To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull series) by Lily Baldwin Page A

the dark unknown, and she wondered with fear if he expected her to follow. She started to ask what he was doing but then remembered his threat if she were to speak again and decided to remain silent.
    She sighed with relief when he emerged from the deep and knelt at the edge of the cave entrance. He began making a familiar tapping noise, and just moments later, there was a steady fire building. She did not try to conceal her joy as the small fire grew, illuminating the cave. The firelight revealed a deep, dry space, which was twice the length of her home and about half its width. In the back, she could just make out a stack of peat for fuel. She stood up and began to walk about.
    “There is plenty of fuel to keep this fire going for days.” His voice was soft as he took her hand and showed her the amenities the cave offered.
    “There is a pallet for sleeping and some plaids to keep you warm. You will of course have to wear the MacKinnon colors.” He smiled at her. She sensed he was proud of the cave’s secret comfort.
    “You will also find dried meat and ale”, he said, pointing to a plain wooden chest. She had to admit that for a cave it was rather cozy.
    “’Tis wonderful, Ronan, but why is this all here?” she asked.
    He removed his sword and stood it against the wall. “I first started coming here as a lad when my older brother, Nachlan, died. I was eleven, and I came here thinking I could escape the sadness.”
    Shoney stared at the large and powerful man before her and could not believe that he was ever so small.
    “I am sorry, Ronan.”
    “It was long ago, Bridget. I keep this place well supplied for when I need a little peace and quiet. Solitude is rarely granted a chieftain’s son.”
    Ronan’s confession had Shoney’s mind reeling. Their lives were so different. His life was a tapestry of friends and family, custom and duty, which sometimes drove him to this place of isolation; whereas, destiny demanded she walk through life alone. How often had she prayed for the Mother of all to bring her solace from loneliness? It never occurred to her that someone else might seek it out.
    She sat beside the fire, warming her hands above the flame. “You have my thanks, Ronan. I’m sure I will be very comfortable here.”
    “I am glad you are pleased, but with comfort in mind, Bridget, you must change out of your wet tunic or else catch your death.”
    He handed her one of the dry plaids before he turned away. For a moment, Shoney was confused. Surely he did not intend for her to wear a plaid folded as he did with just a sash across her chest. As she contemplated how best to dress herself, her teeth began to chatter from the cold. She shrugged off her drenched cloak and yanked her tunic and kirtle over her head. Then she set about wrapping herself in one of the large tartan blankets. In the end, she swept it around her shoulders, holding it in place with her hands.
    “You may turn. I am decent…barely,” she muttered under her breath.
    Ronan started to laugh the moment he turned around. “You truly are the most unusual lass I have ever known.” He closed the distance between them and reached for the plaid, but she ducked under his arm to avoid his touch.
    “You have naught to fear, lass. My intention is to assist you into your clothing not to remove it, although you hide nothing that I have not already had the pleasure of viewing.”
     Mortified by his blunt reminder, her embarrassment soon gave way to rage. She lashed out, slapping the smile from his face and in the process losing her grip on the tartan all together. She stood before him as naked as the day she came into the world. Though, her hands rushed to cover the more intimate areas of her body, she stood straight and proud, refusing to acknowledge her disgrace.
    She expected him to taunt her or to strike her in return, but instead he stared with wide, somber eyes. She followed his gaze to her arms. Shoney gasped as she understood why he was