Page 13 of Her Highland Destiny

He sat up, fully awake, painfully aware. Her ragged breath pulled his attention to where she sat against the rough cave wall, her eyes open wide in shock with the dagger caught between her hands.

5

Cassandra stared at the tip of the dagger, barely one inch from her face. Had she not had the skill and strength to catch it, the wicked blade would have soared straight through her head.

“Cassandra.” Fergus called to her in a hoarse voice.

She ought to have been afraid. Her heart surely should race with her death defying catch and how close she was to her own mortality. Yet her hand was steady as she lowered the blade and regarded Fergus. “You threw a knife at my head.”

“No' with intention.”

“You have tremendous aim without intention.” She rose to her feet and handed the dagger to him.

His fingers closed over the hilt and brushed her own. His thoughts poured into her.

He was afraid. Not only of having almost killed her, for she was too important to lose, but also from the magic in the air.

She drew in a deep inhale and recognized the prickling scent of magic from his mind. “You don't like magic. Why not?”

He grasped the hilt more firmly and snatched it out of her hands. “It's nearly dawn.”

It was no answer. Frustration tightened through her shoulders. “Why do you worry at having almost killed me?” she asked. “I was under the impression we were supposed to fight one another to our dying breaths.”

The lines on his brow creased with intense concentration while he pointedly ignored her. He crouched beside where he slept and rolled his bedding into a neat bundle.

“Are we supposed to fight?” she pressed.

He glared up at her. “We should go.”

The magic still lingered in the air, a cool, wet scent. “Where did the magic come from?”

He shot to his feet and glowered at her. “Why do ye ask so many damn questions?”

She stood her ground. “Because you're not answering a single one.”

His eyes narrowed. “I almost killed ye.”

“I'm not so easily slain.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Why do you hate magic?”

“Nothing good ever comes from it.” He scooped a handful of water from the small bowl by the fire and splashed it over his face. It dripped from his dark beard. “Maybe ye should be asking, because I haven’t an idea.”

“The stone is magic,” Cassandra pointed out.

He scrubbed a linen over his face. “It’s different.”

A gray light cast toward the back wall of the small cave, indicating the sun had begun to rise. There would be no point in attempting to go back to sleep.

“We wouldna be here if it werena for this stone.” His lip lifted with disgust and his gaze wandered down to his chest where the lump of the stone lay beneath the chain mail he'd slept in.

If she'd had chain mail, she would have slept in it too. “Let me have it.”

He smirked. “Is it no' enough ye draw from its power by being near?”

She tried to tamp down the swell of impatience. It would not get her the stone any faster. And he could sense every emotion threading through her.

“It is dangerous for you to keep.” She spoke quietly in an attempt to leverage her patience. “You will destroy all of Scotland if it remains in your care.”

His somber expression darkened. “Because magic is a terrible thing. Even earthy magic like this.”