Page 22 of Highland Warrior
The time it took for him to draw his next breath felt like an eternity. Through the wall of flame, he could see Kenna twitching, her eyes beginning to flutter closed. His heart bled just as much as her body did, but he knew what would happen to her soul if she were lost.
She’d be taken to the Other World to wait until she was reunited with her mate.
Vían would be locked in a prison that not even Death could breach to set her free.
He couldn’t let that happen.
A silent look passed between the horsemen, and then Death nodded. “Your descendants will pay the price, Druid King,” he predicted, nudging his horse forward and up the stairs of Dun Moray.
Even Malcolm stepped out of his way as the harbinger of the Apocalypse swooped down and scooped up a spitting, cursing Crone before disappearing in a swirl of dark mist.
Bael used the distraction to leap through the flames, singing his dark hair, and beheading Nemain with a speed almost undetectable by the human eye.
Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed.
And then Vían stood in the center of the courtyard, naked and trembling, her face wet with the evidence of her grief, and her beautiful eyes wide with disbelieving astonishment.
Malcolm was only dimly aware of the fire disappearing. Of Morgana rushing for Kenna. Of the three remaining Horsemen turning and disappearing into the shadows.
He could see nothing but her eyes. Those lovely irises such an unnatural shade of blue, they seemed purple. The color of Scottish heather in bloom. The color of Pictish royalty.
The color painted on his heart.
“Malcolm?”
His name on her lips was the most beautiful melody he’d ever heard. It was better than rustling leaves, waving grasses, or shifting stones.
Her legs gave with a sob as she collapsed to her knees.
Malcolm flew down the steps, and seized her. Reminding himself to be gentle as he pulled her back to her feet and into his arms. The last time his hands had been on her, he’d been punishing, but never again.
“You came for me,” she whispered against his neck. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”
Dreams never felt like this.
“I’d have crawled into hell to come for ye,” he said against her hair. He left out the part where he’d nearly brought it to this world for her. She didn’t need that weight on her shoulders.
“I like your Druid wars!” Ingmar interrupted, leading a band of battle-weary, but generally good-spirited Vikings into the courtyard. How they’d gotten over his walls, Malcolm could only guess.
The Viking general sent a leer in Vían’s direction. “They always seem to end with explosions and naked women. What could be better?”
“Avert yer eyes, or I’ll pluck them out,” Malcolm growled harshly, ripping off his robes and spreading them around Vían’s perfect skin.
With a few guffaws, the Vikings complied.
“Malcolm,” Kenna croaked, pushing herself up on weak elbows.
Her blood still stained the stones, but through the blemished hole in her dress, new, healthy skin appeared. Morgana had been able to heal her, and Malcolm had never doubted that she would, even for a moment.
Shame settled in his gut, though not regret. “Kenna, I—”
“I forgive you,” she interrupted.
“I don’t!” Niall stood, his enormous shoulders taut and ready for a fight. “How dare you allow my mate to come to harm. I’m going to rip your limbs off with my bare—”
“Look at them, my love.” Kenna admonished. Struggling to push herself up for a second before her mate leaned down and lifted her. “Would you not have done the same for me in such an instance?”
Niall’s hard blue eyes softened down at his mate. “I’d slay every last soul alive if you asked me to.”
