Page 1 of Highland Warrior
Chapter 1
Badb:
“Sacred hate and ancient ire,
By the wind, water, and fire.
Reach through the souls now owned by me
And pluck the one who shall be freed.
A maiden fair, a beauty bold,
To ensnare a heart so cold.
She’ll force a King to his knees,
And bring him to be ruled by me.”
Wyrd Sisters:
“As we will, so mote it be!”
The Highland cave became as still as a tomb, and even the Wyrd sisters held their collective breath until one small bare foot stepped out of the nether, followed by a shapely calf, long, sensuous thighs, and a body that would have melted the hearts of the stoutest warriors.
Pale, luminous skin glowed in the light of the nether, illuminating eyes the color of amethysts and hair as dark as midnight.
“Mistress,” the shade spoke, running elegant fingers along her bare flesh as though she couldn’t believe what she felt. “What is your will?”
“Malcolm de Moray,” Badb spat the name. “Bring him back to me, I haven’t finished with him yet.”
“Once we have the Druid King along with the Grimoire, the others will follow,” Nemain drawled. “And since we are without Macha now, we’ll need a third body to absorb the Magick we will claim from them.”
That caught the shade’s attention. “Me?” she asked hoarsely.
“Unless you’d like to spend another century in the nether.”
“Nay,” the ebony-haired maiden stepped forward. “Nay, I’ll do whatever you ask. Just don’t send me back there.”
“Seduce him,” Nemain ordered, stepping to the woman and running fingers through her thick hair. “Cripple him with lust and weaken him with pleasure.”
Badb cackled at the idea. “Get him to trust you. Then his heart will be open and vulnerable for us to take. Then you’ll say these words when he is at the peak of his pleasure, and all the power that is his, will be yours.” She handed the shade a parchment with an ancient curse written upon it.
“Thatis when we’ll strike.” Nemain pulled a tattered, charcoal robe from her own shoulders and draped it across the shade. “A damsel in distress, I think, is just the tactic to disarm the King.”
Badb spit into the cauldron she’d been stirring, and it hissed. “He’ll be sorry he ever crossed us,” she snarled.
Nemain smiled, her amber gaze gliding down the new woman’s curves. “And sorrier still, that he ever laid eyes on you.”
* * *
Malcolm de Moray’sgrowl of frustration echoed off the stone wall of his laboratory. The looking glass he hurled shattered against it a scant second later.
By what ancient Magick had the Wyrd Sisters hidden the Grimoire from him? Fromhim! The most powerful Earth Druid to be seen in a handful of centuries. The last potent male of his kind. The King of the fucking Picts. And he couldn’t get a simple scrying spell to work.
His enemies were close, he knew it. The trees shuddered at their evil, and the fields swayed with whispers of sightings, but nothing tangible.
He’d be damned if he sat with his cock in hand and waited for them to strike. Nay, he’d find the vicious bitches and send them to hell where they belonged.
