To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull #1)

Chapter Eighteen

“ U nlock this door,” Nathair shouted. “God’s blood, I’ve been a fool.” He pounded again on the door.

“I am coming.” Shoney unbolted the door and stepped out of the way as it slammed open. Nathair’s eyes went first to the bed, which was empty.

“What have ye done with her?” Nathair grabbed Shoney. She winced when his fingers bit into her arms. “Where is my wife, witch?”

“Nathair,” called a quiet voice by the window. “We owe that young woman my life. So kindly unhand her.” Nathair released Shoney and turned to stare at Anwen who was sitting up in a chair by the large stone hearth.

“Are ye real?” he whispered.

Anwen smiled. “I am no ghost, my love.”

Nathair rushed to her seat and knelt, placing his head in her lap. “I thought I had lost ye. I was mad with grief.”

He kissed her hands. Then he stood, cradling her in his arms. Despite Nathair’s cruelty, Shoney smiled as she watched their reunion. It was clear the chieftain and his lady were very much in love. He carried her over to the bed and laid her down.

“Rest more, my love. I must go find Ronan and tell him of yer recovery. He suffers.” Nathair kissed her lips. Then he started toward the door.

“Nathair,” Anwen called.

He stopped and turned. “Aye, my love?”

“Aren’t ye forgetting something?” Anwen nodded her head in Shoney’s direction.

“Ye have said naught to Bridget.”

Nathair expelled a long breath. Then he turned and looked at Shoney. They stared at each for a long moment before he said a hurried thank ye and departed.

Shoney was suddenly nervous. If Nathair had gone to find Ronan, then at any moment he would walk through the door, but she was in no condition to face him. She was exhausted and vulnerable. She did not have the strength to resist him. He would stand in the doorframe, their eyes would meet, and she would say goodbye to Shoney forever and surrender herself to his arms as Bridget. She had to leave that instant.

“I am so tired, Morna. I must go and rest,” Shoney said weakly.

“Of course, ye are, my dear.” Morna put her arm around Shoney’s waist and addressed the other women. “We should all take our leave and rest. Bridget, ye will stay with me until a hut is readied for ye.”

“Ye should hurry if ye want to escape the wave of visitors sailing this way.” Anwen smiled and winked at Shoney. She blushed in response, feeling certain Anwen somehow knew exactly why she was fleeing.

“Let their visit be brief. ‘Tis essential ye rest,” Shoney advised. Then she kissed Anwen’s forehead and left with the other women.

They hurried together down the circular stone stairwell leading to the hall. Upon hearing some commotion outside the main entrance, Morna directed them all to a small side door. “Come, ladies. They will want to celebrate, and right now the only dancing I want to be doing is in my dreams.”

Una smiled. “There will be a dance tonight to be sure, and ye, my dear Bridget, will need all the rest ye can get.”

“I do not understand,” Shoney said.

“Tonight,” Morna said, smiling. “The entire clan will pay homage to ye.”

“Look at her face, Morna. Why ‘tis as green as a cut of fresh peat. Whatever is the matter, Bridget?”

Shoney did not know who spoke. Her head was spinning, a dance in her honor. She had watched the clan revelries from a distance and always wished she could join. But in her daydreams, she was always herself—Shoney. Tonight, she was supposed to be Bridget MacLeod from the Isle of Skye, late of Iona when she had never even left Mull before. Surely, the clan would see through their deception.

“Enough chatter, ladies. Let us get her home. She looks as if she might faint.” Morna put her arm around Shoney’s waist and guided her through the courtyard, passed the gate, and into the village .

News had spread of Anwen’s recovery. People called out warm greetings and cheers as they passed. Morna, Una, and Flora gracefully returned every good wish, but they never slowed their pace or offered introductions. Shoney felt like she was in Aidan’s sailboat again, only this time the village was the sea and the ladies were the waves propelling her forward.

Morna pointed out her hut just up ahead. Shoney, having observed the tidy entrance and smoke curling from out its rooftop, started to race forward, pulling the other women along. At the door, Una and Flora said their farewells, and as the door closed behind her against the commotion and noise, Shoney felt the peace that only comes with silence. She sighed with relief and closed her eyes as she sagged against the door and slid to the ground.

“It will do ye no good to sleep there, Bridget,” Morna chided. “Ye’ll wake with such a crick in yer back someone might mistake ye for the Witch of Dervaig.”

“What?” Shoney’s eyes snapped open.

“I didn’t mean to alarm ye, dear. It was a jest. No doubt ye’ve heard of the Witch even on Skye. But mind my words, Bridget, and don’t be telling anyone what I say—But ye need not fear the Witch.”

At first, Shoney could not believe her ears; then it occurred to her that perhaps Morna was one of the women who had sought the aid of the Witch of Dervaig. She had never helped her, but mayhap her mother had. Standing, she threw her arms around Morna, feeling as though she had found an ally at last.

“Thank ye, Morna,” Shoney beamed .

“Whatever for, a clean bed and a warm fire? I would give ye all that I own and more to show my thanks for what ye’ve done. Anwen is my best and oldest friend. By saving her life ye have saved mine as well. Come now, lie here by the hearth where it is warm, and I will tuck ye in.”

Shoney snuggled beneath the blanket and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of Morna moving about and taking care of what could not be put off until after her rest. For a moment, Shoney was a young girl again, pretending to be asleep while her mother worked into the night, preparing salves and potions. She felt safe, wrapped in the warmth of childish memories, but as she drifted off to sleep, she thought of Ronan and his sideways smile.

She knew he would be at the dance that evening, and she suddenly felt nervous thinking of what it would be like to dance with Ronan MacKinnon, son of the chieftain, with everyone looking on. Smiling, she considered whether for one night she might allow herself to play the part of Bridget MacLeod. For one night only, could she believe her dream of life with Ronan had come true?