Darkest Highlander

by Donna Grant

  Logan cursed and bared his fangs at the two Warriors.

  Deirdre’s soft laugh as she approached made Logan’s skin crawl. “Surprised? Wait until you see the next surprise I have in store for you.”

  Logan met Duncan’s gaze. They were strong, but with Deirdre’s magic, she could hold them indefinitely. Somehow Logan had to get them out of there before Deirdre did something irreversible.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Logan spotted movement. He shifted his gaze and his breath caught in his lungs. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he recognized Malcolm. Shock soon turned to bewilderment as Malcolm’s skin changed into deep burgundy, wine-red-tipped claws shot from his fingers, and the same burgundy color filled his eyes.

  In an instant Logan knew what Deirdre was about. He let out a roar when Malcolm moved to Duncan. Deep inside Logan, his god, Athleus, bellowed for blood, demanded death. And Logan was about to give it to him.

  Before Logan could reach Malcolm, something halted him, as if he had run into an invisible wall. He tried to move his arms and legs, but it was useless. Deirdre’s laughter caught on the breeze and echoed in the air as her black magic surrounded and incapacitated him.

  “There’s no use struggling,” Deirdre told him as she approached. “Just as Duncan can’t. Besides, you know how powerful I am.”

  Logan’s gaze shifted to Duncan. His friend’s lips were peeled back in a snarl, his fangs gleaming in the sunshine. Malcolm said not a word as he stood before Duncan and waited.

  “You might have nearly destroyed me, Logan, but I have returned stronger than ever,” Deirdre said.

  “Next time we’ll make certain you stay dead.”

  Deirdre threw back her head and cackled. Her white hair began to swirl around her, a warning that she was gathering her magic.

  Her eerie white eyes locked on Logan. “You were one of my best. You who came to me seeking to unbind the god inside you.”

  Logan’s chest clenched as Duncan’s gaze narrowed and he let loose a low, angry snarl.

  “Ah, so none at MacLeod Castle know what you’ve done,” Deirdre chuckled, glee shining in her eyes. “How very … interesting.”

  “What do you want?” Logan demanded.

  The smile which pulled at Deirdre’s lips spoke volumes. “Why, I want everything. And I’m going to get it.”

  With a slight nod of her head, Malcolm drew back his claws and severed Duncan’s head from his body. Rage threatened to devour Logan. Athleus was ready to take over, ready to erase all that Logan was.

  Logan roared his fury and fought against Deirdre’s magic while he struggled to keep control of his god. He hadn’t saved Duncan, hadn’t even come close to helping his friend.

  And now Duncan was gone.

  Logan thought of Ian, Duncan’s twin, of Arran and Quinn and the other Warriors. It was up to Logan to deliver the devastating news.

  If he managed to get away.

  “It’s time for your punishment,” Deirdre said as calmly as if she were speaking of the weather. “Afterward, you will be brought to Cairn Toul. You came to me to be a Warrior. Therefore, you are mine.”

  Suddenly, Deirdre’s magic was gone and Logan was swarmed by the wyrran and three Warriors. He widened his stance, ready for whoever came first.

  Instead, they rushed him at once. The pain was blinding, but nothing could overshadow the wrath which governed him. His god demanded death to avenge Duncan, and Logan wouldn’t deny him.

  Claws raked over his body from both the Warriors and the wyrran. He was thrown onto the ground as they continued to claw viciously at him.

  But Logan fought back. He might have been outnumbered, but he landed quite a few slashes of his own. It would be more than just his blood shed that day.

  As quickly as his wounds healed, more were inflicted. He was losing blood too fast. His strength began to wane, but still he refused to give up. Deirdre would not take him. He would not return to Cairn Toul and the evil which grew there.

  Of a sudden, his attackers retreated. Logan lay upon the ground, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he blinked the blood and sweat from his eyes. He knew the next moments could be his last, and though he hadn’t fulfilled his vow, anything was better than being Deirdre’s prisoner.

  “You always were a great Warrior,” Deirdre said as she stood over him. Her hair scraped the ground and caressed his arms and chest. “When I’m through, you will willingly join my new Warriors, led by none other than Malcolm. You should never have allowed him to leave MacLeod Castle.”

  Logan rose up on his elbows and glared at Deirdre. How had he ever thought her beautiful? He had been naïve the first time he had seen her, but not even that should have stopped him from seeing—and sensing—the evil that she was.

  “I will never be yours,” he vowed.

  “You were once. You will be again.”

  “Never.”

  “We shall see.”

  Logan gritted his teeth as he felt her magic once more. All Druids had magic, but the droughs gave their souls to the devil in order to use the more powerful black magic.

  There was nothing Logan could do against the magnitude of her magic, no matter how hard he tried. And try he did. To no avail.

  This was it, then, he thought. His end. He wasn’t afraid to die, and in some ways he welcomed it. But he hadn’t achieved his promise.

  And then suddenly the sickening feel of even more drough magic surrounded him. Deirdre looked up, her white eyes wild with … was it fear?

  A small smile pulled at Logan’s lips.

  It was all the time Logan needed to gain his feet and attack the wyrran. The diminutive creatures might have viciously long claws on their hands and feet and mouths full of teeth, but they were no match for a Warrior.

  Logan killed five before the Warriors realized what he had done. That was the difference between a newly made Warrior and one who’d had a century to learn his god.

  He ducked a massive swing from the orange Warrior’s arm, only to sink his claws in his opponent’s belly. The Warrior gave a grunt as blood spilled down his front. Logan kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling backward.

  Logan turned and braced himself for the next attack, only to find Malcolm standing before him. “What have you done?”

  Malcolm blinked slowly. “I had no choice.”

  “There is always a choice.” Logan didn’t give him a chance to respond as he called forth the power of his god. He could feel the sea behind him, feel the way it gathered and answered his call. With just a thought, the water rose up in a massive column shaped like an arm. The arm descended and a hand appeared.

  Just before the hand could lift Deirdre away, the air shimmered around her as the black magic increased. Logan took a step back, trying to get away. He watched as Deirdre, her wyrran, and her Warriors were surrounded by the shimmer.

  Deirdre’s face lifted to the sky as she let out an angry shriek.

  And then they were gone.

  Logan blinked and released the water. There was only a hint of black magic that hung in the air, and it was receding quickly.

  Somehow Deirdre had vanished. Logan didn’t know how, and didn’t really care. She was gone, and that was all that mattered.

  He let out a sigh. Then he turned and looked at the body of Duncan. Ian would never forgive Logan, but Logan would never forgive himself for what had happened. It was another sin he would shoulder until the end of his days.

  He dropped to his knees beside Duncan, his jaw clenched tightly against a flood of emotion. It should have been him lying on the ground, not Duncan.

  It took a moment for Logan to feel the mie magic surrounding him. He jerked his head around and looked over his shoulder to find a group of six Druids—two men and four women—watching him.

  One of the younger women with long, dark hair approached him. “We felt Deirdre. I’m sorry we didn’t arrive in time to help save your friend.”

  “Brenna,” barked one of the men who stood off
to the side, his black eyes narrowed with disgust on Logan. He held a staff in his hands, obviously a leader among the Druids.

  Logan gained his feet and turned to face the Druids. “You know what I am?”

  The leader gave a single nod of his head. “You are no’ welcome here, Warrior. We’ve been watching you for some time. My daughter thinks your intentions are good. But I know the true nature of your kind.”

  Logan clenched his jaw. His emotions were too raw, too exposed for him to dole out his usual charm. It took everything he had not to show the Druids exactly what the true nature of a Warrior was.

  But he latched on to something the leader said. “You’ve been watching us?”

  At that moment the call of a peregrine sounded above him moments before the magnificent bird flew over the Druids.

  “Ah. I see,” Logan mumbled. “You’ve been spying.”

  “Watching,” Brenna said in earnest. “I’ve seen you battle the wyrran and save Druids. I’ve seen you battle Deirdre. With my magic I’m able to see through the eyes of an animal. The falcon allowed me to use her so I could learn more about you and the other Warriors at MacLeod Castle.”

  Even though Logan now had the answer to the falcon, it didn’t appease him. Nothing would until he returned Duncan’s body to Ian.

  Logan squeezed his eyes closed. When he opened them, he turned to the leader. “Listen to your daughter. She speaks the truth. We are waging a war against Deirdre.”

  “And no’ doing a verra good job of it,” he responded.

  “Who are you?” Logan demanded.

  “Kerwyn, leader of the Druids of Eigg.”

  Logan raised a brow, not at all impressed. “No’ all Warriors are the same. The sooner you believe that, the sooner we can win this war. Consider that the longer Druids such as yours hold out, the more of you die.”

  He turned and looked at Duncan’s body and thought of his brethren at MacLeod Castle. There was no doubt Ian already knew the link between him and Duncan was gone. Logan had wasted enough time. He needed to get back to the castle.

  “Why did you come here?” Brenna asked softly behind him.

  Logan turned his head to the side. “That no longer matters at this time. I’ll return soon, though.”

  “You willna be welcomed,” Kerwyn declared. “Consider yourself warned, Warrior. We’ll take action the next time you set foot near our isle.”

  Logan raked a hand through his hair before he gathered Duncan in his arms, the Druids forgotten. His friend and fellow Warrior deserved a proper burial, surrounded by friends and family.

  Logan would return Duncan to MacLeod Castle and Ian.

  A twinge of worry settled in Logan’s gut. With Duncan gone, Ian would suffer the full force of their god.

  Logan’s stretched his legs into a run. He had to run faster than he ever had before. Time was of the essence.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Ian had been sitting with the others in the great hall as they readied for supper. He had been laughing at something Arran and Camdyn were arguing over when it happened.

  It was as though a blade of ice sliced him in half. The link that had always bound him and Duncan was severed. Vanished. Disappeared.

  There was only one thing that could do that—death. The grief that ripped through Ian was crushing. He tried to rise from the table, but only managed to trip in his haste.

  He bellowed in rage and grief as his fangs filled his mouth. He couldn’t wrap his head around Duncan being gone, couldn’t fathom his twin no longer being with him.

  Ian could hear the others around him, their voices and concern, as they tried to understand what was going on.

  But Ian was lost.

  While he roared in anguish, his body seized. His muscles refused to move, while his fangs and claws grew longer. Farmire, the god of battle, raged inside him.

  Fury the like Ian had never felt swallowed him. He wanted death and blood. But more than anything, he wanted revenge for his brother.

  Whoever had killed him would suffer.

  And Ian would start with the one who was supposed to have watched his brother’s back—Logan.

  Arran looked from Ian to Quinn as everyone struggled to keep Ian on the ground. He fought them mercilessly, his roars deafening.

  “What is happening to him?” Lucan demanded.

  Arran sighed as Quinn gave a small nod of his head. “It must have something to do with Duncan.”

  “Not just something,” Marcail said. “I saw Duncan react similarly when Ian was being tortured in Cairn Toul.”

  “This is different,” Quinn said. “This is…”

  “What I imagine I resembled when my god was unbound,” Ramsey finished.

  The Warriors shared a look, the unspoken realization sweeping the hall. Duncan was dead.

  “Who?” Fallon asked as he put his full weight on Ian’s shoulders to keep him down.

  Broc grunted. “You know who. Deirdre. She told me she was going to kill Lucan and Fallon so the god you three share would then only be yours.”

  “Holy Hell,” Quinn mumbled.

  Hayden, the largest of the Warriors, was practically sitting on top of Ian. “Isla!” he called to his wife. “Use your magic!”

  As one, the Druids of MacLeod Castle stepped forward and focused their magic on Ian. In a matter of moments he was unconscious.

  Galen rose to his feet and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “What do we do with him now? When he wakes, it’ll be the same.”

  “Aye,” Ramsey said. “He’s suffering at the loss of his brother, but more than that, his god is trying to take over. Ian’s rage might very well allow it.”

  “Shite,” Fallon said as he rose to his feet and punched the wall, his fist going through the stone. “This isna what we need right now.”

  Lucan let out a weary breath. “If Duncan is dead, do we assume Logan is as well?”

  “I’m no’ sure,” Quinn answered. “Deirdre could have taken him.”

  “Taken or dead. Either way, it has set us back,” Camdyn said.

  Arran ran a hand down his face. Ian, Duncan, and Quinn had been his closest friends while they’d been held by Deirdre. To know that one of them was gone forever was inconceivable.

  Quinn clapped Arran on the shoulder. “Duncan will be avenged.”

  “I have no doubt.” Those at MacLeod Castle were a family, a very close family. What you did to one, you did to all. “I fear that we’ll lose Ian as well. What if he cannot control the addition of Duncan’s portion of their god?”

  “He will. I know it.” Quinn looked at the now still form of Ian. “If anyone can, it’s Ian. He’s had two centuries learning his god. Duncan’s half should be easy enough to control once Ian gets past his grief.”

  The hall grew quiet as each of them realized the next few weeks and months were going to be the hardest to watch as Ian struggled.

  The door to the castle was thrown open and Logan stepped inside, a body hanging over his shoulder. He was covered in blood. “Where is Ian? I’ve brought Duncan’s body home.”

  “So he is dead,” Fallon said softly.

  Logan nodded. “It was Deirdre. She had three Warriors with her, one of which was Malcolm.”

  Larena sucked in a shaky breath and turned to Fallon as his arms wrapped around her. “Nay. Not Malcolm.”

  Logan knew Larena and her cousin had been close, but everyone needed to know what had happened. “Malcolm struck the killing blow, Larena.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than the air began to shimmer around Ian.

  “Get back,” Logan called. “Everyone get back.”

  “What is it?” Broc demanded as he tugged Sonya away from Ian. “The magic feels … wrong.”

  Logan shrugged. “I doona know, but I saw it surround Deirdre, the wyrran, and the Warriors. And then they were gone.”

  The hall was gripped in silence as they all watched the shimmer cloak Ian. Then, in a blink, he, too, was gone.

&n
bsp; “It’s Deirdre,” Lucan said.

  “Nay,” Isla said as she took in a steadying breath. “That magic was … different. It takes a very powerful Druid to cast a spell over a distance.”

  Logan nodded. “She’s right. Deirdre was furious when she felt it. And she fought against it.”

  “Something more powerful than Deirdre?” Ramsey said thoughtfully. “This doesna bode well.”

  Broc swallowed as he watched the Druids surround the spot where Ian had just been. So much had happened. With Deirdre they knew what to expect, knew what she was about. She might surprise them on occasion, but at least they could guess what her next move might be.

  If there was someone else they had to fight, they first had to discover who it was. And why they were all of a sudden making an appearance.

  The magic of the spell turned sour. A sign of black magic. Sonya turned to Broc, her face pale. Isla clutched her chest, and Reaghan put her hand on the wall to steady herself.

  “What is going on?” Broc asked through clenched teeth.

  Hayden went to Isla. “I’d also like to know. I feel Isla’s fear.”

  Reaghan waited until Galen put an arm around her before she said, “Very potent black magic. The spell is vastly complicated.”

  “It’s a spell I have heard about but never knew anyone who dared to use it,” Isla explained.

  “What is it?” Quinn demanded.

  Sonya lifted her face to Broc. “It’s a spell that pulls someone through time.”

  It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the castle. For a heartbeat Broc couldn’t breathe. “How? Why?”

  Arran shifted his feet, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. “Find Deirdre, Broc. You’re the only one who can tell us if she really has been moved through time.”

  Broc kissed the top of Sonya’s head and released his god. Indigo colored his skin as his wings sprouted from his back. He thought of Deirdre, and for once he didn’t find her immediately.

  Sweat beaded his skin as his god’s power surged through him, seeking Deirdre throughout all time. Broc’s muscles locked, his body shaking with the effort it took him. But then he found her.