Read Online Under the Highlander's Spell by Donna Fletcher - Free Book Online Page A

touch could not create more havoc.
    She stood with a laugh, the basket looped on her arm. “That we will.”
    He followed her deeper into the woods, confident that while she controlled the path they took, he controlled the journey.
    He was impressed with her knowledge of the woodland plants, warning him of the dangers of some, the benefit of others, and the importance of knowing the difference.
    â€œYour grandmother taught you?” he asked, gathering pinecones at her request.
    She nodded. “And her grandmother before her and so forth and so forth.”
    â€œWhat of your mother?”
    â€œShe died after giving birth to me,” Zia answered, scooping various shaped twigs off the ground.
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    She placed the few twigs in the basket. “I often wish I could have known her. My grandmother tells me that she was a special woman loved by a special man.”
    â€œAnd your father?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. My grandmother told me that he left before I was born and never returned. I believe him dead, since she said that he loved my mother beyond reason. You can’t leave and not return when you love someone that much.”
    â€œPerhaps there was a reason he could not return.”
    â€œWhat possible reason could a man have for not returning to the woman he loved?” she asked, bewildered.
    â€œIllness, detainment, imprisonment. It is wrong to condemn him when you don’t know what happened.”
    â€œI don’t condemn him. I believe him dead.”
    â€œBut what if he isn’t?” Artair asked, thinking his sound reasoning might possibly give her hope.
    â€œHe better be dead!”
    â€œWhat?” Artair asked, wondering over her surprising response.
    â€œIf I ever found out that my father was alive and never returned to the love of his life, I would hunt him down and tell him what I think of him, which isn’t much.”
    â€œYou’d rather he be dead than alive?” he asked curiously.
    â€œNo, I prefer him to have loved my mother beyond reason.”
    â€œThat makes no sense,” he said, shaking his head.
    â€œBut it does.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause love is what is important.”
    He shook his head again and hesitated attempting to understand her reasoning but finding it difficult. “Being prudent is important.”
    â€œIt’s nonsense.”
    â€œBeing practical is nonsense?” he asked calmly.
    â€œWhen it comes to love it is. How can passion exist if you are always practical?” she asked as if she made perfect sense.
    â€œLove and passion have a time and place.”
    â€œLove and passion know no bounds. They cannot be confined or manipulated or reasoned.”
    â€œAnything can be reasoned,” Artair said.
    â€œNot love.”
    â€œYes, love.”
    She smiled a bittersweet smile. “Then, my dear Artair, you have never loved.”
    He felt a pang in his chest, near his heart. Had her remark disturbed him? Could there be a ring of truth to her belief?
    Once again he found her hand at his chest, firm and warm and pulsating with life…or was it passion that he felt emanating from her?
    â€œYou feel love here, deep inside. It churns and burns and rushes out, consuming all of you until you think you are going mad.”
    â€œHow do you know this? Have you loved someone?” he asked anxiously.
    She shook her head and sighed heavily. “No, I haven’t loved, though I have seen it in the eyes of the young and old couples alike. I have watched how one suffers for the other, watched one pray for the other and watched them grasp hold one last time. Love consumes the heart and soul and never lets go.”
    â€œLove is slow and steady and dependable,” he corrected, confident in his opinion.
    With a disappointed shake of her head, she stepped away from him. “It is not.”
    â€œIt is,” he reasoned. “And it allows love to