Chapter Ten

Keiran rode beside Alastair as they made their way through the forestland. Their horses moved restlessly, their breath pluming in the cold morning air as each man searched the shadows made by the trees. Perhaps, based on the way the horses skittered, they sensed something the men did not. Keiran held up his hand, silently signalling for them all to stop.

In the silence Keiran listened. Nothing but the trickling of water in a nearby stream and birds chattering in the canopy above came to him. He narrowed his gaze, searching for something out of the ordinary, when finally he saw steam rising in the air like what the horses and they themselves generated, coming from behind a cluster of trees.

With a motion of his hand, Keiran signalled the direction and for the men to dismount and separate into two groups. One to head east, the other west, hopefully catching the hidden men unaware of their presence. Silently, Keiran drew his sword, and crouched low as he crept forward. Alastair did the same behind him. He could see Tormod and Graeme on the opposite side, closing in on the location of the breathing vapours.

They were close, so close.Keiran leapt forward along with Tormod, only to have four grazing deer leap from the cover of the shrubs and race into the distance.

In that same moment, two men sprang up from the foliage, their swords ready to strike. Keiran cursed himself for a fool that he had fallen for such a trick and lifted his sword to meet the blow aimed at his head. The sound of steel meeting steel echoed through the forest as the men who had attacked suddenly realised they were outnumbered. The man before Keiran turned and ran. Keiran pursued.

The man sprinted ahead, leaping over branches, ducking and weaving around pine and rowan trees that slowed his brothers down, but Keiran was used to running through the woods in Fairyland. The muscles in his thighs stretched as his legs pumped, propelling him through the forest, his stare intent on the man ahead of him.

He was closing in on his prey, his body responding to his every demand. He could run like this for hours without tiring, but he would need only one more moment to catch his enemy. Keiran was close enough now to hear the man’s laboured breathing as he leapt over a log. Keiran reached out to graze the man’s arm, but the man surged ahead, his muddy dark blue aura indicating his fear.

Keiran’s senses heightened as he ran faster. The sun’s rays filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the ground as his feet pounded against the soft earth. He noted a slight twitch of the man’s head, indicating he would head right, towards the loch in the distance. Anticipating the shift, Keiran reached out just as he turned, grabbing then yanking his enemy against his body. They fell together onto the mossy forest floor. Grabbing the man’s wrists, Keiran raised them up over his head as he pinned the man beneath him.

The man glared as he thrashed beneath Keiran’s body.

“Surrender,” Keiran demanded.

“I would rather die than surrender to you,” the man spat at Keiran.

“That can be arranged,” Keiran said, rising off the man and dragging him to his feet. He secured the man’s hands behind him with a length of rope he drew from his sporran, just as Alastair skidded to a stop beside them.

“I had no idea you were so fast,” Alastair said between harsh breaths. “From now on you can chase all our enemies.”

“Did Tormod and Graeme catch the other one?” Keiran asked, leading their prisoner back the way they had come.

“I have no idea,” Alastair said. “I was so focused on trying to keep up with you I lost sight of them.”

The man dragged his feet, slowing their progress forward. “I asked you to kill me rather than take me prisoner.”

A wry chuckle escaped Keiran. “We are not going to kill you unless you refuse to answer our questions. For starters, why were you on MacLeod land?”

“I cannot tell you.” The man scowled. “No matter what I say, death awaits me.” His aura darkened. “Please, I beg you to end my life now before he does.”

“He?” Keiran asked as he and Alastair shared a glance. “We can protect you if you tell us what we need to know.”

“No, you can’t. You MacLeods have no idea who you are up against.” From his grasp on the man’s arm, Keiran could feel the man trembling. Who was this man so afraid of?

Once again Keiran shared a glance with Alastair. “The sooner we return to Dunvegan, the better,” Alastair said.

“Agreed.” Keiran forced the man up onto the saddle of his horse before mounting behind him. They only had to wait a few moments before Graeme and Tormod arrived with their prisoner.

“This one did not even put up a fight,” Graeme said, as Tormod secured the second prisoner on his horse.

The man’s black aura indicated negative emotions such as anger or resentment. Both fear and resentment were normal responses to the situation in which the men had found themselves. There was no indication of deception, for which Keiran was grateful, yet he still wanted to hurry back to the protective walls of Dunvegan with all due haste.

As they rode, Keiran clasped his muscular arm like a steel band around his enemy’s waist. He had managed to find the men his mother had warned them about only hours ago, meaning Rosalyn was safe for now. At the thought warmth flared in his chest, along with something else he did not want to name.

*

Back at Dunvegan,the men took the two prisoners into two separate chambers. Alastair oversaw the interrogation of the man who was angry and resentful in the great hall, while Keiran and Tormod attempted to break the more fearful man in the old keep that was still being refurbished.

The room they were in had not yet been enclosed, and a light breeze rippled through the unfinished chamber. The man sat in the chair in which they had placed him with his arms crossed before him, refusing to look at either Keiran or Tormod. “Who sent you?” Keiran asked, his voice booming in the open space as he fisted his hands, trying to stay in control. He wanted answers and would do almost anything to get them.

The man’s chin tilted up. He narrowed his eyes, the hate in them as sharp as a newly honed blade. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Keiran walked in a tight circle around the man, forcing himself to breathe. The sooner they gained answers, the sooner he could go and check on Rosalyn to see how she fared in his absence. Tormod had asked Keiran not to use his powers to gain information from this man. His brother was worried that the more people who knew about his powers the more risk there would be for Keiran.

So instead, Keiran leaned close to the man’s face and scowled. “Did Lieutenant James Long send you?”

The man’s eyes went wide. “How did you know?” Then realising what he had acknowledged, he paled. “I meant, I do not know.”

“The lieutenant relinquished his connection to his betrothed when he tried to kill her, so why does he want her now?” Keiran asked, his voice brusque.

The man flinched. “He will kill me for telling you this, but I suppose I am dead if I remain silent or tell you the truth.” The man sighed, no doubt realising there was no retracting what he had admitted. “The lieutenant does not like to lose at anything, not at cards, in war, or in matters of the heart. He suspected the MacLeods were holding his betrothed hostage, which is why he sent us to confirm that fact. When we do not return, he will see that as confirmation of his suspicions, and will stop at nothing to get her back.”

Keiran’s stomach tightened. “He’ll never get the chance to attack and wound Rosalyn a second time.”

A confused expression settled on the man’s brow but before he could speak, Keiran turned to Tormod. “I’ll leave his fate up to you,” Keiran said, before walking out of the chamber. He needed to speak to Alastair. Keiran understood enough about the human realm to know that a near-death experience was not enough to sever a betrothal contract. It might help expedite the process, but until Rosalyn was officially free of her intended, she was still Lieutenant James Long’s property. And the MacLeods might have to go to war with the English to keep her safe. Keiran only hoped Alastair would agree to such a plan.

Keiran found Alastair in the library, sitting at his desk with a young man of medium height, with a square, hard jaw. At Keiran’s entrance, the man rose and offered a bow.

“Keiran, you are just the person I was hoping to see,” Alastair said, waving his brother towards the seat opposite him behind the desk. “This is Geordie Buchannan, our solicitor.”

“A solicitor?” Keiran shifted his gaze between the two men, amazed at the man’s presence. “How could you possibly know that was what I was coming to talk to you about?”

“Gwendolyn arranged for Geordie to come earlier today. I had no idea he was coming until a moment ago.” Alastair leaned back in his chair. “My wife is clever, indeed.”

“Agreed,” said Keiran as he settled in his own chair.

The solicitor slipped on a pair of spectacles, then pulled a sheaf of papers close before picking up his quill. “I was led to believe there is yet another betrothal agreement that I am to try to dissolve?”

“We should send for Rosalyn,” Keiran said, a heartbeat before she appeared at the door.

“Come in, Rosalyn,” Alastair said, standing and moving to hold out the chair next to the solicitor for Rosalyn to sit before returning to his own chair. “Mr Buchannan is here to help you terminate the contract of your betrothal to Lieutenant Long, if that is what you wish.”

“With all my heart,” she said, turning her gaze to the young man beside her.

“I must ask you a few more questions. Gwendolyn already informed me about the particulars of your arrangement with Lieutenant Long.” He positioned his quill over the paper. “Are you aware of a bride price being paid?”

Rosalyn shook her head. “There was no exchange to my knowledge. I had no dowry to offer.”

The solicitor made a few notations on his paper. When he was done, he looked up once more. “And to be absolutely clear, you did not sign any sort of contract?”

Rosalyn lifted her chin and met the solicitor’s gaze directly. “I signed nothing. My brother was the force behind this proposal. Had he asked my opinion, I would have refused.”

The solicitor set his quill down and looked to Alastair. “Is there any proof that Lieutenant Long tried to harm Miss de Clare?”

“We retained her bloody clothing. The fabric of her gown is torn where the sword pierced her flesh,” Alastair offered.

Keiran leaned forward. “I witnessed the event, and we have taken the man who stabbed her as our prisoner. He confessed that it was Long who sent him to kill her.”

The solicitor picked up his quill and made several more notations before turning to Rosalyn. His gaze narrowed. “If you are called upon to show the courts your wound, are you prepared to do that?”

Her breath caught as she paled. “I cannot—”

“There is no need for her to expose herself,” Keiran interrupted, not wanting Rosalyn to reveal that her wound no longer existed. Such a fact might support Long in suggesting that the situation never occurred. “A witness, the bloody clothing, and the attacker’s confession should be sufficient evidence to support the dissolution of a poorly executed contract.”

“It will entirely depend on the courts,” the solicitor said. “I will have to travel to England to file the necessary documents, unless there is any reason they could be filed here in Scotland.”

“Perhaps they should be filed here. Lieutenant Long’s regiment is here, and...” She paused, looking down at her twined hands before unfurling them and smoothing them against her skirt. She drew a breath, raised her head, and said, “Mr Buchannan, my mother was Scottish and my father English, making me half-Scot.”

Even though Keiran already knew that information after hearing her attacker’s confession yesterday, she’d had yet to acknowledge that fact to any of them. Yet, she revealed her heritage now, not with shame, but with a hint of pride in her voice.

The solicitor’s brow arched. “Thank you for sharing that information, Miss de Clare. That will make filing a petition much easier, and I’ll be honest, the Scottish courts are much friendlier to the petitions of women than the English courts.” Mr Buchannan took off his glasses, then gathered his papers and rose. “One last question. If there is a forfeiture price to be paid, are you able to pay that?”

“The MacLeods will cover all the expenses,” Alastair said before she could reply, for which Keiran was grateful. He would have to thank Alastair later.

“Very well,” the solicitor said. “Then I will be in touch soon.”

Alastair rose and escorted the solicitor from the room, leaving Keiran and Rosalyn alone. Giving her time to recover from the questions the solicitor had asked, Keiran focused on the early afternoon sun as it slanted through the stained-glass window above the desk, painting the library floor in a patchwork of vibrant hues. Dust motes danced in the warm beams, and time itself seemed to slow. This space suddenly felt like a sanctuary, and he stopped trying to avoid the woman across the table from him, suddenly needing to know more about what she had admitted earlier. “Rosalyn, when you talked about your heritage, your voice tightened. Are you ashamed of being a Scot?”

As she turned, the sun caught her eyes. They weren’t simply hazel. Instead, the light danced inside them, illuminating flecks of gold that made him recall the most beautiful fairies in Fairyland. Yet it wasn’t simply her eyes that radiated beauty. A light came from within her as well, a light created from knowing defeat, suffering, struggle, and loss.

“After the death of my parents, I was taught that my Scottish heritage was something to be hidden so that others would not despise me or treat me differently. More recently, my brother warned me that to acknowledge our mother’s past would only bring me heartache.” A flash of pain darkened her eyes. “For once, my brother was right. Heartache, indeed. I am not certain anymore if I am more ashamed to be English or Scottish, and I really do not know where I belong in this world.”

“I understand.” A wave of warmth and connection washed through Keiran as he reached for Rosalyn’s hand. When she did not pull away, he wrapped his larger fingers around her smaller ones.

Diamonds were created under great pressure. The young woman before him was a diamond in the making—of that he was certain. “I have felt the same need to hide my true self from my family. That is why I am afraid to tell them about my inability to read and write. They will judge me, and treat me like the child they remember, not the man I have become in their absence.”

“What do you mean ‘child’?” she asked, her expression puzzled.

Rosalyn had asked earlier for answers about her wound and how he had healed her. Perhaps it was time to tell her the truth. “I have only just returned to my family after nine years of being away.”

She frowned. “If you were not away at school, then where were you?”

“I was kidnapped as an infant and taken to Fairyland.”

Rosalyn moved to pull her hand from his, but he held fast. “Truly, such a place does not exist.”

“I assure you it does. The fairy king adopted me as his own son and gifted me with the power to heal, mostly as a self-protective measure since I was prone to injuring myself.”

Her eyes went wide, and her other hand drifted to her abdomen. “I did not imagine... You did heal me.” Her voice held a sense of awe.

Keiran nodded. “A gift I was grateful to have when I came upon the ambush where you almost lost your life.”

“I am certain I died that day. And you brought me back.” She held tightly to his hand, as if he were a lifeline. “I imagine growing up in a strange place was difficult for you.”

He offered her a wry smile. “Everyone bears scars from the lives they lead. Yet every scar tells a story. Our stories proclaim that we survived. We are here at this moment, together, to either remain stuck in our pain or move ahead towards something better.”

A smile came to her lips. “I want to move ahead and be free of men controlling my life.”

Keiran nodded. “Geordie Buchannan will help you be free of the contract that binds you to another. Though we both need to heal the injured parts of ourselves by accepting them.” He met her gaze. “You are Scottish, but also English. That makes you uniquely you. And I lost fourteen years of my life when Oberon aged me. I am both child and adult in the same body, but I choose to be the adult.”

“The fairy king aged you?”

Instead of the pain the thought usually brought, Keiran felt stronger, more resilient. “He did.”

She squeezed his hand lightly. “Then I am glad of it so that you are the person before me now.” Hope shone in her eyes. “I can help you learn the things you missed.”

“And I can help you know what it means to be Scottish, and help myself in the process, for I know only what my brothers have told me about being a Scot.” At her gentle smile, Keiran felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest.

Rosalyn released his hand with another light squeeze, then stood and moved to the bookshelf and retrieved a leather-bound book with gold lettering on the spine. “Let us not wait until tomorrow for me to start your lessons. Let us begin now.” She moved towards the door.

Keiran stood and followed her. As they left the chamber, he realised the hurts of their past had made them better equipped to face the present. He only hoped that either Oberon or her betrothed would not swoop in and destroy their tentative friendship and these moments of peace. “Do you like animals?”

Rosalyn frowned as they moved down the hallway, then down the front stairs. “If you mean wild animals who would eat or maim me, nay. If you mean smaller animals like birds or puppies, then aye.”

“Then you will like where we are going to study. Come, follow me.”