Page 40 of Bond of a Bewitched Highlander

Brodie shrugged. Did he? He knew not presently. She'd given the impression of sincerity but could be lying as she always had.

"Are you going to take her back?" Ma asked.

"Home to her brothers? Aye."

"I meant... as your betrothed."

"Nay, of course not," he growled. His mother had gone mad, surely. "Whether she remembers or not, she betrayed me. Hell will freeze over before I forgive her."

"Oh, my." Ma pressed a hand to her throat. "Indeed?"

"Aye. Do you take me for an idiot?"

"Nay, you're brilliant. 'Haps Gavin and Torr would come help you," Ma suggested.

"I need no help," he snapped.

"To find out who was trying to kill the lass."

"I'm certain she'll tell me as soon as she can remember." He strode away to his bedchamber.

Brodie loved his mother, but she was usually a thorn in his side. Last month, she had assisted a vile neighboring chief to almost overthrow Brodie in a coup. He and his friends had stopped them just in time and prevented his sister's forced marriage to the brute.

With Elsea here, his mother would no doubt return to her scheming ways, trying her best to matchmake and free Brodie from the curse.

Indecision tore at him—he yearned for freedom from Wilona MacRae's curse, but at the same time, he enjoyed being a selkie and swimming in the ocean. He craved it, even now. These stone walls imprisoned him within the human realm.

He wanted to leave here now and hasten back to the sea, back to being a selkie, but the woman in the other room prevented it. He had to know if someone had kidnapped her as they had the female selkies. Were the same miscreants responsible? She must ken the culprits.

After striding to the basin near the window, he dipped his finger into the tepid water. His manservant, Ruskin, must have brought it upon his arrival, knowing he would want to wash the saltwater from his hair and skin. Brodie disrobed, cleaned up, and put on fresh clothes.

While he had his carved oak chest open, he dug beneath the clothes into the bottom and withdrew a sheathed Highland dirk, the one Elsea had given him as a betrothal gift. Dread lodging in his gut like a pike, he pulled the dirk from the leather sheath and ran his gaze over the extravagant etchings of a stag and Celtic knots on the blade. Specks of rust marred the surface, for he hadn't cleaned it or even looked at it in a year and a half. Remembering the night she'd given it to him, he muttered a curse. 'Twas as if she'd stabbed the dirk into his heart. He hadn't planned on looking at this weapon ever again. He should've given it away or sold it months ago.

After sheathing the blade, he shoved it back underneath his clothes, wishing he could just as easily shove away all the grim darkness cutting through him now.

Cursing, he strode from the room and into the solar, trying to forget the past, but he couldn't. Not as long as Elsea was here.

Her presence spawned a thousand questions. She would have to stay until he had all the answers, whether either of them liked it or not.

The old letter from Gavin lay on his massive desk. It had been sent months ago. Brodie picked it up and read it again, skipping the pleasantries and focusing on the important part.

I have good news. The curse that afflicts us can be broken, and in my case, it has been broken. I am now a man whole again with no remaining ill effects from Wilona MacRae's evil curse. The requirement is an exchange of deep love and unwavering trust. So, you must find your soulmate.

"Ha." Soulmates didn't exist. Brodie flung the missive back onto the desk. He was done with any trust or love whatsoever. Just imagining being that vulnerable again turned his stomach.

After Elsea had chosen another man over him, he was through with the sentimental tripe.

His feelings for her were dead. Weren't they? Or was she still torturing him? He craved numbness, but he hadn't found it yet. She was like a beautiful wild creature—a tiger or leopard—that had no qualms about ripping him to shreds while he admired its beauty. 'Twould be better for him if she never remembered who he was or what they'd been to each other.

Chapter 8

After a long sleep in a warm cocoon of blankets by the fire in the cave, Wilona woke. Rehashing memories of Brodie and the wench, she ground her teeth. Plots spun through her mind, ideas for how she could get Brodie, Torr, and Gavin together so she could slay them all with one blow. They deserved whatever hell she rained down on them for killing her only child. Even if 'twas the last thing she did on this earth, she would avenge Silas's death.

She had put her whole heart into raising him. She'd given him everything he'd ever wanted. Even when her late husband had refused him, she'd talked him into providing Silas everything he wished for. Some said Silas had been spoiled. She didn't see it that way. As a lad, he had been a chief in training, a future leader. He'd deserved the finest clothing, the highest-quality weapons, the most expensive horse—the best of everything.

And briefly, he had been an admirable chief, but Gavin MacTavish and his two comrades had cut her son's life short. Who knew what Silas might have achieved if he'd been a chief for decades as his father had been?

As for this cave, Wilona was sick of living like a primitive barbarian, hiding in plain sight from her enemies. She deserved a fine, warm castle or manor house, nice clothing, and servants to take care of her. She craved an easier life, not exhausting herself shifting forms or maintaining a youthful glamour. The only way to attain that was to acquire a significant sum of money, which she was going to get from Talnaroch. If Elsea told Brodie what she knew, 'twould destroy Wilona's plans. So, she must either frighten the jezebel away or kill her.