Page 34 of Taming the Highland Beauty

“I will never give up,” she finally replied. “We must succeed in our goal to break my curse, despite the obstacles of time, a moonstone Minerva would accept, and Oberon.”

They had to succeed, or she would die trying. For death would be a more welcome end than an existence on the edge of life as a tree in the forest that could only observe and never participate in lives moving on around her. She had done this in the forest over the past year. A century or more in such a state would be a nightmare more horrific than anything she had suffered in the shadow realm. Aye, death would be a welcome choice if it came to that.

Chapter Fourteen

At dawn, Callum and Gille, accompanied by Alastair and Graeme and a small contingent of men, departed Dunvegan Castle. The tools they needed for digging were tied to a separate horse that travelled with them. Callum sat his horse as he looked at the woman on horseback beside him.

Gille had left her cloak behind today, opting for a woollen riding habit instead. As they made their way to the gate, her gaze shifted to the rising sun. “Do you believe we will find a moonstone?”

“Aye, but not just any moonstone. A special moonstone. One that will compel Minerva to help us,” Callum said as his voice turned hoarse. God willing, they would find what they needed quickly and put an end to this woman’s torture. Callum was startled at the thought. When had his thoughts so shifted that he now considered her more woman than fairy?

Her beautiful green eyes met his and the faintest smile touched her lips. A warm sensation filled his chest, and he brought his horse alongside hers until his legs brushed Gille’s. He wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around her, to pull her to him and press a kiss to her lips.

Gille’s breathing grew rapid as evidenced by the rise and fall of her chest. He could smell the soft scent of heather soap that lingered on her skin. If he leaned closer, he could press his lips to hers, but he clutched the reins in his hands, resisting the temptation. Just as quickly he realised he did not want to stop resisting her any longer. “May our search be a quick one,” he whispered.

She swallowed roughly as she nodded.

What had flared between them last night was now a burning need. Such desire was something he had not felt before, something magical, something he had waited for his entire life . . .

A smile came to her lips, as if she understood his thoughts.

He leaned towards her.

“We are ready to move out,” Alastair announced in an authoritative tone, breaking the moment.

The muscles of Callum’s stomach knotted as he jerked back in his saddle.

Disappointment flickered in Gille’s expression as Callum released a similar sigh of regret, flicked his reins, and set off towards the gates, taking his frustration with him. Gille followed. Perhaps leaving Alastair to wonder what madness had possessed the two of them.

As they cleared the gates, the riding party turned to the south-east, heading for the two flat-topped peaks of Healabhal Bheag and Healabhal Mòr in the distance. The MacLeod’s Tables would hopefully provide them a moonstone before the two-day deadline. That stone was all that stood between them and acquiring the song that would break the curse and free his mother and Gille.

They rode through the moorlands for what felt like hours, until the sun rose, turning the long grass into an endless expanse of muted gold. It took another hour to finally reach the base of Healabhal Mòr, the shorter of the two peaks. The horses were left to graze on the grass, willowherb, and brambles along with a herd of red deer who seemed undaunted by their presence.

Callum made sure that Gille remained near him as they made their way up the steep grassy slopes. By the time they reached the summit, the sun was at its zenith and Callum’s stomach began to rumble.

“Mrs Honey sent along a picnic,” Alastair remarked with a smile as he and many others heard the gurgling noises emanating from Callum’s empty stomach.

Callum shook his head. “We should start our search while we still have a lot of daylight left to us. If Minerva saw the reflection of moonstone from the water below, it seems only logical to start our search there.” He started towards the edge closest to Loch Dunvegan.

Gille stalled him with a hand on his arm. “Callum, take a break for some refreshment. Our search might go more swiftly if we are all not so famished when we begin.”

He could not argue with her logic. He nodded, and moved back to the saddle bags, unloading the meal their cook had sent along. It did not take long to spread out a large blanket, then to lay out the savoury meat pies, chunks of cheese and bread, slices of tart apple, and skins of ale that had been prepared for them.

“This is not the first meal the MacLeods have had on this summit,” Callum said. “There are several legends surrounding the MacLeod’s Tables, one of which claims that in the sixteenth century, the chief of the Clan MacLeod was believed to have boasted, at a banquet held by King James, that he had a much grander table than the king. Sometime later, the MacLeod chief invited the king and his guests to a banquet on the top of Healabhal Mòr, thus proving his point.”

“Truly?” Gille asked with a hint of suspicion. “It hardly seems an appropriate place to invite a king.”

Callum shrugged as he shifted his gaze to Alastair. “What say you, Brother? Truth or tall tale?”

“Who is to say for certain, but we both know that many of the legends surrounding the MacLeods do tend to be true,” Alastair said as he gathered his food and took a seat on the rocky ground.

Callum chose a seat near Gille, who gazed about her at the view.

“What is true is this: on a clear day like today from the top of this peak, you could see a spectacular view of Loch Dunvegan with its many islands.” He looked at the sky overhead and noted golden eagles sailing above them. “All that is missing from this picnic is music floating on the breeze.”

“Perhaps a bagpipe?” Gille teased, knowing he meant to play his mandolin.

“Nay,” Callum objected with a grimace. “That instrument is far too loud for my tastes.” He stood and retrieved his mandolin from where it had been tied to his horse. He played a couple of Scottish folk songs, which brought forth cheers and clapping from the others while they continued eating. Then to Gille he said, “Before we get back to our search, I want to share with you a song I recently learned from Gwendolyn. It has been passed down through the generations of our family and originally came to us from your mother, Pearl. Perhaps you know it? ‘The Fairy Lullaby.’”