Darkest Highlander (3 page)

And then she had traveled to MacLeod Castle.

It had been a shock when he learned she was there. Seeing her every day, hearing her voice, touching her, was both a gift and a bane.

To have her so near, but to never
have
her.

It was worse than the years he had been locked in Deirdre’s prison and tortured daily. It was worse than being taken from his family and being able to do nothing as his god was unbound within him.

For so many decades Broc had kept to himself at Cairn Toul because of the curse and because he trusted no one. Then he had betrayed Deirdre and helped the other Warriors kill her. Except her black magic had prevented her death.

Broc had returned with the Warriors to MacLeod Castle. It hadn’t been easy at first to be among those he now called brothers. To give his trust and know they would watch his back when he hadn’t trusted anyone in centuries was … difficult.

Yet, now he would like nothing better than to have his friend Ramsey with him. Ramsey was a quiet man and like a brother. They had bonded in Deirdre’s mountain. During those awful years Ramsey was the only one Broc had trusted, the only one Broc had listened to. And the only one he had dared let close.

When the time had come to escape, Broc knew someone had to stay behind and spy on Deirdre, to gain as much information as they could. He had volunteered.

Ramsey hadn’t wanted to leave him, but Broc hadn’t given his friend a choice. It had been one of the hardest things Broc had ever done. He knew he had taken a huge risk in thinking he could maintain his charade with Deirdre.

His ruse had been rewarding, however. He had nearly lost his soul in the evil pit of Cairn Toul, but he had discovered crucial information about the MacLeods as well as how to help them.

Each Druid, if he or she had enough magic, was able to use that magic in a special form. For Deirdre, she could move stones. Inside Cairn Toul, she had made herself a fortress complete with layers of dungeons deep inside the earth.

Evil bred and grew stronger each day in that mountain. It now spread over Scotland like a plague.

Broc turned his thoughts away from Deirdre. It would only lead to anger, and he needed to concentrate on Sonya. He swallowed and tried to look away from her bare shoulders, but he wasn’t strong enough.

When it came to Sonya, the control he was known for vanished.

THREE

Cairn Toul Mountain

Deirdre stared at the parchments open before her. The writings were faded, the paper crumbling before her eyes. If she didn’t do something quickly, whatever information the parchments held would be lost to her.

She leaned over the scrolls as her magic built inside her. Deirdre pushed her magic out of her mouth as she blew on the scrolls.

The writing glittered as her magic came in contact with it, darkening the words so she could read them. Almost instantly, the scrolls burst into flames.

It was a counter to
drough
magic, but she had been given enough time to see what the scrolls hid. There was an ancient burial mound that held an artifact.

Deirdre hadn’t been able to determine what the artifact was, but she knew where to look: Glencoe. However, she had also seen where no
drough
or any evil could enter the mound.

She left the scrolls to burn as thoughts tumbled through her mind. There had to be someone who could enter the tomb. A
mie
, perhaps? Or even a mortal. Deirdre would have to use them in order to gain the artifact.

Deirdre knelt in the middle of her chamber and called forth the evil, the darkness that made her magic so powerful. Once she could feel it rushing over her skin, she began the singsong chant she hoped would be able to help her find who could enter the tomb.

The spell had never worked in helping her locate Druids before, but perhaps this time was different.

A wall of flame erupted before her, reaching the vast stones above her and scorching them before the blaze subsided. Inside their red-orange depths she saw a face and heard a name.

Broc.

Deirdre threw back her head and laughed. Who would have guessed it would be a Warrior who could enter the tomb? And Broc at that. She wanted revenge on him for betraying her. Nevertheless, she would have him open the tomb. And he
would
do her bidding in the end.

With a smile and excitement coursing through her, she rose and called to her wyrran. First, they had to find Broc.

*   *   *

Sonya missed the cocoon of warmth that had surrounded her. Strong, muscular arms had held her, carried her. Protected her. Of that she knew.

Before the blackness had taken her, she could have sworn she saw indigo wings fly over her before something landed between her and the wolf.

Could she miss Broc so desperately her fevered brain imagined him saving her? It didn’t matter. The wolf might not have killed her, but the infection running through her body would.

Each time she would begin to wake, Sonya grasped the darkness and refused to let go. She didn’t want to open her eyes and see where fate had delivered her. The blessed darkness took her away from the pain of the humiliation and fear of her magic abandoning her.

No longer could she call herself a Druid. What good would she do anyone at MacLeod Castle, now that she couldn’t heal?

Broc.

Sonya cried out and tried to turn away. Someone held her shoulders with large hands. A voice tried to reach her through the fog of unconsciousness, but she refused to listen. Nothing they said could help her now.

She wanted to curl in a ball. The pain in her heart too much to bear.

But oh, to see Broc’s face, his soft brown eyes, and his long fair hair that brought out the bronze of his skin. To feel the ripple of his muscles as she held his shoulders when he lifted her in his arms and flew her to the trees.

Sonya had never felt such exhilaration as when she soared through the air with Broc. His mighty wings had taken her so high into the sky, so high she felt she could almost touch the clouds.

Not once had she been afraid. Not as long as Broc held her. With him, she had always felt safe, always knew he would protect her.

Sonya was pulled from her thoughts when her wound began to ache. It was a healing ache, though. As if someone put some herbs into the cut.

She forgot all about the injury as her shoulders were lifted and she was once more against the warmth of a rock-hard chest. Sonya allowed herself to imagine it was Broc, allowed herself to fantasize that he would want to hold her.

“Drink for me.”

She frowned. It had sounded suspiciously like Broc’s voice. Was it her imagination? Or had he found her?

Something was placed against her lips. As parched as her throat was, she was unprepared when the liquid filled her mouth, choking her.

Sonya coughed and felt the liquid run down her chin. She could wake, could force open her eyes and see who held her. But did she have the courage? If it was Broc, he would have been sent by the others. Everyone would want to know why she left.

How could she tell them about her magic when she couldn’t bear to think of herself as anything other than a Druid?

“Sonya, please. Drink for me.”

This time, she knew. The voice was Broc’s. She could hear the concern, the worry in his tone. As with anything to do with Broc, she was powerless to refuse him.

It took several attempts, but Sonya forced open her eyes. Her breath caught in her lungs when she gazed up at Broc. His brown eyes watched her carefully. His brow was furrowed, his wide lips held in a tight line.

She had been surrounded by Warriors at MacLeod Castle. All of them handsome men in their own right. But Broc had been the one who captured her attention. The only one she sought out.

“Sonya?”

She wanted to reach up and stroke the strong line of his jaw. She gazed at the heavy growth of whiskers, but she didn’t mind it. It accentuated the hollow of his cheeks and the dangerous ruggedness of his angular face.

His hair was damp. Long strands of blond hair fell over his forehead and into his thick black eyelashes, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. His eyes continued to search hers, as if he waited for her to say something, anything.

But the words stuck in her throat. It wasn’t just finding him holding her sister’s body, although that was part of it. It was the knowledge that the very person she was would be gone forever.

“I need you to drink,” he said.

Once more Sonya felt something against her mouth. This time she parted her lips and allowed Broc to tip a portion of the water onto her tongue.

She swallowed the cool water and let it fill her. There was a harsh aftertaste.

Broc tipped the wooden cup once more. “It’s herbs that will help you. You must drink it all.”

Sonya didn’t have the strength to fight him as he poured more of the water into her mouth. It felt so right, so good to be held in his arms. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, to feel the wind ripple around her while his leathery wings propelled them through the sky. She wanted to see his eyes alight with wonder as she allowed him to hear the trees speaking to her.

But all of that would never be again.

“Why did you leave?” Broc whispered.

She wanted to answer him, to tell him everything. Anger and resentment and fear mixed inside her, swelling her emotions until her eyes clouded with tears.

Though she tried to keep her eyes open, whatever had been in the water was pulling her back into unconsciousness. The quiet darkness awaited her, and she needed it.

Just before she gave in completely, she could have sworn she heard Broc ask, “Why did you leave me?”

*   *   *

Broc watched as Sonya slipped back into oblivion. It was the only reason he asked her why she had left him.

The question had come from nowhere. One moment he was watching the herbs begin to take effect, and the next, the words fell from his mouth.

When she had opened her eyes and he’d stared into her amber depths, there had been so many things he wanted to say to her. The pain in her eyes bothered him, but not half as much as the panic he saw.

Just what had happened to her? More importantly, why wasn’t she using her magic?

Broc set aside the empty cup and removed his arm from around her slim shoulders. He wrung out the strip of linen Jean had left in the bowl of water and bathed Sonya’s face.

He was used to fighting, used to releasing his god and killing anything that got in his way. He couldn’t battle what made Sonya ill, couldn’t fight whatever had sent her running from MacLeod Castle.

And he’d never felt so inadequate in his life.

It reminded him of when Hayden had said much the same thing while he had watched his woman, Isla, fight an illness. Broc hadn’t understood then, but he did now. Now that it was Sonya lying in the bed, her life hanging in the balance.

With each beat of her heart, Broc knew fate was against her. Sonya had to want to live, had to fight the infection if she was to survive.

Hour after hour he wiped the sweat from her face and neck. Time and again he would hold her down as she thrashed on the bed, screaming Anice’s name, then mumbling incoherent words.

He never left her side, never took his eyes off her. With the first streaks of light over the horizon, Sonya’s fever finally broke. Broc had never been so relieved. He waited impatiently for Sonya to open her eyes again, to do something, anything.

Instead, she didn’t move. Didn’t utter a sound.

Broc, an immortal nearly three centuries old with a primeval god inside him, was powerless. Ineffective. Useless.

If he thought it would help, he would get down on his knees and pray to the God of the Christians, but Broc had learned many years ago that if there was a God, he had long since abandoned them.

Broc rose and walked to the window that overlooked the village. People went about their daily lives never knowing of the evil Druid intent on ruling the world. They didn’t know Deirdre hunted other Druids to kill them and steal their power. They didn’t know of the vile wyrran, creatures Deirdre had created to aid her.

They didn’t know of the Warriors.

If Deirdre had her way, all too soon the world as everyone knew it would change. Broc and the others had halted Deirdre for a while, but he knew her well enough to know that her retribution would be swift and vicious.

Where she would strike was the question. Already she had sent the MacClure clan to attack MacLeod Castle. The mortals hadn’t stood a chance against the Warriors. Many men had died needless deaths.

But Broc knew it was just the beginning for Deirdre. She had once wanted the MacLeods allied with her. Now she would want their deaths along with any Warrior who had sided with them.

With Sonya away from the castle and its protection, Broc feared Deirdre would discover her and seek to have Sonya for her own.

His betrayal of Deirdre would not be forgotten either. If Deirdre found out his affection for Sonya she would use it against him, forcing Broc to her will. And he would do it.

He’d do anything for Sonya.

Broc braced his hands on the sides of the window and blew out a deep breath. The storm had passed during the night. As soon as Sonya woke, he would fly them to MacLeod Castle. They could not stay out in the open. Not with Deirdre seeking revenge.

Whether Sonya wanted to or not, she was returning to MacLeod Castle.

He knew the moment Sonya opened her eyes. Broc looked over his shoulder to find her watching him. He walked to her wondering where to begin, how to begin. But as usual Sonya did things her own way.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“A village not far from where I found you. I would have taken you back to the castle last night, but there was a storm.”

Her tongue peeked out to lick her lips as she looked away from him. “I’ve no wish to return to MacLeod Castle.”