Chapter 4
Malcolm Monroe stood silently as he stared at the road before him. It was well worn by carts and horses and people making their way between the mountains.
It was also the path home.
Malcolm blew out a breath and wondered why he didn’t feel so sad that he could never return to his clan. It wasn’t just because his arm was ruined and useless. He could still use his left arm to lift a sword, not that it would make a difference to his clan.
A laird had to be fit. He had to be whole. And Malcolm most certainly wasn’t whole anymore. Thanks to Deirdre.
It wasn’t just his arm or the vicious scars on his face and chest. How could he return to a world where there was no magic or Warriors?
How could he return to his home and forget his cousin was the lone female Warrior and could turn invisible?
How could he return to his clan and forget he had seen Druids and watched them do unimaginable, beautiful magic?
The simple answer was that he couldn’t.
Nor could he stay at MacLeod Castle. He needed to make a life for himself. Somewhere. He just wasn’t sure where or how just yet.
Malcolm was sure it would come to him soon enough. Until then, he would wander the majestic mountains of Scotland’s Highlands and let the land soak into his soul.
He would be alone, but it was for the best. He held too much darkness and resentment inside him to be good company for anyone—even the moody Warriors at the castle.
Malcolm turned away from the road and looked at the mountain on his left. There were many villages and clans hidden in the mountains. Maybe it was time he found them.
He adjusted the sporran around his waist, which held his few coins. His sword now rested on his right hip to make it easier to grab with his left hand. Much in his life had changed, and he was trying to adjust to all of it.
Larena, his dear cousin, worried too much. She was married now and needed all her concentration on defeating Deirdre. Larena couldn’t do that as long as he was at MacLeod Castle reminding her that he was mortal. He couldn’t fight with the Warriors, nor would be go with the women to hide.
So, he had left.
Malcolm knew he should have said farewell, but everyone would have only tried to convince him to stay. He had given his departure a lot of thought, and it was the only way. For him, it was the only answer that made sense.
He tried to flex his ruined hand, but as usual only got a small twitch of his fingers. He could lift his right arm, but not without tremendous pain that only grew worse each day.
Deirdre’s Warriors who had attacked him had certainly done their job. If only Broc hadn’t stopped them, Malcolm would be dead instead of living as half a man.
As a Highlander, half a man wasn't acceptable. Still, it wasn’t as if Malcolm had given up on living. He planned to continue on, just not alongside immortal Warriors and magical Druids where he was way.
Malcolm inhaled deeply and started up the incline of the mountain. What lay on the other side he didn’t know. It was something unknown, and for now, that kept him going, kept his mind from the fact that he could use only one arm.
For now, it was enough.
With her belly full of tasty broth, Sonya let her mind drift as she soaked in the hot water of her bath. Her injured hand rested on the rim of the wooden tub, her head against the back.
The water was doing wonders to ease the aches of her body. Too bad it couldn’t heal her wounded heart as effortlessly.
Sonya sat up and reached for the soap. It was going to be difficult to wash with just one hand, but she would make do. Broc would leave her alone for only so long.
She bathed her body easily enough, but it was her hair which took the most time to lather and rinse. Sonya was exhausted by the time her hair was clean once more.
The water was now tepid, and if not for the fire, she would be thoroughly chilled. She reached for the drying cloth and tried to stand. Her injured arm slipped on the side and plunged into the water.
“Damn,” she mumbled as she looked at the now soaked bandages.
With the drying cloth once more in her hand and again on her feet, Sonya began to dry herself. Water dripped from the ends of her hair and onto the backs of her legs, sending chills racing over her skin.
She hadn’t realized that she had become so weak that something as simple as giving herself a bath could tire her to the point that she was about to collapse.
The end of the drying cloth fell into the water. Sonya hastily jerked it out and realized she needed to get out of the tub in order to finish. It was such a simple task, stepping out of the wooden tub. Yet, it seemed an impossible feat.
Already her legs shook from the few moments she’d been standing. She was filled with anger at her magic leaving her, putting her in this position.
The Druids who had hidden her and Anice had cautioned them not to take their magic for granted. Sonya hadn’t bothered to listen to them. After all, once a Druid was born, the magic would always be with them.
What a fool she had been.
Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She could get out of the tub without falling. She would get out without falling.
Sonya took a deep breath and lifted one foot over the rim of the tub. She placed it on the floor, her legs shaking, but she continued to stand.
After a moment’s hesitation, Sonya lifted the second leg. Her foot hit the side of the tub, and she overbalanced trying to keep upright. She began to fall backward when strong arms enveloped her.
“Sonya?”
She let out a breath when she heard Broc’s voice. His deep, sensual, all-too-beautiful voice in her ear. “I fell.”
“I saw that.”
Was it her imagination or did his voice shake? And that’s when she realized she was naked except for the drying cloth she held against her front.
Broc’s warm breath fanned her neck, his breaths coming harsh and shallow. She stayed as she was, afraid to move and afraid not to. She hated how she liked being in his arms. She hated that he felt nothing for her while her body went into a whirlwind of longing and desire anytime he was near.
His hand shifted slightly. Sonya sucked in a mouthful of air, her blood heating with the feel of his beneath her breast. Her head was against his chest, the cloth of his breeches rubbing against her bare legs and bottom.
Chills of a different kind raced over her body then. How she had longed to be in Broc’s arms in such a fashion. To see his eyes filled with desire for her. To know his kiss, his touch. His body.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
Sonya’s mouth was dry, her heart drumming in her ears. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the hard sinew of his chest behind her, the strong arms around her. “I’m chilled.”
That’s all it took to put him in motion. One moment she was leaning against him, and the next she had a blanket around her shoulders as he took her cloth and dried off her legs.
“Better?” he asked as he stood in front of her.
She nodded, afraid to look into his eyes lest he see the desire his small touch had brought her.
The bed seemed a league away, and she would have to walk around Broc to get to the chairs, neither of which she could do on the strength rapidly leaving her body. So, Sonya lowered herself as gracefully as she could before the fire.
“Cara packed this for you.”
Sonya looked up to find Broc holding her comb. The mention of Cara, who was like a sister, made Sonya’s heart ache. Every woman at the castle, Druid or not, was like a sister to her. Each had been more of a sister than Anice.
Anice had always been concerned with wherever her mind hat taken her from day to day. Some days she was coherent. Other days, not at all. Because of Anice’s affliction, they had never been close.
The women at MacLeod Castle—Cara, Larena, Marcail, Isla and Reaghan—were her true sisters in every sense of the word. And she had left without a word to them.
“Thank you,” she said, and took her favorite comb. She began to try and brush through the vast tangles, but it would take hours, and Sonya simply didn’t have the strength.
She set the comb aside and stared into the orange flames of the fire. It was Broc’s gentle touch on her injured hand which drew her gaze.
“You weren’t supposed to get the bandages wet,” he said with a small grin. “Jean will no’ be happy.”
Sonya watched as he tenderly unwrapped her bandages before tossing them into the fire. There was a hiss before the flames engulfed the material. A moment later, fresh bandages covered her wound.
“My hand slipped while I tried to stand,” she explained.
“I knew I should have stayed to help you. You’re still weak from lack of food and the fever.”
Sonya nodded, knowing he was right. She deserved the irritation she heard in his voice. She had been reckless, something she had never been in her life. Even now, she couldn’t explain why she had left the castle.
Her world had tilted, the anchor that kept her doing as she must snapping when she had seen Broc holding Anice. The savage grief etched on his face would forever be in her memory. Just thinking of it made her turn away from him.
“There’s another gown and underclothes for you in my satchel,” Broc said.
Sonya heard movement but didn’t turn to see he was doing. Then she felt a soft tug on her hair as a comb was pulled through the strands.
“Everyone is worried about you,” he continued. “We searched everywhere before I left to find you.”
Sonya knew he wanted some sort of explanation. He deserved one, as did everyone at the castle. She just didn’t know if she could give it to him yet.
“I wasn’t sure what to pack for you. Cara, Isla, and Larena took care of most of it. If you doona have what you need, I’ve coin.”
Each time he came to a lump of knotted hair, he would take his time and slowly work it free. Not once did he pull her hair. The slow, even strokes began to lull her, as did the warmth of the fire and blanket around her.
“Anice is buried in the forest behind the convent ruins.”
Sonya blinked to hide the rush of tears. “I didn’t look for her after the battle. I assumed she was safe in the castle. I should have looked for her.”
“Too many Druids lost their lives that day. I’m sorry I wasna able to save them all.”
“You did what you could. We all did.”
He blew out a breath as his fingers moved her wet hair away from her ear. “You weren’t the only one to run away.”
“Malcolm.” It wasn’t much of a guess. Sonya had feared he would leave one day. It made sense that he would do it while everyone was occupied with the battle.
“Aye.”
Sonya tugged at the end of the blanket. “He didn’t think he could help in the battle, and he didn’t want to hide with the women.”
“Larena wants me to look for him once I return with you.”
Sonya turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Malcolm left because he no longer wants to remain at MacLeod Castle. You cannot force him to return.”
“Him? Nay. You? That’s a different matter entirely. You are a Druid, and if Deirdre learns you are no’ protected at the castle anymore, she will come for you.”
She was unable to continue to look into Broc’s brown eyes. They were such a deep, rich brown that hid so many secrets. She had once thought she might be able to get him to share some of those secrets.
But everything she had thought she knew of Broc was wrong.
Sonya turned back to the fire and licked her lips. “I warned Larena that Malcolm might leave. She thought for sure he would stay.”
“Did Malcolm ever mention where he might go?”
“He didn’t say much of anything to anyone. Deirdre’s attack scarred more than just his body. His soul is shattered.”
“Aye,” Broc said softly. “I know.”
She had forgotten that Broc was the one who found Malcolm as well as the one who fought off the Warriors to save him. “You risked much in helping him.”
“Nothing more than anyone else fighting against Deirdre. I only wish I could have gotten to Malcolm sooner.
It was something in his voice, some dark emotion, that made Sonya turn to him. “What did you see?”
Broc wouldn’t look into her face. “You doona realize what it was like living in Deirdre’s mountain. She wanted the Warriors to be animals, to act like animals. That’s what I found when I saw the Warriors attacking Malcolm. They were about to rip him apart. It sickened me.”
“But you saved him. You brought him to the castle so he could be healed.”
Broc’s eyes lifted to hers. “I brought him to you. The only one I knew could help him.”