Page 9 of Highland Warlord
“Listen to me,” he demanded. And she paused, blinking up at him. “I am old—”
“Oh, you can’t be more than forty,” she interrupted him.
He tossed her an irate glare of warning before realizing she likely couldn’t see him very well in the dark, despite the moonlight. “I have raided and warred for more than a century. I’m done. And this world is well rid of me. I think you are a woman with a gentle heart. I beg you, end my life. Send me to my reward. The Gods know I’ve earned it.”
Her eyes softened, mirroring an alarming amount of his own bleak emotion back at him.
“I-I can’t,” she whispered, her chin wobbling precariously. “I’m sorry, warrior.”
“Youcan.” he stepped into the blade, shoving it beneath his neck. “It’s sharp, and if you strike fast, I’ll feel no pain.”
“You don’t understand.” She shook her head side to side in little horrified jerks.
“Noyoudon’t understand,” he gritted out. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be tied to a woman who doesn’t want you. You don’t understand what it’s like to have no other purpose than to spill blood and take life. You can’t know how many terrified screams echo in my head on a silent night like this. Men. Women—”
“Stop!” she cried. Pulling at the axe with enough strength to startle him into letting it go. It fell to the moss with a greatwhump. The witch brought her hands up against her heart, and clutched at her chest as though it was breaking. “Stop remembering,” she begged, sudden tears staining her face. “I can feel your pain. It’s tearing me apart.Please!”
Stabbed with a dagger of guilt, Bael reached for her and she jerked away from him.
“I’m empathic,” she moaned, wrapping her arms around her naked waist and bending beneath the hurt. “Idounderstand.”
Bael had been carrying this weight with him for so long, he’d adjusted to it. If his broad shoulders still felt like bowing beneath it, he could only imagine how it could crush a soft creature like her. With great effort, he thrust it down in that deep, dark place within himself where it resided, knowing it wouldn’t stay locked away for long.
“Do you see now?” he murmured. “It would be better for us both if you ended it. I cannot do it myself. Such a dishonor would keep me from the halls of Freya.”
She straightened and nodded, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I am an Autumn Druid,” she said tearfully. “My element iswater. Blood is comprised mostly of water, and blood magick is strong and dark in the hands of one with my power.” Her eyes were earnest pools in her luminous face. “So you see, warrior, I have taken a vow never tospill even one drop of another’s blood. Not by weapon or with my magick.”
Bael’s shoulders fell. “Then I will go back to the Saxons, and take as many of them to the afterlife with me as I can.”
Her eyes suddenly brightened as though she had an idea. “Or, perhaps you can take me home to Loch Fyne. My brother, Malcolm,hatesVikings. He’d probably kill you soon as look at you. Especially if I tell him that we’ve…that we’re… What we did just now.” Even in the near-darkness, her eyes flickered down toward the mossy earth.
Bael longed for the pleasant illusion of before. More than tempted to pull that lush, naked body close and drag her back to the moss beneath him, he clenched his fists at his sides as recognition jolted through him.
“You are a Pict.” He took a step toward her, repeating her last words. “Your brother is named Malcolm.” She retreated from his next step. “And you hie from Loch Fyne.”
“Aye,” she nodded, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering in the chilly autumn night.
Bael snarled, trying to ignore his instinct to warm her. “Is your brother not the prodigal King of the Picts, Malcolm, The Mormaer of Moray? The last of the Highland Druids?”
His little mate snorted and tossed her head, her eyes flashing with their first bit of temper. “He was never prodigal, our father, Duncan, was betrayed and Malcolm was taken captive. And, I’ll have you know, Malcolm is most definitely not the last of the Druids, there are three of us in the de Moray family alone.” Her imperious posture was a bit ruined by her nudity. “And yes, while he is one of lastmaleDruids left on this earth; there are more than a few females left. Though our numbers are quickly dwindling.”
“You mean to tell me you’re a Pictish Princess?”
“A bit,” she winced, obviously correctly reading the disapproval in his voice. “I am Morgana de Moray. Malcolm is my older brother.” She dipped her head in a polite gesture, as though from habit.
“Everyone knows only men of your people are Druids.” Bael crossed his arms over his chest.
She scoffed again, flipping her hair over one shoulder uncovering a globe of pink-tipped perfection, obviously unaware that he could see her.
Bael’s mouth watered at the memory of her breast in his mouth and bit back a frustrated groan at the unfairness of it all.
“Everyoneknowsthat because it is what the Druid menwantedeveryone to think. It is how they protected the Druid women from the Romans and the Vikings.” She glanced up at him, though Bael knew she only saw shadows. “When Malcolm was captured, my cousin Kenna and I were protected no longer, and that is how I find myself so far from Loch Fyne. That is why I saved you, warrior, because I knew when I saw you take that bridge on your own, that you were the only man alive who could get me home.”
“You were wrong.” Bael informed her, stooping to gather his axe and looking around for his trews. He found them stretched out by the river, clean and dry.
Just how longhadhe been asleep? He went to them, turning his back on the woman whose glowing nakedness was becoming more and more difficult to ignore. “Put some fucking clothes on,” he ordered.
“But… it’s dark,” she pointed out needlessly. “Why does it matter?”
