by Donna Grant
He was used to fighting, used to releasing his god and killing anything that got in his way. He couldn’t battle what made Sonya ill, couldn’t fight whatever had sent her running from MacLeod Castle.
And he’d never felt so inadequate in his life.
It reminded him of when Hayden had said much the same thing while he had watched his woman, Isla, fight an illness. Broc hadn’t understood then, but he did now. Now that it was Sonya lying in the bed, her life hanging in the balance.
With each beat of her heart, Broc knew fate was against her. Sonya had to want to live, had to fight the infection if she was to survive.
Hour after hour he wiped the sweat from her face and neck. Time and again he would hold her down as she thrashed on the bed, screaming Anice’s name, then mumbling incoherent words.
He never left her side, never took his eyes off her. With the first streaks of light over the horizon, Sonya’s fever finally broke. Broc had never been so relieved. He waited impatiently for Sonya to open her eyes again, to do something, anything.
Instead, she didn’t move. Didn’t utter a sound.
Broc, an immortal nearly three centuries old with a primeval god inside him, was powerless. Ineffective. Useless.
If he thought it would help, he would get down on his knees and pray to the God of the Christians, but Broc had learned many years ago that if there was a God, he had long since abandoned them.
Broc rose and walked to the window that overlooked the village. People went about their daily lives never knowing of the evil Druid intent on ruling the world. They didn’t know Deirdre hunted other Druids to kill them and steal their power. They didn’t know of the vile wyrran, creatures Deirdre had created to aid her.
They didn’t know of the Warriors.
If Deirdre had her way, all too soon the world as everyone knew it would change. Broc and the others had halted Deirdre for a while, but he knew her well enough to know that her retribution would be swift and vicious.
Where she would strike was the question. Already she had sent the MacClure clan to attack MacLeod Castle. The mortals hadn’t stood a chance against the Warriors. Many men had died needless deaths.
But Broc knew it was just the beginning for Deirdre. She had once wanted the MacLeods allied with her. Now she would want their deaths along with any Warrior who had sided with them.
With Sonya away from the castle and its protection, Broc feared Deirdre would discover her and seek to have Sonya for her own.
His betrayal of Deirdre would not be forgotten either. If Deirdre found out his affection for Sonya she would use it against him, forcing Broc to her will. And he would do it.
He’d do anything for Sonya.
Broc braced his hands on the sides of the window and blew out a deep breath. The storm had passed during the night. As soon as Sonya woke, he would fly them to MacLeod Castle. They could not stay out in the open. Not with Deirdre seeking revenge.
Whether Sonya wanted to or not, she was returning to MacLeod Castle.
He knew the moment Sonya opened her eyes. Broc looked over his shoulder to find her watching him. He walked to her wondering where to begin, how to begin. But as usual Sonya did things her own way.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“A village not far from where I found you. I would have taken you back to the castle last night, but there was a storm.”
Her tongue peeked out to lick her lips as she looked away from him. “I’ve no wish to return to MacLeod Castle.”
Broc had suspected as much. He could argue with her all day about the need for her to return with him, but he had already decided her safety was worth her hatred. Yet, he still wanted to know why she had run.
“Did someone harm you?” he asked.
“Nay.”
“Then tell me why you left.”
Her eyes closed on a weary sigh. “You shouldn’t have come for me, Broc. I don’t belong at the castle anymore.”
“Why?” he demanded, and took another step toward the bed. “I want to know why.”
Her eyes snapped open, but instead of the anger he expected, there was only sorrow. “My magic is gone.”
Broc blinked, taken aback by her words. How could she think her magic was gone when he could still sense it, still feel the sensual tingle it caused whenever he was near her? It wrapped around him, enveloping him in everything that was Sonya. “You’re mistaken.”
“I’m not. What other explanation is there for this?” she asked, and held up her injured hand. “This should have been healed. I should never have gotten ill, but I did.”
“Sonya…”
“Stop,” she said wearily and briefly closed her eyes. “I know my magic is gone. I tried to heal Reaghan and couldn’t. I was barely able to heal little Braden during the attack. I’ve always known this would happen.”
Broc wanted to reassure her, to tell her she was wrong, but he couldn’t find the words. Despite the magic he felt, Sonya was sure it had left her. He had no proof it was still inside her, and if she no longer felt it, then he would have to try to help her find it again.
“You must be hungry. I’ll acquire you some food and order a bath.”
He walked to the door and grabbed the handle, then paused. He lifted his gaze to Sonya, wishing there was a way he could restore the confident, smiling Druid he had known. It was enough, though, that she was alive.
Broc pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway. Soon they would return to MacLeod Castle. Surely there one of the other Druids could help Sonya find her magic once more.
Magic or not, it didn’t change his feelings for her. Or the all-consuming desire to take her in his arms as a lover and kiss her.
Hold her. Feel her.
It was the one thing he wanted above all else.
The few times he had held her while he flew her to the forest so she could speak to the trees had been wonderful. And complete torture.
Her body fit perfectly against him. The way her breasts pressed against him, how her hands slid into his hair, and the way she would look at him so trustingly with her amber eyes.
He cherished each of those memories. They helped him get through the long, lonely nights.
But Broc was getting just what he had always wanted—time alone with Sonya. Maybe he wouldn’t return them quite so quickly to MacLeod Castle.
Then he recalled the deaths associated with him before he was made immortal. And the one after.
If he stayed near Sonya, he risked her life. But how could he stay away? He was drawn to her like the tides to the moon.
She was his breath, his heart.
She was … everything.
FOUR
Malcolm Monroe stood silently as he stared at the road before him. It was well worn by carts and horses and people making their way between the mountains.
It was also the path home.
Malcolm blew out a breath and wondered why he didn’t feel so sad that he could never return to his clan. It wasn’t just because his arm was ruined and useless. He could still use his left arm to lift a sword, not that it would make a difference to his clan.
A laird had to be fit. He had to be whole. And Malcolm most certainly wasn’t whole anymore. Thanks to Deirdre.
It wasn’t just his arm or the vicious scars on his face and chest. How could he return to a world where there was no magic or Warriors? How could he return to his home and forget his cousin was the lone female Warrior and could turn invisible? How could he return to his clan and forget he had seen Druids and watched them do unimaginable, beautiful magic?
The simple answer was that he couldn’t.
Nor could he stay at MacLeod Castle. He needed to make a life for himself. Somewhere. He just wasn’t sure where or how just yet.
Malcolm was sure it would come to him soon enough. Until then, he would wander the majestic mountains of Scotland’s Highlands and let the land soak into his soul.
He would be alone, but it was for the best. He held too much da
rkness and resentment inside him to be good company for anyone—even the moody Warriors at the castle.
Malcolm turned away from the road and looked at the mountain on his left. There were many villages and clans hidden in the mountains. Maybe it was time he found them.
He adjusted the sporran around his waist, which held his few coins. His sword now rested on his right hip to make it easier to grab with his left hand. Much in his life had changed, and he was trying to adjust to all of it.
Larena, his dear cousin, worried too much. She was married now and needed all her concentration on defeating Deirdre. Larena couldn’t do that as long as he was at MacLeod Castle reminding her that he was mortal. He couldn’t fight with the Warriors, nor would be go with the women to hide.
So he had left.
Malcolm knew he should have said farewell, but everyone would have only tried to convince him to stay. He had given his departure a lot of thought, and it was the only way. For him, it was the only answer that made sense.
He tried to flex his ruined hand, but as usual only got a small twitch of his fingers. He could lift his right arm, but not without tremendous pain that only grew worse each day.
Deirdre’s Warriors who had attacked him had certainly done their job. If only Broc hadn’t stopped them, Malcolm would be dead instead of living as half a man.
As a Highlander, half a man wasn’t acceptable. Still, it wasn’t as if Malcolm had given up on living. He planned to continue on, just not alongside immortal Warriors and magical Druids where he was only in the way.
Malcolm inhaled deeply and started up the incline of the mountain. What lay on the other side he didn’t know. It was something unknown, and for now, that kept him going, kept his mind from the fact that he could use only one arm.
For now, it was enough.
* * *
With her belly full of tasty broth, Sonya let her mind drift as she soaked in the hot water of her bath. Her injured hand rested on the rim of the wooden tub, her head against the back.
The water was doing wonders to ease the aches of her body. Too bad it couldn’t heal her wounded heart as effortlessly.
Sonya sat up and reached for the soap. It was going to be difficult to wash with just one hand, but she would make do. Broc would leave her alone for only so long.
She bathed her body easily enough, but it was her hair which took the most time to lather and rinse. Sonya was exhausted by the time her hair was clean once more.
The water was now tepid, and if not for the fire, she would be thoroughly chilled. She reached for the drying cloth and tried to stand. Her injured arm slipped on the side and plunged into the water.
“Damn,” she mumbled as she looked at the now soaked bandages.
With the drying cloth once more in her hand and again on her feet, Sonya began to dry herself. Water dripped from the ends of her hair and onto the backs of her legs, sending chills racing over her skin.
She hadn’t realized that she had become so weak that something as simple as giving herself a bath could tire her to the point that she was about to collapse.
The end of the drying cloth fell into the water. Sonya hastily jerked it out and realized she needed to get out of the tub in order to finish. It was such a simple task, stepping out of the wooden tub. Yet, it seemed an impossible feat.
Already her legs shook from the few moments she’d been standing. She was filled with anger at her magic leaving her, putting her in this position.
The Druids who had hidden her and Anice had cautioned them not to take their magic for granted. Sonya hadn’t bothered to listen to them. After all, once a Druid was born, the magic would always be with them.
What a fool she had been.
Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She could get out of the tub without falling. She would get out without falling.
Sonya took a deep breath and lifted one foot over the rim of the tub. She placed it on the floor, her legs shaking, but she continued to stand.
After a moment’s hesitation, Sonya lifted the second leg. Her foot hit the side of the tub and she overbalanced trying to keep upright. She began to fall backward when strong arms enveloped her.
“Sonya?”
She let out a breath when she heard Broc’s voice. His deep, sensual, all-too-beautiful voice in her ear. “I fell.”
“I saw that.”
Was it her imagination or did his voice shake? And that’s when she realized she was naked except for the drying cloth she held against her front.
Broc’s warm breath fanned her neck, his breaths coming harsh and shallow. She stayed as she was, afraid to move and afraid not to. She hated how she liked being in his arms. She hated that he felt nothing for her while her body went into a whirlwind of longing and desire anytime he was near.
His hand shifted slightly. Sonya sucked in a mouthful of air, her blood heating with the feel of his fingers beneath her breast. Her head was against his chest, the cloth of his breeches rubbing against her bare legs and bottom.
Chills of a different kind raced over her body then. How she had longed to be in Broc’s arms in such a fashion. To see his eyes filled with desire for her. To know his kiss, his touch. His body.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
Sonya’s mouth was dry, her heart drumming in her ears. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the hard sinew of his chest behind her, the strong arms around her. “I’m chilled.”
That’s all it took to put him in motion. One moment she was leaning against him, and the next she had a blanket around her shoulders as he took her cloth and dried off her legs.
“Better?” he asked as he stood in front of her.
She nodded, afraid to look into his eyes lest he see the desire his small touch had brought her.
The bed seemed a league away, and she would have to walk around Broc to get to the chairs, neither of which she could do on the strength rapidly leaving her body. So Sonya lowered herself as gracefully as she could before the fire.
“Cara packed this for you.”
Sonya looked up to find Broc holding her comb. The mention of Cara, who was like a sister, made Sonya’s heart ache. Every woman at the castle, Druid or not, was like a sister to her. Each had been more of a sister than Anice.
Anice had always been concerned with wherever her mind had taken her from day to day. Some days she was coherent. Other days, not at all. Because of Anice’s affliction, they had never been close.
The women at MacLeod Castle—Cara, Larena, Marcail, Isla, and Reaghan—were her true sisters in every sense of the word. And she had left without a word to them.
“Thank you,” she said, and took her favorite comb. She began to try and brush through the vast tangles, but it would take hours, and Sonya simply didn’t have the strength.
She set the comb aside and stared into the orange flames of the fire. It was Broc’s gentle touch on her injured hand which drew her gaze.
“You weren’t supposed to get the bandages wet,” he said with a small grin. “Jean will no’ be happy.”
Sonya watched as he tenderly unwrapped her bandages before tossing them into the fire. There was a hiss before the flames engulfed the material. A moment later, fresh bandages covered her wound.
“My hand slipped while I tried to stand,” she explained.
“I knew I should have stayed to help you. You’re still weak from lack of food and the fever.”
Sonya nodded, knowing he was right. She deserved the irritation she heard in his voice. She had been reckless, something she had never been in her life. Even now, she couldn’t explain why she had left the castle.
Her world had tilted, the anchor that kept her doing as she must snapping when she had seen Broc holding Anice. The savage grief etched on his face would forever be in her memory. Just thinking of it made her turn away from him.
“There’s another gown and underclothes for you in my satchel,” Broc said.
Sonya heard movement but didn’t
turn to see what he was doing. Then she felt a soft tug on her hair as a comb was pulled through the strands.
“Everyone is worried about you,” he continued. “We searched everywhere before I left to find you.”
Sonya knew he wanted some sort of explanation. He deserved one, as did everyone at the castle. She just didn’t know if she could give it to him yet.
“I wasn’t sure what to pack for you. Cara, Isla, and Larena took care of most of it. If you doona have what you need, I’ve coin.”
Each time he came to a lump of knotted hair, he would take his time and slowly work it free. Not once did he pull her hair. The slow, even strokes began to lull her, as did the warmth of the fire and blanket around her.
“Anice is buried in the forest behind the convent ruins.”
Sonya blinked to hide the rush of tears. “I didn’t look for her after the battle. I assumed she was safe in the castle. I should have looked for her.”
“Too many Druids lost their lives that day. I’m sorry I wasna able to save them all.”
“You did what you could. We all did.”
He blew out a breath as his fingers moved her wet hair away from her ear. “You weren’t the only one to run away.”
“Malcolm.” It wasn’t much of a guess. Sonya had feared he would leave one day. It made sense that he would do it while everyone was occupied with the battle.
“Aye.”
Sonya tugged at the end of the blanket. “He didn’t think he could help in the battle, and he didn’t want to hide with the women.”
“Larena wants me to look for him once I return with you.”
Sonya turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Malcolm left because he no longer wants to remain at MacLeod Castle. You cannot force him to return.”
“Him? Nay. You? That’s a different matter entirely. You are a Druid, and if Deirdre learns you are no’ protected at the castle anymore, she will come for you.”
She was unable to continue to look into Broc’s brown eyes. They were such a deep, rich brown that hid so many secrets. She had once thought she might be able to get him to share some of those secrets.
