Chapter 23
Deirdre hadn’t realized how difficult it would be for her to leave Cairn Toul. It had been centuries since the last time she had ventured from her mountain.
The day the MacLeods were destroyed, to be exact.
How she missed the cool, hard feel of the stones, how they spoke to her, calmed her. They gave her magic even more strength.
Now, with every step she traveled farther and farther from her home.
She lifted her chin and lengthened her stride. Her Warriors and wyrran were meant to carry out her orders and ensure her victory. The MacLeods and their allies had put an end to that.
Fury burned deep and true within her, fury at the MacLeods for daring to attack her and ruining all she had built. Soon, they would feel her wrath. They would know the full strength of her magic.
She would see each of the Warriors who had allied with the MacLeods punished. After much suffering they would be hers. Never again would a Warrior dare to think of opposing her by the time she was finished with them.
It hadn’t been an idle threat she had given Broc. She would torture and kill the Warriors, only to bring them back. No one, least of all a Warrior with a primeval god inside him, could withstand such evil.
The army she would build would be better and stronger, and more importantly, hers.
Her infatuation with Quinn had led to this. She knew that now. She had wanted the power of the MacLeods, to have all three brothers fighting for her instead of against her. She had thought she could convince Quinn to fulfill the prophecy and give her a child.
Then it would only be a matter of time before the other two brothers became hers. Instead, everything had fallen apart.
All because of Marcail.
Deirdre had never hated a Druid more. Marcail had ruined everything. Not even throwing the interfering bitch into the black flames had stopped whatever hold Marcail had on Quinn. It seemed only to fuel Quinn’s need to kill her.
And kill her they had. Only, Deirdre had put spells in place that ensured it took more than just physical harm to end her existence. She hadn’t given her soul to diabhul for nothing.
Deirdre paused and lifted her head as she heard the sound of water. She turned and started for the stream. Around her, twenty wyrran waited for her orders. They followed her blindly, just as her new Warriors would do.
If you can control the gods. You know you cannot let them have too much control.
She knew just how dangerous it was to allow the gods inside the Warriors full control. The stories of how the first Warriors had killed anything and everything once the Romans were driven from Britain’s shores were not ones she had forgotten.
The spell she used to unbind the gods was one which made certain the gods were able to demonstrate their power but didn’t overtake the men in doing so.
She hadn’t known this at first, but as she searched for the MacLeod Warriors, she had learned much about the original spell as well as the alternate one she had.
Some of the Warriors did give in to their gods. Quinn had been so close. He would have been difficult to restrain, like any who allowed their god control, but she could have done it.
Deirdre stopped next to the stream and knelt to put her hands in the icy water. She splashed some of the liquid on her face before cupping her hands for a drink.
When finished, she raised her head and looked toward Glencoe. She should reach it within a day or two. She knew Broc was already there.
She had underestimated him. A mistake she wouldn’t make again.
Deirdre blew out an annoyed breath and straightened. With a wave of her hand, she sent two wyrran ahead of her to keep watch on Broc. He wouldn’t escape her a second time.
“I wonder, my dark Warrior, if you have discovered just how many burial mounds there are,” she said with a smile.
She didn’t know exactly which mound held the artifact. But she had no doubt she would find it. Even if Broc happened to discover the mound before her, there were ways to ensure her victory.
Deirdre continued onward, her gaze focused ahead. A few wyrran stayed close to her while the others spread out to alert her to anything.
All those years Broc had spied on her. Had she been as overconfident as he had said? She should have known he would betray her. She should have realized what he was about.
But she had learned her lesson. The only one she could trust was herself. And her wyrran.
Deirdre smiled as she recalled how agitated Broc became when she had mentioned making herself appear as anyone he wished. There was a woman he cared for. But who?
“No doubt someone at MacLeod Castle.”
Which meant this woman was a Druid.
Deirdre threw back her head and laughed. “How utterly perfect,” she said as she petted the wyrran’s head closest to her.
The creature tipped its face back and made a sound of pleasure at the back of its throat.
“Aye, my darling,” Deirdre murmured. “I’m going to find whoever this woman is. Then, I’m going to make Broc watch as I kill her and take her magic.”
The wyrran smiled, showing its mouthful of teeth.
Deirdre couldn’t wait to find Broc and his woman.
Broc didn’t give Sonya a chance to argue as he took her in his arms and flew back to the cave.
“There is still light enough to keep looking,” she yelled over the beating of his wings.
“Nay, there isna. We’ve searched enough for today. Hopefully by the morn the mist and rain will be gone.”
He landed outside the cave and released her. Sonya’s lips were pinched as she strode inside to the dying embers of their fire.
Broc watched her. He understood her frustration. He felt it himself, but she had been out searching for hours in the mist and rain. She needed to rest.
“I'm going to find more wood and hunt,” he said.
She lifted a hand in acknowledgment but didn’t speak. Broc blew out a deep breath and flew away. He had to travel farther away than he wanted to find wood for the fire, but he was lucky enough to locate that as well as two pheasants.
By the time he returned to the cave, the sun had already sunk into the horizon. Broc dropped the birds at the entrance to the cave and walked to the fire.
“You must have traveled out of the area in order to find dry wood,” Sonya said.
Broc grinned and jerked his chin to his wings. “They do come in handy.”
“Aye, they certainly do.” She smiled and dusted off her hands as she stood.
He built the fire up again and observed as she cleaned the pheasants. Broc loved to watch Sonya. Everything she did was poised and purposeful.
She glanced up and grinned. “You look bored.”
“No’ at all.” And he meant it. He shouldn’t get such pleasure from watching her do such a menial job. But he did.
She laughed and shook her head. “With that lopsided grin, I think I believe you.”
He hadn’t even realized he was smiling. It brought to mind the realization that as often as he had studied Sonya throughout the years, and as much as he claimed to know her, he didn’t know as much as he would like.
“Were you happy with the Druids?”
She cocked her head to the side at his question. “What?”
“The times I saw you, you looked happy. Yet I know there were long periods I didn’t look in on you.”
She finished with the second bird and took one in each hand as she strode to the fire. “I was happy. The Druids never mistreated us. Though I knew they weren’t my real family, they cared for us as if they were.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” He had often worried about the girls.
“Just how often did you spy on me?”
He frowned at her words. "I wouldna call it spying.”
“What was it then?” she asked with a grin.
Broc took the birds and set them over the fire to cook. “I’d call it assessing.”
Her bark of laughter caused him to chuckle as he leaned back on one hand while he rested his other arm on his bent knee.
“Assessing, was it?” Sonya asked. "So how often?”
His smile faded as he thought of all the times the darkness had threatened to consume him, how easy it would have been to forget who he was and give in to Deirdre. “Whenever I needed to remember who I was.”
“You put yourself in a situation which helped to fight Deirdre. It proves how strong you are that you survived.”
The only reason he hadn’t submitted to Deirdre was because of Sonya. How he wanted to tell her the truth. It had begun because of his pledge to the girls.
He had vowed to make sure they were safe. He had kept to that vow by looking in on them from time to time. Whereas Anice had been content to be by herself, Sonya had been vivacious and so alive surrounded by others. Anice had faded into the background while Sonya shone as bright as the sun.
Broc sometimes forgot how quickly time could move when he was stuck in Cairn Tout. There were times Deirdre didn’t allow him to leave, as if she knew he had a secret.
There was one occasion he had seen Sonya as a girl of six summers, laughing with her red curls streaming behind her as she ran through the forest. Then the next time he saw her she was much older, her body already showing the curves of womanhood.
That’s when everything had changed for him. No longer could he look at Sonya and think of her as his ward. Lust had flared strong and true.
Every time Broc returned to Cairn Toul after seeing Sonya, he would think of her when things became too dismal, when he began to forget who he was and who he was supposed to be spying upon.
“Broc?”
He jerked and raised his gaze from the flames. He hadn’t realized how lost in thought he had become. “My apologies.”
“You are free of her now.”
“I doona think I will ever be free of Deirdre until she is well and truly gone. There will always be a part of me that is in her damned mountain, a part of me that knows I must make amends for the things I've done.”
Sonya moved to kneel in front of him and took his hand in hers. His heart missed a beat as she freely touched him. He had made it a point in Cairn Toul not to touch anyone he didn’t have to, nor did he wish to be touched by anyone in the mountain. Least of all Deirdre.
But Sonya’s touch was ... wonderful. She caressed up and down the length of his fingers before she lifted her gaze to meet his.
“You have atoned for any deeds you think you need absolution for by standing with the MacLeods.”
“If only it were that simple.”
“Then let me make it easy,” she whispered and leaned toward him.
The first touch of her lips sent a rush of driving need straight through him. He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss as he slowly fell backward, taking her with him.
Her lips were as soft as silk and tasted as good as sin. Broc let his hands glide up and down her back, over her buttocks and along her hips, to the indentation of her waist.
He claimed her breast with his hand and gently squeezed. Her moan filled his ears and urged him onward as her fingers tightened in his hair.
The taut bud of her nipple pressed into his palm through her gown. He wanted to rip the clothes off her and feast upon her breasts and have her screaming his name as he thrust inside her.
His claws began to lengthen just thinking about it. And before he knew it, the tip of one had already cut the material at her neck.
Broc instantly ended the kiss before he hurt her. He’d never forgive himself if he did.
She blinked down at him and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. She then took his hand and put a finger where his claw had ripped her gown.
“You will not hurt me, Broc. Do not hold back. Please.”
Her words tore through his mind, and his god bellowed inside him, urging Broc to take Sonya again, to devour her as he so desperately wanted to. The need to flip her onto her back and show her how effortless it would be for him to let go of everything.
But did he dare?
He would be giving a part of himself to Sonya he bad never given anyone before.
A part of the man he had once been.