by Donna Grant
“A wicked storm we’re havin’,” she said, eyeing him.
“I need a chamber.”
The woman set a hand on her hip and twisted her lips. “Is your … wife … ill?”
“My wife fell from her horse. The storm spooked them.”
Broc didn’t want to dwell on how right it felt calling Sonya his. The curse, or whatever it was that caused people around him to die, would prevent there ever being a future between them.
“Ah, these storms can be vicious,” the woman said. “Ye lost both the horses?”
Broc gave a single nod. “I’d like to get my wife out of these wet clothes and a warm meal in our bellies.”
“That I can do for ye. Ye have coin?”
“I do.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “I’ll be seein’ it before ye get the room.”
Broc glared at the innkeeper. The lines that bracketed her face told a story her lips never would. She had seen hard times and lived through them. Now she ran the inn with an iron fist.
“Follow me to the chamber and you’ll have your coin,” Broc said.
The woman drummed her pudgy fingers on the counter. “All right. But I warn ye, if ye try anythin’, Colin’ll be waitin’ for ye.”
Broc glanced over his shoulder to find a burly man standing partially hidden by the shadows in a corner. Broc didn’t spare Colin another look as he followed the innkeeper up the stairs.
She stopped at the last door on the right. “I assumed ye’d want some privacy.”
“You assumed correctly.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “Ye’re nobility, aren’t ye?”
“Nay.”
“Nay reason to lie to me,” she said as she opened the door and walked into the chamber. “I not be carin’ what you are.”
But Broc knew she would care if she realized what kind of monster she had allowed into her inn.
Broc strode into the room and to the bed. Gently, he laid Sonya down and reached for the bag of coins in the satchel. He gave her more than needed.
“I’ll have the food sent up directly,” the innkeeper murmured as she tucked the coins between her enormous breasts. She smiled, showing a missing tooth on the left side of her mouth. “Anythin’ else, milord?”
Broc looked at Sonya’s hand. “Bandages.”
When the door shut behind the woman, Broc began to build a fire. Once that was done, he went to Sonya and inspected the wound.
He was going to have to open the wound again so the infection could be drained. He was thankful she was unconscious so he wouldn’t cause her more pain.
Broc lengthened one claw and quickly cut open her injury. Sonya moaned and tried to turn away. Broc held her arm still and turned her hand so the pus could drain.
A knock sounded a moment before the door opened and the innkeeper walked in with a tray of food. She set it on the table near the hearth and dusted off her hands.
“Ye need to get yer wife out of those wet clothes.”
Broc swallowed, his gaze landing on the swell of Sonya’s breast. “Aye.”
“I’ll help.”
“Thank you,” Broc said as he rose to his feet. “What is your name?”
The woman smiled. “Jean.”
Broc let her take charge in removing Sonya’s gown. The material ripped easily beneath Broc’s hands no matter how careful he was.
“Yer wife took quite a tumble.”
“Sonya is strong. She’ll heal.”
Jean’s brows rose at his words. “No’ by the look of her wound. It looks to be infected.”
“It is.”
“Lift your woman’s shoulders,” Jean directed as she pulled Sonya’s gown and chemise over her head.
Broc tried not to stare at Sonya’s alluring body. Many nights he had dreamed of holding her in his arms, of drinking in the sight of her naked flesh, of the feel of her warm skin against his. He dreamed of hearing her sighs of pleasure as he sank into her body.
All the blood rushed to his cock while his gaze feasted on her full breasts and pink nipples pebbled against the cool air. Nestled between her legs was a triangle of red curls just begging for his touch. It was more difficult than Broc realized to release Sonya as he laid her against the linens.
Jean tossed the clothes to the floor, where they made a squishy thud before she spread out the cloak to dry. “Eat, milord. I’ll remove her shoes and stockings.”
When Broc hesitated, Jean shooed him away with her hands. “I’ll take care of yer Sonya, milord. Eat while ye can.”
My Sonya.
Broc quite liked the sound of that.
With nothing else to do, Broc sat. He was hungry, but he could go days without food if he needed to. The god inside him protected him in more ways than one.
The smell of the food drew him, however. He ate some bread as he watched Jean. Then he tried the meat while she cleaned Sonya’s wound.
Soon he was devouring everything on the trencher, glancing up every now and again to see Jean’s progress. She was gentle with Sonya, and a sight better than Broc’s own large hands would have been.
By the time Broc was done with the meal, Jean had finished tending Sonya.
“I’ve put some salve on the wound to help draw out the infection,” Jean said. “Her fever worries me. I’ve some herbs that can help. They need to be mixed with water and forced down her.”
“I’ll do it.” Anything as long as it made Sonya better.
“I’ll bring it to you, then.” Jean nodded approvingly as she gathered the now empty trencher and goblet and started toward the door.
Broc rose and followed her. He raked a hand down his face and let out a long sigh once Jean had left. Unable to stay away from Sonya, he strode to the bed and inspected her hand.
Jean had done a fine job of cleaning and bandaging the wound. Broc just hoped it was enough. He thought of Phelan, another Warrior who had escaped Deirdre’s prison. Phelan’s power was in his blood. His blood could heal anything.
Broc would do whatever it took, even returning to Cairn Toul Mountain and Deirdre, if he could get some of Phelan’s blood for Sonya.
He was tempted to search for Phelan, but he didn’t want to leave Sonya, not when she was ill. She had always been so vivacious, so full of life. Seeing her lying still, her skin pallid and her glorious red locks dulled, made Broc feel as if someone had ripped out his heart.
What had Sonya been thinking in leaving MacLeod Castle? She had been protected there. She had been part of a family. It was a mixed family of immortal Warriors and Druids, but it was the only family Broc had.
He stayed there because it took more than sickness and a sword wound to kill Warriors. And there had been Sonya with her healing magic for the Druids.
Broc had thought the curse wouldn’t be able to touch those around him. But the reality was that it could—and it did. Anice was gone forever. He had vowed to keep her safe, but he’d been unable to fulfill that promise.
Did he dare try to honor it with Sonya?
As much as he knew he should return to MacLeod Castle and allow Fallon to retrieve Sonya, he couldn’t. Not yet. He needed time with Sonya. Time and memories which would sustain him in the decades to come.
He leaned against the wall to let his gaze feast upon Sonya’s beauty. So many years he had spied on Deirdre, carrying out her orders when he had no choice, and saving everyone he could. There had been times he had almost lost himself in that evil mountain of hers.
Each time he got close to giving in, he would visit Sonya. She never knew of it. He would hide, content to just watch her as he did now. Her mere presence eased him. Appeased his rage and quickened his blood.
How many times had he told himself he could never have her? How many times had he tried to keep his distance from her?
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 siste
r’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.