Page 37 of Enchanted

Chapter Fourteen

In the forest, Pearl watched as her fairy-daughter scrambled down from the canopy of the trees as the crackle and hiss of flames devouring the forest around them sounded in the distance.

“Mother, Dunvegan village is burning, and the flames are heading our way!” Panic laced Gille’s voice.

Thick smoke filled the air, and the yellow-gold tongues of the flames could be seen, growing stronger as they ravaged everything in their path. The mother-daughter fairies had taken up residence in the forest after their return to the human realm instead of living at Dunvegan with Aria. The forest had felt more like Fairyland, or home, to them both. But their home was now under attack.

Gille came to stand before her mother. “We must do something before the forest is consumed.”

Pearl took her daughter’s hand, trying to reassure her. “Fear not. I can douse the flames with the nearby stream while you use your magic to create a wall of soil between the forest and the flames. Close your eyes and imagine the soil moving at your command.”

Gille scrunched her eyes closed tightly in concentration. A moment passed, then two. And suddenly, the forest floor shifted as a wind rose up, putting an earthen wall between them and the flames.

“Excellent,” Pearl acknowledged before she closed her own eyes, raised her hands, and concentrated on moving the water from the nearby stream to the village not far away. The water shifted towards the village in a finely controlled arch then came down softly upon the burning structures. After several long minutes, the flames died down, even as the smoke intensified, causing them both to cough between gasps for breath. Once she was certain the fire had been contained, Pearl motioned for the two of them to head deeper into the forest where the air was less dense with smoke.

Even though the danger had passed, fear lingered in Gille’s green eyes. “Something else is wrong, Mother. Something not of this world. I can sense it.”

Pearl tensed, knowing what that strange feeling meant. She had felt it too, a familiar presence not of the human realm. “Oberon has returned.” They had not sent him to his doom when they had used their magic against him in Fairyland.

“Did he set the fire?” Gille asked.

“Nay,” Pearl assured her daughter calmly even though her blood felt thick and hot in her veins and her heartbeat jittered wildly in her chest at the thought of the fairy king emerging once again. “That was the work of human men, and I fear that does not bode well for those who reside at Dunvegan Castle.” She turned her gaze to Gille. “We must go to them with all due haste.”

*

Silence fell overAria, Graeme, Keiran, and Rosalyn as they retraced their steps from this morning. It was late afternoon when they reached a rise in the landscape and could see Dunvegan village below. The billowing flames had died and only the acrid scent of burning wood, smoke, and ash drifted through the air.

Yet even through the smoke and ash from the east, they could see clearly the men dressed in the green and blue tartan, heading for the village. And to the east, they could also see several columns of men dressed in red.

“God’s teeth,” Graeme growled. “Our fellow warriors do not know the English lie in wait.” He urged his horse down the rise with Aria close behind.

“Stay here,” Keiran ordered, the words harsh, before he drew his sword and chased Graeme and Aria down the hillside. An unfamiliar cry erupted from their throats, an ancient call to arms perhaps, warning those below of impending danger.

Rosalyn’s gaze followed Keiran as he headed for the charred remains of the village. She shivered at the thought of what might have happened if the MacLeods had not moved their people to safety. Still, their homes were now ruined because of her and Lieutenant Long.

She released her pent-up breath while Graeme, Aria, and Keiran reached the other MacLeod soldiers in time to warn them of what lay in wait. In that same moment, the sound of horse hoofs came from behind her, and Rosalyn turned atop her horse to see Lieutenant James Long also on horseback, towering over her. A shiver of cold fear moved through her at the hatred darkening the Englishman’s face. She’d been taught her whole life to fear the Scots, but it was the man before her who was truly the barbarian.

“My dearest bride, how kind of the MacLeods to leave you alone so I can now claim what is rightfully mine.”

“I am not your bride,” Rosalyn snapped, holding tight to her horse’s reins when the mare quivered beneath her. “You killed that woman days ago.”

Lieutenant Long laughed. The sound grated against her taut nerves. “I had nothing to do with your attack. Besides, you look very much alive to me.” His mouth quirked into a terrible smile.

“I am alive, no thanks to you, but the woman who was once betrothed to you exists no more.” His confused expression helped her to clamp back her emotions.

She straightened in her saddle and said, “My name is Rosalyn Murray, and I am not betrothed to you.” Look fear in the face and you will find both courage and strength, Aria had taught her. With her lessons in fighting, Rosalyn was no longer the defenceless girl who had been attacked in the woods. She was so much more.

“Your ploy will not work.” The lieutenant brought his horse closer and drew his sword. “I own you. No one else shall have you if I cannot.”

“It is no ploy, only the truth.” She kept her horse steady, holding her ground. She inhaled a slow, calming breath. The late afternoon sun brought out the lines that had settled around the lieutenant’s grey eyes. What she had once thought was his most interesting feature now appeared overly bright and unfocused as those eyes narrowed.

“Are you going to stare at me all day or come with me back to my camp without a fuss?” he asked mockingly.

He should be prepared for more than “a fuss.” Rosalyn held Petunia steady as he brought his horse close enough to grab her left wrist. Bring them in close, then fight hard and fast. Remembering Isolde’s words, she quickly lifted the hem of her gown, drew her dagger from its sheath, then slashed the lieutenant’s upper arm.

Startled, he loosened his grip and she jerked free. With a curse, he brought his sword down. She quickly switched her blade against her forearm and blocked his strike. At the same time, she kicked out, her heel connecting with his gut with all her strength. He roared as he lurched backwards, falling from his saddle, his feet stuck in the stirrups.

He hung there, upside down, roaring in anger. Taking advantage of his upset, with her heart pounding and her hands shaking, Rosalyn sheathed her dagger and set her horse into motion. The animal needed no further encouragement to race down the hillside.