Darkest Highlander

by Donna Grant

  THIRTEEN

  Sonya finished tying off her braid with a strip of her chemise and ignored the pain of her wound. She’d been staring at Cairn Toul for some time. The wyrran had moved fast, only stopping because of Dunmore and his mount.

  As she had feared, there had never been an opportunity to rescue Broc before they reached the mountain.

  The few rest times had allowed Sonya to keep them in sight. The periods she had been exposed as she raced down the rolling hills had left her heart in her throat.

  She had expected a wyrran to keep watch behind, to make sure no one followed. It was like they didn’t care. Or didn’t know she was there. Either way, she was glad.

  The toughest part besides watching how roughly they handled Broc was the climb up the mountains. Her skirts constantly hampered her fast pace, and the cold air made her body stiff.

  Sonya was ever thankful she had food and water in the satchel that she could eat as she walked. But the lack of sleep was taking its toll. Her body was exhausted, her mind weary. And her heart troubled. If she was going to help Broc she needed to be stronger—mentally and physically.

  Sonya ducked behind a mound of boulders as she watched two wyrran come out of the mountain. It was as if they had walked through stone. Even if she had her magic, she couldn’t walk through rock.

  Then she spotted the door. It was made of the same stone, so blended with the mountain that it almost couldn’t be seen.

  The wyrran had moved faster, so they reached the castle well before she had. Broc had been in its depths for hours already. As much as Sonya wanted to rush inside, she knew in her present state she would only get herself captured.

  Once again, the thought of being without her magic made her doubt herself. How could she, a mere female with no battle knowledge, help Broc who was inside the mountain, surrounded by God only knew how many wyrran?

  If Deirdre found her, or she was captured, they’d use her against Broc, of that Sonya was certain.

  She frowned and drew in a determined breath. Broc would never abandon her if Deirdre had captured her. She wouldn’t leave him either. Regardless of what happened, she would do whatever she could, however she could, to find and free him.

  With night falling, she decided to sleep for a few hours. Her body needed rest in order to be ready to rescue Broc. As fatigued as she was, her mind was on Broc and what Deirdre was doing to him.

  Sonya leaned against a boulder as she finished the last of an oatcake before huddling against the rock, away from the cold wind. A plan was forming in her mind. A plan that would most likely get her killed.

  But if she could give Broc time to get free, it would be worth it.

  * * *

  Broc ached everywhere, even his eyelids. It had been so long since he had felt anything other than minor irritation over a wound that it was taking everything he had to keep his mind focused and not give away more than he should.

  Deirdre had kept the drough blood inside him. She used it to her advantage, threatening to kill him with it while trying to persuade him she wasn’t his enemy.

  Broc laughed every time.

  Though it was becoming harder and harder to keep the smile on his face. It took great concentration to keep his lungs filling with air. And each time they did, the pain, the soul-shredding agony would make him question if it was worth it.

  His skin burned from the inside out. His bones felt as if they were crumbling away. Pain. Misery. Torment. They were his only friends now, the only things which kept him from going stark raving mad.

  And all of it had been done without Deirdre laying a finger on him.

  He’d seen the use of drough blood used on Warriors before, but it had been a minute amount. Larena had nearly died because of drough blood.

  He wasn’t afraid of dying. He was afraid of Deirdre bringing him back.

  It took powerful black magic to return a soul to its body, and a trace of evil always remained with that soul. Broc feared what he would become with Deirdre’s evil inside him.

  He had fought his god and learned to control it, but if his god got a taste of Deirdre’s evil, Poraxus would take over. Completely.

  And there would be nothing he could do about it.

  It wouldn’t happen the first time Deirdre brought him back. But he knew her. She would do it again and again until she got the results she wanted.

  It had happened to a Warrior before.

  What would happen to Sonya if his god did take over?

  He hadn’t allowed himself to think of her since he was first dragged into the dungeon, but now that she had come into his thoughts, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking of her.

  It was precarious for him to lose control so easily. But the image of her beautiful face, her red curls shining in the sun, and her amazing amber eyes helped to fortify him.

  He lifted his head and opened his eyes. Behind him was part of the rock which had transformed for Deirdre so that it curved inward, away from him.

  It was far enough behind him that Broc couldn’t lean back, couldn’t even kick backward with his foot and touch it. Before him was the huge cavern. The steps leading down to where he was being held were narrow and wound upward until he couldn’t see them anymore. He had flown down that first time, not bothering with the stairs, but he knew he was far below anything else in Deirdre’s mountain.

  He also realized this was the place Phelan had been kept. The boy Deirdre had made Isla bring to the mountain. He had been chained for years until he had reached manhood. And then Deirdre had unbound his god.

  Broc wished he had ventured here and found Phelan before the attack on Deirdre. Isla wanted Broc to find him, just as Larena wanted him to find Malcolm.

  What would happen if Broc didn’t return to the castle?

  There’s no if. I’m not going to ever leave the mountain again.

  Broc knew it with a certainty that should have angered him, but one he accepted. He thought back to the first girl who had caught his eye. He’d been a lad of eight summers, she had only been six.

  Ena had been shy, but even at such a young age, Broc had known beauty when he saw it. It had taken him months, but he’d gradually gotten her to speak with him. He could still see her shy smile as she looked up at him with clear, blue eyes.

  He also couldn’t forget finding her body floating in the river.

  The next lass to die had been two years later. Moyna had been the opposite of Ena in every way. She was as wild and reckless as Broc had been at the time. When he’d dared her to climb the cliff, she hadn’t backed down.

  It wasn’t until they were standing at the top, near the edge, that the ground crumbled beneath her and she plummeted to her death.

  There were others. Always some freak, unexplained accident or illness would take them, but always after spending months with Broc.

  His clan began to look at him as if he were some evil soul. They whispered behind his back and kept their distance lest one of them be the next to die.

  Broc had turned his attention to his sword. He spent hours training and becoming the best warrior his clan had ever seen. He’d never expected that would lead him to become something to truly be feared.

  At least being locked in Deirdre’s mountain had kept him away from anyone who might become attached to him. He chuckled inwardly as he foolishly thought he would be spared from the curse.

  He should have known the moment he picked up Sonya and Anice as babies he was testing Fate.

  Broc knew the instant Deirdre entered the cavern. He shut down his thoughts and focused on his hatred for her. By the time she walked down the thousand steps, Broc was ready for her.

  “How is the drough blood feeling in your body?” Deirdre asked, her voice holding a note of excitement.

  “I’m still standing.”

  She narrowed her unnatural white eyes. She wore the same black gown she always preferred, even after several centuries. “I can ease your discomfort.”

  He scoffed at her words. “In e
xchange for my fealty? Never.”

  “Such strong words. You’ve only been here for a little over a day. I wonder how you’ll feel with drough blood in you for … decades.”

  “I will die before then.”

  She smiled, the gesture cruel and holding no ounce of kindness. “Without a doubt, my indigo Warrior. It is my magic which is keeping it from killing you.”

  “What color were your eyes before?” Broc asked to change the subject and keep in control. He had seen how Deirdre stared at herself in the mirror. He’d often wondered what went through her mind as she gazed at her reflection.

  The smile vanished, replaced with a sneer. “What does it matter?”

  “Curious,” he said with a shrug of indifference. “It’s twisted, that color of yours.”

  “Just as your Warrior eyes are. Have you seen what you become when you unleash your god?”

  Broc laughed. “Aye. Have you seen what you’ve become? What color where your eyes? Hazel? Blue?”

  “I don’t see how this matters.”

  “Ah, but you’re a vain bitch, Deirdre. As much as you love the black magic which runs through your soul, I’ve seen you stare into your mirror.”

  “My eyes frighten people. I use it to my advantage.”

  Broc smiled as he heard the lie in her words. He’d been right in thinking she didn’t like the white color of her eyes. He’d continue this conversation to see what it brought him. “There are those who say you’re beautiful. I doona see it.”

  In a flash she stood before him, her long white hair wrapped around his neck in a tight grip. “I am beautiful.”

  “Your conceit knows no bounds.”

  “Why do you wish to know what color my eyes used to be?”

  Broc lifted his chin as he felt her hair tighten around his neck, cutting off what little air he had. “Idle conversation.”

  “Blue. They were blue,” she said as her hair released him and fell back to the floor. “Before you ask, my hair was blonde. Are you satisfied?”

  “Immensely. Now I know that hair and eye color can certainly make the woman. If you’re so powerful, why can you no’ turn your eyes back to what they were?”

  He was baiting her, making her think of herself instead of him and her plan. It was working so far, but he wasn’t sure how much longer it would last.

  “Why would I?” she asked with a frown.

  He shrugged. “A show of your mighty black magic. Can you do it, or are you no’ as powerful as you would like us to believe? I doona think you have enough magic to do it.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice lowering.

  Broc prepared himself for the worst. He had taken a huge risk. “What is that?”

  “You want to see me as I was.”

  He was so surprised, he could only stare at her in silence. Amid all her delusions, he shouldn’t be astonished that she had come up with something completely different than what he had imagined.

  Deirdre moved to stand in front of him and rubbed her lithe body against his. There was no doubt she could be beautiful, but the evil inside her made her repulsive.

  Broc hid his shiver of revulsion. He needed to play along for as long as needed.

  He had fooled her once. He could again.

  “I never took you to my bed.” She ran a hand up his bare chest. “I see I shouldn’t have overlooked you as I did.”

  “Why did you?”

  She shrugged, her black gown moving along her slim body. “I had my sights on Quinn.”

  “You still do.”

  Deirdre frowned and leaned in to kiss Broc’s bare shoulder. “I always get what I want, Broc. Sooner or later the MacLeods will be mine in one form or fashion. They have escaped me twice, and I will have my vengeance.”

  “So you want them dead.” He knew that look in Deirdre’s eyes. She wanted blood.

  Her hand halted its caress and her long, sharp nails pierced the skin over his heart. “I will see them suffer as I have suffered. I will take everything they have from them bit by bit until they have nothing but themselves once more. Then, I will kill Lucan and Fallon. Quinn will have naught to bargain with, naught to wish for. He will be mine.”

  Broc stared into her white eyes, the depth of her wickedness there for him to see.

  “Until then,” Deirdre continued, “there is a place in my bed for you. All you have to do is say the words, Broc. I can end all of this.”

  He took a step back, a small step which his chains instantly halted, but it was enough to break contact with her. “Nay.”

  “I could make you want me,” she whispered. “I couldn’t use magic on Quinn if I wanted his child, but I can certainly use magic on you.”

  Broc’s stomach churned with dread. He shouldn’t have pushed Deirdre. He should have left well enough alone.

  “Who do you want me to be? What woman has caught your fancy? Tell me, does she have blue eyes and blonde hair? Is that why you wanted to know if I could change my appearance?”

  He kept silent, which was just as bad as telling her none of it was the truth. No matter what he said or didn’t say, it would be used against him. Deirdre would see to that.

  “You couldn’t stop talking a moment ago,” Deirdre said seductively. “Why so silent now?”

  Broc looked over her head. He wouldn’t answer her. He wouldn’t give anything away. No names in his thoughts. No faces in his mind.

  Deirdre leaned up on her tiptoes and tapped his jaw with a nail as she whispered in his ear, “There is someone. I will discover who she is. You know I will. Tell me now. Make it easier on yourself and her.”

  He thought of Phelan and all the other Warriors who had suffered at Deirdre’s hands. He thought of the people he had killed in Deirdre’s name, of the Druids he had brought before her.

  “When I find her, I’m going to bring her before you and make you watch as I gut her,” Deirdre said. “Then, I’m going to make you believe I’m her. You’ll be my slave in every way, Broc. You’ll share my bed and pleasure me night after night.”

  Broc swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He thought of the wyrran and how he wanted to behead each and every one of them.

  “You will not win this battle of wills. I will release the full measure of drough blood until you are writhing on the floor. You’ll be delirious. You’ll tell me anything.”

  He thought of countless battles he had fought in Deirdre’s name. He thought of the pain running through his body. He thought of anything but the one person who was forever in his heart.

  FOURTEEN

  Sonya came awake with a start, her body shivering in the cold, predawn hours. She had slept far longer than she had intended.

  She wrapped her arms about herself and drew her legs up close to her body. Her hands hurt, they were so cold, and she couldn’t feel her nose. Her lips were chapped from the chilling, bitter wind.

  Her lips split open when she tried to bite into a piece of cold meat. Sonya hissed in a breath and cupped her hand around her lips. The water in her animal skin was so cold the top layer had begun to ice. It was time to get moving before she froze to death.

  Sonya gathered her things and slipped the strap of the satchel over her head and across her body. She then stood and glanced around the boulder.

  Nothing moved on the landscape. It was as if the world had stopped. There were no animals, no people, no wyrran.

  “It’s now or never,” she whispered to herself, pushing aside the twinge of self-doubt that threatened to take root.

  She took a deep, fortifying breath and moved around the boulders which had protected her. Sonya paused, waiting for wyrran to surround her.

  When nothing happened, she proceeded toward the hidden door, picking her way around the rocks and trying not to slip on the ice and snow.

  The doorway she had spotted wasn’t at the top of the mountain, but it was still quite a climb. She no longer felt pain in her injured hand, but she knew if she looked, the wound would be op
en and bleeding.

  Both her hands were. Every time she reached a rock and used it to help herself up the mountain it would cut into her hands. Sonya didn’t want to think about what condition her hands were in. At least not now.

  Her first priority was reaching the door and getting inside the mountain. Once there, she would worry about her hands. And her lack of magic.

  Sonya was just strides away from the door when she saw the blood. Most of it was old and black, but there were newer drops, thick and crimson.

  Her heart lurched at the thought that it was Broc’s blood. In order to heal Broc of the drough blood, she would need another Warrior’s blood. As far as Sonya knew, the only thing that could reverse what the drough blood did to a Warrior was another Warrior’s blood.

  Sonya squared her shoulders and kept moving. When she reached the doorway, she pressed herself against the rock face of the mountain and waited until she caught her breath.

  The view from where she stood was breathtaking. All around her were the magnificent mountains of the highlands. The sun was cresting over the horizon, its rays meeting first one peak, then another, and another.

  The sight calmed Sonya. The light chased away the darkness, chased away the shadows and bathed everything in its golden radiance.

  She knew in that instant she would get into the mountain. She would find Broc. And she would free him. Everything would be set to rights.

  Sonya turned toward the door and tried to find a handle to open it. Her hands moved over the rock, searching for anything that could be used. But there was nothing.

  She clawed at it, breaking fingernails so far down to the quick that she began to bleed. Tears gathered in her eyes, making her vision swim. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. She had found the door. She should be able to find a way inside.

  Sonya slapped her hands on the stone, her soul beaten down. To have come so far and failed. She laid her cheek against the rock and closed her eyes as she thought of Broc. Of his beautifully dark, sultry eyes. Of his wings. Of the indigo color of his god.