by Donna Grant
Fallon would give himself the rest of the day to learn if the king was indeed coming to Edinburgh. If so, then he would stay. If not, Fallon would return to MacLeod Castle and talk with Lucan about whether they could take the time for Fallon to travel to London.
Despite the king’s absence, Edinburgh Castle still teemed with nobility and people seeking to exchange favors with powerful lords. Maybe Iver had been correct and people were converging on the castle because the king was coming.
Fallon remembered vividly the day his father had brought him to Edinburgh. It had been just a year prior to the massacre, and his father had wanted to introduce him to the king and the nobility as the future laird of the MacLeods.
Da had told him often that it was in his best interest to know everyone, especially if they influenced the king in any way. It didn’t mean Fallon had to support them, but a laird needed to know the ins and outs of nobility and royalty to keep the clan safe.
His father had been correct. It was too bad no one had known about the beautiful, evil drough who would destroy everything just a year later.
Disgusted with himself, his lust, and the hand fate had dealt him, Fallon turned on his heel and left the hall. He couldn’t stand the crush of people or the stench of sweat that hung in the air. He missed the view from the towers of his castle where he could watch the waves crash into the cliffs and listen to the birds squawking and flying with the air currents.
He made it back to his chamber, a cold sweat running down his face as he leaned against the closed door inside his room. His hands shook, but in the solitude of his chamber, he didn’t hide them.
His gaze landed on the bottle of wine he kept near him always, to remind him of what he had ignored, of what he had almost lost, and the war he had before him.
Lucan had shouldered the brunt of the responsibility while Fallon had sunk into the oblivion of the wine day in and day out. It was Lucan who had dealt with Quinn’s rages, it was Lucan who had mended and cleaned the castle to make it habitable. As eldest, Fallon should have been the one who had seen to all those things.
Fallon had neglected his brothers. Quinn, who had lost his wife and son in the slaughter of their clan, hadn’t been able to control his anger, which fueled the god inside him. It was rare that some part of the Warrior didn’t show on Quinn. He couldn’t manage his wrath, and so couldn’t command the god at will.
Instead of helping his brothers, Fallon had ignored them, intent on his own pain, his own fury.
Fallon stumbled to the table and gripped the wine in his unsteady hand. His father would be ashamed of him. He hadn’t been the leader his father had told him he was, had trained him to be. Fallon had been a coward afraid of facing the truth of his future and learning how to control the god as Lucan had.
Except now he had a chance to redeem himself.
After several moments as Fallon battled with himself, he released the wine and pushed from the table. His castle was being renovated and pieced back together. It might never shine with its former glory, but it would be a home again. A future awaited him there.
It wasn’t just the brothers anymore either. There was Cara, and the other four Warriors who had come to their aid when Deirdre attacked. And they had a second Druid, Sonya, who had been told by the trees to help Cara learn her powers.
MacLeod Castle would be open to any Druid or Warrior who wanted to fight Deirdre and the evil she wielded. If it was the last thing he did, Fallon would see it done.
Chapter Two
Larena Monroe’s heart jumped in her throat when she heard the name MacLeod whispered in the great hall. As soon as it was spoken it spread like wildfire throughout the room. Everyone wanted to know who the MacLeod in attendance was — she most especially.
“Excuse me, Lady Drummond,” she said as she turned to the woman behind her. “I thought I heard you say ‘MacLeod.’ Surely I was mistaken.”
The name MacLeod was synonymous with death, heartache, and the unexplained. The myths of the MacLeod brothers hadn’t died in the three hundred years since the clan had been destroyed. It was a story told over and over again, but not one usually heard in the middle of the day in Edinburgh Castle. It was usually saved for stormy nights.
“Ah, dear Larena,” Lady Drummond said. Her droopy hazel eyes held a note of mischief. “You heard right. There is a man at the castle, a man who claims to be the MacLeod.”
Larena fisted her hand in her skirt while excitement ran rampant through her. For so long she had searched for the MacLeods. Could fortune have smiled on her, and had one come to her? After all these years. She had to find him, had to speak to him.
She mentally shook her head. It was most likely some confusion in the name. The MacLeods were hunted, not by any Highlanders or even the crown, but by something much, much worse. They were hunted by the epitome of evil, Deirdre.
Larena started when she realized Lady Drummond had spoken to her. “My apologies. My mind was wandering.”
Lady Drummond leaned close, her great jowls swinging. “I asked if you saw him? The MacLeod? I caught a glimpse of him, my dear.” She fanned herself with her wrinkled hand. “If I were younger … He’s devilishly handsome.”
“Is he?” Larena wished she had seen him.
Lady Drummond laughed and sidled closer to Larena. “He wears a torc like the Celts of old. A true Highlander,” she whispered, her high voice tinged with a note of awe.
Larena’s heart missed a beat as she realized the man Lady Drummond spoke of and the one that had heated her body were one and the same. She had seen him, the MacLeod. It had been just a moment, but she had locked gazes with the most amazing, most unusual dark green eyes she had ever seen. They had been turbulent, like a stormswept sea, and intense.
She’d had to look away or make a fool of herself. When she had glanced back, he was gone. In all her years, there had not been one man who had ever had that kind of effect on her. It frightened her at the same time it captivated her.
After a thank-you to Lady Drummond, Larena excused herself and moved around the hall intent on finding this curious Highlander with the beautiful eyes and the gold torc.
He’d been dressed in a kilt with a plaid she didn’t quite recognize, but he didn’t wear it with the ease of a man who had been born to it. Yet, he was a Highlander. One look in his eyes and she had seen the wildness, the untamed spirit that was the Highlands.
When Larena couldn’t find the man claiming to be the MacLeod, she headed to the garden for a breath of fresh air. She had been living in the castle for too many months in her bid to learn how far Deirdre’s magic had stretched.
Larena was putting her own life in jeopardy by being at the castle, but what she hid from the world was worth it.
She wasn’t at the castle just for Deirdre though. She knew enough about the infamous MacLeods to know she needed to discover anything she could of them.
How she yearned to see the mountains of the Highlands and feel the snow on her face. But she couldn’t leave. Not yet. There was still information to be gathered.
Larena walked past a bush of vibrant yellow roses and sat on a stone bench that offered some seclusion. The fragrance of the flowers swirled around her, taking away the reek of stale breath and sweaty bodies.
With her hands planted behind her, Larena leaned back and tilted her face to the sky where the rays of the sun filtered through the heavy clouds. It would rain soon, and she would have to stay indoors.
Her mind wandered until she recalled the news that had reached her two weeks past about the MacLeod brothers. She trusted Camdyn MacKenna because he was a Warrior, and he had no reason to lie.
There were few people she relied upon. She had learned the hard way that trust was something someone earned. Camdyn had earned her trust, or at least part of it. There were things that no one could know about her. The ramifications were too dangerous for everyone involved.
Among all the people of her acquaintance there was only one she truly trusted, her cousin
Malcolm. Malcolm shouldn’t know her secrets either, but he had learned one of hers when he was just a young lad of seven summers.
She knew she needed to try and convince Malcolm to return to his clan, the clan that had banished her. Every time she brought it up, he would argue that as powerful as she was, she needed someone to help her.
And since she was a woman, apparently that was the truth.
The crunch of a shoe on the grass brought Larena’s head around. She smiled when she saw Malcolm’s steady bright blue gaze on her. He was tall and carried himself like the lord he was. As the first son to the Monroe, he had the upbringing and the blood of a noble.
It was his face, though, that made women swoon. His features were perfectly proportioned, with a square jaw and long, regal nose. His mouth was wide and his lips full. And he could charm the gown off a nun.
“I thought I would find you here.” His deep voice was low, smooth, as he sat beside her. “I gather you’ve heard?”
“About the man claiming to be a MacLeod?”
He nodded and swept his fingers through his blond waves that constantly fell into his eyes. “I tried to meet him, but I’ve been unable to find him.”
“I saw him speak to Iver MacNeil.”
Malcolm groaned as his lips flattened. “That imbecile? I avoid Iver at all costs, but for you, my dear, I will see what I can discover.”
She smiled when he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. The warmth in his eyes wasn’t that of a lover, but that of a man who was more of a brother. “You are too good to me.”
“Nay. If I was, we would be long gone from this vile pit. I know you wish to leave.”
She placed her other hand over the one that still gripped hers. “I have a destiny, Malcolm. I will see it through.”
“If it is one of the MacLeods, what will you do?”
“I will talk to him.”
“And if he doesna believe you?”
She glanced away, hating the fear that swam in her stomach. “Then I will show him.”
“You’re taking a terrible risk, Larena. This could be a ruse from Deirdre.”
“She doesn’t know of me. I’ve fooled her so far. I will continue to do so until the time comes to bring her down.”
Malcolm lowered their hands to the bench. “I’d rather be with you when you talk to MacLeod.”
“Nay. I must do it alone. There are things that need to be said. If he is a Warrior, he won’t trust anyone to speak as freely as I need him to.”
Malcolm leaned close and kissed her cheek. “Just be careful.”
“Don’t worry. Soon, I will be gone and you will be free to marry that pretty auburn-haired girl I’ve seen you smiling at.”
Malcolm threw back his head and laughed, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve been so intent on other things I didna think you had noticed.”
“I noticed. I also observed how she watches you when you aren’t looking. She’s quite taken with you.” She let her smile drop. “I want you to marry, but marry a woman who will make you happy. You deserve at least that, Malcolm. Find a good woman who will give you many children.”
His laugher gone, he rose with a sigh and paced in front of her. Larena looked at the Monroe kilt with its bold red and green plaid. She had always loved the tartan, even though it had been many, many years since she’d had it stripped from her.
“I will do as you say,” Malcolm said as he stopped in front of her and went down on his haunches. He took her hands in his and turned her to face him. “But only if you give me a promise in return.”
Larena was afraid what the promise would be, but they had been friends for too long for her to think of denying him. “What would you ask of me?”
“Doona leave without telling me good-bye.”
She blinked back tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes and cupped the side of his face with her hand. “I would take you with me if I could. You are the finest man I’ve ever known. I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done for me.”
He waved away her words and straightened, his eyes downcast. “Enough. You’ll cry, and you know how I hate tears.”
“I don’t cry.” Though she found her eyes burned when she thought of leaving Malcolm. He was the only family, the only friend, she had in the world. She wanted away from Edinburgh and the crowds to the quiet of the Highlands, but she didn’t look forward to being alone. Again.
“Come,” he said, and offered her his arm. His smile was a little forced, but still true. “Let’s take a stroll through these magnificent gardens.”
Larena took his arm, grateful for the change in subject. She didn’t like to think of what the future held. There was too much uncertainty, too much death that awaited her. And she hated to see him worry, for there was nothing he could do.
“Remember when I spoke with Camdyn a few days ago?”
“I do,” Malcolm said with a nod. “What of it?”
“He spoke of the MacLeod brothers, that they had been found. After all this time. And now one is apparently here. Which one is it, do you suppose? Fallon? Lucan? Quinn?”
Malcolm smiled. “I couldna begin to guess.”
“I pray what Camdyn told me is the truth. My kind has too much to lose to put our faith in men who aren’t the real MacLeods.”
“I agree. Yet, didn’t you tell me that Camdyn spoke of Deirdre being in a violent rage a month ago?”
“Aye. You think there is a connection to MacLeod’s being here?”
Malcolm shrugged a shoulder and maneuvered her to the side to allow a couple to pass by them. “Could be, Larena. You yourself said that Camdyn was surprised that so many Warriors had been leaving their hiding places. Where are they going, by the way?”
“Camdyn didn’t know. The MacLeods are the oldest Warriors and would be our best advantage for defeating Deirdre once and for all. The MacLeods escaped Deirdre and evaded her for over three hundred years. None have managed to do as they have.”
“You have told me that Camdyn rarely comes out of hiding for anything. The fact that he came to find you to tell you of the MacLeods says a lot.”
She nodded, recalling the Warrior. Camdyn MacKenna loathed crowded places almost as much as he hated Deirdre. “Anything that prodded him out of hiding is important. Apparently, the markings he found were vital enough that he waited around the castle in hopes of seeing me.”
“What did the markings say?”
“That a Warrior Camdyn called friend left his forest.” Larena, like all Warriors, could read the ancient Celtic language they used to speak with each other by markings on trees. She wished she could have seen the markings herself.
“Do you recall the name of this Warrior?”
Her brow furrowed as she thought for a moment. “Shaw? Aye, that’s the name. Galen Shaw. I’ve heard Camdyn speak of Galen before. He’s well respected.”
“But where are they going? Did Camdyn say?”
She shook her head. “Nay. Just that they were traveling north. I’m sure there are other markings to help point the way, but that was the only one Camdyn had seen.”
“Did he go to find Galen?”
“He did.”
Malcolm stopped her near a tall hedge. “Would you know the markings if you saw them?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve read them, but I could decipher them.”
“Then we should go look.”
She smiled at his exuberance. Always Malcolm was eager to help, eager to place his life in danger if it would hurry Deirdre’s death. But Larena wouldn’t allow him to jeopardize his existence. Malcolm had already defied his father’s wishes to remain with the clan in northeast Scotland to be with her.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin to look,” she said. “Camdyn didn’t tell me what forest, so it is a moot point.”
“And you wouldna let me come with you anyway.”
“Nay. You’re too important to the family.”
“To hell with them,” he ground out, his ja
w clenched.
Larena tightened her grip on his arm. “Cousin…”
“Don’t,” he warned. “Just don’t, Larena.”
But she had to remind him. He was endangering his future to make up for what his grandfather and great-grandfather had done to her. As soon as he’d learned she intended to go to Edinburgh Castle, Malcolm had decided to go with her. For protection, he’d said. She smiled every time she thought of that. If anything, she would be the one protecting him.
Larena glanced at the ground. “For whatever reason, I am what I am. Your great-grandfather and your grandfather made the decision to banish me from the Monroe clan. I don’t want the same for you. Already the clan distances themselves from you because of your involvement with me.”
“My father wouldn’t dare exile me, and I doona care what the rest of the clan does. As for my grandfather and great-grandfather, they were just resentful that the god chose you and not my grandfather.”
She winced, recalling the day the god had chosen her instead of Naill. Everything she had ever known and loved had changed in a blink, never to be the same.
“Maybe. As far as I know, there are no female Warriors.”
“Besides you,” Malcolm whispered.
She licked her lips and tried to find the words to help him understand. “It cost me my family and my clan, Malcolm. I don’t know how the other Warriors will treat me once they find out I am one of them.”
“You didn’t lose everything. You had Robena.”
Larena smiled at the mention of the old Druid who had unbound her god. “Robena was the only one not surprised to learn I was the Warrior and not your grandfather. She whisked me away from the clan and started my instruction immediately.”
“I used to watch you train.”
“I remember.” Larena smiled as she recalled the times she had let him think she didn’t know he watched. “You must have been only six or seven summers the first time I spotted you.”