Highlander Enchanted

Chapter Ten

When Isabel awoke for the second time in Laird Cade's bedchamber, it was dark. Moonlight shone through the windows while firelight glowed across from her. A cool chill reached her, and she snuggled beneath the coverlets, breathing in the scent of heather and the Highlands.

Her body no longer ached, though she remained more lethargic than usual. She tested her injured leg, surprised to feel no pain when she lifted it. Shuffling to the edge of the bed, she swung both legs down and stood carefully.

No pain shot through her. Isabel took several steps and started to relax. The healer's tonic and sturdy brace had done better than any healing she experienced at home. She walked towards the fire and paused near its warmth. Tugging up her sleeping gown, she sought some sign of the bruise or bump on her leg but found neither. Her shin appeared to be healed.

What would Father Henry say about heathens using magic on her? Was she tainting her soul by allowing it?

"How can magic that does good be bad?" she mused aloud.

She dropped her skirts, grateful for the lack of pain anywhere in her body. The faint flicker of light drew her attention to the window.

The crystals hanging from the sill were glowing in the moonlight, casting tiny bursts of colors onto the stone floor.

She studied them from a distance, wary of the strange magic the healer claimed existed in the Highlands. The heavy amulet at her chest was warm, and she lifted it to find it, too, glowed, but not from moonlight. Its internal spark kept it lit. At once uneasy and mesmerized, she debated what to do about such a power that should not exist. She went to the window.

"My god," she breathed and gazed up at the crystals. They, too, were lit from within, brilliant sparks of color swaying in the night breeze.

How was this possible? She drew nearer and started to reach for a purple one when her eyes fell to movement and light outside the second bank of windows. The bedchamber was in a corner of the hold overlooking the bailey and stables on one side and the rolling, grassy moors on the other. She shifted to the windows overlooking the hills.

Flickers of colors – similar to those hanging from the sill – flashed in the night. Except they were not attached to or held by amulets but free to dart around the lone figure of a man in their midst.

His massive sword at his back, Black Cade's form was unmistakable. He strode into the night without a lantern, surrounded by the strange sparkles of color. It was hard to deny magic existed when she saw it so clearly.

Isabel watched in consternation before she recalled the audience he ordered her to attend in the morning. Not only did he have her precious writs, but Richard was not going to be pleased if he were forced to wait here for her for another day. He would surely not permit her to stay another day longer than necessary, and the skies were too clear for there to be rain as there had been the past several days.

Would she have another chance to confront the man who killed her brother? A better place or time than at night, when she was able to escape and travel half a day before Richard and Laird Cade's clansmen hunted her down?

Returning to the bed, she dressed herself hastily with no care for the comeliness of her appearance. After all, there was a chance she died this night. The thought stilled her movement until she reminded herself she likely had one chance to seek revenge. The night was hers. Tomorrow belonged to the men who wished to control her.

She shoved the dagger into her pocket. Isabel sat down and carefully untied the brace, laying it out in case she failed in her purpose and needed it upon her return. Tucking the pink necklace beneath her collar, she struggled into her boots then stood and sucked in a breath, waiting for the pain to return. As before, there was none at all.