Darkest Highlander (28 page)

“I’ve no’ been so fortunate. I do know what it is to long for something you cannot have. If you’ve wanted this thing and it’s now yours, why does that cause a problem?”

“There is a difference in craving something you know you cannot have, and having something you know you cannot keep.”

One side of Ramsey’s lips lifted in a smile as his silver eyes met Broc’s. “You would be wise to let Sonya make her own decisions, my friend.”

“What makes you think I speak of Sonya?”

Ramsey snorted. “I doona need magic to sense there is a bond between the two of you. All I have to do is look at you together.”

Broc sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. There was a bond between him and Sonya, a bond he had tried to ignore but couldn’t.

A bond that had grown stronger, steadier each moment they had been together.

A bond that could kill her thanks to his curse.

*   *   *

Deirdre’s gaze scanned the valley. Only two of her wyrran remained, but that wasn’t what infuriated her. What had raised her ire was that she hadn’t realized until after she had run away from the burial mound that power had been used.

It hadn’t been Druid magic. It had been the power of a Warrior.

There was only one Warrior who she knew could alter a person’s perception of their surroundings with such ease.

“Phelan,” she murmured.

His power was so great, she and her wyrran had thought they were being attacked by at least a dozen Warriors. Their claws had felt real as they scoured her skin, their roars loud to her ears.

It had been so authentic that most of her wyrran had died because of the wounds they believed had been inflicted upon them.

“Where are you hiding, Phelan? Do you watch me still?”

She knew the gold Warrior loathed her. He had sworn many times through the years that he would kill her. Is that what he had planned? Or had he been helping Broc?

Neither scenario was acceptable to Deirdre. Phelan was a prize she had kept to herself for many decades. Few knew of his existence. Not even Broc had known of the Warrior.

It hadn’t taken Deirdre long to determine it had been Isla who freed Phelan. Isla had never forgiven herself for deceiving the boy and taking him away from his family.

Deirdre wasn’t sure whom Phelan hated more: her or Isla.

She pushed aside thoughts of Phelan and strode toward the burial mound, the wyrran close at her heels. Deirdre looked to the wyrran on her left. “Open the door of the tomb.”

No sooner had the wyrran walked beneath the archway than it screamed and smoke billowed from inside.

“So the spells are as powerful as legend says,” Deirdre murmured to herself.

She sank onto the ground and spread the black skirts of her gown around her. If she wanted in the tomb, she needed to find someone else who could gain her entry.

Deirdre held her hands over the ground and called to her black magic. Words, long unheard, tumbled from her lips. Words of power, words of magic.

Her voice sank into the singsong chant of the ancient dialect. Magic, dark and potent rose up inside her, filling her.

Wind began to howl around her, lifting her long white hair. Thick, black clouds gathered overhead, darkening the skies, but she paid none of it any heed.

Her attention was on her magic. It poured from her hands as flames erupted before her. They shot high into the sky before lowering.

Deirdre smiled into the deep red flames as a face took form.

*   *   *

Broc rubbed his eye and shifted in his seat at one of the long tables in the great hall. He wore a new tunic of bright blue. He had no idea where it had come from, but when he had returned from his swim it, along with new breeches, had been laid on his bed.

He was sure Cara was most likely responsible. Lucan’s wife always made sure everyone had whatever clothes they wanted or needed at their disposal.

Broc ran his hands through his wet hair. He glanced at the top of the stairs, waiting to see Sonya. They hadn’t spoken of what had transpired between them. There had been no pretty words, no promises of the future.

“She’ll come,” Ramsey said from beside him.

Broc wanted to see Sonya with a need that bordered on obsessive. At the same time, he feared seeing her. He had enjoyed their time alone together. It had felt right, good.

Now, back at the castle, would they go back to trying their best not to ignore the passion which tied them together? It was for the best, but Broc wasn’t sure he could keep his hands off Sonya after having her for his own.

She was his calm in the storm that was his life.

Broc felt the strength, the sensuous touch of her magic a heartbeat before she came into sight. He lifted his eyes to her and sucked in a breath.

Her long flame curls were free of her braid. They hung in vibrant disarray down to her waist and over her shoulders to her breasts. The pale yellow gown only accentuated her hair and the amber color of her eyes.

Eyes that were locked on him.

Broc slowly rose to his feet as she descended the stairs. She said not a word to anyone as she walked down the opposite side of the table from Broc.

He expected her to stop and sit across from him. Her steps slowed as she neared, but she continued on to the head of the table. Once there, she looked around at the occupants, but her gaze returned to Broc.

He started toward her when she gave a barely discernible shake of her head. Broc didn’t like the pain that swept through him. So she wanted to pretend the intimacy they had shared had never happened. Maybe she knew the curse she had been so hasty to disregard was real and she wanted no part of Broc.

Broc looked away from her and sat. If that’s what she wanted, that was what he would give her.

For Sonya, he’d cut out his own heart.

THIRTY-ONE

Sonya saw Broc close himself off once again. She wanted to go to him, to tell him … she didn’t know what to tell him. She hadn’t had time to think of all that had happened between them, of everything that had changed.

And the things which hadn’t.

The entire time she had been with the other women they had asked her countless questions, questions she had refused to answer. Her mind had been in a whirl since returning to MacLeod Castle.

She and Broc had been trying so hard to get back, but now that they were, Sonya wanted to find the cave again. She wanted the closeness that had developed between her and Broc to grow.

Instead, she feared back at the castle it would be as if she and Broc had never been, as if the love she felt for him had only been a dream.

Sonya took in a deep breath and faced the Druids and Warriors she had called family. She owed them an explanation for leaving.

She looked to Broc for strength, but he refused to meet her gaze.

Sonya gripped the table for support and focused on Fallon, who sat at the other end of the table. “I know everyone has questions, and I will answer them. I left because … because sometimes that is the only option a person thinks they have.”

“Did someone do something to you?” Cara asked.

Sonya fought not to look at Broc. “As I told Fallon not too long ago, I feared that one day when my healing was needed most, it would abandon me.”

Galen’s dark blue eyes held a wealth of sadness. “You thought because you couldn’t save Reaghan, your healing magic had left.”

“I couldn’t heal her. She died, Galen.”

“But my magic saved me,” Reaghan said.

Sonya looked at the couple. Fate had brought Reaghan and Galen together, but it was love which kept them bound. She envied their bond. “All of what you say is true. What you do not know is that Braden was gravely injured just before then. I barely managed to heal him.”

“So,” Quinn said, “in your mind, your magic had failed.”

“Precisely. And then I saw Anice…”

Sonya couldn’t finish. She hadn’t mourned her sister as she should have. Anice had been blood family, but somewhere along their lives a vast chasm had separated them.

Fallon shoved aside his long, brown hair and leaned his elbows on the table. “As you’ve told us, Sonya, you cannot bring life to the dead. There was nothing you could do for Anice.”

“I know,” Sonya said. “I shouldn’t have left. You are my family now. Thank you for sending Broc to find me.”

“We didna send him,” Lucan said.

Sonya looked to Broc, but he had his head down, his shoulder length blond hair blocking his face from her. She lowered herself onto the seat and dragged in a ragged breath.

“Where did Broc find you?”

“He said you were injured. What happened?”

“Broc said you followed him to Cairn Toul.”

“Cairn Toul? You went in that evil place?”

“Did Deirdre see you?”

“What about this new artifact Deirdre is after?”

The questions came at Sonya at such a rapid succession that she didn’t know who asked what. She decided the best place was to start at the beginning.

Everyone grew quiet as she began her tale. She skipped over her time in the tomb, however. The only one who interrupted her was Broc when he filled in his parts of the story.

She was careful to leave out any hints that she and Broc had made love. It was Broc who ended their story with how he flew back to MacLeod Castle for Fallon.

“That’s quite an adventure,” Larena said. “To have gone into Cairn Toul for Broc took a lot of courage, Sonya.”

Sonya shrugged and touched the amulet which hung beneath her gown. “Anyone would have done it.”

“Knowing what awaited them in that mountain,” Ramsey said with his black brows raised. “I doubt it.”

“What happened while you were in the burial chamber?” Broc asked as he slowly raised his head to look at her.

Sonya swallowed hard. “I omitted that part of the story because I believe what I found inside the tomb will aid us.”

“How?” Marcail asked.

“It could be in combination with the artifacts or another way.”

Fallon gave a small nod. “Tell us what you found.”

“As Broc explained, there were weapons everywhere in the tomb. I had begun to look for one to use in case Deirdre somehow managed to get inside. I saw a sword held by the corpse and wanted a closer look.”

“Why?” Arran asked, curious as ever. “It was just a sword.”

“So I thought. Embedded atop the pommel was a garnet the size of a child’s fist. But that’s not what drew my interest. It was the intricate knot work of the Celts along the blade as well as more Gaelic markings.”

Broc clasped his hands together on the table. “She mentioned them to me as Fallon jumped us here. We can always return to the burial mound so the markings can be read.”

“There was something else,” Sonya said. “I saw something around the neck of the body. As soon as I saw it, I knew I was meant to take it.”

“Show me,” Broc urged.

Sonya pulled out the amulet and lifted the leather strap over her head. She then tossed the amulet to Broc.

He caught it in one hand and looked at it. “Connecting spirals.”

Galen, Fallon, and Broc shared a look. The amulet was passed from person to person before it made its way back to Sonya.

She ran her fingers over the spirals as she had done countless times since she first saw it. “The double spirals connected as they represent the equinoxes.”

“When the day and the night are of equal length,” Isla finished. “The equinoxes have always been potent days for a Druid,
mie
or
drough
, to use their magic.”

Broc’s head swiveled to her, his dark, sultry eyes studying her intently before he said, “Sonya will be the bearer of this amulet. She found it, and so it should be her right.”

There was a loud consensus as everyone agreed. Sonya slipped the amulet over her head and let the weight of the gold drop between her breasts.

“Broc,” Isla called. “You said there were Warriors who attacked Deirdre and her wyrran, making it easy for you to get away from the burial mound. Did you recognize any of the Warriors?”

Broc shook his head. “There were many locked in Deirdre’s dungeons, and many more who served her. Although I found it odd that there was one Warrior who stood atop the mound and watched.”

“What color was he?” Isla asked as she leaned forward, expectation and hope flaring in her ice blue eyes.

“Gold.”

“It was Phelan. He was there!”

Broc flatted his lips and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Isla. I had no idea.”

“When we returned to the mound, there was nothing,” Galen said. “No evidence of wyrran, Deirdre, or Warriors.”

Isla smiled sadly as Hayden put his arm around her shoulders. “Phelan’s power is that he can alter any surroundings to whatever he wants. There were no Warriors there, Broc. He only made you think there were.”

“And Deirdre,” Ramsey added. “She and her wyrran were fighting them.”

“Do you think Deirdre captured Phelan again?” Sonya asked.

Broc shook his head. “Nay. For whatever reason, Phelan helped us. We owe him a debt of thanks.”

“That we will repay soon,” Fallon stated. “Isla has asked us to find him.”

Broc grimaced. “I’ll find him, but I willna force him to come here. It will be his decision.”

“That is all I can ask,” Isla said and lowered her ice blue eyes.

A moment later Sonya and the other women rose to begin cooking supper. Broc tried not to watch Sonya, tried not to notice how her hips swayed as she walked, or how the ends of her hair brushed against the sides of her breasts.

He tried and failed.

The attraction Broc had always felt for Sonya had grown during their time alone. What it had grown into he wasn’t sure he could say, much less acknowledge. There were too many things standing in their way. His immortality was the largest.

As soon as the women disappeared into the kitchen, Fallon leaned forward. “We need to send someone to the Isle of Eigg to find this Tablet of Orn.”

“As curious as I am to find it, I’m no’ leaving Marcail,” Quinn said.

Lucan tugged on a braid at his temple, and smiled at his younger brother. “We would never ask you to. Marcail needs you, and we need Warriors who will stay behind to protect the Druids.”