One #7
“That’s the best news I’ve heard today,” Alec said and sheathed his sword. “We’ll finish this.”
“No,” Rachel exhaled. “I will not have blood spilled over me.”
Alec’s eyes turned to her. They still held fury, but their blue depths softened.
“It’s our way, lass.” He indicated the large tapestry hanging on the wall depicting the death scene that had started the feud a hundred years ago.
“I willna have ye slandered, and I willna give ye up to those lying bastards.”
She stepped closer to him, her eyes and face as hard as his own. “Then I’m coming.” Her voice dropped. “To clean up whatever mess you all make.” If she couldn’t stop them from fighting, she could stop them from dying.
* * *
Rachel inhaled the light fragrance of heather and gorse on the summer breeze.
The sun beat hard against the low clouds, breaking through to touch the bright green field.
Elspet’s meadow – the place where Macbain and Munro had battled for a woman.
Blasted dramatic Highlanders. Rachel frowned at the powerful man who slid from his horse.
Angus’s eyes sought hers and his easy smile faltered at her fury.
Did the man honestly think she welcomed his slander?
“Are ye well?” Angus called across the space where wildflowers danced in a swirling frenzy.
Rachel tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “I did not handfast with you, Angus Riley. I don’t even know you. Withdraw your ridiculous claim and walk away from this cursed field.”
Another man, taller and broader, dismounted. He had the conceited look of authority.
The Macbain.
“Whether ye are aware or not, Angus Riley claimed ye when he brought ye to my castle. He took ye without force. Ye went along willingly.”
“I was unconscious,” Rachel snorted.
“When ye woke, ye did not ask to turn around.”
She threw up her hands. “I did!” Isabelle placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. It was his word against hers.
Alec stepped before her, sword in hand. Angus’s sword sang out as he strode forward.
A ray of sun broke through the clouds to shine down between the enemies as if Elspet herself tried to bar them from making the same mistake they did a century ago.
Rachel’s fingers dug into the back of Alec’s shirt.
When he turned towards her and lowered his sword, Angus lunged.
“No!” Rachel screamed and twisted to defend Alec.
But Angus’s momentum was too great. The point of his sword lowered from his strike but he couldn’t stop the thrust in time.
Rachel gasped as hot pain ripped through her middle, piercing her intestines, slicing arteries, veins and muscles.
The solid blade tore back out of her as he withdrew.
Alec roared and caught her wilting body, cushioning it as she crumpled to the sunlit wildflowers. “Rachel! Nay!” His exhales were fierce pants. “Doona not leave me.”
Alec’s words swam in her head, mixed with the clenching pain and spreading numbness. The tang of blood and bile obliterated the subtle aroma of summer. Rachel gasped, straining for air, and shivered.
On the next ragged inhale she felt warmth.
Heat wrapped around her middle and she blinked her eyes open.
Alec stared down at her. Deep emotion turned his blue eyes darker, more intense.
A brilliant array of lighter blues shot out from his pupils.
She reached a blood-streaked hand to his face. “Beautiful,” she whispered.
“Hold on, Rachel,” he pleaded and rubbed her hand along his warm cheek.
Pain ebbed as warmth woke Rachel’s senses.
A startled gasp came from Father Daughtry and several others gathered around. “She’s glowing.”
Rachel glanced down her body where Isabelle rested her hands near the wound. Her sister’s eyes were closed in concentration as she fed her magic into her.
“Isabelle?” William choked.
Rachel reached for Isabelle’s hands, at the same time feeding her own magic, now revived, throughout her body to knit the worst of her wounds.
“No, father. It is me.” Rachel met Isabelle’s eyes and she nodded, a smile touching her lips. Isabelle removed her hands but the glow continued. “I am the one who glows, not sweet Isabelle.” Rachel continued.
“Witchery!” Father Daughtry clutched his heavy crucifix.
Rachel heard murmurs around them, but Alec’s face blocked the men’s view. “I’m sorry I distracted you again,” Rachel whispered to Alec.
He rolled his eyes and exhaled in a gust. After a full breath, his worry relaxed into a broad smile.
“Bloody hell, thank ye Lord for magic.” Rachel smiled at his blasphemous prayer.
His eyes closed for a brief moment as he shook his head, his smile turning grim.
“I swear, Rachel, I’ll never let ye near danger again.
” With that oath, Alec lifted her into his arms. She let him carry her, her strength depleted.
Rachel glanced at Isabelle where she leaned against Colin.
Colin nodded to Rachel, subtle appreciation and respect in his gaze.
“We shall not suffer a witch to live,” Father Daughtry recited and clenched his rosary.
“I would keep yer name calling to yerself,” Colin advised when Alec’s hard stare shot across the distance to pierce the cleric. Rachel glanced over Alec’s shoulder at the flabbergasted Macbains. Angus’s sword sagged, its blade dark with her blood, the tip lost in the green grass.
“Go home Macbains,” Alec growled without turning. “No one believes yer lies.” He paused, turning to stare hard at Angus. “Rachel Brindle is mine.”
Rachel’s healed stomach fluttered with Alec’s words and she found it difficult to inhale fully. She could easily read the energy surging through Alec, muscles contracting with power, heart thudding in time with his footfalls. Rachel’s pulse surged as she replayed his words.
Rachel Brindle is mine. Did that make Alec Munro hers? Her hands slid to his well-muscled biceps.
“Ye are well?” he spoke low. She nodded.
They rode back to the keep in silence. Rachel leaned her head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum.
Alec’s essence enveloped her – his clean masculine smell, his heat, his corded arms pulling her into the shelter of his chest. Even his legs braced around her, supporting her easily without complaint.
Rachel insisted on returning to the great hall after changing yet another ruined gown. Between Father Daughtry’s condemnation and her father’s spluttering, she wasn’t about to sit above in her room while they slandered her.
“Never seen anything like it,” Father Daughtry shook his head. “Must be from the Devil.”
“She prays.” Alec’s voice sounded annoyed. “’Tis a blessing from God. She saved my own life that day Angus stole her.”
Rachel and Isabelle stepped into the great hall. Father Daughtry stared directly at Rachel, his cross held tightly. “Have you fornicated with the Devil?”
“I am a maid,” she replied, eyes wide.
“With healing magic you could remake yourself a maid every day,” her father said and Rachel gasped at his crudeness.
Alec’s sword rang with promise as he levelled it at William’s throat.
“The only reason yer heart does not bleed itself dry on the end of this blade is because it would distress yer daughter.” William’s eyes bulged and he backed away.
Alec brought his sword around to point at Father Daughtry.
“She is not a witch and the only devil she will be consorting with is me.” Rachel opened her mouth and shut it. At least he hadn’t said fornicating.
“The church may want to investigate this further,” Father Daughtry mumbled.
“The church will need to go through me,” Alec said, his scowl so murderous it made the priest cross himself.
Phillip stepped beside Alec in front of Rachel. “And every warrior belonging to Clan Munro.”
Colin left Isabelle’s side to stand on the other side of Alec. “And Clan Macleod.”
Rachel blinked several times. Never before had anyone defended her besides her sister. And now it seemed she had the protection of two whole Highland clans.
After a battle of stares, Father Daughtry nodded and kissed his cross. “What then would you have me do? It is my duty to fight for your souls up here in this heathen land.”
“Then bless us,” Alec said. “Our union.” Rachel turned to stone.
“What?” Her father’s face flushed.
Alec sheathed his sword and pointed at him.
“Ye, William Brindle will give yer daughter, Rachel, to me.” He pointed to Phillip and Colin.
“Ye two will witness.” He swivelled back around to Father Daughtry.
“And ye will sanctify our marriage with yer bloody blessing.” For another long moment it seemed everyone had been frozen, until Phillip slapped Alec on the back, a smile on his roguish face.
“And what would you have me do?” Rachel’s voice seemed small compared to Alec’s mighty roar – small but strong. She held her gaze steady as he turned to her.
His face was chiselled, jaw tight, eyes sparking. But his voice was gentle. “Ye will say ‘I do’.”
Rachel met him with her own spark. “I haven’t heard a question.” With that she walked away through the maze of statues to the doors and stepped into the summer breeze.
Indignation warred with hope. Marriage? She barely knew Alec Munro. All the reasons she should be furious and appalled tumbled through her head. But … the thought of Alec, his warmth, his strength, his easy acceptance of her powers, fluttered within Rachel’s stomach and squeezed her heart.
Rachel’s feet brought her to the stables and she entered, breathing in the pungent smell of fresh hay.
The large lashed eyes of several mares turned her way as they munched, tails swishing.
Rachel leaned against the wooden wall. She barely had time to think before she heard Alec’s footfalls grinding into the pebbles of the bailey.
They paused outside the stable doors and she closed her eyes. The man could obviously track.