Chapter Two

The woman rode through the madness, avoiding swords, men, and horses. As Keiran came ever closer, he could see a thin, graceful form, a riot of shining brown hair, and wide frightened eyes.

The clash of steel and the cries of men echoed all around him. Keiran tried to block out the sound as he focused on the woman in the distance. She held no weapon. Instead, she kicked out her booted feet at a soldier who had ventured too close to her horse. The kick worked temporarily, until the man came around from the back, avoiding her feet.

Keiran leaned forward, pushing his horse to greater speed. Men in red coats fell before him, but before he could reach the woman, the soldier did. He raised his sword, turned it, brought it down.

“Stop!” Keiran cried out. The soldier’s hand hesitated, but only for a second. Not long enough. He stabbed the woman, piercing her body. Keiran was too late. She tumbled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Keiran slashed his way past two more soldiers as his gaze connected with her pain-filled hazel eyes, before the tension in her face eased and her eyes drifted closed.

“Nay!” Keiran’s cry echoed in the afternoon air. At the sight of him, the stabbing man and another of the redcoats turned their horses to the south and raced away. All the other men, her escorts and the red coats, had fallen to the ground and were dead or dying.

Keiran dismounted and raced to her side, falling to his knees beside her. She lay with one hand covering the wound in her stomach. Blood stained her long delicate fingers. Keiran placed his hand over hers and pressed down hard, trying to stem the flow of blood, to no avail. It seeped through his fingers rapidly draining from her body.

He felt the pain of her wound inside himself. Such a thing had happened before with animals who were killed in Fairyland, but never a fairy. Yet now he felt the pain and anguish of this human female. Forcing his own pain aside, with his free hand he gently brushed the hair away from her face; her skin was growing ashen, the blush of life drawing quickly away. Her eyelids fluttered open at his touch. Her eyes were no longer filled with pain, but serene. Her lips moved yet uttered no sound.

“Do not give up,” he said urgently. “You must fight. I’ll get you help.”

She raised her hand to cover his near her face. Her fingers were cold. “Kindness in the end. Thank you.” Her voice was a mere whisper of sound. A little smile moved to her lips as her hand tightened around his. Then her eyelids closed again, and the hand dropped. She lay still.

A cry began down in the pit of his stomach. When it emerged, it was as wild and untamed as the hills around him. The sound poured from Keiran’s throat as pain knotted his chest. He did not know this woman, and yet he felt a connection deep within his soul. Her chest rose as though she drew one last breath.

*

As pain overwhelmedher senses, Rosalyn watched the man before her fade farther into the distance and a chill settled into her body. A part of her essence left her body to hover above it, floating as she watched the man drop her hand, drawing a sword, dispatching one of the English soldiers who challenged him.

“Why are you defending her?” Another soldier charged. “Her blood is not pure. She is not English or Scottish like you or me. She is an abomination.”

This was no unfortunate attack. Someone had planned to kill her here in the woods.

“You killed her,” said the man who had raced to her side.

“The world is better off without her,” the soldier said.

The words could no longer hurt her as she had no body to process the pain. Who had sent these soldiers to kill her? Had her grandparents sent a regiment to Scotland to finally snuff out the taint they perceived her to be? She looked down on her body, saw the blood flow from her wound and saw her face turn grey.

The man with soulful eyes struck down the soldier and hurried back to her side, pulling her head into his lap. There was an odd sort of light around him that was not of this world. It was bright, shimmering, and comprised of all the colours she had seen in a rainbow.

As he brought his hands to her chest, what had once floated above, dove back inside her shell as if she were diving into a pool of darkness and did not know how to swim. Panic flared, as she instinctively reached out, trying to claw her way back to the surface, gasping for air that was no longer there.

And when she could not take that breath, when the world around her dissolved into swirling tendrils of darkness, she surrendered, and time lost its grip over her. Seconds stretched into eternity. She had no body, no weight, just pure consciousness adrift in a velvet silence.

Memories swirled before her. Some recollections of her youth with her mother and father were vibrant, and filled with laughter, others were dark, and evoked only pain and regret.

*

Keiran closed hiseyes, gathering from nature around him the one gift the fairies had given him. His muscles tightened; warmth gathered in his hands. He let the sensation flow through him, waiting for the right moment.

A heartbeat later, he shifted that warmth from his hands into the woman’s body. He had done this same thing to a few animals since his return to Dunvegan, surprised that Oberon had not taken away his gift of healing when Keiran had left Fairyland. Perhaps the fairy king did not see such an ability as important. Keiran had been given the power to heal only because of his own frail nature when compared to the other fairies. Could he use those healing powers to bring a human back from the edge of death? He had never tried before.

Keiran felt the warmth leave his hands and enter her body. A tinge of pink reanimated her face, but her chest remained still. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the heat leaving him and flowing into her until finally her chest rose beneath his hands.

*

Rosalyn saw aflicker. A spark in the distance, faint but insistent, pulled at her with the promise of air and warmth. Her will to survive flared as she reached, not with limb but with her essence towards that growing light.

Suddenly, the same rainbow colours crashed over her, primal and magnificent. Sensation once again flooded her body and just as quickly, pain flared, sharp and hot, only to slowly fade away.

*

Keiran opened hiseyes as the world swam, swirled around him. He drew a deep breath, trying to replenish the energy he had given her. The animals he healed never strained his energy, but he had experienced this same sensation when he had healed himself after a fall that snapped the bone in his arm.

When his vision cleared, he looked out at the fallen men around her. Their bodies were limp and twisted. When he regained his strength, he would try to help those who still lived.

His gaze returned to her face. Her eyes were still closed, but tears spilled from beneath her dark lashes to race past a small, straight nose and onto chiselled cheekbones. Yet what fascinated him most of all was the smattering of freckles across her alabaster skin. Instead of detracting from her beauty, the small reddish marks only heightened her appeal.

Keiran studied the spots. There was a small cluster on her left cheek that almost looked as though the freckles were smiling at him. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he swallowed hard. He was so close. Close enough to kiss her. A kiss was not part of the healing, but he could justify that it was, as all logic fled from his mind. “I promise to keep you safe,” he whispered, closing the distance between them and gently brushing his lips against hers. He should have felt the softness of her flesh. Instead, a pulse of magic flared, moving back from her into him, sending tingles across his flesh. How was such a thing possible?

The woman in his arms inhaled sharply and her eyes drifted open. Deep hazel pools of colour stared up at him. Her tongue came out to moisten her lips. She tried to speak, but only a small sound came forth. She swallowed roughly and tried again. “Who... who are you?”

“Lie still. You were injured. Give your body time to heal.” He drew back slightly, still pondering how she had been able to pass a bit of his magic back to him.

She tensed. “Do not... leave me.”

“I am not going anywhere,” he whispered, leaning into her once more. At the close contact, her eyes drifted closed, and Keiran could feel the heat he had put there, heat that would eventually completely heal her wound.

Keiran studied her face as a tinge of pink returned to her cheeks. This woman, whoever she was, unsettled him. And he was usually not unsettled by anything. From the moment he’d first seen her among her men, he’d been assailed by unfamiliar emotions, half of which he could neither name nor identify. Part of him wanted to kiss her again to see if that flare of magic would return, another part of him wanted to run as far and as fast away from her as he could.

And yet, he simply held her as the afternoon sun drifted lower towards the horizon. After she relaxed and appeared as if she were asleep, he lifted her in his arms and moved her out of the pool of blood in which they sat, onto fresh spring grass. He had just settled her into the grass when her eyes fluttered open.

“Was it a dream?” she asked, looking up at him. Her hands drifted to her midriff, exploring the wet, sticky blood his magic could not remove. With a furrowed brow, she lifted bloody hands from her stomach and brought them before her eyes.

She flinched. “I was dying. I remember seeing the world slipping away.” Her forehead creased. “Then there was you. I saw you fighting the British soldiers.” She tried to sit up. “British soldiers? Why were they attacking me?”

Keiran supported her back until she could sit up on her own. It was then that Keiran saw more clearly the deep bruise upon her cheek, the cut to her lip, and that one eye was starting to discolour. “Why is it so surprising that the British attacked you?”

“Because I am English.” Her breath came in big gulps, and trembling shook her body. “My own people attacked me.” Then her eyes widened. “One of them called me an abomination.”

“Shh,” he said in a soothing tone. “It is all right. You are safe with me.” Keiran tightened his arm about her waist.

She glanced about her at the bodies on the ground and tears welled in her eyes. “Matthew, Henry, Richard, Thomas, and Fredrick... they are... all dead. Why? Who would hate me this much?” The woman’s voice shook with pain and shock, making it difficult to understand her words. She took a deep breath and ran a hand across her face, wincing at the pain of her own touch as she tried to collect herself.

“The English soldiers came out of nowhere,” she continued. “I tried to move away, out of the conflict, but he kept pursuing me. He lifted his sword... I tried to make him stop... but he stabbed me.” Her hands returned to her blood-soaked dress. Her fingers poked through the hole in her once lovely gown. A sob tore from her throat, and she turned her face into Keiran’s chest. He let her cry until the worst of her tears were past.

Worried about the passing of time and the possibility of more Englishmen in the vicinity, Keiran finally said in his calmest voice, “Come, we should check for survivors and get you to a safer location.”

At her nod, Keiran stood, taking the woman with him. She was quiet now as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with her arm. Carefully, Keiran lifted her into his arms and set her on the back of her horse.

“Thank you for staying nearby, Petunia,” she cooed to the brown and white mare. The dutiful animal had stayed near her mistress all through the fighting and had lingered even when the woman had been injured.

Keiran moved to each of the men nearby.

“Do any of my men yet live?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head and turned away from the crestfallen look that tugged at his heart. He moved to the redcoats. Eight remained and, of those, only one man still breathed, though barely. Not wanting to demonstrate his healing powers in front of the woman, Keiran lifted the man and placed him in front of the saddle across his horse, face down. Then he mounted behind the fallen soldier. “Come, we will find safety back at Dunvegan.”

“I have heard of that castle before. It is home to the MacLeods.” Her gaze shifted from his face to his tartan then back again, her eyes wide with fear. “You are a Scot?”

“I am the man who saved you. What does my being Scottish have to do with anything?” he asked, confused by her response.

The fear lessened in her eyes. “You do not look to be one of the barbarians my brother always made the Scots out to be.”

“And you do not look to be the monster my brothers claim the English are.” He looked back at the red-coated men on the ground. “Though these men might prove my brothers correct. You have no idea why they were attacking you?”

She sobered and shook her head. “Nothing that makes sense.”

He mounted his horse behind the last living redcoat. “Perhaps this man might be able to shed some light on that situation when we take him back to Dunvegan.” Shifting his attention from the man to the woman on the horse beside him, he asked, “Are you able to ride or should I lead your horse?” The horses tossed their heads as though eager to be underway and away from the battlefield.

Her brows came together as she stared down at the hole in her dress. He almost thought she did not hear him when she brought her gaze back to his. “I still do not understand what has happened to me, but I believe I am capable of riding.”

With a nod, he set his horse in motion. Hers followed beside him. “Since we are to be acquainted for a while until we figure out how to send you safely home, might I know your name?”

“You’ll send me home?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Of course. The MacLeods have no need of an English prisoner when the country is swarming with English soldiers.”

“If you know where the soldiers are, you could leave me with one of the regiments.”

He raised a brow. “And cause a repeat of what has just happened? I do not think that is wise.”

She hesitated then nodded. “You are probably correct. With you carrying one of their men, and until we know why I was attacked, it is best to stay away.” She frowned. “But how will we avoid the soldiers if they are everywhere?”

Keiran hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should reveal such important information. With no other option available to him, he said, “I have a map of where the English regiments are located.”

She scowled. “Then perhaps you should take it out and read it so that we might travel in relative safety.”

He looked away. “If only I could.”

“What does that mean?” Her irritation turned to curiosity.

He turned back to her with the realisation he had yet to admit his failings to anyone at Dunvegan. Why would he consider doing so to a stranger he did not yet trust? Then again, he had revealed his secret mission to her. “I cannot read. I was never taught how.”

A startled expression crossed her face before she masked it. “Did your parents never teach you?”

“My mother died shortly after I was born, and my father—well, he was not a teacher.”

“Did the MacLeods not have a tutor then?”

“I am certain my brothers did.”

A frown settled between her brows. “Yet no one in your family taught you?”

“’Tis complicated,” he replied, suddenly wishing he’d never told her.

“I’ll teach you,” she said with a warmth in her voice, then started as if surprised she had made such an offer. “My name is Rosalyn,” she said abruptly, as though wishing to change the subject. “Rosalyn de Clare.”

Her smile brought back the warmth he’d experienced earlier at sunrise. “Keiran MacLeod.”

“Would you like me to read the map for you, Keiran?”

Could he trust her? She was English after all, and his brothers had been very clear that the English were not honourable as a people. But could one lone Englishwoman be dependable in a life-or-death situation? Perhaps he would test her first. “Do you know where we are now?”

“My men—” Her throat caught on the word. She looked numb and achingly fragile. “My men said we were just south of Struan.”

“Where were you going, Rosalyn—for you are a long way from England?”

“Only because you saved my life am I trusting you.” Rosalyn dropped her gaze to the reins in her hand. “I was on my way to join my betrothed. He wished to marry me while still in service to the fifty-fifth regiment as its lieutenant.”

“You were to marry an English soldier and yet you were set upon by other English soldiers?” Keiran frowned down at the body before him. “We had best return to Dunvegan before this man dies. I am certain he has an explanation that I would very much like to hear.”

She reined her horse to a stop. “As would I,” she echoed, and held out her hand.

Keiran reached into the folds of his tartan and produced the missive. He brought his horse alongside hers, ready to grab the reins if she decided to bolt with the information he’d been sent to gather. Carefully, she broke the seal and unfolded the message while Keiran leaned over to see the contents. There were no pictures on the page, only handwriting that he would have to trust her to interpret.

“There are three regiments in very close proximity to us.” Her gaze darted into the distance and her body tensed. “One belongs to my betrothed, James Long.”

Keiran reached for the missive with one hand, and her reins with the other. “Do not be a fool, thinking you can ride to him for assistance. Or have you forgotten that one of the regiments, and quite possibly his, sent men here to kill you and your men?”

“James would never,” she said with hesitation in her voice. She reached for her reins, but he pulled them out of her grasp.

“Would you risk your life on that assumption? Because I will not.” He kicked his horse into a gallop, forcing hers to follow. If the two men who had escaped the fray earlier knew where to find the other regiments, then he and Rosalyn had best leave this area, and quickly, before those men could return with reinforcements. “Do not even consider jumping to the ground. At this speed you will be seriously injured.”

She threw him a mutinous glance as she clutched the saddle. “You are a barbarian after all.”

“And you are an ungrateful shrew.”

She looked away, obviously hurt by his words. But he didn’t take them back. Her avoidance would give him a chance to heal the soldier on the saddle before him, because only he could give them the answers they needed.

As quickly as he could, Keiran healed the man but stopped short of a full healing so the Englishman would not cause any trouble as they made their way to Dunvegan.

Rosalyn still did not look at him. Instead, she focused on the scenery. But Keiran noticed her. Since she was riding astride, her bloodstained skirt fell untidily over her knees and the motion of the horses lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal trim and shapely ankles. When a surge of warmth pooled in his loins, he too gazed with rapt attention at the path ahead.

All that mattered at this moment was keeping a clear head and leaving this place of violence and death, though he doubted either he or Rosalyn would ever forget what had happened here.