night while he slept. He glanced about him at the odd, conical hills, trying to recall where he was and how he got here.
Ahh, the faery glen. He had stumbled upon it last night on his way back to the castle after the attack...Connor sat bolt-upright as he remembered the faery lass.
She was gone. As he stared at the empty place between the hills where he had seen her dance, a sense of loss weighed down on his chest. Had he truly seen her? He shook his head. His dreams of making love to her had been so vivid that he could almost taste her on his lips.
For long minutes, he sat unmoving, hoping she would reappear. But no, she had disappeared with the night mist, like a dream or a faery in an old tale.
Connor was not a man given to fancy, but she had seemed so real that he was having a hard time convincing himself he had imagined her. Though it made no sense, he had felt drawn to her with all his being. He had felt lust for many women, of course. But this was a deeper kind of desire, the kind he feared was unquenchable. He felt as if he had glimpsed the only lass who could complete him. Was this faery magic she had worked on him?
Connor cursed himself. He had not been prone to such foolishness since he was a wee lad - not since the day his mother left. Catriona had captured all their hearts and made every day magical, but the magic died with her.
If his mother taught him anything, it was to be cautious when it came to women - especially the ones who could weave magic around men's hearts. Connor wanted a wife who, unlike his mother, was dependable and trustworthy - the kind of woman who did not leave.
Still, he was a man. Lust and yearning filled him as the image of the faery lass danced through his memory again. Though he had not been able to make out the features of her face in the night, he knew they would be as delicate and lovely as her graceful form.
Wanting was a useless waste of time. Though he was chieftain - or rather, because he was chieftain - Connor was not a man who could have what he wanted. Every choice he made, everything he did, must be in pursuit of restoring his clan and protecting his people.
And right now, that meant walking the remaining miles back to the castle on a wounded leg. When he got up, he was surprised to find he felt better for his night in the cold and rain. His head was clear again.
The coming dawn tinted the clouds pink as he walked through the wet grass between the odd hills. He remembered the glittering stone in his pouch and limped over to where he had seen - or imagined he had seen - the lass dancing.
When he saw the remains of a fire, he crouched down to touch the circle of rocks around it. The rain made it impossible to tell if the fire was from last night, but it was strange that someone had built a fire in the faery glen at all. As the sun broke over the hill, the slanting rays caused the wet grass to sparkle. Connor smiled, thinking of sparks flying from the faery lass's fingertips.
Was any of it real?
He took the glittering stone from his pouch and set it on a log near the fire, his thanks for the graceful beauty, whether real or imagined.
Chapter 13
Are ye well?" Lachlan asked Ilysa when he met her on the steps of the keep. He had not seen her at breakfast, and she was pale and drawn.
She ignored his question and asked, "Has the chieftain returned?"
"The men who went with him came back in ones and twos during the night," Lachlan said.
"But not Connor?" she asked, her face going still paler.
"Not yet."
"Do ye know what happened?" she asked.
"I'm told they were surprised by two galleys full of MacLeod warriors," Lachlan said since there was no point in attempting to keep the truth from her. "When they couldn't reach their boat to escape, they split up to make it harder for the MacLeods to track them."
Perhaps he should be glad if they had killed Connor and saved him the trouble of settling his blood feud, but Lachlan could not be happy about any attack on his clan. When he turned