Chapter Four

      Merrick sat brooding while Allegra finished her meal in stony silence. Why should he feel guilty for calling her a witch? Isn’t that what she was? Still, she’d looked so hurt. A hurt that had now turned to stony anger. He couldn’t help comparing that with the way she’d looked when she’d been speaking of her family. There had been such sweetness about her. A light had come into her eyes that made them glow as green as a Highland loch. And for a moment high color had bloomed on her cheeks, making her as fresh and colorful as the flowers in her garden.

      It was natural that she missed her family. Didn’t he miss his home whenever he was off fighting a battle? Of course, the choice to stay or leave was his alone to make, and she’d been given no such choice. But this was different. Fate had backed him to the wall and he’d had to fight his way out. If he felt a twinge of guilt about taking her far from her home, he quickly brushed it aside. He couldn’t afford to care about anyone but Hamish. If the witch healed the lad, she would soon enough be back with her sisters in the Mystical Kingdom.

      What a strange place it had been. Lush and green, with brilliant flowers that grew taller than a man and the air perfumed like a lover’s chamber. It wasn’t only the air that was sweeter. The light there had been touched with such amazing color, gilding everything with gold and precious jewels. Even the drops of water in the Enchanted Loch had glowed like pearls.

      He’d caught glimpses of creatures there that he’d never seen anywhere else in the Highlands. Winged horses, small and delicate, yet big enough to carry a woman or child. At least, he’d thought they were horses. One minute he saw them, the next they vanished from his line of vision. He’d also spotted tiny fairies flitting through the tallest branches of the trees. He’d seen a halo of light around them, and had heard their voices, whispering and giggling. But like the horses, one minute they were there, the next they were gone, and he’d wondered if he’d actually seen and heard them, or if he’d only imagined it.

      Then he’d caught sight of Allegra tending her garden, and he’d been oblivious to all else around him. At first he’d refused to believe what he saw. Why would a witch tend a garden in an enchanted land? Couldn’t she simply command that the crops grow, and her wish would be granted? But there she was, lost in her work, giving him time to bask in her rare beauty.

      Her gown of rich green, shot with gold threads, appeared to have been spun by angels. It had draped the most perfect body, all willow slender and softly rounded curves. Fiery hair hung down her back in one long fat braid, twined with green ribbons. On her feet had been dainty kid slippers. But the hoe in her hand had been plain and serviceable. And she’d worked it with all the fervor of a peasant. That only added to his fascination.

      It seemed incongruous that one so lovely could work until her hands were calloused and blistered.

      For a moment he’d been so taken by her beauty, he’d nearly fallen under her spell. But the thought of Hamish, and what he must do to save his son, had hardened his heart.

      It had almost happened again just now when he’d carried her to the table. The press of that body to his had him thinking things that were better left alone. Thoughts of lying with her, of pleasuring himself with her, had been nearly overpowering. And when her mouth had barely skimmed his throat, he’d found himself drowning in sensations.

      Even now she seemed a contradiction. All buttoned up in that prim night shift, while her hair flowed about her face and shoulders and spilled down her back like a veil of fire.

      He would have to remember to protect his heart from this woman. After all, despite her pretense at innocence, this was no ordinary maiden. She would know every trick to steal a man’s mind, his heart and finally his soul. For the sake of Hamish, Merrick knew he had to be strong.

      He had no fear of her. After all, he was a seasoned warrior. He knew how to do battle against his enemy.

      He looked up with a start when he realized that she’d spoken. “Forgive me. I was deep in thought.”

      She inclined her head. “I said now that Cook’s fine meal has restored my strength, I’ll do what you brought me here to do. It’s time I saw to your son.”

      He pushed away from the table and snagged his ale before following her across the room. There he slouched in a chaise, his long legs crossed at the ankles, watching with keen interest as she perched on the edge of the boy’s pallet.

      She smoothed the balm over the lad’s forehead, then gently lifted his head and spread more at the base of his skull.

      Merrick felt his skin prickling, and found himself wondering what it would be like to have her touch him like that. He could almost feel those long, delicate fingers moving over him, caressing, arousing.

      Annoyed, he put aside such thoughts to watch and learn the ways of this witch.

      She touched her fingertips to Hamish’s temples and closed her eyes. She remained that way for so long, Merrick began to wonder what it was she was feeling. Her expressive face showed such a range of emotions. One minute she was smiling, the next her brow furrowed into a frown of deep concentration. She was relaxed for the space of a heartbeat, and then her face was twisted in pain. So much pain.

      Merrick felt a jolt of understanding. Could it be that she was experiencing everything the lad was experiencing?

      Suddenly she opened her eyes, staring down at Hamish as she began to chant in an ancient tongue.

      The words were meaningless to Merrick, but he found them oddly soothing. Her voice, naturally low in pitch, was mesmerizing. He had to fight the urge to close his eyes and let that rich voice wash over him. Instead he forced himself to study her every move with great care. If she appeared to threaten the lad in any way, he would be on her like an avenging angel.

      Her eyes were fixed on Hamish’s face with such unblinking intensity, they seemed to burn like points of flame. The ancient words poured out of her, as from one in a trance.

      Abruptly she began speaking to the lad in his own tongue.

      “I know you’re torn, Hamish, between your desire to remain where you are, in the company of those who offer you comfort, and to return to the life you once enjoyed. You need have no fear. Whatever harm threatened you has been banished. Here in this place you’re surrounded by people who love you and will look out for your comfort and your security. Your father is right here, eager to speak with you.”

      At that Merrick got to his feet and walked to the other side of the pallet, peering down at his son. Behind the closed lids he saw a wild fluttering, as though the lad were struggling against a bright light.

      Allegra’s voice remained low and soothing. “It’s all right, Hamish. You can come back now. Come. See your father, who has been waiting such a long time to speak with you. Put his mind at rest now, Hamish. Come home to him.”

      Suddenly the lids rose, and the boy’s eyes were open.

      The goblet fell from Merrick’s nerveless fingers, splashing ale across the floor as he dropped to his knees with a cry. “Oh, Hamish lad. You’ve come back to me.”

      With tears spilling down his cheeks he gathered the boy into his arms and pressed his face into his hair.

      Allegra