Kat Bastion - Forged in Dreams and Magick

He charged the two men holding me, peeling them away and tossing them into furniture as if they were rag dolls. I fell backward, stumbling from the force of the separation, landing against the man whose hand I’d bitten. He shoved me back into Iain, who looked down at me through wild eyes for a split second before he grabbed both of my shoulders and passed me to Robert.

Robert pushed me behind him. Instantly, Iain’s men moved, flanking me on all sides. Relieved for the protection of his guard, I caught my breath and my wits. My heart, however, hammered out the inside of my chest.

Unable to see beyond the mountain range of men surrounding me, I leaned to one side. Through the human shield, I watched Iain lift my captor off the ground. The drunkard’s feet paddled the air like a duck unaware he’d lost water.

Iain growled in animalistic rage. “You never take from a woman what’s not freely granted. Never touch what belongs to us— what belongs to me . Step on these lands again, and you’re dead men. Leave! ” Iain hurled the outcast toward the entrance of the tent.

The man stumbled and scrambled out, trailed by his scampering friends.

My shield parted, and Iain took my elbow. I winced from a developing bruise. He eased his grip, noticing my reaction, but said nothing as he led me away from the scene toward his tent.

When we’d walked beyond earshot, he spoke. “Did they harm you?”

I put my hand over his, tugging him to a stop. “They did not.”

As if in disbelief, he squinted at me. Five counted seconds later, he shifted me to his other side, grasping my uninjured arm, and continued into his tent. We went through the closed flaps, and I found myself deposited into a chair in the darkness. Before my eyes adjusted to the pitch-black room, he brought in a lit torch from somewhere outside. Perhaps his men had followed us. Of course they had. They were his guard. He lit candles on the table and slid the torch into an iron frame in the corner.

Iain returned to me in slow steps, his face easing from an expression of anger to one of pain. He began to pace in front of my chair, taking deep breaths. He suddenly stopped, looking at me as he opened his mouth, but no words came out. After a few seconds, he shut it, resuming his methodical pendulum path.

I waited patiently, understanding his frustration.

He stopped abruptly again, staring down at me. Words blurted out of his mouth so fast, I had to focus hard to follow. “Isa, I got so angry at them touchin’ you . . . I’m furious even thinkin’ it. I’m irritated at your bein’ alone. Never roam by yourself. You’d never wander down an empty street in Los Angeles. ’Tis no different here. Men will be men. Drunken men are the worst.” He sighed, furrowing his brows. “I’m mad at myself. I should’ve been by your side, protectin’ you.”

My stomach lurched. The proud and capable man before me chastised himself for a situation I’d foolishly created. “Iain, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not hurt.”

“Nay, ’tis not okay . I failed you. I should’ve been there for you, and I wasn’t. ’Twill never happen again.”

I nodded, settling back into my seat. I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to keep me under lock and key—I had to be free to truly live—but right now, he needed assurance of my safety more than I needed assertion of my independence. And I felt an overpowering need to comfort him, which was an interesting revelation. Above and beyond my wishes, I needed him to feel secure.

Iain dropped to his knees, clasping my hands into his, kissing them. He gazed into my eyes, and I saw tears sparkling over his dark hazel irises. My heart leapt out of my chest.

In that fraction of a second, I knew.

Love ignited into every fiber of my being, and his eyes reflected the same heart-seizing emotion. I felt it happen—one soul connected to its counterpart. Rather than pinch myself in a life filled with reality checks, I squeezed his hands tightly, beaming.

“Isa,” he whispered. “I’ll protect you. I’ll honor and cherish you. I’ll make you happier than you’ve ever dreamed. It matters not which world we are in, only that we’re together. You’re mine, Isa. You know it. Submit to what’s already between us. Agree to marry me.”

A man I’d no idea I’d been waiting for had just promised me the world. In the short fragments of time we’d spent together, he’d become my world. If I hadn’t realized it before, I knew it soul-deep that very moment.

I bent forward, capturing his trembling lips in a soft kiss. He responded, kissing me back with tenderness, letting love and passion flow freely. Nipping his bottom lip gently, I pulled away, locking onto a gaze I’d never tire of seeing.

“Yes, Iain. I will marry you. I. Am. Yours.”

My stubbornness might have mandated my foolish pride, but an epiphany settled into my mind: the man asking to have me . . . had already owned me long ago.

“I belong to you, Iain. I always have.”

I always would.

Brodie Castle—Thirteenth Century, the Eve of Beltane

Three women surrounded me, admiring their work. I gazed into the large mirror in Iain’s bedroom. A gown of pale gold, the exact hue of my hair, graced every curve of my body as if brushed on canvas. Threads sparkling with actual gold were embroidered into delicate vines around the low neckline and wrist cuffs. Mairi had curled my hair into ringlets that spilled down my back from their pinning at the crown of my head, a few rogue tendrils teasing my cheeks. She’d woven the same golden threads into my hair, giving the blond locks an ethereal quality.

Agnes cried out, “She looks like an angel!”

“Aye, she does,” Brigid replied.

“I’m standing right here,” I said.

Their laughter tinkled into the room like rustled wind chimes as Brigid moved beside me. She wore an emerald gown, setting off her creamy, alabaster skin and deep-copper hair. It was a shame Fingall couldn’t see her now—he wouldn’t be marrying her tonight like they’d wanted—but not once had she let his absence bring her down. In fact, my altruistic girl had been the most ecstatic of the group about my big night ahead.

Brigid’s silver eyes danced with excitement as she grabbed my hand, leading me out the door. “Come. They’ll be waitin’ for us.”

Our small, female caravan, led by Iain’s newest guard, Fergus, rushed to catch up with everyone. We crossed the drawbridge and traveled down a narrow path in the woods, emerging into a large clearing. Two huge bonfires blazed about thirty feet apart, bordering either side of a natural amphitheater. The entire clan mingled on the near side of the clearing.

A priest I hadn’t noticed before stepped through the crowd. “Hello, my dear Brigid.” He grasped her hands and kissed her forehead. He spoke with an English accent. “And, my dear, you must be Isobel.” His sun-leathered face crinkled into a smile. “I’m Father John. I’m to marry you tonight.”

With all the commotion, I’d wondered if there would be any formality. Relief must have shown on my face, because the priest laughed. “Never fear, my child. We’ll bless these unions in the eyes of God.”

Iain burst through the crowd, looking nothing short of magnificent. He wore a crisp white shirt beneath his plaid with the brightly colored ribbons from my pennant fastened to his hip by his family’s brooch. Two fresh braids at each temple draped down below his shoulders, framing the clean-shaven face of the gorgeous man I remembered from California; and yet, in so many ways, he seemed worlds-apart different.