Darkest Highlander

by Donna Grant

  “Then explain it.”

  His brow creased as his gaze dropped to the floor. “I … cannot.”

  Sonya hadn’t thought she could hurt more than she already did, but those two simple words brought it all back and more. What had been so special about Anice that she lacked?

  She would never know now.

  Without a word, Sonya turned and walked out of the room. She needed to get out of the small chamber and away from Broc, away from the torment of wanting someone she couldn’t have. Being that close to him was too much. It wasn’t fair that she should endure such torture.

  “Sonya,” Broc said through clenched teeth as he grabbed her elbow.

  She was brought to a stop with a firm jerk. Sonya pulled her arm from Broc’s grasp. “You cannot hover around me all the time.”

  “I can and I will.” His tone told her he didn’t care what she wanted, he would do as he pleased.

  “I’m going for a walk through the village. No harm can come to me from that.”

  Sonya didn’t wait for him to answer. She spun around and walked down the corridor and descended the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she paused to look in the empty dining room.

  “I’m glad to see ye up and about, milady,” said a female voice.

  Sonya shifted to see who spoke. The woman stood drying goblets behind the bar, a smile on her plump, round face. “Thank you,” Sonya said.

  “How is the wound on yer hand?”

  “It’s healing, Jean,” Broc said as he came to stand behind Sonya.

  Jean’s smile grew. “Yer husband was verra worried about ye, lass. He didn’t leave yer side.”

  Sonya didn’t hear anything after “husband.” Had Broc told everyone they were married? More frightening than that, why did a thrill race through Sonya at the prospect of being married to him?

  He was a Warrior. Immortal. Dangerous.

  Entirely too tempting.

  “Jean cleaned your wound,” Broc said, breaking the silence.

  Sonya smiled at the woman. “Thank you. I’m feeling much better.”

  “Ah, but still a wee bit weary, I think. Ye shouldn’t exert yerself, lass. Rest and allow yer body to mend.”

  “I will,” Sonya said, and walked from the inn.

  She didn’t pause as she stepped outside. Sonya strolled leisurely through the village. Her body was still weak, but she needed the outdoors.

  Four young lads raced down the street and parted to go around her. Sonya laughed at their antics as one gave her hair a soft tug. As she turned to watch them, she spotted Broc just steps behind her, a frown making him look angry and threatening.

  Intent on ignoring him, Sonya immersed herself in the village. The sound of children laughing as they played helped to calm the resentment inside her. Women smiled at her, men nodded in greeting. It was as if she belonged there, as if she weren’t a stranger.

  Sonya stopped beside a cart full of vegetables. She picked up an apple and absently held it while she surveyed the village. She felt Broc move up beside her.

  “This is only the second time I’ve been to a village,” she said. “This is much larger than where I was raised. Things with the Dru … with my people were different.”

  “Magic is the difference,” Broc whispered in her ear. “These people know nothing of Druids or Warriors. This is their life, and it’s a hard one, Sonya.”

  She nodded and replaced the apple. “I know. It’s just so different. Almost as if I walked into another world.”

  “You have in a way. You’ve been hidden all your life.”

  Sonya looked over her shoulder and into Broc’s dark brown eyes, eyes that were mysterious, sultry, and altogether too fascinating. “How would you know how the others live? You’ve been in Deirdre’s mountain for how long?”

  He smiled tightly. “Lest you forget, I was able to get away from that cursed mound of rock frequently.”

  “Nay, you were referring to before Deirdre took you. Weren’t you?”

  His gaze slid away. “Aye.”

  For all the time Sonya had spent in the company of Warriors at MacLeod Castle, none of them spoke about their lives before their gods were unbound. At least, they didn’t to her.

  She found herself immensely curious about Broc’s life before he became a Warrior. “Will you tell me?”

  “What is the point in it?” he asked.

  Sonya felt more than heard the hurt. “My days were spent in the forest or swimming in the loch when I wasn’t learning mag … who I am,” she amended.

  “That was—is—a good life.”

  “But nothing like yours was.”

  Broc sighed and guided her away from the prying ears of the vendor to continue their stroll. “Nay, Sonya. It was nothing like mine. Until Deirdre, I never knew there was another, secret world living alongside mine.”

  “Was your world like this village?” she asked. She couldn’t help herself. She had to know. “Did you live in a village much like this one?”

  One side of his mouth tilted into a smile as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Nay, but one was nearby. I was there often enough causing trouble. My favorite thing to do was play jests on the merchants.”

  “Did you ever get caught?”

  He chuckled, his eyes crinkling with laughter. “Oh, aye. Most every time, though I did learn to run away quicker.”

  Sonya stumbled when she caught sight of Broc’s smile. His hand reached out to steady her, but she knew nothing would ever steady her heart again. Not after seeing something that transformed his face from handsome to heartstoppingly dazzling.

  Broc’s smile had been full of good memories, full of mirth and happiness, and it had changed his already striking face into one that took her breath away. He was an arresting male with his height, his long, fair hair, and his dark eyes, and his brooding only made him more so.

  But the smile … the smile showed Sonya another side of Broc, a side she longed to learn more about.

  They walked the rest of the village in silence. When they reached the end, Sonya turned to start back toward the inn when Broc pushed her up against a cottage.

  His hard body pressed hers against the cottage wall, shielding her. Instinctively she braced her hands against his chest. Beneath her palms she could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart and the taut, hard muscles.

  Fire licked beneath her skin, heating her blood and causing her heart to race erratically. It was always so when Broc touched her, and the more she stayed near him, the more her body yearned for his touch.

  Sonya inhaled his scent of wind, of warm, sunny skies. She waited for him to caress her, to kiss her as she had dreamed of him doing since the first moment she had seen him standing outside Quinn’s chamber.

  She could feel the heat of his skin through the tunic he wore. How she longed to be able to touch his bare flesh, to trace the line of muscles she felt beneath her hands, muscles she had seen countless times as he stood bare-chested before her in his Warrior form.

  Slowly, Sonya raised her gaze from Broc’s chest to his face. He wasn’t looking at her as she had expected. His dark eyes weren’t filled with passion and desire.

  It was the way he stared off into the woods which told her something had alerted him to danger. He was there to protect her, to ensure she returned to MacLeod Castle without incident. Regardless of what Broc wanted, he would see to her safety first.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Wyrran.”

  EIGHT

  It was all Broc could do not to lean down and take Sonya’s lips. Her hands on his chest, her body pressed so tightly against his. It was too much.

  The yearning, the hunger for her was irresistible.

  He had thought of nothing but protecting her when he’d caught sight of the yellow-skinned wyrran. But the moment their bodies had touched, Broc’s need to stroke, to learn, to claim Sonya warred with that of protection.

  Rage bubbled within him, rage he knew came from his god. Yet,
he couldn’t control it. He wanted to hunt the wyrran and rip it limb from limb for disturbing his time with Sonya.

  “Are you sure?” Sonya murmured.

  “Unfortunately. I couldna shake the feeling last night that something was near. Now I know what it was.”

  He could sense her fear by the way she shook. Her fingers, which had lain so gently on his chest, now dug into his skin as she tensed.

  “Did it see us?”

  “Most certainly,” he replied grimly.

  “Where are they?”

  “It. I sense there is only one at the moment, and I doona know where it went. I also doona wish to leave you to find out.”

  “But you need to,” she said, and tilted her face to him.

  Broc shook his head as he gazed into her amber eyes. “I’m no’ leaving you. There’s no use arguing. It would be exactly what it would want so you would be left alone.”

  “Take me back to the inn. I’ll be safe there.”

  “How will you protect yourself?” he demanded. He hated how gruff and entirely too harsh his voice was, but the thought of Sonya in the hands of Deirdre made his blood turn to ice. “You say you cannot use your magic, so what will you use?”

  She lowered her eyes and shrugged. “I have nothing. No magic, no skill with a weapon. You’ve made your point.”

  “My point is to no’ make you feel inferior. My point is that I cannot—and willna—leave you alone while there are wyrran about.”

  “Then how are you to kill it?”

  Broc took a deep breath and took a step away from Sonya. “I doona know. Yet. But I will.”

  “In order to kill it, you’re either going to have to take me with you or leave me alone in the inn. Those are your only choices.”

  He hated that she was right. Hated it more that the wyrran—and Deirdre—had put him in this position. But he’d always known it would come to this.

  His life mattered not, but Sonya was another matter entirely. He didn’t fear death, only that he wouldn’t live long enough to ensure Sonya was protected at MacLeod Castle.

  “There’s another choice,” he said as he thought of the Warriors and Druids. “We leave for MacLeod Castle. Immediately.”

  “And leave the wyrran to do whatever it wants with this village or another village it comes across? You know yourself what Deirdre has sent them to do.”

  Broc ran a hand down his face and turned to the forest. He knew all too well what the wyrran were capable of. He’d seen their destructive power on his family, had seen the death that lay in their wake after they swept through a village.

  Could he leave this one behind? Did he dare to let it go on the chance it might not hurt anyone?

  He knew he couldn’t.

  He put his hands on his hips and nodded. “All right. I’ll kill it. Then we return to the castle. I doona know what is happening there and they could need me.”

  She hesitated for a brief moment before she said, “Agreed.”

  Broc curled his hands into fists as he felt his claws begin to grow. He wanted to hunt the wyrran straightaway. The sooner he killed it, the sooner he could get Sonya back to the castle.

  And the sooner he could put some much-needed distance between them.

  If the past few days had showed him anything, it was that being near her, alone with her, was testing the limits of his control. Which were fast unraveling.

  “We need to return to the inn,” Broc said as he took hold of her arm. “Act as if nothing is wrong, but be on guard.”

  “How did it find us so quickly?”

  Broc kept his eyes moving around the village, looking for any signs a wyrran was still near. “I doona know. With Deirdre, almost anything is possible. After seeing her nearly take back control of Isla, it’s obvious her magic has been restored.”

  “So she’s looking for us.”

  “She’s looking for the Warriors who were once allied with her and who are no’ dead. I doona imagine there are many left. We killed most in the battle.”

  “The battle where everyone thought Deirdre had died,” Sonya mumbled.

  Broc opened the door to the inn and ushered Sonya inside. He gave a nod to Jean who still stood behind the counter, and walked Sonya up the stairs and into their chamber.

  Once the door was shut and bolted behind him, Broc strode to the window. “Deirdre wanted the MacLeods before. She’s no’ accustomed to being betrayed. She will hunt and kill anyone associated with the MacLeods in retaliation.”

  “Including you.”

  “Aye. I know more than most. The only Warrior who was closer to Deirdre than me was William, and he was killed.”

  The bed creaked, signaling Sonya had sat. “I shouldn’t have fought against returning to the castle. We’d be safe now.”

  Broc turned to Sonya. “This is no’ your fault. We’ve seen the wyrran, and I will kill it. I willna allow it to harm anyone.”

  “And the others? You know there are others out there. You cannot kill them all.”

  “I can kill most. Finding them is no’ the problem. It’s getting to them before they can do any mischief.”

  Her amber gaze seemed to see right through him, as if she knew he longed to unleash his god and spread his wings to fly through the night, tracking each wyrran to kill it.

  Warring with the need for the wyrran’s death was his growing and ever-present longing for Sonya.

  Just being alone in the room with her was the sweetest kind of torment. Her lavender scent made him think of wildflowers and forests. Her scent was on his clothes, on the linens of the bed, and forever in his memory.

  With three steps he could close the distance between them. He could cover her lips with his, sinking into her kiss. Slowly. Thoroughly.

  Completely.

  To have her taste on his tongue, to know the essence of her, was what he dreamed about. Everything about her was magical and utterly breathtaking.

  One of the best days of his long, exhaustive life was when she used her magic so he could hear the trees talk to her. It had been an experience that touched his very soul. An experience that only made him want her even more, if that were possible.

  No one had shared anything so personal, so beautiful with him before. He hadn’t mattered enough to anyone. Yet, Sonya had given him that small gift because she had wanted to share something with him.

  He still didn’t understand why she had chosen him, but he cherished it.

  Her head cocked to the side as her red hair fell over her shoulder in a cascade of curls. “What are you thinking when you look at me like that?”

  “I was thinking about when you allowed me to hear the trees. Why did you do that?”

  She shrugged and picked at her skirts. “I’m not sure. You were there and I wanted you to hear them, to hear how lovely they were. How important they are to me.”

  “Everyone knows how important the trees are to you.”

  “Yet, you seemed surprised I would allow you to hear them. Why?”

  Broc smiled wryly. “Do you forget where I was all those years? Do you think there was any kindness inside Cairn Toul?”

  “How old are you?”

  He blinked at her sudden change of topic. But he didn’t hesitate to tell her. “Two hundred and seventy-five since I was turned immortal.”

  “All of it spent with Deirdre?”

  “All but the past few weeks, aye.” He hated talking about his time with Deirdre, but since it took up most of his life, he had nothing else to talk about. And he knew Sonya was curious.

  Sonya’s tongue peeked out to wet her lips. “Then I’m glad I showed you the wonders of the trees.”

  Maybe it was the light in her amber eyes. Maybe it was the way she looked at him, but Broc almost went to her and took the kiss he had been fantasizing about.

  She cleared her throat and gave a weak smile. “So, what do we do now? Wait?”

  Broc glanced out the window as he tried to think of a reason a wyrran would be at the village. He felt no
magic other than Sonya’s, so the wyrran couldn’t be here for a Druid. Unless there were Druids nearby.

  “I’m going to go see how many wyrran are about. I want you to stay here.”

  “I will,” she promised. “How many do you think there are?”

  “If there are several, they’ve been sent to find someone and bring him back to Deirdre.”

  “And if there’s only one?”

  Broc blew out a breath. “That’s another matter entirely. That means the wyrran was sent to scout for something or someone. Once it finds what it’s searching for, it’ll return to Deirdre.”

  “Who will then send more wyrran,” Sonya finished.

  “Aye.”

  “You think there’s only one, don’t you?”

  He wouldn’t lie to her, but how he wished she wouldn’t figure things out so quickly. “I doona want to say until I’ve had a look around.”

  “Just tell me your thoughts. Please.”

  He would rather go look first, but Sonya was having none of that. “I think there’s just one.”

  “I see,” she murmured. “Then you had better go after it.”

  It wasn’t yet noon. It would be easier if he waited until nightfall so he could fly, but waiting would allow the wyrran to put a great distance between them.

  “I’ll be fine,” Sonya said, as if sensing his reluctance. “I’ll stay here. In this chamber.”

  Broc looked around for a weapon—any weapon—he could give her. But there was nothing. As a Warrior, he didn’t need a sword or other blade. His claws and superior strength and speed were all the weapons he needed.

  Sonya watched Broc pace around the chamber as if he were searching for something. He stopped and glared at the door before he mumbled something about returning shortly and left.

  She was too curious about where Broc had gone to be able to relax. What had him so troubled? What could propel him out of the chamber so quickly?

  It hadn’t been wyrran. That she was sure of. What, then?

  Her answer presented itself when, a few moments later the door opened and Broc reentered. He walked to her and held out a short scabbard which held a dagger.

  Broc slowly pulled the weapon from its sheath, and Sonya found herself staring at a wicked, deadly-looking curved blade that came to a vicious point.