Page 10 of Highland Warlord
“I canseein the dark,” he growled. “I can seeeverything.”
“Oh,” she gasped, sounding less distressed than she should. “Oh my.”
Bael heard her soft foot falls as she tiptoed next to him and snatched her shift and kirtle from the moss. Shaking it out, she pulled it over her head in an adorable sort of hurry.
My mate.
Bael shook his head, helpless frustration gathering in his soul.No. Never again. He’d been cursed with a mate before. And she’d made the second half of his life more miserable than the first.
There was only one way to free himself from this damnable curse.
And that was to die.
Chapter 6
The three Wyrd Sisters huddled around their cauldron in a dank Highland cave of black stone. The cauldron’s fire illuminated a still grotto, but the sound of roiling ocean echoed off the narrow, high walls.
“Thrice the raven hath devoured his mate.” The first witch, Badb, tossed in a disembodied raven’s wing.
“Thrice the dead tree bloom’d ‘neath a blood moon.” The second witch, Macha, stirred the brew with an unnaturally gnarled branch.
“Because there are four, Death must rise soon.” The third witch, Nemain, passed a hand over the cauldron and the unmentionable putridity coalesced.
They chanted together:
“Awaken the demon of lust and blood.
And the world will end in fire and flood.”
Badb pulleda claw from her decrepit robes, her crone’s voice rasping off the smooth stone walls.
“Edward the Confessor died, and his throne is cold.
A foot of crow to ensure King Harold won’t grow old.”
All chanted:
“Awaken the demon of lust and blood.
And the world will end in fire and flood.”
Macha producedwhat looked like a small piece of raw meat from the pouch hanging from her generous hips.
“The Norman Bastard William sails in two weeks time.
The liver of this fen rat to ensure his troops do fine.”
All chanted:
“Awaken the demon of lust and blood.
And the world will end in fire and flood.”
Nemain lifteda bundle above her head, and pulled a knife from beneath her flowing blue gown. Her young, angelic face twisted with triumph and malice.
“We gave the Pict throne to Macbeth, but thereon he was slain.
The blood of this stillborn druid babe will make it ours again.”
