by Donna Grant
Broc was happy for Galen, but his own self-recriminations stopped him from celebrating with the others.
He waited for Sonya to exit the kitchens, hoping to catch her for a moment of privacy. Broc had been to her chamber many times over the last few days, but not once had she been there to hear his apology.
One by one the women exited the kitchens. When they sat and began to pass the food, a cold numbness began in Broc’s stomach.
“Where is Sonya?” he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Cara shrugged. “I went to her chamber yesterday, but she wasn’t there. I thought she needed some time alone after Anice’s death.”
“I haven’t seen her since the attack,” Reaghan said.
Marcail nodded. “Me either.”
One by one, everyone in the hall said the same thing. The last time Sonya had been seen was the day of the attack. The day Broc had blamed her for Anice’s death.
The food was forgotten as the castle and surrounding area were searched. Broc had held out hope someone would find her, but it wasn’t until he used his power that he realized she wasn’t in the castle or village.
“We need to look for her,” Fallon said.
Broc walked on unsteady legs across the great hall. The words he had said to Sonya replayed over and over in his head. “I will search for her. I will find her. And I will bring her back.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He strode from the castle and let his god loose. As soon as his wings spread he flew toward the sky, opening his power to find the one woman who had the ability to tear his heart to pieces.
*
Malcolm refused to look back at MacLeod Castle as he began his new journey. He had walked the land night after night, day after day, seeking a reason to go on.
Seeking a reason to remain.
He was of no use to anyone with just one arm. He couldn’t fight beside the Warriors, and he refused to hide with the women. He was a Highlander. A warrior. He would not cower.
Malcolm knew he should have left a note for Larena, but he hadn’t. She had a life and a good man in Fallon MacLeod. Malcolm owed Fallon and the other Warriors a great debt for giving him a home.
He had observed the battle from the forest, wishing he could help the Warriors, yearning to have a sword in his hand. But he knew if he stepped into the fight, a Warrior would drag him away. It would be done to help, yet the gesture would disgrace Malcolm even more.
So he kept to his hideaway and watched. Once the Warriors had defeated the MacClures and the few remaining wyrran had run off, Malcolm decided it was time to leave the castle.
Strapped to his waist was a sword he’d found in the castle armory. He’d learned to swing a weapon with either arm, but Malcolm was determined to either gain the use of his right arm again, or die. Either would do.
He no longer cared.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 70b0150a-79da-4a5a-b404-ab0148bddca7
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 29.9.2011
Created using: calibre 0.8.20, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
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