by Donna Grant
But Broc wasn’t about to give up. He would catch the creature.
The slope of the cave continued to plunge until Broc was on his stomach, scooting across the jagged rock, which cut into his skin and tore his breeches. He could see a small opening ahead with his enhanced vision.
The opening was so tiny, Broc had to scrunch his shoulders to get them through. Once his arms were free again, he was able to look around before pulling the rest of his body out. He was in a cavern with a bottom like a bowl. Broc used his hands to push himself farther out of the opening, then he was able to roll out of the gap.
He came to his feet in a rush and glanced around. There was no other way out. The wyrran was in the cavern, and it would be its tomb.
Out of the corner of Broc’s eye, he caught movement. He turned just in time to see the wyrran scurrying through another opening.
Broc raced to the side and reached into the hole. He was able to latch onto the wyrran’s ankle. For the next few moments Broc spent his time yanking the squirming creature out of the opening before flinging it in the center of the cavern.
The wyrran leapt to its feet and issued a long shriek. It echoed through the cavern, eliminating any other noise. Broc’s rage had built with each cave he had walked through until he didn’t hold back his god anymore.
He seized the wyrran’s neck with one hand and punched it with the other. The wyrran clawed at Broc’s arms and chest, trying desperately to get free. Broc bellowed as he ripped the wyrran’s head off and tossed the lifeless body to the ground.
With his breaths coming in great gasps, Broc rushed to the opening he had pulled the wyrran from. It was larger than the one he had come through, making it easier to maneuver. He quickly crawled into the opening. Once he was back in the tunnels, he navigated his way out on the opposite side of the mountain.
Broc exited the last cave and stared at the moon with a grimace. He had lost all track of time while in the mountain, which is exactly what the wyrran had wanted. Broc thought of Sonya, of her beautiful smile and amazing amber eyes. It helped to calm his fury enough to find the last wyrran.
With his god once more unleashed, Broc took to the air. The chilly night wind helped to cool his heated flesh. He glided through the mountains, taking him farther and farther from Sonya.
As much as he hated that, Broc knew he had to kill the last wyrran. Once it was dead, he and Sonya could make their way to MacLeod Castle without Deirdre knowing where they were.
Broc flew over mountain after mountain. He wasn’t surprised to find how far the wyrran had come. What stunned him was that the creature had caught up with others.
He could either engage the twelve wyrran he circled from high above, which could take hours. Especially if they split up the way the last ones did.
Or Broc could return to Sonya and get her to MacLeod Castle that night.
Broc didn’t hesitate in returning to Sonya.
* * *
Sonya put her hands at the base of her back and stretched in the chair. She had no idea how many clothes she had mended. Jean would bring in a few at a time, returning later to bring more and take the ones that were finished.
It helped to pass the day, but as soon as the sun had set, Sonya couldn’t concentrate on anything. Every sound she heard she prayed it was Broc.
When Jean brought a tray of food for the evening meal, Sonya couldn’t eat. She had wanted to wait for Broc. But as the hours ticked by, Sonya couldn’t shake the dread that filled her. Now every sound made her wonder if it was a wyrran coming for her.
Sonya set aside the tunic she had been sewing and rose to walk to the table. Her stomach growled in hunger. She knew she needed to eat. If Broc didn’t return by morning, she would be on her way back to the castle. And she would need her strength.
She began to slowly put the food in her mouth, though she tasted nothing. Her mind was filled with Broc. Where was he? What was taking so long? Had Deirdre captured him? Was he injured? Even though his god healed him of injuries, she had learned there was something a Warrior’s god couldn’t heal—magic.
So many questions. Each one churned her stomach until it felt as if she would become ill.
With as much food in her belly as she could manage, Sonya stood before the window, her arms wrapped around her. It was well after midnight. The sky was clear, and no matter how hard she looked, she didn’t see Broc.
Her window overlooked the village, but there were too many shadows for her to know if wyrran were waiting to attack. Below, she could see the men Jean had stationed to guard the inn. Their presence should have made Sonya feel better. But they didn’t. She worried about them dying in an attack.
The fire in the hearth had died down to nothing but embers, and Sonya had no intention of building it back up. It allowed others to see into her chamber when she wanted to see out. If she was going to be attacked, she would be prepared for it.
After an hour of standing, Sonya moved the chair closer to the window so she could still maintain her position there. Fatigue and anxiety weighed heavily upon her, but she refused to give in.
Broc had risked his life going after the wyrran. The least she could do was stay awake through the night. She could rest once she was back at MacLeod Castle. If she made it back.
A shiver of dread raced down her spine.
How she wished she could use magic to talk to the trees once more. They could tell her where Broc was and if he was in trouble. The trees would also alert her if any wyrran were near. But both were difficult to do with her magic gone.
The trees had always been there to guide her in troubled times. Now, she had only herself, and that didn’t inspire much confidence.
She had no magic to protect—or heal—herself, and she knew nothing about using the dagger Broc had given her. She was useless in defending herself, but she couldn’t allow that to take away her focus in getting to MacLeod Castle.
If Broc had been taken, the others would free him just as they had freed Quinn.
Sonya gazed longingly at the forest. She didn’t hear the whispers on the wind as she used to. Those whispers were the trees communicating with each other, and to her, one of the few who could understand them. Ever since she could remember, she had heard those whispers and felt the comfort of the trees as they watched over her.
All was quiet now, and it saddened her. Would she have to go through life without ever hearing the trees again? The thought left her feeling empty. Barren. Meaningless.
Was this how others felt? To those who had never experienced magic, they would never know the thrill of feeling it move inside them or the satisfaction that came from using it for good. They would never know how magic became a part of a Druid, much like breathing or eating.
But she would.
Magic had defined her life. Could she face her uncertain future without that magic? How did she even begin to try?
Sonya unwrapped her wound and stared at the cut. No longer was it tinged green with pus coming out of it. It was healing, but slowly. If there was still magic inside her as Broc said, she should be able to use it.
“Let’s see,” Sonya murmured.
Before, she hadn’t even had to think of healing herself. It just happened. Maybe now she would have to concentrate as she did when she healed others.
Sonya held her right hand over her left and closed her eyes. She imagined her magic gathering inside her, imagined it building and coming up her arm and then being released through her hand as it had done countless times throughout her life.
But no matter how hard she focused, no matter how much she wanted to feel her magic rush through her body, there was nothing.
Tears spilled down Sonya’s cheeks. She dropped her hand and stared in misery at her wound. She couldn’t grip anything without tremendous pain, and it would be weeks yet before she could move her hand normally.
She had secretly hoped Broc had been right, that she did still have some magic. But she had just proven she didn’t. No amount of wishing or
praying would return it, and the only good thing was that it meant she wouldn’t be in danger of being taken by Deirdre.
Without magic, she was insignificant. In more ways than one.
Sonya let out a shaky breath and leaned her head against the side of the window. The idea of no longer being able to call herself a Druid left a hole inside her, a hole she knew would never be filled.
She let her thoughts drift, and as usual they turned to Broc. He had filled her life so fully, so completely in just a few weeks that it seemed as if he had always been there.
When in fact he had. He had seen her grow from a small baby to the woman she was today. She wondered how she looked through his eyes. Sonya imagined throughout his nearly three hundred years he had seen many beautiful woman, and probably loved several of them.
She could mean very little in the grand scheme of things in a Warrior’s life.
The door to her room suddenly burst open. Sonya jumped to her feet, her good hand on the hilt of the dagger. Until her eyes landed on the one man who could make her forget everything but him.
The sight of Broc sent her running to him. His arms wrapped around her as he held her against his bare chest, crushing her. But she didn’t care. He was alive. He was with her.
“I was so worried,” she said.
“I returned as soon as I could.”
Sonya pulled out of his arms and looked over his body. His breeches were ripped. Dried blood coated his body as well as his breeches. “What happened?”
“There’s no time. We need to leave.”
Sonya took one look at him and knew Broc needed rest, but as a Warrior he would never admit it. This was his third night without sleep, which wasn’t usually something that troubled a Warrior; but with the injuries he had sustained, he had no choice.
“Nay,” she said. He didn’t move with the same quickness as normal. He was sluggish and fighting to keep his eyes focused. Whatever had happened, he needed a respite. Yet, she knew he would argue against it. “I need a few hours of sleep first.”
Broc shut the door behind him and walked to his satchel by the bed. “I’ll be flying you, so you can sleep on the way.”
“Not until dawn.”
“Sonya,” he ground out as he wearily lifted his head to her. “Doona argue with me.”
“A few hours rest, Broc. For you and me. You’ve evidently battled the wyrran. You need to eat as well.”
He scoffed at her words and pulled out his last tunic from the satchel. “I’m a Warrior. I can go days without food or sleep.”
“After you’ve been injured? It is just a few hours until dawn. Give me at least an hour. You can eat and tell me what has happened.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “They’ll be coming. I couldna get them all. By now, one of the wyrran has returned to Deirdre and told her where we are. If we doona leave now, we put everyone in danger.”
Sonya fisted her hands to keep them from shaking. She could try to argue with Broc that she had no magic, and therefore was of no use to Deirdre, but she knew he wouldn’t leave without her. Sleep would have to wait.
“There’s a bowl of water. Wash the blood from you while I get some food and then we can leave.”
He gave a simple nod and Sonya headed to the door. She gathered as much food as she could find and hurried back to their chamber.
“Do you have everything you need?” Broc asked as she entered their room.
“Aye. Eat this bread,” she said as she handed him a portion she had torn from the loaf she’d taken. “Just take a bit or two before we leave.”
He finished washing the blood from his upper body and tossed aside the towel before he turned to her. “I’m sorry. I thought I could get all the wyrran, but despite those years in the mountain, I never realized how intelligent the wyrran were.”
“What happened?” she asked as she guided him into a chair and shoved the food at him.
“They split up.” He fingered the bread a moment before he finally brought a piece of it to his mouth. “I tracked down one after the other, and each took longer because they were clever and hid in places I had trouble getting into. They kept me following them, kept just out of reach to give the others time to get ahead.”
Sonya swallowed around the lump in her throat. She had been right to be worried. It was as dire as she had assumed it would be.
“I killed all but one,” he continued. “By the time I found it, another eleven had met up with the creature. I knew I didna have time to kill all of them. I had to return to you.”
“Eat, Broc. All will be well.”
As she watched him, she saw the rage, the craze which could sometimes overtake a Warrior if he gave into the fury of the god inside him.
How close was he to losing himself to his god forever? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to let that happen without a fight.
He was too important. To everyone. But most especially to her.
ELEVEN
The bread was delicious, like an explosion of flavor in his mouth. Broc hadn’t realized until he began to eat just how hungry he was.
He could go without food, but he was glad Sonya had forced him to eat the small bit of bread. Though, he knew he was taking a great risk by resting those few precious moments.
All he had been able to think about as he raced to the inn was Sonya. He feared the wyrran had already reached her. He hadn’t wasted a moment in using his power to discern that she was right where he had left her.
Yet, he didn’t feel true relief until he opened the door to the chamber and saw her.
When she had come running into his arms, it was the greatest moment of his life. Her body had trembled as he held her, and though he knew his hold was too tight, he couldn’t release her. It felt too good, too right to have her in his arms.
Broc finished the last of his bread and stood. Sonya’s amber eyes were filled with trepidation, but mixed with it was determination.
“We need to leave,” he said. “It isna safe here anymore.”
She nodded slowly. “I know.”
“We’ll travel on foot. At least until we get far enough away from the village that no one will see me release my god. I’ll fly the rest of the way.”
“How far is it to MacLeod Castle?”
“I can get us there quick enough,” he answered.
Sonya adjusted the dagger at her waist and grabbed the satchel. She slid the strap over her head and faced him. “I’m ready.”
Broc smiled and took her hand. “Everything is going to be all right.”
“All of this is my fault. Had I not left, the wyrran wouldn’t have found us.”
“The wyrran were looking, Sonya. They would have found another Druid if no’ you. At least I was able to kill a few of them. They’ll follow us now, leaving others safe.”
Her gaze shifted around his shoulder to the window, and a moment later her face drained of color. Almost instantly Broc could feel the shift in the air.
The wyrran had come.
He had two choices. He could grab Sonya and leap from the window to escape into the sky. Or he could draw the wyrran away from the village and kill them.
As if Sonya knew his thoughts, she touched his arm gently and sighed. “We cannot leave the village to the wyrran.”
“I know.” Though he was seriously considering it. He didn’t want anyone to fall victim to the wyrran, but Sonya and her magic were important. She was needed.
And he wouldn’t let his curse touch her.
Sonya’s gaze returned to the window. “What do we do now?”
“I need to hide you.”
“Where?” she asked with a snort. “If there really is magic still inside me the wyrran can find me anywhere.”
It was the truth, but he wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Can you protect yourself with a shield of magic as Isla protected the castle?”
“Nay.”
That single word held a wealth of emotion. Frustration. Sadness. Despair.
<
br /> Broc grabbed Sonya by the shoulders. “Doona worry. I’ve got a plan. Give me your cloak.”
Sonya did as he asked without question. Her movements were quick and precise. She handed him the cloak and waited.
Broc gripped the fabric and prayed his plan worked. “When I leave, put whatever you can in front of the door. The wyrran will have to come in through either the door or the window. Give them only one choice.”
“All right.”
“I’m going to go downstairs and make sure Jean and her men are safely inside.”
“Then what?” Sonya asked.
Broc looked at her cloak. “I’m going to make the wyrran think I have you. I will lead them away. It will take them a bit to realize they no longer sense your magic. By then, you and I will be on our way to MacLeod Castle.”
“How long do I wait for you?”
“You doona.” Broc saw her open her mouth to argue. “If I’m no’ back in a couple of hours, take the coin and buy the horse just as we spoke about before. You ride for MacLeod Castle, Sonya.”
She shook her head over his words. “I’m not leaving you.”
“You have to.”
“Broc—”
“I will find you.”
A deep sighed passed her lips. “I will hold you to that vow, Broc MacLaughlin.”
He was unable to hold back the smile, just as he couldn’t stop his finger from caressing her cheek. “Stay safe.”
Broc left before he kissed her. The temptation was so great that every fiber of his being told him he had to have a taste of her, had to feel her warmth against him one more time.
But he kept walking to the doorway. He glanced at her once more before he stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
He waited a moment until he heard the unmistakable sound of furniture being scooted across the floor. Satisfied that Sonya was doing as he asked, Broc went to find Jean.
Just as he suspected, she was in the front of the inn. “Jean, you need to call your men inside.”
