could stare at his face. As she watched him, his cheek twisted and trembled as if he were being tortured in his sleep. She hoped he was being lashed or racked, tormented by devils in a horrible place where people like him burned and suffered for all eternity.

  His face was blotchy and wrinkled. One would think he was ancient, though she knew his age could not be much past forty. Forty years of villainy. What a waste of life.

  A cough erupted in his ches
t, thick and painful. He gasped for air and moaned, and suddenly his eyes opened. They filled with fear as he realized it was Morrigan standing over him. She stared back at him. A look of resignation settled over his features.

  She felt no fear. He couldn’t hurt her. No longer. She was not a defenseless, twelve-year-old child anymore.

  “You’re here. That’s a blessing.”

  “One you don’t deserve.”

  Wemys tried to push himself up in his bed, but he was too weak. He sank back on his pillow.

  “You have no audience now. It’s only you and me and your maker. Say what you have to say and be quick about it.”

  “Maker,” he scoffed. He looked around the room as if to make certain she was telling the truth, that they were alone. His gaze lit on the weapon she held in her hand.

  “Did you come to kill me?”

  She lifted the dagger. The candlelight glinted along the polished blade. “I can give you no death as painful as the one that awaits you.”

  Another cough wracked his body, and Morrigan slid her sgian dubh back into its sheath.

  Suddenly, a feeling of calm descended over her. Looking at this sorry excuse for a human being, wasted and too weak even to raise himself in his bed, she realized he was finished. There was nothing this man could do to hurt her again. There was nothing she could do to make him suffer more. The desire for revenge she’d harbored for so long lifted.

  “I’m only here because we had an agreement. You revealed a name. And you will testify at court if Mr. Grant calls on you. I’m here now, as I promised, and you will get this chance only once. Now speak.”

  A fit, intense and painful, jolted him. He rolled weakly to the side, coughing up bloody phlegm. A cup of water sat on a table by his bed. He drank it down and waited for the attack to subside. He settled back, weak and exhausted.

  “I’m dying,” he said finally, pushing out the words between gasps for air. “They offered to bring me a priest. But the forgiveness I seek cannot come from any churchman.”

  “That’s nothing to me,” Morrigan replied, hearing the hardness in her own voice. She forced down the bile rising in her throat. This was what this man did to her. On that night, he robbed her of something soft, forgiving.