To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull #1)

Chapter Sixteen

S honey sat unmoving beneath their tree and watched Ronan’s departure. The sun blazed high in the sky above, shining brightly on the hilltop where he would appear again. She wondered what ills he faced while she sat discarded and useless. She knew he did not intend to wound her, but like her mother warned, he would not, or rather could not, uphold his vows. She did not doubt the goodness of his intentions, but despite what he believed, he was as likely to control the minds of men as he was to control the tides. He would never truly be hers.

The sun began its southernly course, and still she sat motionless, ever waiting. The world around her was painted in the gold and pinks of sunset, and with the approach of twilight, she silenced the debate thundering in her mind. He vowed to return to her by nightfall, and this small promise she knew at least he would keep. As the moors changed from green to purple, she was filled with anticipation. The moon rose high in the sky, and though there was no sign of Ronan, she kept her faithful vigil.

But the night could not last forever, and as it grew old and anguish filled her sedentary bones, uncertainty crept back into her heart. Regardless of whether he kept his word this night, she knew tomorrow would only bring more broken promises. She would never be accepted by the clan, and he would never give up his family and position for her. He was duty-bound as the future laird. He would sacrifice his own happiness for the greater good of his people. It is what he had been trained to do; it is what he believed was right.

Her instincts commanded her to stand and walk away, but she refused to take her eyes from the hilltop for even a moment. The love she bore him was so great. She felt it alive deep within herself. Without him she was lifeless, soulless—a vacant mass of flesh and bone. Surely, if he endured even a moment of the pain she felt, he would come back to her and fight for her.

“It would be him against the world,” she said out loud.

How could she ask that of him? But equally, how could he ask her to give up her beliefs and the very name her mother gave her?

The darkness began to recede, and the first morning bird sounded . The Skylark’s song twisted her heart as it marked the true passing of night. Only then did it become unbearably clear that their promises to each other had been made in vain. Sooner or later, Ronan would choose his destiny, and it would be one in which she played no part.

For the first time since Ronan’s departure, she shifted her gaze and stared at her empty hands. She hung her head and felt a rush of pressure surge from deep within her body. It traveled the length of her abdomen and into her throat, pushing against the walls of her mouth until she finally opened her lips and let go an earsplitting sob. A flurry of birds filled the air, jetting out of the tree branches as they fled from her deafening cry.

She felt a cool rush of air on her face, and once more, she heard whispers on the wind—soft feminine caresses from a long line of ancestral women who had also loved and lost. Driven by the strength in their voices, she stood and shook Ronan from her skirts. Her legs protested the sudden movement, but she welcomed the pain; it was a reminder that she was indeed alive and very much in possession of name and of soul. She would return home and vowed never again to deny her instincts or the wisdom revealed by her visions.

From her satchel she withdrew the Witch’s cloak. She fanned it over her shoulders and pulled the hood low over her head. The fabric was thin, but it felt like stone across her back. It was her weapon in a battle that ended centuries ago; a battle she single-handedly still waged against an entire kingdom. Her mother refused to give her allegiance to the Scottish King, and Shoney would not fail her.

She assumed the gait of a crippled hag. Ronan may know her as Shoney, but as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was the Witch of Dervaig. He would never sweep the cloak from her shoulders, allowing her to stand with pride. And she would never be content masquerading as a Scottish lass or as his secret whore .

Trails of tears coursed down her cheeks; try as she might, she could not stop crying. Her vision was blurred by the endless pools filling her eyes, which caused her to stumble and trip so that she need not feign the Witch’s gait. Finally, she arrived home, and as the door shut behind her with a loud thud, she prayed to the Mother of all to give her the strength to do what she must—she would leave him before he left her.

She hung the cloak on its peg and began pulling off her clothing.

“Don’t do that,” someone cried.

Shoney whirled in the direction of the voice and saw the shadow of a man in the far corner near her pallet. She lunged for her sword.

“Reveal yerself, fiend.” Her voice sounded courageous to her own ears, but inside she quivered with fear. From out of the shadows strode Aidan with his hands raised above his head.

“’Tis only me,” he said. “I’m sorry to have caused ye such alarm. I’ve been waiting for ye since last evening, and I’m afraid I fell asleep over there and did not hear yer arrival.”

He walked toward her, cautiously eyeing her blade. “I spoke hastily to ensure ye stayed altogether garbed in my presence. Ronan has a mighty temper and would cut the eyes from my head if I ever saw ye...well...ye know.”

She watched a smile briefly flit across his features, but it soon passed, replaced by a soberness that surprised her. The brief occasions she had met Aidan he seemed to take nothing serious, except of course the risks which Ronan and Shoney were taking to be together.

“Why ye are here?” No sooner did the question pass her lips then she formulated her own answer. She inhaled sharply, covering her mouth with her hand. The room began to spin as she felt herself fall, but Aidan caught her.

“He is injured—isn’t he? The village was attacked, and he fell,” she croaked.

“Nay, Shoney. Ronan is alive and well in health, although his spirit suffers. There was no battle. The bell rang for his mother.” Shoney did not understand. Aidan answered the query revealed by her gaze.

“She is ill, gravely so. Her condition baffles our healers. They have no cure or even relief. Ye are our last hope.” Aidan moved toward the door. “Pack what potions ye will need and come, please.”

She heard the urgency in his voice, but she did not move.

“Shoney, hurry—we must away.”

“Ronan knows ye are here?” she asked.

“Aye, I am here on his orders.”

She turned her back to Aidan. “I am sorry, but I cannot.”

“That is an unacceptable answer, Shoney.”

She whirled around. “Ronan gave me an unacceptable answer yesterday when once again he refused to bring me to the village.”

Aidan began to pace the room. On several occasions he turned to face her as if to speak; then he shook his head, apparently deciding a different approach was needed. She sighed as she began to build a fire. There was nothing Aidan could say about Ronan that would change her mind. But he must have sensed this intuitively, because when he spoke, he did not mention his friend.

“Ye’re a healer,” he implored. “There is a good and virtuous woman who needs yer help. Her name is Anwen. She is mother to every child in our clan and sister to every woman. Do not do this for Ronan. Do this for her.”

Instantly, her resolve dissipated.

Three years had passed since her mother died from an illness Shoney could not cure. The pain still ripped through her every time she pictured her mother’s beautiful face.

“I will go, Aidan, but hear this and hear it well. I am not a witch. I have no magic. I will come armed with herbs, poultices, and potions not with spells or miracles. I will do everything in my power to help Anwen, but she may still pass from this world.”

“I understand yer full meaning. Now please make haste. The hour is later than I would like.”

She asked Aidan to describe her symptoms while she searched her table for appropriate remedies.

“I do not know much, but I know the illness came on fast with a hot fever and terrible pain in her stomach and back.”

She had an idea of what ailed her, but she could not be sure until she spoke with the women in Anwen’s attendance. She doubted Aidan knew how frequently his lady was using her chamber pot or whether she had reported any discomfort when she expelled.

Shoney became grave with concern. “Aidan, if I am right, then her condition is serious. We must hurry. Every moment is crucial.” Aidan nodded and took the satchel from Shoney’s hand as she turned to grab the Witch’s cloak.

“Nay, leave the hag’s garb,” he directed. “Today, ye come as yerself.”

She whirled around and looked at him with wide eyes and her mouth agape. She could not believe her ears.

“I am to walk into the village as I am, as me,” she stammered.

He smiled. “Aye, Shoney, just as ye are.” Then he opened the door and held it for her to pass.

“Why did ye not say so in the first place?” she smiled.

“Come along,” he urged. “We must away.” She nodded in agreement and followed him out the door.

“Where is yer horse?” Shoney asked.

“We aren’t going to ride,” he answered.

“What?” Shoney did not understand how Aidan could have been so careless. It would take ages for them to walk to the village. What if it was too late by the time they arrived?

“Mother of all, Aidan, why did ye walk?”

“I didn’t walk,” he said. “I sailed.”

“Whatever for?”

“For speed,” he replied.

It was hard to believe sailing was the fastest route to Gribun, but what did she know? She had never set foot in a boat.

Despite the grim nature of their voyage, she could not help but be excited. Aidan led her behind her hut and down the cliffs to where a boat was tied. It seemed small compared to most of the ships she had seen pass by. Perhaps only three or four men could have fit. She took Aidan’s offered hand, but as she climbed aboard, she was not prepared for how the boat rocked. She squealed when she almost fell overboard. Aidan thankfully caught her and helped her to her seat. Her face warmed with embarrassment.

“This is my first time in a boat,” she explained.

He winked. “I never would have guessed.”

She was breathless with anticipation and more than a little nervous as Aidan untied the vessel. Straight away, they were taken out to sea by the waves. She watched as he unfurled the sail, which swelled with the steady winds. As they sped over the water, she sat in wonder, staring at the coastline and the sky overhead. She felt like a bird flying over the sea. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face toward the sun.

Then she suddenly remembered where they were going, and she thought for a moment she might be sick.

“Ye look a bit green, Shoney, but do not worry. Many people experience a little stomach upset when sailing; it should pass soon.”

Little did Aidan know she was not ill because of the surf but because of the dread consuming her from within. She was going to the village and would be presented to Ronan’s family. She had wanted this, longed for it, in fact, but now that her desire was coming to fruition, she was afraid. What if the clan persecuted her despite Ronan’s support? What if they banished her from the village or Mull altogether? Or worse yet, what if Ronan was made to suffer? Fear took hold of her, stealing her breath and causing her to quiver in her seat.

“Nay,” she said aloud. Aidan turned and looked at her in surprise.

“What is it, Shoney? Did ye forget something?”

“I can’t do this, Aidan. They will hate me. They will hurt me.”

He took hold of her hand. “Have courage, Shoney. Trust me. Trust Ronan. We will let no harm befall ye.”

Nothing Aidan could say would ease her fear, but his words gave her the courage to continue forward. She never felt more terrified or more determined in all her days. Regardless of what happened, the truth would be known and her identity revealed. Never again would she don the crone’s cloak. The Witch of Dervaig would be no more.

When they pulled into port, Aidan jumped onto the dock to secure the boat. Moments later, Shoney spotted a man rushing in their direction—she presumed to lend Aidan a hand. She watched his approach unable to move or breath. Her stomach was twisting in knots. She could feel perspiration wetting her brow. It was too late to turn back now. Her secret was almost exposed.

The stranger called out to Aidan, but Aidan did not look in his direction. Instead, he turned to Shoney and flashed her an awkward smile. He suddenly seemed nervous as he fidgeted with a rope, winding it and unwinding it around his wrist. He must be dreading his kinsman’s initial response to having the Witch of Dervaig come to visit.

“Aidan, where do ye come from, and who is this?” the man asked as he approached, looking at Shoney. He was a broad man and thickly muscled with wild long, brown hair. He was not handsome like Aidan or Ronan, but his eyes were gentle, and there was something very pleasing in his countenance.

She took a deep breath. So, it begins.

“Hello, Guthrie,” Aidan said. “I’ve just returned from Iona.”

Iona? Shoney was confused.

“Ronan heard of a healer from Skye visiting relations there. He sent me to fetch her with all haste.”

A healer from Skye? So that is why Aidan came to her by boat. He must have sailed to Iona first, but the healer refused him—and so he came for her. That she was Ronan’s second choice did not matter now. With Aidan’s assistance, she stood on the docks of Gribun in plain view without the coverage of cloak. She held her breath as Aidan turned to his friend. In moments, she would hear her name on his lips, and soon everyone would know she was Shoney, daughter of Brethia.

Aidan cleared his throat nervously. “Guthrie, allow me to introduce Bridget.”

“What?” Shoney cried, but Aidan ignored her astonished outburst as he continued, “Aye, this is Bridget, Bridget MacLeod.”