Page 10 of To Wed a Highlander
“How did ye get the power to do so in a nunnery—Ye know what, I doona wantthosedetails,” the Druid King snorted in disgust. “But I demand an explanation for why ye just used enough magick to tickle the spine of every Druid from here to the shores of Inverness. And the reason had better be a good one, Kenna de Moray, for ye may have doomed us all.”
Niall had a mind to rip the crown from the Pictish King’s head and make him eat it.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Kenna remained calm in the face of the shrewd man’s royal ire. “But now that it’s done, I’ll be needing you and Morgana to come to my aid.”
“If the fault isna yers, who’s is it?” the angry king demanded.
Biting her lip, Kenna stepped aside, allowing Malcolm a full view of Niall’s hunched and naked body. “It’s his,” she said, as matter-of-factly as though she was telling her King about the weather. “And he and his men are going to help us fix it.”
Chapter 4
Kenna had seen many powerful men interact in her life, lairds and warriors, chieftains and kings, sages and druids, even a shape-shifter once. But the look of utter contempt, challenge, and disgust that passed between the naked Berskerker on the floor and her beloved cousin and Liege lord beat them all.
“Kenna,” The wrath in Malcolm’s voice would have shriveled the manhood of the bravest of champions. Good thing she was a woman, and therefore immune. “Do. Not. Tell me. That ye mated. AfuckingBerserker.” Malcolm only spoke with such annunciation when truly infuriated.
She waved an impatient hand to cover a whispered spell that would trap the voice of the Berserker on her floor until she could get rid of Malcolm. “No, no, no,” she soothed. “Not mated to just…borrowed from. He’s quite…potent.”
“Och, I canna know that!” Malcolm made the same sound of disgust he did as a boy. The only manner left about him that would ever remind anyone of those lovely, innocent days of their childhood. The days before Macbeth. Before the Wyrd Sisters. Back when her Uncle Duncan de Moray was still King and his sister, Kenna’s mother, was alive. When mornings belonged to the mists, afternoons to Druid instruction, and evenings to laughter, play, feasting, and family.
“What have I done that the Gods curse me with lumbering, ungainly, ham-fisted Berserkers everywhere I turn? Tupping all the women in my family. It’s not right.” Malcolm lamented pinching the bridge of his nose as though nursing a headache.
Kenna put her fists on her hips. “Well, I don’t think that’s called for. I mean, I know he cocked up our plans, but in his defense, he couldn’t have known he was raiding the abbey where the Doomsday Grimoire was hidden. It’s not really his—wait,” the full meaning of Malcolm’s words widened her eyes. “What do you mean, everywhere you turn? Have you been raided as well?”
Malcolm heaved a heavy sigh. “After a fashion.”
Kenna gasped. “What happened? Are you alright? Is Morgana—”
“Shematedhim, the bleeding oaf, and now ye canna lay yer eyes upon my sister without a dark shadow the size of a Roman wall looming behind her. Bloody irritating.”
“Upon my word,” Kenna sighed. “A Berserker.” She turned to look at Niall, who was currently glaring daggers and attempting to regain his feet with what looked like murderous intent. He probably didn’t take too well to the silencing spell.Oops.
“That can’t be a coincidence, now can it?” she asked, which was more rhetorical than anything.
His look told her that when he regained his balance, he wouldcoincidentallypunish her in ways she’d never considered. It wasn’t that she was a mind reader; only his intent wasthatunmistakable.
Turning back to Malcolm, she focused on the business at hand. “I’ve been hiding at—”
“I know ye’re at Westmire Abbey,” Malcolm said. “I felt it when ye used yer magick. Which means if I know, the Wyrd sisters know, and they’re coming for ye and the book.”
“What do I do?” Kenna tried to hide the terror in her voice from not just her cousin, but the Berserker as well. “I can’t fight them on my own, and there are innocent women here. And Vikings,” she added. Not so innocent, but she didn’t necessarily want them dead. They’d been pretty accommodating and rather gentle, as raiding Vikings went.
“Have the Berserker and his men secure the Abbey, and ye stay with the Grimoire no matter what.” The calculation left Malcolm’s eyes for only a moment, and he gave her a look touched with affection. “I know I’m supposed to tell ye to guard the Grimoire with yer life,” he rumbled. “But… I doona want ye hurt, Kenna, do what ye can to stay safe. We’ll be there shortly after sundown tomorrow.”
“Sundown?” Kenna asked. “But Moray Castle is nearly two days ride. How can you possibly get here so fast?”
Malcolm made another face, this one almost comically baleful. “Doona ask and I willna tell.”
That brought a smile to Kenna’s face, despite the circumstances. If she had to make a gamble, she’d bet it had something to do with Morgana’s Berserker. She was excited to see her cousins, and hoped to live long enough to ask her closest friend about her new husband. Or mate, as it were.
“Hurry,” Kenna pressed. “I’ll get everyone here as ready as possible for what is to come.” Though it wouldn’t be easy, protecting a pagan relic in a Christian abbey.
“We will,” Malcolm promised, his specter fading. “And whatever ye do, donotkiss that Berserker!”
“I won’t,” she vowed, then turned from the fire, which was now devoid of Druids, and ran headlong into a wall of muscle and rage. Oh dear, this Berserker had recovered quite a bit faster than she’d expected.
She waved her hand, releasing the silence spell, and prepared to defend her actions.
His features distorted into so many different emotions, Kenna couldn’t distinguish them all. Some resembled outrage, others awe, but one she’d never seen before, at least not directed toward her.
