Chapter 2
Broc strode to the inn and shouldered open the door. The force of the wind caused it to bang against the wall and had every head turning his way.
The few patrons scattered about the dining room watched him with mild curiosity, but the short, plump woman behind the counter let out a squeak before she ran to the door and closed it.
“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 seen hard times and lived through them. Now she ran the inn with an iron fist.
“Follow me to the chamber and you 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 slopped 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 the 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 meal 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.