Page 12 of Highland Warrior
“Aye,” Malcolm answered, the mantle of obligation again beginning to weigh upon his shoulders.
“So, it’s really true… You’re King of the Picts.” She said this as though the fact disappointed her, somehow, and that endeared her to him all the more.
Most women of his acquaintance chased him with the vigor of a pack of wolves. His crown being the prize rather than his heart. “Do ye think ye could take to being my Queen?”
“That remains to be seen,” she whispered, and pressed her cheek to his back. “Why would you want me? I know naught of your world. I have no family. I’m nobody… nothing.”
The forlorn words were made all the more bleak by her tone. She truly believed that about herself, which was a tragedy, and he planned to spend the rest of his life changing her mind.
“To me, ye’re everything,” he insisted, hoping she could hear the raw truth in his tone.
“How can that be? You don’t know a thing about me. I don’t know a thing about you. We’ve only just met.”
A wise and careful woman, his lass. He liked that. “I know that ye’re practical and resilient, which I appreciate. Ye know what ye want, and ye go after it.” He was glad she couldn’t see his lips twitch with the memory of how she’d persuaded him into her bed.
Not that it took much persuading.
“I know that ye’re proud and lonely and that ye carry around a painful secret that ye doona want to share with anyone, least of all me.”
Her gasp was audible. “How do you—what makes you think that?”
“I’m more perceptive than yer average man, lass,” he tossed her a smile over his shoulder as they began to descend the hill into Moray Valley. “And we all have secrets.”
“What are yours?” she asked after a pause.
Malcolm considered putting her off, perhaps until they knew each other better, but something about the open vulnerability in her question pushed him to answer her.
“When my father was killed, everyone thought I was in exile while Macbeth ruled, but in truth, I was in the hands of my enemies.”
“The English?” she asked.
“Nay. Druids. Dark Druids. Women who have taken the powers of the Goddess and twisted them for their own evil purposes.”
Vían was quiet behind him. Offering no words of sympathy, no empty platitudes, and somehow that prompted him to continue.
“I had no concept of time when I was in their clutches. They held me for months, but it felt like an eternity…” His hands tightened on his reins as the memories washed over him, spilling chill bumps over his flesh. “The worst of it is, I would have been able to break any chains wrought of iron or prison of stone, but… they didna imprison my body, they invaded my mind, held it captive with their black Magick.”
Vían’s arms tightened around his middle, offering him more comfort than any words.
“They tried to rip me from myself. To bring me to their side. And when they failed to do that, they used… terrible means to trick me into giving up my Druid powers to them.”
“Obviously, they failed,” she offered, her voice tighter than he’d yet heard it.
“Aye,” he ground out. “But their attempts they… changed me… and not for the better.” Bit by bit, Malcolm had felt his heart grow colder, his thoughts more bitter. He’d nearly lost himself in that place, in his own head, and the abyss he found within frightened him more than any physical pain he could imagine.
Even more than death.
“You ask me why I’m taking ye home,” he murmured, placing a hand over the soft arms banded about his waist. “It’s because when I’m with ye, I feel like myself for the first time in ages, and that is the most precious gift anyone could give.”
Her breath had sped behind him, and she gave a few suspiciously rapid sniffs. It melted his heart that she was touched on his behalf. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll come for you again?”
“They will,” he shrugged. “They already have. But we’re all stronger with someone by our sides to remind us what we’re fighting for. I see that now.” He cast another look at Bael and Morgana, who were locked in a conversation of their own a ways off.
“You… know what they’re after?” she asked.
Malcolm realized that this was a lot for a wee lass to take in, and that he’d likely just gave her cause to fear for her life. The best thing he knew to combat fear was information.
“There is a prophecy in the de Moray Grimoire that says that when four elemental de Moray Druids cast behind one gate, they are fated to bring about the Apocalypse,” he explained. “We are only three. My sister, Morgana, my cousin, Kenna, and I. As long as one of us are behind castle grounds, we are able to ward them off, for now. ‘Tis why Kenna didna join the search for me, I expect.”
