Page 43 of Only a Highlander Will Do

Fiona hesitated. “What if I wanted to use fairy magic to help Tormod and the others recover Rowena from the MacDonalds?”

Nay! The fairy magic surrounding Dunvegan is powerful. Employing it comes with a price that can be devastating at the very least. I caution you strongly against any sort of interaction with the fairy world. There are forces involved that you cannot comprehend. Promise me you will do no such thing.

“The Fairy Flag has been used by the MacLeods before without causing devastation to the clan.”

The magic of the Fairy Flag can only be wielded by the current flag bearer, Graeme. He would never use the flag’s magic without authorisation from Alastair. If he does use the flag, then he will disappear from the world along with the flag. That is a heavy price for any laird to ask of his captain of the guard, let alone his friend.

“I do not know Alastair well, though what I have learned about him tells me he would never ask such a thing of his friend unless the situation was dire.” Would the battle they were about to engage in become that for them? Fiona swallowed past the lump in her throat.

Take it from someone who knows, there is always a price for using fairy magic. The Grey Lady held out her hand. You must return my hair to me and the pebble to the Fairy Cave. Do I have your word that you will do so?

“Aye. I will return the pebble to the cave and your hair to you.” Fiona reached inside her stocking and withdrew the silk strand of dark hair she’d received from the Grey Lady. Squeezing it between her two fingers, careful not to let it fall, Fiona stretched towards the ghost’s outstretched hand, then let the hair fall, half expecting it to pass right through the woman’s fingers. When it did not, Fiona yanked her hand back.

The Grey Lady’s fingers curled around the single strand as she started to float away. I will hold you to that promise, my dear.

Fiona watched the Grey Lady disappear through the wall of her bedchamber as she wiggled her toes against the remaining pebble in her stocking. She’d made a promise to put the white pebble back, but she’d made no promise not to help her husband if she could figure out a way.

Her husband.

When had she started thinking of him as such? They’d started out as enemies and strangers, only to quickly become friends then lovers. Even though they had shared a physical connection, she had still kept a small piece of her heart to herself, untouched and unclaimed. That was until they’d gone to the Fairy Pools and Tormod had shown her the man beneath the warrior’s façade.

Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of him. Her skin tingled at the sound of his voice. Her body responded with a shiver of anticipation whenever he drew near. All these things had happened so quickly, and with such shocking intensity that she could no longer deny the truth. She was in love with Tormod MacLeod. Honestly, completely, painfully in love.

She would do anything to hold on to the feelings swelling in her heart, even risk whatever toll on her the fairies might exact.

Fiona swung her legs over the side of the bed, ready to do what she must when the object of her thoughts opened the bedchamber door. He was dressed in his tartan, with a penannular brooch at his shoulder and his sword at his side.

Tormod.

Chapter Sixteen

Tormod entered the bedchamber he shared with Fiona to find her much improved since he’d seen her a few hours ago. Colour had returned to her cheeks and it appeared as though she was about to leave their bed. “Are you strong enough to walk yet?” he asked, coming to her side.

She had frozen at his sudden appearance in the doorway, but after a moment she recovered her composure and with stockinged feet on the floorboards, she stood. The hint of a smile came to her lips. “I suppose I am,” she said, blithely unaware that the brightness of the fire in the hearth behind her rendered the thin muslin of her night rail all but invisible.

She moistened her lips at his continued appraisal. “Was there something you wanted?”

Appreciating the view she offered, Tormod moved towards her. “I will be leaving before dawn. The clan support we needed has arrived. Before I go, I wanted to bid you farewell.”

The reflection of the flames danced provocatively over her breasts, her thighs, on down to the stockings on her feet. His wife, his Fiona. She was a survivor. She’d already survived misuse at the hands of her father, and more recently Alex MacDonald. And now . . . he would ask her to survive once more because of what he’d seen in his dream.

He would ask her to keep going after he was gone. An aching emptiness filled his chest. He’d thought about dying in battle before, and always knew his demise would come at the end of a sword.

Shaking off a sudden tightness in his chest, he forced his thoughts to still. He did not want to waste these moments on such dark ponderings. Now that Fiona was before him, he wanted to remember her sweetness and revel in her softness one last time. “Might I take a memory with me into battle? A kiss of farewell?”

As though sensing his need for her touch, Fiona held out her hand and pulled him against her chest. He brought his mouth to hers, brushing her lips, tasting lightly of her sweetness. When she pulled back, he fumbled in his sporran for a leather pouch that contained a gift for her. “I had meant to give this to you as your bridal gift.”

He opened the pouch and withdrew the fine golden chain until the heart locket dangled freely from the end. “I’d have you wear it for me and remember me each time you look upon it.”

Instead of the joy he’d hoped to see, confusion filled her eyes. “Why do you sound as though you are saying goodbye to me forever?”

“I dreamed the other night that the MacDonalds ended my life. The reality is that every battle could be my last. I don’t want to leave without saying or doing the things I should have.”

“’Tis beautiful, Tormod. I will accept your gift and wear it, but only if you promise to come back to me, unharmed.” She opened the clasp and put the chain around her battered neck before fastening it. When she was done, the locket fell against her chest and she reached up to finger it.

An emotion so big he couldn’t name it assaulted him in an overwhelming tide, deluging his thoughts, drowning his voice until he could only say, “I’ll miss you.”

At the visible shiver that ran down her spine, Tormod took her face between his hands and moved closer until he felt the heat of her body against him, until he smelled her rose scent. And when she looked up at him, he bent his head down and kissed her.