The Betrayal

CHAPTER Four

As soon as they could no longer see any sign of the Mystical Kingdom, Kylia fell ominously silent.

Grant tried to imagine what it must be like for her. She had, after all, spent a lifetime in a world far removed from this. She had no concept of hatred or jealousy or warfare. For all of her years she had known only tenderness and kindness and love. And isolation. What would it be like for her to see the many people of his clan? To try to live among them while she sorted out the ones who were loyal and those who would betray him?

Was she already regretting her decision to defy her mother and leave her paradise? He tried to think of something to say that might cheer her.

As the horse picked its way through a steep, narrow trail clogged with boulders, Grant leaned forward. “This would be the ideal time to whistle up your winged horse, my lady.”

She pulled herself back from her thoughts and shivered at the warmth of his breath. She couldn’t ignore the little curl of pleasure along her spine. “With Moonlight at our disposal, we would already be in your Highland lair, my lord.”

“We’d certainly have the attention of all my people. I’m not sure they’d believe even after seeing it.” He touched a hand to her arm. “Are you weary? Would you care to stop and rest?”

Oddly touched by his concern, she shook her head. “I know you’re eager to return to your—” At the stomp and whinny of a horse nearby, her head came up sharply. “It would seem we’re not alone.”

He reined in his mount, for he, too, had heard it. Before he could dismount, the branches of the evergreens around them seemed alive with men slipping from their places of concealment. All were brandishing weapons.

In the blink of an eye Grant had an arm around her waist, lowering her to the ground while shouting, “Run to the cover of the forest!”

Then, seeking to distract the strangers while she escaped, he withdrew his sword and urged his mount forward until he was surrounded by armed men.

Kylia was forced to watch in horror as he plunged into the thick of danger, his blade slashing with deadly accuracy.

For one who had never seen battle, it was awesome to behold a lone warrior standing against more than a dozen fierce-looking barbarians. Some screamed like banshees while others cursed or grunted as they attacked. Though Grant was a skilled warrior, able to dance aside, avoiding the most deadly lunges, the sheer number of attackers began to take their toll on him. The blade of a sword found his shoulder. The tip of a knife his thigh. An arrow sang through the air and pierced his side with a sickening thud.

Though he was bleeding from half a dozen wounds, he continued fighting against the armed men who came at him in waves.

Suddenly a voice rose above the others. “Highlander, lay down your weapon, or the woman dies.”

Grant turned to see Kylia in the clutches of one of the barbarians. A brawny arm was wrapped around her waist, a knife pressed to her throat, already drawing blood from a cut to her tender flesh.

“I’ll do as you ask. Don’t harm the woman.” Grant lowered his hand. The moment his sword fell to the ground, his attackers were on him like a pack of hungry dogs.

While several of them held his arms behind him, the others slashed and beat and kicked. Helpless to defend himself, he absorbed wave after wave of pain until, at a word from their leader, he was released and allowed to collapse in a bloody heap on the ground.

The one who was holding Kylia stepped closer, dragging her with him. “Laird Grant MacCallum, now will ye die far from yer home, ne’er to see it or those ye love again.”

“How do you know my name?”

“We were told to await yer arrival. There is one among yer people who wishes ye dead.”

As he raised his sword, Kylia used that moment of distraction to pull free of his grasp.

Instead of fleeing, she turned to face him, lifting both her arms high above her head. With the long hooded cape flowing around her, and the tall grass swaying at her feet, she was a fearsome sight.

For a moment the barbarians seemed more stunned than angry. But when she began chanting in an ancient tongue, they turned to their leader for guidance.

“A witch,” he shouted. “Kill her quickly, before she’s able to call down her magic to be used against us.”

Several of the men started toward her, then suddenly dropped to their knees as though frozen. Their weapons slipped from their hands.

“Get up, fools. Seize the woman.”

When they refused their leader’s command, he waved to several more who leaped over their comrades, only to find themselves similarly frozen on their knees, their weapons littering the ground.

“Witch. Now will ye pay.” With his dirk uplifted, the leader stepped over Grant’s body and started toward her.

“You cannot harm me.” Her gaze narrowed on him. Her eyes glowed with an inner fire. She fixed him with a look that had the blood chilling in his veins.

“Ye’ll not stop…” The words died on his lips as he sank to his knees. His blade dropped in the grass.

Keeping her arms uplifted, Kylia turned to Grant, lying so still and lifeless on the ground. “My lord, you must help me if we’re to make good our escape.”

In reply he moaned softly.

Her heart lay heavy in her chest.

She stepped closer until her skirts were brushing his bloody face. “My lord MacCallum. Stay here with me. Keep your mind focused. You must not let the pain take you down.”

He looked up, struggling to make out her form through the haze that blurred his vision. Why was she holding her arms aloft? And where were the barbarians? He glanced around and saw them, kneeling like statues around her. “What is it you wish of me?”

“I wish you to stand. But I cannot help you, for if I lower my arms, the spell that holds these warriors captive will be broken.”

He reached a hand to her skirts, pulling himself to a sitting position, and waited for the dizziness to fade. Then slowly, painfully, through the sheer force of his will, he got to his knees, then to his feet, before wrapping his arms around her waist to keep from falling.

His horse stood by the entrance to the forest nibbling grass. No more than a few dozen strides, but to Grant it seemed an impossible distance to cross. He could no more manage it than he could climb a Highland mountain or swim the North Channel.

“Hold on to me, my lord.” Kylia began leading him in slow, baby steps, and could feel him tremble with each painful movement. As he walked, the blood flowed freely, soaking his plaid. Sweat beaded his forehead, revealing the effort it cost him.

It would seem he had no choice but to go where she led him. Not that he minded for, in truth, he wanted desperately to leave this place. If only his body would obey his mind.

When they reached his steed he clung to the saddle for long minutes, breathing deeply. Kylia could see that he hadn’t the strength left to mount. And yet, if she should lower her arms to help him, they would be forced to face the wrath of the barbarians.

She looked around and spotted a fallen tree nearby. “Lean on your steed, my lord. We must go a bit farther.”

Holding to the saddle, Grant stumbled along beside her until they reached the logs. With the added height he was able to pull himself onto the back of his horse. For Kylia, mounting would be almost as difficult as if she were wounded.

She climbed to the top of the tallest log in the pile and balanced herself there before sprinting into the saddle. At the same instant, Grant locked his arms around her waist and took up the reins. As the horse stepped into the cool, dark forest, she lowered her arms, which had lost all feeling, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“How do you know the barbarians won’t follow, my lady?”

“When they awaken from their spell, there will be confusion. If they should decide to follow, they’ll surely choose another direction, for there are few who would dare to enter the Forest of Darkness.”

“I can’t say I blame them.” He could feel the darkness closing in as the horse moved deeper into the forest. A thick, oppressive blackness that threatened to take him down. But was it this cursed place, or the effect of his wounds?

He closed his eyes against the pain and leaned forward, pressing his weight on her. His breathing was labored, his flesh hot to the touch. “Forgive me, my lady. I truly desire to stay with you, to see you through this fearsome place. But I can feel myself slipping away.”

Alarmed, Kylia reined in their mount and slid from the saddle. As she reached up, Grant tumbled into her arms and the two of them fell to the ground in a heap of twisted arms and legs. While she struggled to untangle herself, Kylia realized that Grant had lapsed into unconsciousness. When at last she managed to free herself from his body, she fumbled around in the darkness until she found the horse’s reins. Tying the animal firmly to a nearby tree to keep it from bolting, she wrapped Grant in her traveling cloak, then began feeling around the ground for sticks. Because she was too impatient to waste the time it would take to rub the sticks together until they created heat, she used an incantation to bring the fire. Soon the sticks were ablaze, offering not only heat, but blessed light in the darkness. Enough light to tend Grant’s wounds.

So many wounds. How had he managed to remain standing through such cruel punishment?

While chanting the ancient words she traced a fingertip over his shoulder, his thigh, his waist, commanding the bleeding to cease and the flesh to begin its long journey toward healing.

Her voice grew hoarse. Still, she continued chanting, knowing that if she stopped, this man could be plunged into crisis, for he’d sustained far too many wounds for his body to recover.

Her eyes grew heavy and she longed to sleep. Still she continued feeding the fire to hold the darkness at bay. Each time her head bobbed, she jerked awake and stood, shaking down her skirts and walking around the clearing, gathering more wood for the fire. Having successfully fought off the weariness for another hour, she would then kneel and continue the chanting that was required for healing.

Grant lay very still, fighting his way back from the darkness that had overtaken him. Though there was pain, it wasn’t nearly as searing as it had been earlier, when he’d felt himself close to death.

He could hear the hiss and snap of the fire nearby, and the sound of Kylia’s voice chanting the ancient words. He found them oddly soothing. In fact, just knowing she was here with him had him feeling easy in his mind.

How magnificent she’d been when she’d stood up to their attackers. Though it must have been a shock to her tender sensibilities to find herself at the mercy of barbarians, she’d betrayed not a trace of fear.

What an unforgettable introduction she’d been given to his world. He regretted that he couldn’t have been more help to her. It shamed him to know that, though he’d been the one trained as a warrior, a protector of women and children, it had fallen instead to this sweet, sheltered woman to protect him.

He felt the touch of her hand on his flesh and was warmed by it. As her fingertips moved in a circular motion over his shoulder, he could feel the pain beginning to subside.

He thought about opening his eyes, but it seemed too great an effort. And so he lay, allowing her touch to soothe and heal. From across the clearing came the stomp and whinny of his steed. Somewhere nearby a night bird called out in a high, shrill whistle.

He drifted off, lulled by the sounds of the night. Sometime later he awoke and realized the chanting had ceased. He felt something soft and warm and opened his eyes to find Kylia curled up beside him, sound asleep.

She made such a pretty picture in the firelight. Dark hair spilling around that sweet, heart-shaped face. Her hands resting lightly on his arm, as though determined, even in sleep, to continue her healing touch and permit nothing to break the connection between them.

Then he saw the thin line of blood along her throat, where the barbarian’s blade had cut her tender flesh. He felt a blaze of fury that anyone could willingly harm such a gentle creature. With a muttered oath he touched a finger to the spot and realized that, though the blood had dried, her flesh had already healed itself.

He was nearly overcome with relief.

Moving carefully so as not to wake her, he lifted a corner of the traveling cloak and tucked it around her. In her sleep she sighed and snuggled closer.

He absorbed the most amazing heat and lay for long moments, watching her sleep.

How was it that he had been given the good fortune to come across this woman? Angel or witch, it mattered not to him. What did matter was that she was willing to sacrifice everything she’d ever known for a man she’d only met. Would he have done as much? He had no answer to that. He knew only that whenever he looked at this woman, he felt drawn to her in a way he’d never been drawn to any other.

She’d told him that she had been seeing his face since she was but a lass. Did that mean they were fated to be together?

Too many questions, he thought. And all of them puzzling to the point of being vexing.

Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, he gave in to the exhaustion that drained him. And joined her in sleep.