Chapter 21
Phelan Stewart stood atop the hill and gazed out at the tall grass over the rolling landscape. He had no idea where he was.
And he didn’t care.
Behind and to the side of him were the majestic mountains, with peaks arching to the clouds. He had explored only a portion of the mountains so far. Yet, he planned to climb each one. After all, he had eternity stretching before him.
A lengthy, leisurely, and, he was sure, lonesome expanse of years.
Phelan raised his head to the sky and closed his eyes against the onslaught of rain. He had almost forgotten what the rain felt like after one hundred and fifty years in Deirdre’s mountain as her prisoner. Not counting the score of years she’d held him until she released his god.
The rain came down at a steady pace, enveloping the world in gray. The wind cut across the valley, causing the grass to sway and bend to its will.
He loved the feel of the elements on his skin, no matter how harsh they were.
Ever since Phelan had left Cairn Toul, he had been walking. So many years he’d been locked away in that dark mountain with Deirdre taking his blood and keeping him chained. It had been the cruelest torture.
But she had freed his god, and with his god was a power he had learned quickly to use. He had shown Isla his power by turning his prison into a sun-drenched day in the Highlands. How many times had he used his power to chase away the darkness and gloom of that cursed mountain?
So many times, but his power had been the only thing that had kept him from going insane.
He had missed the wind ruffling his hair and the rain upon his face. He had missed the smell of the heather and the way the sun and clouds would cast shadows over the mountains. He had missed the first snow of winter and the first sprouts of green in the spring.
If he could envision it, his power could create it. It was believable enough. But Phelan had known the truth. There was nothing like the feel of the real sun upon his skin or the sight of a full moon hanging low in the sky.
Isla had cautioned him that the world had changed in the years he had been held prisoner. He hadn’t believed her. After all, she was the one who had lied to him as a lad. She was the one who had brought him to Cairn Toul to be kept there, locked away and tormented until he reached manhood.
Then Deirdre had unbound his god.
After that, he was chained, never to leave the hated cavern.
Isla did free you.
Phelan grimaced. She had freed him, and at a grave cost to herself. She had been dying. Her wounds were severe and she had lost a terrible amount of blood. But she had ventured down to his prison, down all those stairs to release him.
He supposed there was no use hating her anymore. She was dead. It was his loathing of her which kept him fighting Deirdre’s pull. His need to exact his vengeance on Isla for taking him from his home and family had kept his mind from giving in to Deirdre’s constant rhetoric to ally with her.
Phelan blew out a breath. It was all over now. Deirdre was gone. Isla was dead.
And he was learning of this new world.
He took in a deep breath and looked forward. There was a future out there waiting for him. He just needed to find it.
As Phelan started forward, the distinctive feel of magic washed over him. Druid magic. He froze, his god bellowing furiously inside him.
If there was one thing he had learned, it was that no Druid could be trusted. He swiftly lowered himself to his belly and looked around to locate the Druids.
He would keep his distance from them, but he had no qualms about killing them if he had to. They were evil and needed to be destroyed.
Phelan’s gaze turned to the mountain on his right. There. A Druid was there. He could feel her magic, feel the weight of it around him, suffocating him.
He was contemplating his course when Phelan saw the indigo Warrior walk to the cave’s entrance. He had wings which towered over his head.
Few mortals knew Warriors existed, so the fact this one stood in his Warrior form for anyone to see stunned Phelan. A moment later a female came to stand beside the Warrior. She was wrapped in a tartan, her flame-colored hair falling over her shoulders.
Phelan watched in amazement as the Warrior turned to the Druid and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. The Druid leaned her head against the Warrior’s dark blue hand.
There were no words, just a long look that passed between the two before the Warrior turned and spread his wings as he leapt into the air.
Phelan took a moment to watch the Warrior fly before he jumped to his feet and rushed to hide behind a group of small boulders.
The Warrior was looking for something, but what? More importantly, what was the Warrior doing with a Druid?
Phelan wanted to find out. He could get the Warrior’s attention, but how did he know the Warrior wasn’t in league with Deirdre?
It was better to keep moving, to keep to himself. Never again would he allow himself to be captured. The world was a cruel, vicious place. Except now, he could defend himself. And he would do it without hesitation.
As for the Druid ... Phelan looked to the cave entrance, but the Druid was no longer there. He needed to get moving. He’d already spent too much time watching the couple.
Phelan didn’t look back as he scrambled over the rocky terrain and up the mountain to the future that called to him. A future without Druids, torture, or dark, dank prisons.
Sonya watched Broc fly away before she returned to the fire. They had only half an oatcake left, which he had demanded she eat, with the promise that he would return with food.
She smiled as she thought of what they had shared, of the few hours that had been theirs. On her lips was a smile she couldn’t wipe away. Being with Broc had been wonderful. Amazing. Astonishing.
Just thinking of how his hot, hard body had felt against hers caused Sonya to sigh in pleasure. The way his hands had caressed her, branded her left her with an ache she knew only Broc could quench.
He was simply all she wanted. All she would ever need.
Yet, she had seen the hesitation in his eyes. He might have shared a part of his past with her, but it was a small part. Whatever dark secrets he kept plagued him in ways Sonya couldn’t begin to imagine.
Broc doubted himself, but she didn’t. She had seen for herself the kind of man he was. And if it took her the rest of her life, however long that might be, she would prove it to him.
Sonya adjusted the tartan and looked about the cave. It was only a little past midday, but the rain had kept them inside.
They had spoken little since they had made love. Sonya wasn’t sure what there was to say. She and Broc were worlds apart.
It wasn’t as though Sonya expected anything from him. They didn’t have to worry over a pregnancy either since she used a spell to prevent it. She had gotten what she wanted. Him. For those precious hours they had been the only two people in the world. He had made her feel special and beautiful.
Her body felt different, as if it had awakened after years of slumber.
A slow smile pulled at Sonya’s lips. Aye, Broc had certainly awakened her. She knew she loved his touch, but she hadn’t expected to crave it as she did now. Or hunger for his body against hers.
Sonya absently rubbed her left palm where her wound had been. Her mind was occupied with thoughts of Broc and how he had kissed and touched her body. So, it took a moment for her to realize her magic had healed her completely, leaving not a trace of a scar.
Her magic wasn’t as strong as it once was. It didn’t fill her, infuse her as it had in the past. She had thought to never feel it again, so just knowing it was there, sensing to make her feel better.
She had doubted herself ever since she had been unable to help Reaghan as Galen had asked. Yet, how could she help her fellow Druids with the measly amount of magic she had?
It’s better than having none.
But how much did she have? Her healing took more time than it used to. What about the trees? Could she still communicate with them?
Sonya hurried to change and went to the cave’s entrance. She strained to hear the whispers of the trees. There were few around her, but still she tried.
Heaviness weighed upon her heart when she heard nothing, but she cast it aside. Until she stood in a forest and didn’t hear the trees she would hold out hope.
After all, the wounds on her hands were completely healed.
Her magic had done that. Without her having to command to do it.
She couldn’t wait to tell Broc. He had told her she still had her magic. Maybe it had just been her own doubt which began to decline her magic.
If she was going to help Broc or anyone else in their fight against Deirdre, then Sonya had to trust herself. It was going to be difficult, but as long as Broc believed in her, she knew she could face anything.
As she stood at the mouth of the cave, the rain began to pour again. She could see the mist descend from the mountains and blanket everything. It would make it that much more difficult for Broc to see the mound.
If he was able to see anything at all.
Sonya returned to the fire and added another few pieces of wood. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm herself. Her gown wasn't completely dry, and with the dampness of the cave and the storm, a chill settled in her bones.
She curled up on the tartan and let the heat of the fire lull her.
Broc cursed and cursed again as he flew over more mist. The damned mist had descended as quickly as the rain, and it was everywhere.
Even with his enhanced eyesight, he couldn’t see through the haze. Instead, he had focused on finding food, which he now carried back to Sonya.
He landed outside the cave and used his claws to skin the hare. Broc had expected Sonya to greet him as soon as he landed. He’d found it nearly impossible to concentrate on finding the burial mound when all he could think about was Sonya and her stunning body.
A body which had been under him, opening for him just hours ago.
Broc wanted her again. That instant. He had always known taking her body would make him only crave her more. The fact that she had gifted him with her innocence only added fuel to his need to make sure no other man touched her. Ever.
How will you do that with the curse?
Broc didn’t want to think about the curse. Yet, it wouldn’t leave his mind. He clenched his jaw and finished with the rabbit. Then he stood and shook off as much of the rain as he could before he pushed his god down.
When he walked into the cave his gaze sought out—and found—Sonya. She was asleep on her side, an arm curled beneath her head.
He didn’t wake her as he set the hare up to roast over the fire. Once that chore was done, he sat back and watched her, watched how the glow of the flames danced over her skin and hair.
For once, she had left her hair unbound.
Hair he longed to run his fingers through.
The thick, untamed curls were at odds with the woman who attempted to keep everything in order.
If only she would understand that she couldn’t keep life as tidy as she wanted.
Then she might see herself as Broc saw her.
Wild. Wanton.
His.
Broc ran a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t surprised he now thought of her as his. He had taken her. Left his mark on her body. It might not be a mark anyone could see, but Broc knew it. And Sonya knew it.
He had kept his distance from her, never let himself think of her as anything other than someone to watch over.
He should have known that couldn’t last.
Not when someone so lovely and alluring tempted him beyond measure. It was wrong to hunger for her as he did, not after the life he had led and the atrocities he hadn’t stopped Deirdre from committing.
There would be no forgiveness. Broc would have to live with the things he had done. And those he hadn’t.
It was one of the reasons he fought alongside the MacLeods now. It was his way of trying to atone for some of his sins. The rest... the rest he would carry all the days of his life.
Sonya’s eyes opened and met his gaze. She smiled, her face softening. “You’ve returned.”
“Aye. With food, as I promised.”
She inhaled and rolled to her back. “It smells delicious.”
Broc fisted his hands as he watched her back arch and her breasts push into the air as she stretched. She yawned and used her hand to help herself sit up.
“You didn’t find the mound, did you?”
He shook his head and grimaced. “The mist didna help. If I didna know how temperamental the weather in this region was, I’d say Deirdre had something to do with it.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time she interfered.”
“She will interfere this time. Never think for an instant that she willna. However, I doona think she’ll do it until she arrives. It’s why we need to find the mound and be gone before then.”
Not to mention Deirdre now knew there was someone important in his life. It wouldn’t take Deirdre long to realize that someone was Sonya. Deirdre’s arrival would only spur the curse into action.
Sonya had been lucky to be shielded from the things Deirdre had done, and he wanted it kept that way. Sonya didn’t know what Deirdre looked like. Which was fine with Broc. There were enough of them who knew Deirdre entirely too well.
“What are you thinking?” Sonya asked.
“I’m thinking we need the mist to clear,” he lied. “I had hoped by this afternoon we could begin our search again.”
“So, we go out in the mist.”
Broc scowled and poked at the fire with his stick “You doona know the terrain, Sonya. I’ll no’ risk it.”
“It’s my risk. We have to find it, don’t we? The longer we wait, the more time we give Deirdre to arrive.”
He hated that she was right. Hated more that he couldn’t stop her if he tried.
But that’s what drew him to Sonya. Her passion and her desire to do whatever was necessary in order to defeat Deirdre.
Broc just prayed they would find the tomb soon.