She bowed and left the chamber without another world. As silence sank onto him, Aengus knew this was the moment he needed to make a choice. He was either to continue sitting here until his bones rotted and the death had mercy on him to take his life away, or he needed to get up now, straddle his horse and ride.
Pain blazed in his knee as he tried to pull his body up. He was a tall man with broad chest and carrying all of that weight leaning on one good leg he had, turned out to be a challenging task. Gritting his teeth and welcoming the pain, Aengus forced himself to move. This pain made him feel alive. This pain was the line between life and the oblivion of death.
Sweat ran down his face when Aengus finally reached the stables. He ordered the lad to get his horse. The confused lad tried to argue that it might not be reasonable, but one look into his dark blue eyes, and he knew the reason was not Aengus MacLachlan's companion tonight.
"We are back together, my old friend," he greeted his horse. Seemed the beast was the only one who had remained loyal to him. "Now, let us see what a crippled warrior is capable of."
The further they got from the castle, the weaker Aengus felt. His body was on fire, his knee hurt as if thousands of fiery blades pierced it, his vision was clouded and his head felt light.
"Shall this be our final adventure, we shall meet it with pride," he spoke to the horse again, or maybe the silent night was the one to whom he was addressing his words. It wasn't much later when Aengus realized that he had lost his sense of director. He tried to pull at the reigns, but his bad wrist felt completely numb and the horse did not obey him. As if possessed by some wicked power, the horse carried him away—it never slowed its pace. As if lured by a divine force that called for him, the animal took him to the destination that was yet unknown to Aengus.
"Hoy, hoooy!" Aengus yelled at the beast in vain. The silence of the night swallowed his screams. Aengus did not believe in any gods—be those old ones or new—but in his mind, he prayed to all of them. If he was to die tonight, he did not want to die in a dark pit with no one around to find him. Let him die in a fight, let him raise his sword for one last time.
The horse paused reaching a small valley in the middle of the woods. Surrounded by tall trees and washed in the silver of the moon, Aengus saw a slender figure walk toward him. He blinked several times, but his vision betrayed him. Losing his balance, he fell off the horse. The last thing he felt were icy fingers that touched his face.
"Do not worry," a voice that sounded otherworldly spoke to him. "I shall take care of you, I promise."
Chapter 2
Tara had been sensing his pain for many a night. She knew she had to meet him, and trying to lure him out of the castle had been a challenge. Now as the stranger fell right into her arms, she could feel his strength leaving him quickly. She could feel the scent of decay—his bones were betraying him. The wound was nasty and no man in the castle knew the cure for it. It was her destiny to treat his wounds. She had known it from the very first day her magic came to her. No matter what her family would say about it, she knew she could never let him die.
He was not a match for her. A brutal highlander who knew nothing but to swing his sword. Yet, she had fallen for him from the first time he came to her in her dream.
Tara knelt next to him and carefully pulled him closer, placing his head on her lap. The fever left his body wherever she touched him. The knee wound would take long to recover, but now, as she had physical contact with him, she knew the disease was no match for her healing powers. She was the most powerful healer in her coven. In fact, she was the most powerful caster who was to lead her people one day. So her grandmother had foretold for her unless she chose the one thing that would bring doom to her—love. As she cupped his strong jaw in her palms, her heart began to pound in her chest. She had no doubt he was the only one who would have the power to destroy her.
While he was unconscious, Tara took her time to study his face. Every feature spoke of strength and stubbornness —straight nose, strong jaw, wide forehead, thick brows and those golden freckles that added boyish charm to the man that could intimidate anyone. His long sandy hair was picked in a tail at his nape. Tara ran her fingers through it. The hair added some tenderness to his muscular form. His chest rose and fell heavily. Breathing was still painful for him. She'd need to see him regularly for the wound to heal completely. Yet, she knew she could not reveal her identity to him. Those highlanders were superstitious folks. Magic was one of the few things they feared.
He stirred and let out a groan. Tara caressed the side of his face to ease his pain. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He blinked several times expecting her to be a vision and vanish once consciousness came back to him. She chuckled, and as her body swayed slightly, he hissed. It was probably another jolt of pain striking his wound.
"Shhh," she urged him to stay calm. "The pain will ease now," she promised.
"Ye are
