Chapter Thirteen

"The Four Elements were believed to be the building blocks of creation. All things which exist are believed to have these Four Elements within them. It has always been understood that the Elements refer not to the physical substances of air, fire, water, and earth, but to qualities represented by them."

SacredWicca.com

Rory strode down the corridor, Sara on his heels. Unbrotherly feelings. Every instinct he depended on had screamed at him in that dark corridor that she ached for him as much as he ached for her. And there was nothing wrong with simple carnal pleasure. He wasn't betraying his oath if he gave into the heat he was feeling if Sara felt the same.

The memory of Madeline Sinclair's, nay, Madeline Macdonald's treachery left Rory's skin prickling as if his father had slapped him. 'Tis the fault of yer weak, foolish heart that made her death necessary. But Rory's father was dead and surely in Hell. Alasdair MacLeod couldn't slice Sara's throat open, letting her bleed out in front of his horrified son. And Rory was a grown man now who knew better than to lose his heart to a woman.

Rory tried to shake off the dark thoughts from that hellish fall day ten years ago, the gulls crying above on the currents of wind. The crimson of her blood on her pale skin. He wouldn't think of it. He hurried with Sara to Jamie's room.

Jok caught his arm, letting Sara hurry forward. "What the hell did I step into?" Jok said, his eyes accusing. "Ye were dallying with Jamie's wife?"

Fok. Rory pushed Jok's shoulder so that he flattened his back against the corridor wall and stared hard in his face. "Sara Macdonald is not Jamie's wife, and she's stated plainly that she will never marry him."

"Sara Macdonald ," Jok said, emphasizing her clan name. "Ye can't trust a Macdonald woman. Ye know that better than anyone."

"I don't trust anyone," Rory shot back, his face tight with a restrained snarl. "And I don't have to explain anything to ye."

Jok raised his hands, surrendering, and swallowed as if Rory had changed into a lion right before his eyes. "I just don't want…ye to lose the respect of yer clan again, Ror. It took years for—"

Rory shoved away from him and strode down the corridor toward his brother's room, his mind spinning and his blood pumping as if for battle.

"How dare you come here!" The screeching voice pushed Rory into a run. Winnie Mar stood barring his brother's door against Sara. "You tried to murder my Jamie and attacked me." The woman's nose had stopped bleeding but looked swollen, and dark bruises had spread under her eyes.

"I'm an emissary for peace between MacLeod and Macdonald Clans," Sara said.

"You're an assassin. No one trusts you. Jamie surely doesn't." Her words had grown shrill again.

There was that bloody word again. Trust .

If Sara produced a sword from the folds of her costume, Rory wouldn't be surprised. Her look was menacing, displaying her inner strength. "I am the daughter of a clan chief, an invited lady to Dunvegan, and I have no problem adding to your injuries."

Rory felt the tension in his mouth relax. There was a lot of fight in Sara despite being beaten down by her father.

Winnie's eyes narrowed until they were only slits framed by long lashes. "We will see who stays at Dunvegan and who is either banished or thrown in the dungeon pit to drown with the high tide." She whipped around to stride down the corridor and around the corner.

Sara waited until she was down the hall before turning her anger on Rory. "A pit? You have a pit where people can drown if the tide is high? That's barbaric. And don't say it's less barbaric than burning someone in a chapel." Even soft, her words were clipped and icy.

"Ye may come in," Hamish said in the doorway.

When neither Rory nor Sara moved, Jok walked between them, his big body like the barrier he thought Rory should erect against the Macdonald woman. Jok entered the room, leaving them staring at one another.

"The pit is not used often, and no one is left to drown," Rory said. His hand went out to the door. Sara turned, and he followed. Hamish stood with Margaret on the far side of Jamie's large bed. Two maids changed the water in the pitcher and tended the hearth. The heavy curtains at the windows were pulled back to allow in more light.

Jamie wore his nightshirt and was propped up with many pillows. Had he heard the exchange in the hallway? He frowned as Sara walked toward him.

She curtsied gracefully when she reached the side of the bed. "I'm pleased you're awake, milord."

Jamie's face was pale as skimmed milk. A bandage covered the stitches Hamish had put in his head, making his usually combed hair stand on end. He seemed to press into the pillows at his back as if they held all his weight. His eyes were red-hued and narrowed as he studied Sara.

Daingead . Rory glanced at the door. What had Winnie told him about Sara's involvement in the fire?

"Ye, Lady Seraphina, Flame of Dunscaith, tried to kill me and my family on our wedding day." Jamie's words were rough as if he had coarse wool down his throat. "Macdonalds are demons that should be wiped from God's earth."

Rory glanced away, annoyed. Jamie was as dramatic as ever.

Sara took a step backward, her face flaming, and everyone in the room stiffened.

"Like I told ye, Jamie," Margaret said, her face set in a scold like when they were lads, "Lady Sara saved us by leading us out from under the chapel. Mistress Mar was not there to witness her heroic actions and is swayed against her because of her affection for you."

But Jamie kept his pinched stare on Sara as if Margaret's words had been swept away by a receding tide before they could flow into his ears. He raised his hand in the air, one finger crooked, beckoning Sara to him. She obeyed, making Rory draw closer.

"Lady Sara tapped under the floor with a rock to show us where to break through the floorboards," Rory said. "She led Margaret through and helped pull ye out, Jamie."

Jamie never looked at Rory but kept beckoning Sara. "Come to me, bride," he said.

"Ye're not wed," Rory said. "The contract was burned, and Father Lockerby agreed the union was null."

Sara stepped up dutifully despite the anger in Jamie's tortured face. "We are not wed," she repeated. "Milord, I am glad you are—" Sara's words cut off in a soft gasp as Jamie's hand snapped around her wrist, capturing her like an iron manacle.

He stared into her surprised face. "We are wed, Sara," Jamie said. "And I will make it binding by foking ye as soon as I can rise from this bed. Ye can't get away from me."

Horror widened Sara's eyes, and it struck a chord that vibrated right through Rory's center. "Bloody hell, Jamie!" He grabbed Jamie's hand with both of his and worked his fingers loose, letting Sara pull away. The red blooming on the skin of her wrist showed the force his brother had inflicted. If he'd been at full strength, he could have snapped her bone.

Margaret shook her head, frowning with her own shock. "Jamie, she is a lady. You cannot speak—"

"She's no lady," Jamie said, staring right at Sara. "She is my murderous wife who I will punish for her betrayal. Rory, have Father Lockerby draw up a new contract."

"I won't wed you," Sara said.

Jamie drew back his hand as if to strike her. "Jamie!" Rory yelled, easily catching the weak swing. "She won't be threatened into marrying ye."

"Then she will leave," Jamie said, sinking into his pillows as if the violent effort had drained him of all energy. "Seraphina Macdonald is banished from Dunvegan." His gaze found Sara and he stared into her eyes as he struggled to draw even breaths. "Or she will burn."

…

Morag poured the lavender seeds she'd harvested for soapmaking upon the table in her cottage. Her weathered hand smoothed the grains into a flat circle of pale purple, and she inhaled the soothing fragrance.

Tsk ing lightly, she took a moment to study the back of her hand. One's hands showed one's age, the years of toil they'd endured. "We all get old," she said. "If we're lucky." Her twin sister hadn't been fortunate enough to develop wrinkled hands. The hollowness of regret and loss gnawed her stomach, and she breathed past it.

Morag set her fingertip at the top left corner and dragged a diagonal line down, then repeated it on the opposite side to form an X through the tiny flowers. It made four quadrants like large pie wedges: north, south, west, and east. In the north, she set a chunk of salt crystal. On the left or west quadrant, she placed a small silver cup of water. In the east quadrant, she set a white feather.

"And finally," she said, "fire in the south." She moved the white beeswax candle to the bottom quadrant. With it she laid a single red-hued hair she'd plucked from Sara. "The flame." She bowed her head. "Let the Celtic goddess of Fire, Brigid, protect Seraphina. Earth Mother, Gaia, help me bring strength to our isle. Protect the elements and make them strong and united. Guide me as your helper in this realm."

Morag passed her hands over the circle, feeling the warmth of the flame as she did, and prayed for several minutes. Sighing, she lowered her hands to her lap. She had much work to do to save her isle.