Her head turned slightly as if she didn’t quite believe him.
“Please,” he said, softening his voice. “Please” was a new word to Harry. He commanded and others obeyed. But then, since he’d started this quest, he’d had to make many changes.
“I have come so far and searched so hard for you,” he said. “Please, hear my plea.”
Her arm came down. She drew herself back toward the haven of the tree, as if uncertain, her face hidden in the shadow of her hood.
Accepting her actions as a sign that she would listen, he launched into his petition. “My brother’s life depends upon your goodwill,” Harry said, throwing all pride away. “He’s a remarkable man. A better man than myself. He has fallen in love, Fenella. You know what that means.”
She did not reply, but kept her head down. He wished he could see her face. The cat at her feet didn’t blink but stared all the harder.
“Lyon and his wife are going to have a child. He has everything to live for, Fenella. Everything. He does so much good for the world. You have extracted your price for your daughter’s death. It has been almost two centuries. Let it be, Fenella. Let it be. Let your clan and mine be at peace. Neither you nor I can bring Rose back.”
The witch stood silent as if she was part of the tree and nature around her. She’d lifted her head ever so slightly as he spoke and he was shocked because she appeared to not have eyes. Instead, moonlight glinted from where her eyes should be. Again she lowered her head. Harry didn’t know if she was agreeing to his request or merely considering it.
Harry swallowed and pushed forward, putting all his conviction, all his love for his brother in his words. “If you must claim one last life, let it be mine. I’m a worthless soul. I am burdened by my own senseless, selfish actions. I’ve cost many good men their lives through my rashness and vanity. I deserve to die. In fact, death would be a blessing. But my brother, Fenella, my brother merits happiness. I admire him before all other men. Lift the curse. You have had yourrevenge. And if it is more blood you wish,” he whispered, spreading open his arms, “let it be mine.”
Portia did not know what to make of this startling declaration.
Did he truly believe that one person could claim the life of another with something as simple and silly as a curse?
Or that there were such creatures as witches?
Paganism was long dead in Scotland ... or was it? He spoke with conviction, with belief.
And there was something unworldly about this moment. There was the moon, the drift of fog, the wind in the trees, and this warrior of a man on his knees in front of her.
Now that he was no longer scowling as he had been the day before, she could see he was a handsome man, big-boned and with strong features that spoke of a deep character. His hair was overlong, as if he had not had time to seek his barber. It curled around his ears.
Even in the moonlight, his eyes burned with his sincerity.
And she was afraid.
He reached into his greatcoat and pulled outa small leather drawstring bag that he tossed toward the toadstool ring. It landed heavily at her feet. Owl pounced on it immediately, believing it a toy. The cat batted at the purse strings, and then, placing a paw upon it, lay down upon it, claiming it for her feline self.
“There are fifty silver pieces in that purse. I offer two hundred and fifty more if you will remove the curse,” he said. “If that price is not enough, name what you want and I will pay it. I am a wealthy man but my money means nothing to me if I must watch my brother die.”
Portia had meant to take advantage of an arrogant man. Instead, she found herself facing a contrite one. A wounded one. This man suffered. He was in pain.
The spell she had been practicing that afternoon rose to her lips, unbidden by conscious thought. “Power of All Beings Abound, Clear my path that I may walk, Clear my eye that I may see, Depart all that would stop me from being free.” Her voice didn’t even sound like her own.
“You will lift the curse?” he asked. Straight, masculine brows had come together. This man was nobody’s fool, and here she was playing him for one.
“I will think on it,” she whispered.
His jaw tightened. “I cannot accept that answer. I demand certainty. I’m paying for it.”
Here was the man who had almost run her over.
Portia shook her head. “I shallthinkupon it,” she repeated, matching the challenge in his voice with steel in her own.
He studied her a moment as if weighing his advantage, and then bowed his head. “As you wish. We shall meet tomorrow night?”
The Chattan was taking charge again, but Portia discovered her knees were shaking. Holding her own against him in this encounter was taking its toll.
“Tomorrow, midnight,and not before,” she answered. “Now go.” As if to second her command, Owl hissed at him.
He nodded, placed his hat on his head, and rose to his feet. Portia dared not to take a breath until he had walked away.
