To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull #1)

Chapter Six

S honey paced up and down the length of the cave. Three nights had passed since Ronan left, and as the sun dipped low in the sky, signaling the arrival of darkness, she resolved to spend another night trapped in her gateless prison alone.

Why had he not returned?

The Cillchriosd Stone was only an hour’s ride from the cave. What if Ronan had been attacked as well? What if he lay bleeding beside his friend who was sure to be dead by now? Fear settled around her heart. If Ronan was dead, she would be trapped inside the cave until death released her. The only alternative was to scramble down the rope, which would no doubt end with her lifeless body being pushed by waves against the cliff face again and again until the tides swept her out to sea.

She shook her head. She must not surrender her mind to false imaginings. Ronan would return, and as soon as her feet touched firm earth, she’d escape from her self-proclaimed guardian and finally go home.

She stood at the opening of the cave and watched the sun set behind the water. Sundown brought her only source of pleasure over the past four days. The shafts of light from the muted orb reached across the water, swaying and rippling. It was the oldest and most sacred dance. The sky blazed gold and dusky pink, lighting everything it touched with flames of color. The skin on her arms glowed as though she were a gilded statue. Everything illuminated by the sun’s blush was to her at that moment connected as if one being.

She thanked the Mother of all for conceiving such splendor, and she whispered a prayer for her dear mother. Dusk faded into twilight. She glanced down to the distant waters below, and in the waning light, she could just trace the full length of the rope with her eyes.

As the shadows crept forth to enclose the cave in darkness, her mind returned to the last time she saw Ronan. She glimpsed the flexing and shifting of the thick muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back as he descended into the encroaching fog. Mist entwined wispy fingers around his body, obscuring his features, yet his stare penetrated the shadows, holding her gaze. She blushed, thinking of his piercing eyes burning a pathway through the mysteries of her person to the place of private within that only she knew. She had felt spellbound, unwittingly inviting in the enemy to warm and gain comfort beside her soul’s own fire .

Her vulnerability to his presence was too acute to deny and too sweet to forget, but she had to try. She pondered too long on those last fleeting moments when she should have been devising a way to escape. Despite knowing better, she found herself returning to the near kiss they had almost shared...to the warmth radiating from his torso as he had enfolded her in his plaid while riding through the chilly surf...to the moment when his hard, slick body had pressed against her naked skin in the pool where he forged a trail of searing kisses across her throat and chest.

Mother of all, she needed to clear her head. But how could she in this prison? Her confinement was clearly to blame for the singular direction of her thoughts. Memories of Ronan distracted her from facing the critical possibility that her days were numbered.

She turned back into the cave, time to make the fire before the last light faded. Already the stack of peat at the rear hid in the shadows. She struck the flint stones until sparks leapt onto the dried moss. The wiry grasses turned orange with heat as they crackled into flame. Soon she coaxed a small fire into a warm blaze, which whisked away the chill brought on by the cool evening, reminding her of summer’s warmth and abundance. She envisioned the verdant green of the moors kissed with patches of heather, lavender, and plump thistle; countless herbs to gather and dry; and fresh salves to mix. Summertime would soon settle on Mull, but to enjoy all its lushness, first she had to escape. She expelled a long breath and began once again to pace the length of the cave. Back and forth she treaded. Soon the hard stone would wear beneath her feet, leaving a mark to prove she’d been there even when her bones had turned to dust.

Despite how she tried, she could find no method of escape, no safe method anyway. She did not have the strength to descend the full length of rope. This required the arms of a practiced warrior. But being undisciplined, she lacked a true warrior’s strength. She needed Ronan’s heavily muscled chest and shoulders to make the climb. He bore her weight up the cliff side with the ease of the wind carrying the meadowsweet seed. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to take her back to that moment. Her head rested on his chest. She curled her fingers into the golden hairs that clung wetly to every swell of muscle. She inhaled his scent. It was like nothing she ever smelled before—warm, spicy, and intoxicating. Despite her fear, she longed to bury her face in the crook of his neck and unabashedly inhale over and over again.

Ronan was the first and only man she had ever seen face to face. She always wondered what a man really looked like but never had she conceived fine features and a sensual sideways smile, nor could she have imagined her own intense response to maleness. Were all men like Ronan? She stopped mid tread and released a frustrated cry. Mother of all, why did he torment her mind?

He bewitched her, casting a spell that stole her thoughts, her breath, even her will. She had inhaled his scent and its fingers gripped her senses, taking hold of her mind and the deep pit of her stomach. Her entire being was under assault, and they called her witch. She needed to steel herself against the onslaught of his presence so that when he returned, she could fight the magic— if he returned .

A shiver coursed down her spine as she again considered the prospect of abandonment, suspended above rocks and waves, but then a new terror shook her, leaving a frustrating sadness in its wake. What if she never saw Ronan again?

Clearly, her entombing was chipping away at her sanity. He was arrogant, pushy, and without doubt dangerous. She could not wait to be rid of him and return to her peaceful life alone.

Alone.

The word echoed in her mind. That was it. She detested solitude so much even Ronan’s company seemed favorable. Her lonely existence was punishment for crimes she had never committed. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. She was the descendant of warriors. She knew how to wield a sword and hit her target with an arrow. She refused to discount her own strength.

Walking to the entrance of the cave, she stared down into the abyss below. She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty air. The wind picked up, causing the tangled tendrils of her hair to lick at her face and catch in the breeze. Closing her eyes, she smiled as soft feminine voices, carried on the wind, seeped into her ears—whispers of her kinfolk, which spoke of fortitude and the price of freedom.

Her chin lifted, determination coursing through her veins. Her plan of last resort had just become her next move. She would not perish trapped in a cave. She marched over to an extra plaid and grabbed up its length. Then she folded it lengthwise and knotted the fabric into a large loop. With an equally resolute stride, she crossed the short distance back to the opening and took hold of the rope around which she firmly tied the ends of the plaid. Then she pulled the loop over her head and down her hips until it rested beneath the curve of her bottom. She sat into the make-shift harness, testing the strength of her knot. It appeared solid. Shoney’s eyes darted from the misty darkness below to the inviting warmth of the well-lit cave. Doubt began to take hold as her fingers shook with fear, but she found her warrior’s spirit and sounded her battle cry before she slid from the entrance.

The knot held. A crazed laugh slipped from her lips as she breathed great sighs of relief. The victory was short lived. She began to feel the strain of supporting her weight, despite the aid of her harness.

She resisted the impulse to look down to the lethal rocks below; the sight of which she knew could steal the last of her courage. With one hand grasping the rope, she used the other to loosen the knot of the harness. She held her breath as she gently tugged the fabric. She needed to achieve a delicate balance. The rope should pass through the knot but not untie altogether. With the knot of the harness loosened, she shimmied down a short length of the rope and then secured the knot once more. She smiled. It worked. She repeated the process, each time pulling the knot further down the rope .

Despite her triumph, she fought to remain calm as she continued to progress. Her arms ached. Her palms blistered and burned, doing battle with the coarse fibers. She dared peek down for the first time and sighed with relief. Suspended in the air halfway from the water’s surface and clear of the rocks, she was out of immediate harm. Upon realizing her proximity to freedom, she felt her energy renew. She hastened her pace, scooting further down the rope. Her burning palms screamed for her to stop, but still she pushed on. She was too close to give up now.

“Is my little viper, escaping?”

She froze not daring to breathe. She felt the rope pull taut and sway as he began his ascent.

“Are ye racing back to the arms of yer betrothed, or are ye late meeting yer clansmen to discuss yer newest attack?” Ronan sneered.

What was he talking about?

She tried to pull herself up the rope—why—she did not know. It was not as if she could climb to safety. There was only one place to go, back into the infernal cave.

Her efforts produced little result as her tired arms protested her exertions by shooting sharp pains from her shoulders to her fingertips. She made one last attempt to raise her body, but she didn’t budge. Then his arm reached over her head, grabbing the rope, and in one swift and seemingly effortless move, they were face to face, their noses just a breath apart.

“I told ye not to lie to me,” he growled.