Merrick felt his skin prickling, and found himself wondering what it would be like to have her touch him like that. He could almost feel those long, delicate fingers moving over him, caressing, arousing.
Annoyed, he put aside such thoughts to watch and learn the ways of this witch.
She touched her fingertips to Hamish’ s temples and closed her eyes. She remained that way for so long, Merrick began to wonder what it was she was feeling. Her expressive face showed such a range of emotions. One minute she was smiling, the next her brow furrowed into a frown of deep concentration. She was relaxed for the space of a heartbeat, and then her face was twisted in pain. So much pain.
Merrick felt a jolt of understanding. Could it be that she was experiencing everything the lad was experiencing?
Suddenly she opened her eyes, staring down at Hamish as she began to chant in an ancient tongue.
The words were meaningless to Merrick, but he found them oddly soothing. Her voice, naturally low in pitch, was mesmerizing. He had to fight the urge to close his eyes and let that rich voice wash over him. Instead he forced himself to study her every move with great care. If she appeared to threaten the lad in any way, he would be on her like an avenging angel.
Her eyes were fixed on Hamish’s face with such unblinking intensity, they seemed to burn like points of flame. The ancient words poured out of her, as from one in a trance.
Abruptly she began speaking to the lad in his own tongue.
“I know you’re torn, Hamish, between your desire to remain where you are, in the company of those who offer you comfort, and to return to the life you once enjoyed. You need have no fear. Whatever harm threatened you has been banished. Here in this place you’re surrounded by people who love you and will look out for your comfort and your security. Your father is right here, eager to speak with you.”
At that Merrick got to his feet and walked to the other side of the pallet, peering down at his son. Behind the closed lids he saw a wild fluttering, as though the lad were struggling against a bright light.
Allegra’s voice remained low and soothing. “It’s all right, Hamish. You can come back now. Come. See your father, who has been waiting such a long time to speak with you. Put his mind at rest now, Hamish. Come home to him.”
Suddenly the lids rose, and the boy’s eyes were open.
The goblet fell from Merrick’s nerveless fingers, splashing ale across the floor as he dropped to his knees with a cry. “Oh, Hamish lad. You’ve come back to me.”
With tears spilling down his cheeks he gathered the boy into his arms and pressed his face into his hair.
Allegra stepped away from the bedside, not only to give father and son the privacy they deserved, but also because the weakness was upon her again. And this time it wasn’t because of a lack of food, or the difficult journey. She recognized this feeling from past experiences. It was simply the price she had to pay for having used her gift. Crossing over into that other side exacted a heavy toll upon the one who was the bridge.
At the dining table she sank onto a chair. Folding her arms on the table top, she rested her chin there, taking comfort in the sound of the lad’s first halting words.
“You’re... home... Father.”
“Aye, Hamish.”
“For how long? Just until the next battle?”
“I can’t say, lad. We’ll not speak of such things. For now, I’m home with you. And you’re back with me.” Merrick framed the boy’s face and stared at him with naked hunger. “I feared I’d lost you, lad. Mistress MacDonald told me you fell from a tree.”
“Did I?” The boy thought about it a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t recall.”
“It doesn’t matter.” His father wrapped him in his arms and let out a long, deep sigh. “Nothing matters now that you’re back with me, Hamish.” The two remained that way for the longest time, with Merrick rocking his son and crooning to him, and the boy holding on to him, taking comfort in his father’s strength.
They looked up as the housekeeper came bustling into the room, followed by several servants. When she caught sight of father and son embracing, she let out a shout of joy.
“Praise heaven, m’lord. Is it truly our young Hamish, awake and smiling?”
“It is indeed, Mistress MacDonald.”
Merrick beamed as the old woman touched the lad’s face, as if to assure herself. Then she promptly burst into tears and had to lift her apron to dab at her eyes.
The servants gathered around, laughing and clapping the lad on the back. Soon, as the word spread, the entire household began spilling into the boy’s chambers, eager to share in the good news.
Mordred and Desmond paused in the doorway.
“It’s true, then.” Mordred’s booming voice had everyone glancing up as he strode forward to lean over the bed and clasp his cousin’s hand. “The lad is back in the land of the living. Isn’t he a welcome sight, Desmond?”
“Aye.” Desmond squeezed the lad’s shoulder.
Hamish pulled away and looked questioningly at his father, who merely gathered him close and rocked him in his big arms.
As more of the household gathered around, Merrick became puzzled by his son’s reaction. Hamish had always been too bold for his own good, climbing without fear, leaping as though he could fly, without regard to the peril. He’d always refused to heed his parents’ cautions, choosing instead to rush headlong through life.
Now he seemed overly shy. As timid as a cornered mouse.
Though the lad seemed pleased to see everyone, he also seemed wary, grasping his father’s hand often. At times, when too many loomed over his pallet at once, he shrank back in fear.
It was, Merrick decided, merely the result of the injury. Soon enough it would pass and the lad would be as before.
He could see the excitement beginning to take its toll. When Hamish stifled a yawn and his lids began to droop, Merrick gave the word to his housekeeper to order the others to leave. At once the old woman shooed them away, though she couldn’t bring herself to do the same. She lingered, brushing back the lad’s hair from his forehead, patting his hand, repeating all the things she’d whispered to him during his long sleep.
“Ye’re back with us now, lad. Truly back with those of us who love ye.” More tears fell from her eyes. But these were happy tears, and her joy was so great she no longer bothered to wipe them away.
Merrick sat beside his son, basking in the glow of sheer relief. He turned to Mordred and Desmond, who had remained. “It’s as if the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders.”
“Aye.” Mordred nodded. “You risked everything, and won the grandest prize of all. Neither the threat of monsters nor the fear of the unknown could keep you from finding the witch and bringing her here to weave her magic.”
The witch.
Merrick looked around and saw that she was seated at the table, her face in her hands. Was she weeping?
He crossed to her and was startled to find her fast asleep. When he touched a hand to her shoulder, she didn’t move.
Puzzled, he laid a hand over hers and drew back in surprise. She was so cold, so still, she could have been carved from stone.
Alarmed, he bent and lifted her into his arms. At once he could feel the cold seeping into him.
“Mistress MacDonald.”
At his shout the old woman looked over, then seeing the lord holding the lass in his arms, hurried to his side.
By this time he was trembling with cold. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt. It seemed to pass in waves through his body from the woman in his arms, leaving him chilled to the marrow of his bones. How was it possible for anyone to be this cold and still be alive?
Was she dying, then?
The thought left him suddenly terrified. What price had he exacted for the life of his son?
His voice was rough with impatience. “Have one of the servants stoke this fire, Mistress MacDonald. Then fetch me the strongest ale we have.”
“What’s wrong with the lass, m’lord?”
“I know not.” He knelt and settled her on her pallet, carefully wrapping her in layers of fur. “She’s so pale, so still. But see? When I touch a finger to her throat, I can feel the pulse there. Though it’s little more than a feeble whisper, it gives me hope that she can be saved.”
Mordred’s tone was incredulous. “You can’t mean it, Merrick. She isn’t like the rest of us. You’d be wise to keep your distance, else you might find yourself bewitched by this creature. Is that what you want?”
“You know it isn’t. But this I know. Because of this woman, I have my son back. Now I must do whatever I can to return the favor. If necessary, I’ll move heaven and earth to see her safe.”
“This is madness.” As Mordred and his brother followed the housekeeper from the chambers, he could be heard muttering under his breath about the fact that his cousin might have already been bewitched.
That had the old woman glancing over her shoulder at the lord, and had the servants murmuring among themselves over the dangerous creature that had been set loose among them.
Merrick seemed oblivious to their comments as he rubbed Allegra’s hands between his while he whispered, “If only I knew the magic that would restore you, lass, as you restored my Hamish.”
All through the night, while young Hamish slept peacefully, Merrick sat beside Allegra’s pallet. Each time a servant entered the chambers to stoke the fire, Merrick would rouse himself to force several drops of ale between her lips.
Was it helping to ease the cold? He thought so. He closed a big hand around hers and wondered whether he actually detected some small change in her, or if he merely thought so because he wanted it to be so.
This woman was his responsibility. Except for him, she would still be living peacefully in her hidden kingdom. He would not, by heaven, desert her in her time of need.
And yet there seemed so little he could do. The fire, the ale, the nest of furs seemed useless against the icy fingers of death that held her in their grip.
At last, desperate to pull her back from this cold abyss, he did the only thing he could think of. He slipped beneath the furs and stretched out beside her, wrapping his arms around her, willing her the warmth of his own body.
Chapter Five
Allegra was lost in the Valley of Mist, shivering in the darkness. Wisps of fog danced across the loch and wrapped themselves around her like shrouds. She tried to see the sun, but her vision was clouded. She wanted to call for her winged horse to carry her home, but her voice was strangely silent.
Her power was depleted, leaving her weak and vulnerable. She was cold. So cold. Without her understanding family to minister to her, she was doomed. Soon the cold would penetrate her bones, snapping them like twigs. Her blood, too, would thicken and slow and then her heart, denied its precious fuel, would simply stop.
And yet, even knowing the price she would be forced to pay, how could she have denied the warrior his only child? She had seen the depth of his pain. Her heart had been touched by a father’s des perate plea. Hadn’t he risked his own life for that of the lad, defying the Enchanted Loch and the Mystical Kingdom to fetch her? She could do no less than that brave warrior. She had decided to defy the fates and give him his heart’s desire.
And now she must pay the price. She remained paralyzed by the cold and, in her weakened condition, unable to stop its insidious destruction. She lifted her head to the sky and struggled to see the faces of her family, so far away.
At that moment something burned a path of fire down her throat. Her grandmother had once told her the kindness of a stranger was powerful magic. Allegra swallowed the heat gratefully and felt the first tiny flicker of hope.
As the hours passed and the cold closed around her once more, she was forced to swallow more fire. Then, just when the ice was threatening to take her down, the clouds parted and she saw a glimpse of the sun.
Warmth trickled through her. It was little more than a pinprick of light at first, but it was enough to lift her spirits. Perhaps, if she could hold onto the warmth, she could escape the Valley of Mist.
Something warm and strong wrapped itself around her, giving her the strength to go deep inside herself, searching for the light. And though it was faint and flickering, it was enough to sustain her. She held on to it with all her strength.
And slept.
Allegra awoke and lay very still, enjoying the precious warmth that enveloped her like a cocoon. Somehow, even without her family to minister to her, she had escaped the Valley of Mist. Because of someone’s kindness, she had survived.
She listened to the steady beat of her heart and rejoiced at the sound. She was alive. Truly alive. Suddenly she became aware of a second heartbeat, keeping time with hers.
Her eyes snapped open. As she adjusted to the predawn gloom brightened only by the glowing embers on the hearth, she realized that she wasn’t alone in her pallet. Strong arms enfolded her. Warm breath feathered the hair at her temple, sending heat curling along her spine.
“So.” Merrick’s voice was little more than a deep whisper that sent shivers along her spine. “You’re awake at last.”
It gave her an odd little jolt to know that he’d been watching her while she slept. “Why are you...?” She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly against the length of him. “Why are you here in my bed?”
“I knew of no other way to warm you.”
“It was you?” Again the curl of heat along her spine at the knowledge that this man, whom she considered her enemy, had been the one to save her.
“You’d grown so cold I feared you were dead.” He peered at her through narrowed eyes. “Were you?”
She shook her head. “Nay. I was...in another place.”
“Not a warm and friendly place, from the looks of you. But no matter. Now you’re back.” Instead of moving away, he merely shifted, so that she had to put a hand to his chest to keep from being crushed against him.
He lifted a hand to brush a curtain of hair from her face. “Does this happen often, this going away to another place?”
At his touch she shivered, though this time it wasn’t from the cold. In fact, with the mere brush of his hand, the heat increased.
She wondered how much she should tell him. After a moment’s hesitation she said, “It happens only when I’m forced to use all the power within me.”
He digested this before nodding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I was asking of you. I just knew that I would do whatever it took to spare my son. Hamish must have been much nearer death than I’d thought, if it took all your power to bring him back.”
She didn’t know what caught her more by surprise—his apology, or his unquestioning acceptance of her explanation. “You believe me?”
“After seeing what you did for my son, I’m willing to believe anything. Whether you are witch or wizard, I care not, my lady.”
“I am no witch, my lord. I am merely a woman who has learned to use certain powers that are within all of us.”
A mere woman? He doubted that. Still, there was no denying the way his body was responding to the nearness of her. If she were any other woman, he might be willing to give in to the need to pleasure himself and her. He had to keep reminding himself that she could ensnare him, and he would be powerless to stop her.
“If that be so, why doesn’t everyone possess such powers?”
“My grandmother said it’s because people have forgotten.”
That had him smiling. “And how have you remembered?”
She tried to ignore his smile, though it wasn’t easy. She much preferred his frown. At least then she could remember that he was the lout who had brought her here against her will. When he smiled like this she felt something twist and torn deep inside her.
“I learned from my mother. And she learned from hers. Perhaps those without mothers were the fast to forget.”
She saw his smile fade and remembered, too late, the woman hovering ar
ound young Hamish’s bedside.
Her voice fell. “Others simply got careless. Or ashamed of the powers they possessed. According to my mother, those who had lost their power began to persecute those who still had it.”
“So that’s why you live in the Mystical Kingdom? To avoid persecution?”
“Life is simpler there. We accept what we have without question or regret.”
“Are there others like you living there?”
She shook her head. “Only my family, and Bessie and Jeremy.”
“You have no men there other than that troll?”
Her eyes flashed a fiery challenge. “What need have we of men? What can they possibly do for us that we can’t do for ourselves?”
“They can protect you. And catch game for your food. And build you fine cottages.”
“We protect ourselves, my lord, though the only danger comes from outside our kingdom. As for food and shelter, we provide our own.”
“I saw your garden. And I also saw how much work you put into it to till the soil and raise the crops.”
“I don’t mind hard work. Nor do the other women in my family. You see? We do very well on our own. We’ve no need of men.”
“Aye. I do see. It would appear that your mother hasn’t told you everything.”
She saw something come into his eyes. Something dark and knowing that had her puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“Men can be good for other things.” He lowered his head until his mouth hovered over hers. “Like this.”
His lips whispered over hers as gently as the wings of a butterfly. He saw her eyes widen with stunned surprise, unaware that his own reaction had been similar.
He’d meant only to tease her. But he was the one being teased. One sweet taste and he knew he wanted more.
Before she could push away he gathered her firmly against him and took the kiss deeper.
What exotic flavors were here. A sweetness he wanted to explore at greater length. She tasted of summer sun. Hot. Sizzling. And of rainwater, pure and clear and fresh. He’d never known a woman’s lips to be so soft. So perfect.