by Donna Grant
“Shocked?” Deirdre asked, her brows raised. “I realize you are correct. You will not leave my mountain until you are completely mine to control, so telling you does no harm. Besides, I want you to know just how futile it is to hope the MacLeods might learn of this artifact.”
“Then tell me the rest,” Broc urged. He knew there was more. There was always more where Deirdre was concerned.
“I found scrolls tucked away in an old Druid village. The occupants were long gone, the buildings falling to ruin.”
“You mean a village you destroyed.”
She grinned. “Of course. If I had known then what those mies were hiding, I might not have been so hasty to burn everything.”
“If the scrolls burned, how did you find them?”
“They were protected by magic. Time and the elements did more to them than the fire I began.”
Broc narrowed his gaze. “And you were able to read the scrolls?”
“After a bit of my own magic, aye.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s in Glencoe?”
“You really should work on your patience, Broc,” she said with a grin.
He glared at her, wishing he could claw out her evil white eyes.
“All right,” she said with a laugh. “It’s a Celtic burial mound.”
Broc shook his head. “They are no’ to be disturbed, Deirdre. The Celts put great measures in place so that harm will come to those who enter.”
“I know,” Deirdre said and walked in a large circle away from Broc. She clasped her hands behind her back and looked at the stones as if they were the greatest work of art. “I assure you that as a Warrior, you will be able to get inside and acquire the artifact.”
“And what is the artifact?”
She stopped and shrugged. “That I don’t know.”
“The mighty Deirdre absent information?”
Deirdre rolled her eyes. “The scrolls had magic, remember? They burst into flames when my magic came in contact with them.”
Broc snorted. “Too bad they didna burn before you were able to get the information you do have.”
“If that happened, I wouldn’t be able to tell you that you alone can open the tomb. I also wouldn’t be able to tell you there will be markings around the door, markings created by the Celts and filled with magic by the Druids.”
“How does knowing of the markings help?”
“Do you know how many burial mounds there are?”
Broc shook his head, disgusted to even be having the conversation with Deirdre. The fact only he could open the tomb gave him a bit of an advantage. If he could get free, he could find the tomb and get the artifact.
“Why the interest in these artifacts?”
“To help me rule the world.”
“It’s a big world. You willna be able to conquer all of it.”
“I have always made it clear I will do anything and everything to ensure I rule all.”
“And you really think you will win?”
“I know I will. Shall I prove it to you?” she asked with a devious grin.
Broc saw her hand raise and instantly the blinding pain of the drough blood filled him again. He bellowed in fury as he fought against its power.
This time Deirdre let more of the poison take hold. His knees buckled as he squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth together.
Nothing helped. The drough blood was slowing his body, halting his heart, and shriveling his insides.
“You will be mine,” Deirdre said near his ear. “And it all begins now.”
SIXTEEN
Sonya heard the enraged, pain-filled bellow and knew it was Broc. Her heart lurched in her chest, and her only thought was to reach him.
She realized the moment she moved past Dunmore that she’d made the costliest mistake of her life. She tried to duck when she saw him move toward her, but she wasn’t fast enough to escape as his meaty hand closed around her neck and squeezed.
Sonya clawed at his hands, desperate for air.
“Stupid bitch,” he ground out. “As if I would do anything against Deirdre. I’m no’ a traitor.”
He leered in her face, his features contorted with hate and malevolence. She barely registered that as her head was slammed into the rock wall and everything went black.
* * *
Dunmore watched the Druid’s body crumple in a heap at his feet. It had been too easy. She had kept him in front of her, her gaze never wavering.
But one growl from Broc and she had forgotten all about Dunmore.
It had been to his advantage. He had grabbed the opportunity and knocked the Druid unconscious. Now he would take her to Deirdre. He knew he would be well rewarded.
Never mind the fact that Deirdre had known he was injured and hadn’t helped him. She had needed to begin her torture of Broc. Dunmore understood Deirdre as no other could. It was why he had stayed loyal to her. Why he would always stay loyal to her.
He looked down at the redheaded Druid. She had wanted to see Broc. Dunmore smiled as he lifted the woman and tossed her over his shoulder. She would most certainly get to see Broc, but the outcome wouldn’t be what the Druid wanted or expected.
Screams of pain, of torture would once more fill Cairn Toul.
* * *
Poraxus, Broc’s god, raged and seethed inside him. His anger mixed with Broc’s, sending Broc on a downward spiral of fury and uncontrollable craze. He could feel the reach of Poraxus as he tried to take control, tried to pull Broc under for good.
It was inevitable. But not yet, not this day.
Broc yanked on the chains. The shackles cut into his wrists, the blood spilling between his skin and the metal. He didn’t pay it any heed. His gaze was locked on Deirdre’s, on the evil he must end.
He had the information he needed. There was no reason to stay in the mountain. He would leave, but first, he would kill her.
Deirdre’s eyes had grown huge when he began to jerk against his restraints. She did nothing but watch, expecting her magic to hold him.
It wouldn’t be the first time she had been wrong.
The more he struggled with the chains, the more the drough blood inside him burned. He felt its poison, knew his body was badly damaged and might never recover.
The drough blood kept his god from taking over, and Poraxus’ rage kept the drough blood from debilitating Broc. The hours he had suffered with the poison had allowed his god to shield itself.
Broc felt the chains give way, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted free. Now!
With his gaze locked with Deirdre’s, Broc began the chant that would release him from the bonds. The disbelief and confusion on Deirdre’s face was worth all the pain he had suffered.
The shackles sprang open with a loud click before falling with a clank to the stones.
Deirdre held up a hand face out toward him. “I can kill you instantly.”
Broc clenched his teeth and smiled. “Go ahead. Do it.”
He felt her magic gather around her, felt the eerie, sinister magic that was opposite Sonya’s noble and brilliant magic.
Broc focused his power on Deirdre. Just as when he hunted someone, he felt her heartbeat, felt the ferocity and a glimmer of panic churning inside her. It was how he knew when she was about to release her magic.
He dove to the side at the same time he called forth his god. His wings unfurled behind him the instant his fangs filled his mouth and his claws lengthened from his fingers.
Poraxus called for blood, demanded death. Deirdre’s.
Broc was all too happy to give it to him. He jumped to his feet as Deirdre’s white hair whipped out and wrapped around his neck. He grabbed it with one hand while he severed the strands with the other.
He tossed aside the remnants and ducked as her hair, fully regenerated, snaked out for him again. Broc managed to get away from the strands reaching for his neck, but he couldn’t move fast enough to stop them from slashing through his wings.
Broc roared and ju
mped toward Deirdre. A blast of her magic sent him tumbling head over heels backward to land with a bone-jarring thud against the rocks.
But Broc didn’t stay down. He was up and running back to her when the sound of someone—a mortal—approaching reached him.
“Mistress?”
Broc smiled when he heard Dunmore’s voice. He was going to make that bastard suffer, but first Broc was going to finish Deirdre.
He spread his wings and flew upward so that only a portion of her magic touched him, not enough to do more than sting his skin. Broc quickly dove toward Deirdre and punched her in the middle of her back.
She screamed and went flying forward, to sprawl on the ground. Broc landed and stepped on her arms so she couldn’t move. He reared back his hand, ready to sever her head with his claws.
Decapitating her hadn’t killed her the first time, but it would be a start.
“Mistress, I have a surprise. A Druid has come looking for Br…”
Dunmore’s voice trailed away as he caught sight of Broc standing over Deirdre.
All thoughts of killing vanished as Broc thought of Sonya. She had followed him, had ventured into Cairn Toul. For him.
His rage was replaced with urgency. He had to find Sonya before she was hurt. Or worse, before Deirdre got to her. Broc severed Deirdre’s head before he turned and flew toward Dunmore, who waited on the stairway.
Dunmore nervously crawled backward as Broc approached him. Broc landed before Dunmore and grabbed his throat. “Where is she?” he demanded.
“The wyrran took her.”
Dunmore, the great and mighty mortal who always did as Deirdre wished, now shook and clawed at the hand that held him.
“Did you harm her?”
Dunmore shook his head, his eyes wild. The lie was there for Broc to see, and it sent him over the edge.
“Doona fear, you witless fool. Deirdre will be joining you soon.” With that, Broc broke his neck with a twist of his hands.
He tossed Dunmore’s body down the stairs and flew to the entrance. Broc landed in the doorway and listened. He didn’t have long before Deirdre’s magic mended her. He had to find Sonya and get her away from the mountain before then.
Broc thought of the curse, of how it was getting ready to strike again. This time with Sonya.
He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen. He’d find her and take her far from Cairn Toul. He’d take her to someone who could heal whatever injuries she had.
And he would leave her.
He had no choice. It was evident the longer she stayed near him, the more likely she was to die. He wouldn’t live through that. The past few days had sent him teetering on the edge of oblivion with his god.
If Sonya died … there would be nothing holding him back from giving in.
With his plan formed, he used his power and located Sonya in the dungeons. He hurried to her, afraid he would be too late and hopeful the wyrran were still with her so he could kill them.
He heard a faint sound of distress when he reached the dungeons. Sonya was alive, but scared and hurt. He could feel her magic, feel the pull of it.
He didn’t deny what he was, or the need to feed his god. What was coming was Deirdre’s and the wyrran’s fault. And they would pay dearly for every scratch on Sonya’s beautiful body.
Broc walked into the dungeon ready for battle. He growled as he found seven wyrran circling Sonya. She lay on her side, her arms over her head for protection.
Fury began to burn in his chest. The wyrran hadn’t noticed him as they continued to taunt Sonya, their shrieks bouncing off the walls. Rage exploded in Broc when a wyrran reached down and scratched her with its claws.
Broc roared as the frenzy overtook him. The need to protect Sonya, to kill those who would dare to harm her. He couldn’t stop it.
And he didn’t want to.
One by one he killed the wyrran. He didn’t feel their claws, never heard their screams. He was intent on their blood and death.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
Until he stood alone.
Broc’s chest heaved, his breathing harsh to his ears. Gradually the frenzy died. His god was appeased. Death had been dealt.
The dungeon was alarmingly silent. He slowly turned to find Sonya lying still as stone. Panic began to snake up his spine that he had accidentally killed her. The thought paralyzed him for one heartbeat, two.
His gaze raked her from head to foot, hoping she was all right, praying he hadn’t hurt her. He tried to make himself go to her so he could see for himself, but fear of what he might have done while he was crazed held him rooted.
“Broc?”
The sweetest sound he had ever heard was her voice at that moment. He dropped to his knees and gathered her in his arms. “Are you hurt?”
“My head aches. How…”
“Later. Now, we need to get out of the mountain. Can you walk?”
Her chin lifted. “Of course.”
Broc hid a smile as he helped her to her feet. Warmth spread through him at having her near again. It seemed right, as if it had always been destined that they would be together.
He didn’t believe in destiny, but the thought felt too good to dismiss, especially after thinking he might have killed her.
“This way,” he said, and took her hand as he led her from the dungeon.
Her grip was tight, her body steady. That in itself gave Broc more relief than checking her himself for injuries.
The stairs out of the dungeon were steep and slick from the dampness of the mountain. Broc couldn’t fly to the top, since the narrow stairway switchbacked to the top, leaving him no room to spread his wings.
They reached the top without incident, but almost immediately were beset by wyrran. Broc kept Sonya at his back and used his wings to protect her.
Her hands, small and warm, upon his wings as he fought made him shiver with need, with a hunger that demanded he take more. Demanded that he ignore the curse and make Sonya his. But now wasn’t the time for his mind to think such thoughts. Too much danger was near.
With the wyrran quickly dispatched, they were running again. Broc kept his pace slow so Sonya could keep up. There were supposed to be only two exits in the entire mountain. But Broc had made a third only he knew about.
And it would be the one that saved their lives.
“This way,” he said as he veered down another hallway.
Sonya never questioned him. She kept hold of his hand and didn’t stop. The fact she trusted him so completely made him feel like the man he had been before his god was unbound. A man Broc had never thought to be again.
They snaked their way through the hallways and up stairs. Only twice did they have to stop and kill more wyrran. Each time Broc used his wings to safeguard Sonya.
“Here.” He slid to a halt and directed her into a small chamber.
Broc followed her into the storage room and shoved aside sacks of grain, baskets of wheat, and barrels of ale until he found what he was looking for.
Sonya leaned forward. “Is that an exit?”
“One I spent years digging. It’ll get us out, but we have to hurry.”
She didn’t hesitate to climb through the opening. Broc tamped down his god and quickly followed Sonya. They would have to crawl, which would slow them.
“I see light,” Sonya whispered.
Broc smiled. “You’re almost there. When you get to the opening, be careful. It’s a wee bit of a drop.”
He watched, ready to spring forward and grab Sonya as she reached the end and used the tunnel wall to gain her footing. He heard her indrawn breath and knew she was looking down.
Broc climbed out beside her and took her hand. The view before him was awe-inspiring. The clouds cast shadows on the mountains in various shapes as they soared across the sky. But a look down showed they had a narrow ledge half the width of his foot on which to stand.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Her smile was wide as she met his gaze.
“I do love to fly.”
Broc turned and grabbed her as he fell sideways. He called forth his god and flapped his wings to take them high into the clouds.
Somehow they had gotten free of Deirdre. It had been almost too easy, point in fact. Broc had no doubt she would redouble her efforts to find them, especially when she knew where he was headed.
Glencoe.
SEVENTEEN
The wind howled around Sonya as Broc took her in his arms and fell from the mountain. Not once did she doubt she was safe. Never would she doubt it again as long as Broc was near.
She watched as his sun-kissed skin turned the deepest, darkest blue beneath her fingertips. One moment they were falling, and the next, his wings were unfurled and lifting them higher.
Sonya stared, transfixed at Broc’s wings. She’d always found them fascinating. They were smooth as leather, and just as tough and thick. And they were massive, rising well above his head and falling past his knees.
The steady beat of the wings as they flew was reassuring. Soothing. Sonya didn’t see any of the beauty that surrounded her. She was focused on Broc, on the man who could seemingly do anything.
He had been captured by Deirdre a second time, yet somehow he had gotten free. She couldn’t wait to hear how.
Sonya laid her head on his shoulder. Her head ached fiercely from Dunmore’s vicious shove. But she would do it all again as long as Broc was released.
She closed her eyes and let her mind drift. The wind whistled by her ears, the only sound other than the pounding of Broc’s wings and his heart.
His arms held her securely against him, their bodies molded as one from hip to shoulder. For a brief moment, Sonya could allow herself to think she and Broc were something more.
For a brief moment, she allowed herself to think nothing evil would ever touch them again.
* * *
Broc circled the Glencoe area several times looking for wyrran as well as a safe place to land. He let his eyes feast upon the Aonach Eagach on the northern side, a pinnacled ridge which linked three peaks and spanned at least three leagues.
The mountains on the southern side were strikingly beautiful. But the grandest and highest peak of Glencoe was the Bidean nam Bian, hidden behind the three truncated crests called The Three Sisters of Glencoe.