by Donna Grant
She had never been more frightened in her life, but she’d never hated anyone more. The two emotions warred and mixed inside her. “What did you do to Fallon?”
“Doona worry about him. He’s no’ feeling anything anymore.”
Tears welled in Saffron’s eyes even though she knew better than to show any kind of emotion in front of Declan. He would use it against her.
“Drough blood kills Warriors,” Deirdre said with a smile. “I never understood why. The gods are evil, and black magic is its own kind of evil.”
“You’re going to die,” Saffron said as she glared at Deirdre. “No amount of black magic is going to stop Laria from ending you once and for all.”
Saffron was prepared for Declan’s slap, but it was his fist instead. Her lip split instantly and her head jerked back, slamming against the bricks at her back.
The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth until she nearly gagged on it. She slowly turned her head and looked at Declan.
“You’ve found some backbone, I see,” he murmured.
Deirdre snorted as her hair wrapped around Saffron’s throat. “That can be dealt with easily enough.”
“I thought you both said you needed a Seer,” came a deep voice from the shadows.
Saffron jerked against the chains holding her as Deirdre’s hair tightened. The choking paused and Saffron strained to see who had spoken, but the shadows were too deep for her to even make out the outline of his body.
“Unfortunately, he’s right,” Declan said, and tapped a finger on Deirdre’s hair.
Instantly, the white strands unwound from Saffron’s throat and returned to Deirdre’s side.
“A warning then,” Deirdre said.
Declan twirled a cuff link with his fingers as he stood and smiled. “Aye, a warning. As I said, Saffron, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You have thirty minutes to decide.”
He left, the iron door clanging shut behind him. She watched him, Deirdre, and Robbie walk away, but Saffron knew she wasn’t alone.
Whoever was in the shadows was still there. Watching. Waiting.
She closed her eyes, her mind instantly going to Camdyn. She wished he was with her, but more than that, she wished she had listened to Fallon’s warning and left the bank.
“It’ll take more than one X90 bullet to kill Fallon.”
Saffron’s eyes jerked open. “How do you know?”
“I know,” was his response.
Saffron licked her lips as she realized who the voice belonged to. “You’re Malcolm, aren’t you? Larena’s cousin.”
Silence greeted her question.
“She worries about you,” Saffron continued. “They all do.”
“I’ve told them to forget.”
She let out a slow breath. Malcolm might be on Deirdre’s side, but he hadn’t always been. Maybe she could get him to help her.
“Larena won’t forget, and neither will the others. You’re family to them.”
Suddenly Malcolm stepped forward into the small light outside her cell. His blond hair was long and hung loose about his thick shoulders. His face was handsome with his square jaw and aquiline nose.
But his blue eyes, as beautiful as they were, were filled with emptiness. “It’s too late for me.”
“It’s never too late. Help me get out of here.”
He shook his head, a thick lock of blond hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. “Deirdre’s and Declan’s magic is too strong. No one will find you nor will you be able to escape again.”
A tear she couldn’t hold back rolled down her cheek. “I will fight them. I won’t submit.”
“Then they will take your body and mind by force. Are you strong enough to resist them?”
She drew in a shuddering breath as the comprehension that she was well and truly fucked sank into her mind. “You can get away though. You can save yourself.”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed as his head cocked to the side. “Why?”
“Because I’ve heard the stories from Larena and Fallon and the others. I know what kind of man you were before…” She faltered as his nostrils flared. “Before the Warrior attack that left your arm unable to function.”
“You didna see me, Druid. You didna see the scars upon my face and body.” He lifted his right arm. “I’m able to use this limb now only because of Deirdre.”
“Are you so vain that you think you have to be perfect in order to do the right things? Larena hasn’t given up on you, but you gave up on yourself long ago.”
“I do this to protect her,” Malcolm said in a low, dangerous voice.
Saffron paused, reminded yet again how deadly Warriors could be. “Deirdre has yet to defeat the MacLeods. You do those fighting against her a disservice by not believing they could win again.”
“This time they can no’,” he said softly. “I will do anything to keep Larena safe.”
“How do you think she’ll feel if Fallon dies? Grateful that you made sure she was spared? And what of the others? Do none of them matter?”
All emotion fled from his face as he turned sideways. “You have little time left to make your decision.”
“Wait,” Saffron said when he started to leave. “I beg a favor of you. It is a small one.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw but he said, “You can ask for this favor, but I doona agree to carry through with it.”
“Will you tell Camdyn that I … I love him?”
Malcolm’s head slowly turned and regarded her silently for several moments. “I make no promises.”
Instead of leaving as she expected him to do, Malcolm remained. The longer Saffron waited for Deirdre and Declan to return the more her fear grew until she shook with it.
She closed her eyes and tried to think of her father and how he would handle the situation, but she couldn’t focus long enough.
Finally she took a deep breath and let her magic envelop her. That’s when she heard the drums as if from a great distance.
The more she pulled her magic around her the louder the drums became. And then she heard the chanting. It was strong and vibrant and welcoming.
Saffron knew the risk of giving herself up to the chanting, but at least there maybe Deirdre and Declan wouldn’t be able to harm her or make her do something she didn’t want to do.
It was a hefty price she would have to pay, but she would gladly do it if it meant Declan would no longer be able to use her, especially against the people she now considered her family.
And Camdyn.
Another tear joined the first as she thought of him. It gave her a measure of joy to know that he would one day be happy. She’d wanted it to be with her, but she loved him enough to let him go.
The chanting was all around her, the beat of the drums so strong it reverberated through her body. They wanted her to give in. To give herself to them.
The ancients were waiting.
And with a smile, Saffron went to them.
* * *
Malcolm watched the Druid carefully. He could have called to Deirdre that the Druid’s magic was growing, swelling, so that it filled the entire prison below Declan’s house.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Her simple request to tell Camdyn that she loved him had chipped away at the wall he thought surrounded the place where his heart used to be.
So instead of alerting Deirdre, Malcolm allowed Saffron to delve into her magic. What would happen he had no idea, but he assumed whatever the Druid was doing would only help her against the evil coming her way.
“It’s time!” Declan declared as he banged open the door atop the steps and descended the stairs.
Beside him, as always, was Robbie with a gun and the drough-blood-filled X90 bullets trained on Malcolm. Deirdre walked next to Declan, her smile triumphant.
“Yes, Saffron. Let’s hear your decision,” Deirdre said as they drew closer to Malcolm.
When they reached the cell Declan looked at Saffron b
efore his head jerked to Malcolm. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing,” Malcolm answered.
Deirdre put a hand on Declan’s chest. “Malcolm knows better than to go against me. Right, Malcolm?”
Malcolm allowed his god to surface. His fangs filled his mouth, and he clinked his claws together. Declan’s eyes widened but a fraction, but it was enough. And just what Malcolm had been looking for.
“I’m yours to command, mistress,” he told Deirdre.
“Good. Now tell me what happened here? Why isn’t she answering?”
Malcolm turned his gaze to Deirdre. “She tried to get me to release her; when I didna she closed her eyes. I assumed she was resting.”
“And her magic?” Declan asked. “Did you feel her magic?”
Malcolm slowly shook his head. “Nay.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
“I’m tired of waiting,” Camdyn said as he slammed his hand down on the table.
They’d been sitting in the great hall trying to figure out how to find Declan and Deirdre. And Saffron.
Camdyn couldn’t take any more. He had to act. He had to do something to find her.
“Whatever Declan is doing, it’s powerful black magic,” Broc said. “He’s the only one that has ever blocked my god’s power.”
Sonya tucked a short, red curl behind her ear. “The trees will only repeat that danger is coming. Nothing else. They’re frightened.”
Fallon leaned forward on the table and caught Camdyn’s gaze. “As soon as Deirdre or Declan lets us know where they want the battle to take place, we’ll go. Until then, I doona think it wise for anyone to leave the area.”
“It won’t be long now,” Laria said. “My sister was never known for her patience. I’m sure she would already have contacted the castle if it wasn’t for Declan.”
Camdyn couldn’t stand to hear another round of what might happen. He rose and strode from the castle. The blast of cold air filled his lungs, but he welcomed it.
It made him feel something besides the crushing helplessness that filled him. He’d never wanted to care for someone again, never wanted to be put in a position to lose someone again.
But somehow Saffron had found her way into his soul without him knowing it. She was well and truly in his heart whether he wanted her there or not.
“We’ll find her,” Arran said from behind him.
Camdyn hadn’t even heard the door open. “But will it be in time?”
“We’ll find her, and we’ll bring her back to you.”
Camdyn looked at Arran and his light brown eyes. “Thank you.”
He didn’t wait for Arran to say more. Camdyn walked aimlessly around the bailey recalling Saffron’s laughter and the way her tawny eyes darkened when she was aroused. He remembered the feel of her thick, silky hair as it glided through his fingers, and the softness of her skin.
He recalled how special and wonderful it felt when they made love.
Camdyn stopped next to the castle wall and leaned his forehead against it. He let loose the roar he’d held within him and punched the wall once, twice, three times.
“Saffron,” he whispered.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the despair that had taken hold of him. Camdyn closed his eyes and rolled so that his back was against the stones.
With his face lifted to the sky, he felt the first snowflake against his cheek. He touched his cheek, his throat clogged with emotion, as he recalled seeing her playing in the snow.
He put the heels of his hands against his eyes and slid down the wall until he was sitting in the snow.
* * *
Hayden stared at Camdyn’s bent head from the battlements and crossed his arms over his chest. “He might no’ have wanted to fall for Saffron, but he did.”
“Aye,” Quinn replied. “We’re going to have to watch him. He may do something reckless in order to get to her.”
Hayden’s lips thinned as he sighed. “Wouldna we all if it was our women Declan and Deirdre held?”
“Aye,” Lucan said softly.
Ramsey leaned his hands against the gray stone. “We’ve never faced two droughs before. Whatever they took Saffron for, you can guarantee that it’s to be used against us somehow.”
“Just as Deirdre used Isla’s sister,” Logan said.
Arran shifted from foot to foot. “Deirdre is doing this because Laria has the magic to destroy her. We need to trust in Laria.”
“Tell that to Camdyn,” Ian said.
Fallon shook his head, anger hardening his features. “We’ve no’ let anyone down in this family before. I willna begin now. Laria has requested verra little of us. We just need to keep the Druids safe.”
“While finding Saffron,” Hayden added.
Fallon looked at Camdyn. “And keep him alive. I refuse to loose another Warrior.”
* * *
Phelan knew the moment he entered the small village near Ferness that he’d found where the other Warrior lived. It was the way the men were stationed around the road leading into the village and perched atop buildings that alerted him.
He’d kept what he was a secret from everyone. There hadn’t been a single person in four centuries that he’d trusted enough to even show them what he was.
But somehow this other Warrior had not only done it, but also had an entire town behind him.
“Interesting,” Phelan murmured as he pulled his Ducati to a stop beside a sleek black CLS Mercedes in front of a pub that looked as if it had been around for at least seven centuries.
Phelan put the kickstand down on his bike and turned it off. He removed his helmet and let his gaze roam over the buildings around him.
The door to the pub opened and a burly man with a huge barrel chest stepped outside, his gaze on Phelan.
Phelan swung his leg over the bike to dismount and raised a brow at the man.
“Enough, Tom,” said a voice behind Phelan.
Phelan turned and saw the Warrior. He stood still as the Warrior approached him after Tom returned to the pub. “Who are you?” Phelan asked.
The Warrior lifted a dark brow. “I might ask the same question. Warrior.”
“The name is Phelan Stewart,” he said as he hung his helmet on one of the handlebars of his motorcycle.
“Well, Phelan, doona be getting comfortable here. I doona know what you want, but you willna be staying.”
“You didna help the MacLeods. Or Deirdre. Why no’?”
The Warrior sighed. “You’re persistent.”
“Tell me your name. You know mine.”
“Charon Bruce.”
“It seems, Charon, that you and I have something in common. Neither of us is on Deirdre’s side, and neither of us feels inclined to help the MacLeods.”
“How long have you been a Warrior?”
Phelan shrugged and said, “Five hundred and sixty years about. You?”
“Six hundred and twenty-two. How long did Deirdre have you?”
Phelan’s nostrils flared and his lips flattened. “Isla tricked me when I was but a lad of four. I was kept in that damned mountain until I reached a score of years. Then Deirdre unbound my god.”
“That means…” Charon’s voice trailed off as his gaze lowered to the ground. When he looked back at Phelan he said, “Come with me.”
Phelan followed Charon into the pub and up a flight of stairs to what was apparently Charon’s private office. Fine works of art by Michelangelo and da Vinci graced the walls while expensive Persian rugs covered the floor.
Charon’s desk was about as old as he was, but had been well preserved.
“Sit,” Charon said as he poured whisky out of a crystal decanter into two glasses. He handed a glass to Phelan and said, “I do believe we were both held by Deirdre at the same time. I was there for several decades. It wasn’t until the MacLeods attacked the mountain that I was set free.”
Phelan lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. “Ah. Fine, single-mal
t whisky. Deirdre kept me far below the ground in a chamber where I was only visited by her and Isla.”
“Who set you free?”
“Isla.” Though Phelan hated to admit it. He detested the Druid, but she had come to him and released him.
He’d thought she had died from her wound, but imagine his surprise when he’d seen her not so long ago.
“Isla is with the MacLeods now. Whether you know it or no’, Deirdre used Isla’s sister and niece against her. It was the only way Deirdre could control Isla.”
“I really doona give a shite about Isla. I want to know why you doona help the MacLeods.”
Charon swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “I know their cause is just. I know the world would be a much better place without Deirdre, but she forced me to spy on Quinn while she held him in the mountain. Deirdre has a way of manipulating people to her advantage. The MacLeods might welcome me, but it’s no’ a chance I’m willing to take. What’s your excuse?”
“I refuse to fight alongside Druids. Actually, I came to see if you would help me kill them.”
“Kill who?”
“The Druids. All of them.”
Charon set down his glass and looked at Phelan with new eyes. “How much do you know of the history of the Warriors?”
“What is there to know?”
Just as Charon thought. “No’ all Druids are evil, Phelan. This land, our Scotland, was built upon magic. Without the Druids, that magic will fade and cease to exist.”
“So?”
“A verra long time ago the Romans invaded Britain. The Celts, our ancestors, fought them for years. They were able to stop the Romans from venturing into the Highlands, but the Romans refused to leave.
“The Druids in those days had split into two factions. The mies kept to their original Druid ways and continued to heal, teach, and guide the clan leaders. The droughs, however, turned to black magic by giving their souls to the Devil.
“The clan leaders turned to the Druids for help, but the mies had no answer for how to defeat the Romans. The droughs did. They called up primeval gods long imprisoned in Hell. These gods took the host of the strongest warriors of each family.”
