by Donna Grant
Broc sighed and glanced down at his hands. That wasn’t the reason he would have used, but Fallon was right. She was too important.
None more so than to Broc.
THIRTY-TWO
Malcolm’s eyes snapped open and he looked around from his position sitting against a boulder. He was high atop a mountain with only the rocks and grass around him.
Yet, he had heard his name.
He reached his left hand down beside him and grasped his sword. No fire blazed to hinder his eyesight, yet he knew there was something around him, something that stopped him from seeing what was right there.
“Are you afraid, Malcolm?”
The female voice, stronger now, came at him from all sides. He didn’t move, didn’t give in to the urge to jump to his feet and search for the woman.
“I can see that you are,” she said. “Yet, you do not run from me.”
“Show yourself,” he demanded.
There was a stir in the air and suddenly a woman appeared. Malcolm rose to his feet. She wore a black cloak with the hood pulled over her head, shrouding her.
Her hands lifted to push the hood back enough so he could glimpse her face. Malcolm could only stare in mute silence at her beauty.
Not too long ago he would have charmed her, wooed her until she was in his bed. Now, with his scars and useless right arm, he didn’t even bother to try.
He had always appreciated stunning things, so he let his gaze linger on her oval face. She had high cheekbones and a delicate bone structure. Her lips were a little on the thin side, but her mouth was wide, her eyes expressive. He just wished he could see the color of her eyes and hair.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Her head cocked to the side. “You don’t know me?”
“Should I?”
“Oh, aye, you should.” She let the hood fall away to show her white hair. “After all, it was me who ordered your death.”
Malcolm snarled and said, “Deirdre.”
“You don’t have to say my name as if the very sound makes you ill.”
“It does.”
“Ah, but you were just admiring me a moment ago.”
“A mistake I regret.”
He watched her carefully. How could he have thought she was lovely? He should have sensed the evil within her. Not that he could have done anything. Deirdre had found him. But why?
“You once were a fine Warrior for your clan, weren’t you?” Deirdre asked.
A thread of foreboding rose up in him. “As you can see, I’m no’ much of one now. Thanks to you.”
“I can change that. I can take away the scars and heal your arm so that you may use it again.”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“I need you, Malcolm.”
He snorted and shook his head. As much as he would like to be the man he once was, he would not sell his soul to Deirdre. “There is nothing you can say or do that will make me do as you ask.”
“What if I vow to leave Larena alone? That when I attack MacLeod Castle, she will not be harmed or taken?”
Malcolm thought of his cousin, of all she had lost and the happiness she had found with Fallon.
“I could make you do what I want,” Deirdre said.
“Why do you no’, then?”
She smiled then. “Having you willingly come to me will make things so much better. Think of Larena. You heard what the Warriors said about my mountain. Do you want her subjected to what I would put her through? Torture and rape?”
Malcolm shook his head. He would do anything to keep Larena safe. She was his family. “What do you need me to do?” he finally asked.
“First, I will release your god.”
Malcolm staggered backward, his mind refusing to believe what he had just heard. “What?”
“Aye. You will be my first Warrior, Malcolm. You will lead my armies and do all that I ask. Because the first time you don’t, I will kill Larena.”
Malcolm swallowed, his heart shriveling in his chest. He had fallen into Deirdre’s trap, had done exactly as she had wanted. He should have been stronger and withstood her.
But he would leave her now.
He began to turn away when Deirdre started to chant. Her face was lifted to the sky, her arms out to her sides. Malcolm grimaced as he felt something push against his body. It was vile and rough as it sought entry through his skin.
The more words Deirdre spoke, the more difficult it was for Malcolm to remain standing. His legs gave way and he fell to his knees, a bellow ripping from his throat as he felt his bones popping in and out of place all over his body.
Deirdre’s voice rose higher, the words coming quicker, but Malcolm could barely hear them. The soul-shredding pain that tore through him left him deaf to anything else.
Muscles tore, bones broke all through his body. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, it was so powerful and agonizing. His body was no longer his own. He could actually feel something inside him, a presence that roared and growled its frustration.
But worst of all was the sudden and overwhelming need Malcolm had to feel blood on his hands, to take someone’s life. To watch that life drain away.
Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut as more images of death and blood filled his mind. There was a new voice in his head, a deep, vile voice that demanded Malcolm coat the earth in blood.
After what seemed like an eternity, the pain faded away. Malcolm fell back on his haunches and let his chin drop to his chest.
“I have to say, Malcolm, you are a truly stunning Warrior.”
He lifted his face at Deirdre’s words before he glanced down at his hands. His skin had changed to maroon, so dark at first glance he thought the color was black.
Inside his mind, he could hear a voice full of rage. It was telling Malcolm his name, who he was. Malcolm clenched his fists as the truth of his god, Daal, the devourer, could not be denied.
He was a Warrior.
Malcolm threw back his head and unleashed the power he felt growing inside him. Lightning forked above and around him.
Deirdre clapped, a pleased smile upon her lips. “So, lightning is your power. Interesting. And your god?”
“Does it matter?”
She shrugged. “Keep your secret for now, but you will tell me, Malcolm. Now, rise. There is much we need to do.”
Malcolm knew the other Warriors could control when their gods were visible or not, but they’d had centuries to gain command over their gods. He didn’t want to wait that long. Nor did he think he had the time.
He shut out Daal and concentrated on pushing him down, imagining the maroon color leaving his skin and the claws disappearing.
After several tries Malcolm realized Daal was too powerful to be ruled. For now. But Malcolm would not give in to his god.
He might not have joined in the conversations at MacLeod Castle, but he had listened. If he was going to win against his god, he had to stay strong and not allow the rage that now filled him to rule his life. He needed to not feel anything, to have nothing bother him. He needed to be soulless.
“Malcolm,” Deirdre called.
He rose to his feet and numbly followed her. It was only then that he realized he could move his right arm as he had before the attack.
THIRTY-THREE
Sonya sat on the edge of her bed in her chamber long after the others had found their own beds. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think of anything other than Broc.
They had shared just a few nights together, but those few nights had altered her entire existence. It seemed wrong not to have Broc with her, not to know he was near.
She wondered where he was in the castle. And, God help her, she wondered if he thought of her, of their time together.
Sonya knew she shouldn’t dwell on such things, but she couldn’t help it. As soon as she saw Broc that first time she had known he would mean something to her.
And to have spent the best—and most frightening—moments of her life with him m
ight have to sustain her the rest of her years.
Nothing had been said between them about a future. No promises, no possibilities.
They had taken those few treasured moments and made the most of them. She didn’t regret any of it. But she did regret that they could be over.
You won’t know until you ask him.
Did she dare? Could she dare?
She and Broc had never shied away from each other at the castle. In fact, Sonya had found herself searching for him and only him over the last weeks.
But even then she had been careful to keep herself apart from him. She had feared, even then, of getting too close to him, of opening herself up to the possibilities of … anything.
The threat of dying made her put those silly fears aside. And look what it had given her. The very thing she had dreamed of. Broc.
She now knew he had cared for Anice, but he hadn’t been in love with her. It didn’t mean he felt anything more for her, only that he felt the pull of attraction between them.
Sonya could stand the silence of her chamber no more. She rose and walked from her room. When she had first come to the castle, it had felt massive, as if she would never learn her way about the long corridors and many stairways. Now, it was diminished after such an adventure with Broc.
She walked into the great hall to find it empty. It used to be that Malcolm could be found there when he wasn’t roaming the edges of the cliffs.
Malcolm was gone now. Would she ever see him again? The likelihood was slim, but she hoped that one day he might return.
Sonya left the castle and stepped into the bailey. The moon was high and the stars numerous. A few clouds dotted the sky, illuminated by the moonlight.
Her eyes had always looked upward. Whether it was to the sun or the moon, the sky had mesmerized her. Was it because her fate had been connected to Broc’s all along?
A shadow moved and pushed from the castle wall. Logan’s form took shape as he neared her. “Cannot sleep?”
Sonya licked her lips as she shook her head. “I want to visit the trees. Isla told me what happened, about how they helped. I would like to thank them.”
“You know it isna safe.”
“Then come with me if you must, but I am going to see the trees.”
She didn’t have to ask permission. If Broc had been near, she was sure he would argue that he should accompany her, but he wasn’t near. He hadn’t been near her since they returned.
Maybe that’s why she wanted to see the trees. Oh, she did want to thank them, but maybe deep down she knew it would force Broc’s hand.
If he came, it meant he cared enough to forget about the stupid curse.
If he didn’t, it meant … well, it meant she at least had her memories.
Sonya squared her shoulders and walked to the huge wooden gate. As she approached, another shadow moved. She sighed and stopped short of rolling her eyes.
“I’m not running away,” she said to whoever it was.
Ramsey’s silver gaze met hers as he opened the door within the gate. “I know.”
“I’m going to the trees.”
He smiled and took her hand to help her through. “I know.”
Sonya turned once she was through the gate and looked at Ramsey. “You aren’t going to try and stop me?”
“Should I? You said you were no’ running away.”
“And you aren’t going to tell me it would be safer to wait?”
Ramsey shook his head. “You’ll be safe.”
She thought over his words as she walked to the village. Some of the Warriors had taken up residence in the cottages. Fallon wanted all the Druids within the castle, and she understood his reasoning.
Deirdre and the wyrran had attacked the castle several times and destroyed the village twice. It was better to have the Druids where Deirdre couldn’t reach them as easily.
Sonya arrived at the back of the village and halted. There was a barrier created by Isla’s magic around the castle and village. To others outside the magical barrier, it appeared as if the land were bare, keeping the inhabitants safe from unwanted visitors.
It didn’t stop Deirdre. It did give the wyrran pause, and if other Warriors didn’t know about it, they wouldn’t proceed through.
Before, Broc had always been adamant about going with Sonya out of the barrier when she wanted to commune with the trees. She found it odd that no one was stopping her this time.
It could be that everyone knew there were no wyrran hidden in the forest. Sonya had been gone for several days. Many things could have changed during that time.
She put her hand out and felt the slight resistance to the shield. The feel of Isla’s powerful magic enveloped Sonya as she stepped through the invisible field.
Sonya let out a long sigh as she exited the barrier. The whispers of the trees surrounded her, wrapped her in their emotions.
She hurried to the first tree and laid her hand upon the rough bark. “How I’ve missed you.”
In answer, the trees swayed, their words mixing together as they all spoke at once.
Sonya laughed and walked deeper into the forest. This is what she had missed most when she thought her magic gone. This is what she had been craving since she realized her magic had returned. This is where her magic was the strongest, where she could find peace and restore her inner balance. Where she heard the music of her ancestors.
She closed her eyes as the trees swayed around her, welcoming her. They bent low to lovingly brush her with their limbs. She spread her arms out to her side and her head dropped back as she released her magic to merge with the trees.
Their words, whispered and gentle as leaves falling, reached her.
“… missed you, Sonnnnnnnyaaaaaa…”
“… tried to tell the othersssss where to find you…”
“… feared for you…”
“… don’t leave us again…”
A tear fell down her cheek as the weight of their worry for her settled around her.
“I’m sorry,” she told them. “My magic left me, or I thought it had.”
“… stay with ussssss…”
“… we neeeeed you…”
Long ago, when Druids had walked freely upon the land, there had been many who could speak to the trees. Through the years the number had diminished, and as far as the trees told Sonya, she was the last.
The trees needed her as much as she needed them. But what would happen once she was dead? Would there be another who could take her place?
Or would the special, spectacular words of the trees fade into the past?
* * *
Broc stood on a small outcropping halfway down the cliffs, watching the sea. He had wanted to be alone and as far away from Sonya as he could get, lest he be tempted to go to her.
He had taken one look at his bed and known he couldn’t sleep there. Not alone. Not without Sonya.
Broc blew out a breath and went down on his haunches. He leaned back against the cliff, the hard, jagged rock digging into his spine. There had been many kinds of pain he had experienced over the centuries, but the one in his chest far exceeded the others.
At least at MacLeod Castle he didn’t need to worry for Sonya’s safety. Even though he wasn’t near her, he could feel her magic. It had always been strong, but since the burial mound, it had grown more intense. Brilliant. Compelling.
No sooner had the thought gone through Broc’s mind than the link he felt with Sonya’s magic was gone, as if it were snapped in half.
Broc stood and unleashed his god as he jumped into the air. His wings took him up and over the cliffs. Broc soared around the castle, using his power to search for Sonya.
And just as he thought, she wasn’t there.
It took less than a heartbeat for his power to tell him she was outside Isla’s barrier in the trees. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, his heart once again easing from its frantic beating.
Broc flew out of the shield and over the tops o
f the forest. He dropped to the ground behind Sonya and simply watched.
The trees swayed from side to side in a gentle rocking motion. Broc remembered when Sonya had allowed him to see the trees through her magic, had permitted him to hear their whispers. He hadn’t understood their words, but he had heard them.
Broc weaved through the trees as he walked around Sonya until he stood in front of her. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, couldn’t stop the pounding of his heart in his chest. Her magic engulfed him. Surrounded. Overwhelmed.
And he yearned for more.
Her magic was sensual and seductive, tempting and beguiling. She charmed him, lured him, captivated him.
Made him hunger. Crave. Yearn.
For her. All for her. Her touch, her kisses, and her beautiful body.
Sonya’s long curls lifted on the breeze created by the trees and her skirts swirled about her legs. But it was the pure, glorious smile upon her face that took his breath away.
Her head lifted, and she opened her eyes. Her gaze of amber flecks mixed with gold watched him. Curiosity and anticipation flashed in her depths.
Broc’s skin tingled with the feel of her magic. His gaze dropped to her mouth. He wanted to taste her again, to feel her tongue against his as he plundered her mouth.
He took a step toward her before he realized what he was doing. But once he had begun moving, he couldn’t stop. He closed the distance between them until their bodies were breaths apart.
“Broc,” she whispered, and searched his face.
There was so much that needed to be said, so many things he should tell her. But the only thing he wanted to do was take her in his arms and show her how much he needed her, how much he longed for her.
He jerked her against his chest and claimed her mouth. She opened for him, her tongue colliding against his in a frenzy that sent his already heated blood to boiling.
Need, wicked and crushing, surged through him. There was no turning away, no tearing his lips from hers. However wrong it was for them to be together, he had to have her.
Broc deepened the kiss. The passion, the fervor, of Sonya’s response sent him reeling. She was irresistible and all too enticing.
