Chapter Four

“Did you really spend the night in the witch’s bed?” asked Ian as they rode in the chill morning air, the fog wrapping around them a completely natural occurrence rather than one his brother generated.

“Aye,” he said shortly, hoping his brother would accept his reluctance to discuss the topic.

Ian snorted. “That is not like you at all, brother. She is English and the Bloodiest Eye. She has plotted against us.” His disapproval was obvious in his tone.

“If you saw her back, you would realize just how reluctantly she has been used against us, Ian,” said Cameron shortly. “She was his victim, not his accomplice.”

“Now you are to sleep with all the English victims?” mocked his brother.

Cameron pulled up on the reins of his stallion, forcing his brother to stop to look at him. “It was not like that.”

His brother’s eyes widened then. “Do not tell me you care for the witch? You were in her bed for one night. You did not do something foolish like take her for your mate, did you?” As he asked, he started to reach for the plaid covering Cameron’s right shoulder.

Cameron bared his teeth at his brother, and a little plume of smoke escaped through his teeth in warning. “I did not. I took her virtue to strip her of her power. Once a witch loses her virginity, she loses her powers as well.”

Ian scowled. “I do not believe that. I assure you, when I took Claire to the marriage bed, I did not lose my powers.”

“It is likely different for women. Besides, you are not a Seer. You can do a fog trick.” He made himself sound deliberately dismissive.

Ian’s shoulder straightened. “That fog trick has saved us more than once, allowing us to obscure our presence to attack or slip away, and the feeling it invokes in the people it surrounds strikes terror and leaves them feeling weak.”

“I do not mean to mock your talent, for I do not have one at all, Ian, save shifting, but I simply point out her power is different than yours.”

“It was merely a onetime effort to save us all and allow you to play rescuer to an English witch?” asked Ian with a mix of skepticism and hope.

“Aye,” said Cameron firmly. He pulled on the reins and started the stallion forward again, lifting his hand suddenly to still those around him. Likely, their dragons had sensed the presence of interlopers as well but issuing the hand signal to be silent was second nature to him.

They all fell into silence immediately as they had been trained, each of them dismounting their horses and forming together into a smaller group that could move on foot more stealthily. Using mostly hand motions, along with an occasional whispered word, Cameron directed them where to go, and the six of them spread out, homing in on the heartbeats of the interlopers and soon surrounding the small English raiding party.

There were eight of them, but considering their puny size, they were hardly a match for two of his men, let alone the six of them. Cameron touched the hilt of his sword after Ross had disarmed the eight of them, including removing a lance that was tipped in poison that would be fatal to their kind.

He waited until Ross had shifted into his dragon-form and used dragonfire to melt the weapons before speaking to the English, wanting them to be aware of what they were up against. Their fear was obvious, creating a bitter, acrid taste in his mouth when he opened it to speak. “Why are you here?”

“We are not here to make war with you, Laird Balfour,” said the one who appeared to be the leader. His voice was shaking, but at least he had enough bravery to answer. “Our mission is different.”

“Tell me your mission?” Cameron withdrew his sword, the ruby in the handle catching his gaze for a moment as it reflected the expression of one of the terrified Englishmen. He ignored that as he brought the blade closer to the leader’s throat. “Your life depends on what you say.”

“We are not fooled. You will kill us either way,” said the leader.

“Aye,” said Cameron without remorse. “How you die is up to you though. It can be a quick and painless death, one given out of respect for your warrior status, or it can be drawn out and painful. Surely, you are aware how hot dragonfire burns?” he asked in a deliberately ominous fashion.

The leader gulped and nodded, then winced as that caused his neck to scrape against the blade. He pulled back as far as he could and cleared his throat. “We have been instructed to find Sir Walstone’s escaped Seer. The little witch ran away, and he only desires her return. We’re not here to make war this day, Highlander.”

“You are doomed to fail in your mission.” He glared down at the leader. “We will not be relinquishing her to him. I have seen her back.”

The leader of the group winced, looking away. “Perhaps it would be a kindness to end her, Laird.”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t agree or disagree beyond that, for he knew he didn’t have it in him, especially after the night spent holding her in his arms. It’d taken every ounce of willpower he had to leave her this morning at the first light of dawn and return to his own bedchamber to prepare for the day ahead.

Knowing he wouldn’t have any reason to venture back to her again had rendered him nearly powerless and unable to leave the bed. For a moment, he’d toyed with the idea of claiming her. His teeth had been at her shoulder, and he could have given her his mark, though that was a horrible thought. Not only was she completely unsuitable, but she had been unconscious and unable to consent. That he’d had such an impulse had disturbed him enough to finally rouse from her bed and flee her room.

“What sort of deaths will we have, Laird?” asked the leader, looking like he was drawing upon inner strength.

“None,” said Cameron after a moment. “You will relay a message to Walstone instead. Tell him the witch is under my protection, and if you return to my land, I will not be so merciful the next time.”

“We only need one to send a message,” said Stewart.

“That is true, Stewart. If any of them seem inclined to give you trouble as you escort them to the border of our land, you may dispatch all but the leader.” He glared at them cowering on the ground, disgusted by most of them, but he didn’t have it in him to order their execution when they had done nothing.

If he’d caught them with their swords in hand, actively employed in battle against his people, that would’ve been different. He could engage in honest battle and do what must be done. Yet the idea of ordering the death of unarmed men, even men who belonged to his greatest enemy, did not sit well with him. He knew it didn’t sit well with the others either, which was why there was no dissent.

If the Council of Warriors had disagreed with his decree, they would’ve spoken up. He would still maintain final say, but he listened to their wisdom and input, and that they offered none indicated they supported his decision.

He left them to it, aware of Ian walking back with him. They mounted their horses and were soon riding back to the keep, with Cameron half expecting his little brother to reintroduce the topic of where he’d spent the night. To his relief, Ian said nothing more about it, and they parted at the stables as he headed to the keep.

He was surprised to find Brenna sitting on the stairs, wrapped in the Maclaren plaid. A surge of annoyance went through him at seeing another clan’s plaid swathing her. She looked like she was freezing, and he frowned down at her. “What are you doing out here in this cold air, woman?”

“Your people turned me out. They said I do not belong in the lady’s chamber.” Her teeth were chattering. “I suppose I’m lucky they did not force me away by throwing rocks or rotten tomatoes.”

He scowled. “They were not acting on my orders.” Seeing how she trembled, he impatiently grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled along with him, even colder than he’d expected. He steered her into the Great Hall and to a seat before the fire. It wasn’t flaming enough for him, so he opened his mouth to release a small burst of dragonfire that caused the heat to increase by several degrees in less than a minute.

He positioned her as close to the fire as he dared, and he started briskly rubbing her arms as the Maclaren plaid fell away. He had the urge to burn the accursed garment and offer her one of the Balfour plaids, but he stilled the impulse. She wasn’t one of them, and her future remained uncertain.

Realizing he needed to know what she might be good at now that she’d lost her magic, he abandoned his attempts to restore warmth her to skin when he realized she was starting to pinken up again. He took the chair beside her and faced her with a grim expression. “Whatever will I do with you, little witch?”