by Donna Grant
She looked him over, her gaze pausing at the blood on his breeches. Instead of demanding to know what was going on, she walked to the door and gave a loud whistle. Almost immediately the men walked inside.
Broc touched Jean’s arm. “Sonya is barricaded in her chamber. I’m leaving to take care of … something bad which is following us.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Jean asked.
“Stay inside. It will be too dangerous to venture from the inn.”
The men grumbled, their chests puffing in an attempt to prove their manhood. Broc silenced them with a glare. “You doona wish to tangle with what I’m going to kill. You would be dead before you could begin to realize what was happening.”
Jean shivered and rubbed her arm with her hands. “All evening I’ve sensed great evil.”
“More than you can begin to understand,” Broc told her. “Stay inside. All of you, no matter what you hear. If anything other than me comes through the door, kill it.”
With Sonya’s cloak still in his hand, he left the inn. He stood outside and listened. The night was quiet. Too quiet. The wyrran had surrounded the village. It was up to Broc to get them as far away from Sonya as he could.
Broc unleashed his god and let his wings stretch out to the side. In the next breath, he was in the air, his wings beating steadily.
Below, he could see movement scurrying around the village and through the forest. Broc let Sonya’s cloak flap in the wind. He wanted the wyrran to think she was with him, wanted them to smell her scent.
Broc spotted a small clearing in the forest and dove toward it. He wanted away from the village, but not too far that he couldn’t get to Sonya quickly.
Broc landed and folded his wings. The night erupted with the unholy shrieks of the wyrran. How he hated that sound. His disgust turned to glee when he realized the wyrran had taken the bait and were coming at him.
There could be one or two left at the village, but most likely all had followed him.
The wyrran crept from the forest. The moonlight glared off their pale yellow skin. Broc kept still as stone as he shifted his eyes to watch the wyrran station themselves on either side of him. More were to his back, but he didn’t bother to face them.
The sound of a horse snorting drew Broc’s attention. He watched the wyrran part as a horse emerged from the trees. And atop the animal was none other than Dunmore.
“I always knew there was something off about you,” Dunmore said as he regarded Broc with disdain. “You were always too willing to aid Deirdre.”
“You mean, like yourself?” Broc taunted.
Dunmore’s lips shifted to a sneer. “Your glib tongue will not get you out of this, Broc. Deirdre knows you betrayed her.”
“Deirdre betrayed everyone when she set out to conquer us. I never gave her my loyalty, only made her think I did. From the very beginning, I was a spy in her midst.”
“You think you outwitted her, do you?”
Broc chuckled. “I know I did. Up until the moment I joined in the attack, she thought I was hers. For all her power, for all her knowledge, she was duped.”
“She wants revenge.” Dunmore shifted atop his mount and eyed the wyrran. “Deirdre has plans for you especially.”
“And I have plans for her. We all do. Eventually we will win.”
“Not all of you.”
Broc shook his head. “Nay, there will some of us who die, but in the end, so will Deirdre. And the next time, it will be for good.”
“I wouldna get too confident,” Dunmore said. “You’ve left the mountain, Broc. There are things you doona know now. Things that if you did, you might no’ be so willing to stand against her. In fact, if I were you, I’d be on my knees begging for her forgiveness.”
Broc curled his hands into fists, his claws slicing his palms. All the rage that had built while tracking and fighting the wyrran had never dissipated, only simmered and waited. Now, it grew.
It overwhelmed.
It besieged.
And Broc did nothing to stop it.
He had always known he would die in his fight against Deirdre. Whether it was by death or his god taking over, he would be gone forever. His only regret was that he hadn’t made sure Sonya was safe. At least with him gone, his “curse” wouldn’t affect her now.
“But you are no’ me, Dunmore. Nay, you’re merely a mortal man. A man who has continued to age. I see the lines around your eyes and the gray in your hair. You are no’ as strong as you used to be. You tire more easily than before.”
“Shut up.”
Broc smiled. “Deirdre has no one but these wyrran. She’s using you. Once a Warrior returns to her, you will cease to be an asset. She’ll kill you or send you away.”
“She promised me immortality.”
Broc threw back his head and laughed. “And you believed her? If there was a god inside you, she would have unbound it long ago. If she really was going to give you immortality, she would have done it while you were in your prime, no’ aging as you are now.”
Dunmore snarled and drew his sword from its scabbard. “I’ve heard enough from you. Deirdre wants you in her mountain, and I’m going to be the one who brings you to her. You’ll see firsthand just how much I matter to her.”
With a wave of Dunmore’s hand the wyrran attacked. Broc killed the first three easily, but there were so many of them. He didn’t understand how they could have gotten to the village so quickly.
He had a wyrran in each hand and one on his back when he saw Dunmore approach him. It must have been another signal, because suddenly all of the wyrran were on him, their slim bodies piling atop him as fast as they could.
Broc snapped the necks of the ones in his hands and reached for more, but their intent wasn’t to harm him, it was to bring him to the ground.
The back of one of his knees was cut the same time a wyrran landed on his chest, sending him backwards. Broc roared as he fell to one knee and killed the wyrran before him.
He could feel the muscle and tendon mending in his knee, knew in just a moment he would be able to stand. But before that happened, Dunmore threw something at him.
The agony was immediate, consuming. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus his mind as his god screamed furiously inside him. Broc knew then that drough blood, poisonous to Warriors, had been thrown into his many and various wounds.
He tried to get to his feet, tried to keep fighting, but the drough blood was too potent. His muscles seized as the poison worked its way through his body.
Broc could hear his god bellow inside him. Broc gave his own roar as he realized the wyrran hadn’t come for Sonya.
They had come for him.
He fell backward hard as he tried to fight the effects of the drough blood. His body was immobilized, the pain blinding. He didn’t care that he was being taken to Deirdre, to Cairn Toul Mountain, and most certainly his death. All he cared about was the Druid he had vowed to protect.
Sonya.
TWELVE
Sonya huddled behind a tree, her heart in her throat. It had cost her precious time talking her way past Jean and her men, but Sonya knew something was wrong. She felt it in the marrow of her bones. A feeling she couldn’t dispel no matter how hard she tried.
The wyrran had followed Broc too easily if they had indeed come for her. And she saw why when the wyrran attacked him. It was a different attack than she had witnessed before. They weren’t out to kill.
They were out to capture.
Sonya wiped away a lone tear from her cheek when she saw the wyrran lift Broc and carry him from the trees. His indigo skin of his god had faded and his wings had disappeared. From the way he held himself so rigid, it was clear that his body was wracked with pain.
She knew all too well what had happened to him. Drough blood. Sonya had helped Larena live through the nightmare. The poison had nearly killed Larena.
Sonya shifted the satchel and a limb cracked beneath her foot. A wyrran paused and lifted its head,
its nose twitching as it sniffed the air.
She readied to run, thinking the wyrran would come for her. But the creature merely turned and followed the others and Dunmore through the trees.
If there was magic in her, the wyrran wouldn’t have passed up an opportunity to bring a Druid to Deirdre. Yet, as empty as that knowledge made her feel, it allowed Sonya time to plan.
In an instant, Sonya made up her mind to follow Broc. She knew it wasn’t what he wanted, but she wouldn’t leave him. After she had learned what he had done for her and Anice, how much he had risked, how could she do anything different?
She might not have magic on her side anymore, but she had the element of surprise. Though she wasn’t sure how she would get Broc away from Dunmore and so many wyrran, given the opportunity, she wouldn’t hesitate to try.
Broc would be furious when he discovered she hadn’t returned to MacLeod Castle, but she was willing to deal with his anger as long as he was alive and free of Deirdre.
Sonya stood and stared at the spot she had last seen Broc. He had always been so strong, so resolute. It was difficult for her to see him brought low by the drough blood. It was because he was such a great Warrior that they had to resort to such tactics.
She inhaled deeply and took a step. Her skirts were going to hamper her. She wished she would have thought to wear breeches as Larena did. It would be much easier to travel without having to worry about her skirts getting caught on anything.
Step after step, Sonya followed the wyrran. She traveled at a distance from them, keeping out of sight and hidden as much as she could. It was easy to follow them since they didn’t try to cover their tracks. All Sonya had to do was track the wide path they cut through the forest.
Besides, she knew where they were going—Cairn Toul. Though Sonya had never seen the mountain herself, she knew where it was.
She wasn’t worried about getting to the mountain, or even gaining access inside. She was troubled about finding Broc and getting them both out alive. It was going to take some cunning, and she needed to form a plan quickly.
If she was lucky, there would be a way for her to free Broc before they reached Cairn Toul. The last thing Sonya wanted to do was go into that mountain surrounded by such evil.
With the satchel full of as much food as she could stuff inside, coin, and Broc’s extra tunic he had left in the inn, Sonya was as prepared as she could be.
Her hand skimmed the dagger at her waist. Not to mention, she was armed.
* * *
Ramsey stood atop the battlements at MacLeod Castle, his gaze on the sky. He had expected Broc to return already with Sonya in tow.
“Do I have cause to be worried?” Fallon MacLeod asked as he came to stand beside him.
Ramsey shrugged and forced his fingers to loosen from the gray stones. “I thought Broc would be back by now.”
“He has feelings for Sonya. Maybe he wanted some time alone with her.”
“Nay,” Ramsey said and faced the leader of their group of Warriors. “I know Broc. His first thought, regardless, and because of his feelings for Sonya, would be to bring her back. He wouldna waste any time in doing so.”
Fallon sighed wearily, his dark green eyes troubled. “I feared as much. I had held out hope though. We have no idea where Sonya could have gone.”
“Without Broc’s power, we’d be searching blind.”
“To have both Sonya and Malcolm leave at the same time.” Fallon rubbed his chin and frowned. “I should have noticed they were gone much sooner than we did.”
Ramsey laid a hand on Fallon’s shoulder. “Doona blame yourself. We all knew Malcolm was going to leave. We just didna know when.”
“Aye. Larena is determined to find her cousin. She wants him here.”
“Malcolm has lost his way. He needs to find it before he can be happy anywhere.”
“His surname is on the Scroll, Ramsey,” Fallon reminded him.
Ramsey sighed as he thought of the ancient parchment the Druids had used to write down all the names of the men who had housed a god when the gods were first called up. “Do you think he could have the god?”
Fallon glanced at the castle. “There’s a possibility. Larena willna admit it, but even she knows.”
“Which is why she wanted Malcolm here. So Deirdre couldna get ahold of him.”
“Aye.”
Ramsey rubbed the stones of the castle wall with his thumb. “Deirdre has no idea Sonya has the Scroll or what names are on it. That is in our favor.”
“You know as well as I Deirdre will be desperate for Warriors now. She will go back to the families she knows house a god and find their best warrior, but she will also look for anyone who is connected to us.”
“Aye,” Ramsey admitted softly. “She will.”
“Add to that the fact that for some reason Sonya ran away.” Fallon rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Why? Why would she run from us?”
Ramsey pressed his fist against the wall and heard his knuckles pop. “Did you see Broc’s face when he discovered she was gone?”
“I did,” Fallon answered carefully.
“We have all seen the way Broc watches her.”
“And how she looks at him.”
Ramsey raised his brows.
“Shite,” Fallon cursed. “He did something to make her leave. Does it have anything to do with her sister?”
Ramsey shrugged and said, “Perhaps. Broc was very distraught at Anice’s death. I find it odd since he didna know her.”
“Obviously he did.”
“Indeed. How well, I’m no’ sure, but I think Sonya figured it out.”
Fallon slammed his hand into the stones, causing them to tremble with the force of his strength. “But to run? Sonya knew the danger awaiting her. She should have known better.”
“Ah, but love rarely makes a person think straight when they are hurt, Fallon. You know this.”
“I cannot sit by and just wait. If Broc hasna returned, then it’s because of Deirdre.”
Ramsey looked at the sky. “I left Broc once before in Cairn Toul. If Deirdre has somehow captured him, I willna leave him there again.”
“None of us will,” Fallon vowed. “But first, we need to find Broc and Sonya.”
“The two people we would use for something like this are gone. There’s no one else to ask the trees for help. There’s no one else with wings.”
This time it was Fallon who placed a hand on Ramsey’s shoulder. “We will find them. This I swear.”
Ramsey nodded his head once. “I know we will. But will we be too late?”
* * *
Broc wanted to roar his fury at opening his eyes to find himself once more in Cairn Toul, the one place he had never wanted to see again. But the drough blood in his system made it difficult to breathe, much less talk.
The stones above him blurred as he was carried haphazardly and carelessly by the wyrran. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he had been taken by the wyrran. Whatever concoction Dunmore had in the animal skin which he made Broc drink kept him from dying, though it never lessened the pain of the drough blood.
So Deirdre wanted him to suffer. Didn’t she know he suffered every day that he was near Sonya and didn’t have her for his own?
Broc groaned just thinking of Sonya. He had to get her out of his mind, had to erase anything to do with her, Anice, or any of the Druids and Warriors at MacLeod Castle. If he didn’t, Deirdre might learn of his attachment and use it against him.
Suddenly, he was dumped on the floor. The thud of his head striking the rock didn’t diminish the pain of the poison in his system.
He thought he might be left on the cool stones of a dungeon to rot for a time, but he should have known Deirdre would want revenge. In blood.
Broc felt something cold and metal lock around his wrists. The sound of chains sliding against rock echoed around him. A heartbeat later, the chains were yanked, wrenching his arms out of their sockets as he was jerked
to his feet.
It took everything Broc had to open his eyes. The poison was like a fire in his blood which licked at his skin, his bones, and every organ of his body.
He ground his teeth together to keep from bellowing from the unearthly, constant pain that ripped through him. His body was on fire and there was nothing he could do about it.
“It’s so nice to have you back in my mountain, Broc.”
He clenched his jaw as Deirdre’s voice reached him. Broc lifted his head and looked around, startled to discover he was in the cavern deep below the mountain where he had been sure a Warrior had been held. By the time he had searched, there had been nothing but open shackles on the ground.
“You seem to be in a terrible amount of pain,” Deirdre said. “Though I can attest it is nothing compared to what I endured at your hands.”
Broc chuckled and gripped the chains to help him stand. He would not tremble at her feet or let her know just how much damage the drough blood was doing to him. “There is nothing you can do that will frighten me. You’ve already taken everything there was to take from me the first time you brought me here.”
“Is that so?” Deirdre took a step toward him and held out Sonya’s cloak. “Then who does this belong to?”
Broc was careful to keep his face passive and not bother glancing at the cloak. “I have no idea. Maybe Dunmore couldna find his cloak and decided to steal one.”
He waited for Dunmore’s angry rebuttal, but there was nothing.
“You have a woman.”
It wasn’t a question. Broc glared at Deirdre, his hatred burning bright. “You may kill me, but in the end, the MacLeods and their Warriors will win.”
“Kill you?” Deirdre said, her hand over her chest as her white eyes pierced him. “Dear Broc, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to make you suffer in ways you’ve never seen before. By the time I’m through with you, you will tell me everything I want to know about the MacLeods. And your woman.”
“I’ll see you in Hell first.”
Deirdre threw back her head and laughed. Her floor-length white hair twitched around her ankles. “This is Hell, Broc.”
