Page 15 of Highland Secret
Sheknewwhat had happened here. Not because of any ability of hers, but because of what she’d told the man withwhom she’d shared a bed the previous night. Hundreds of slaughtered knights lay strewn about the clearing; their limbs sprawled at incomprehensible angles, if they even remained attached.
Not even the horses were spared. Just like in her dream.
Frantically searching for black armor among the blood-stained tunics, she skirted the clearing, swallowing convulsively against the bile crawling up the back of her throat. She let out a trembling breath. He wasn’t there.
Horrific sounds of violence filtered through the morning. He would be at the battlefield, but it seemed foolhardy to follow there.
It didn’t matter, did it? She had to find Roderick. Warn him.Savehim.
Her legs threatened to buckle as she forged on toward the battlefield. Uncertain of what she could do to reach him, but desperate to change his fate.
Sometimesberserkergangmade him mindless,and he barely registered the destruction he wrought. Today Roderick was pleased to perceive the pained astonishment on the faces of the Mackay as they turned on their kinsman and signaled for mercenary reinforcements which never appeared. As he plunged into the fray, already streaked in the blood of his enemies, Roderick cut a gruesome path through Donald clansmen, a singular focus causing his peripheral to haze.
The beast and the man, in union, wanted at the bastard who dare threaten his mate. Typically, the foes that fell before his sword remained a part of the faceless masses, but today heroared with pleasure as he severed the head of Angus Mackay from his body.
Roderick and the ferocious Stewart not only held the Donald at bay, but systematically drove them back. As afternoon settled upon the valley, the victorious sounds of triumph rippled through the Stewart clans and kin.
Even after the worst of the berserkergang passed, soldiers still gave Roderick a wide berth as they knew he might sever a limb for a congratulatory pat on the back.
“Wait until his eyes return to normal,” the old ones murmured while some younger men made signs of the cross against him and regarded him with both awe and antagonism.
Growling with unspent aggression, Roderick paced the battlefield.
He felt danger lurking nearby. Something lethal, familiar, tinged with—
His heightened senses perked as honey and vanilla notes caressed him over the repugnant odors of battle.
Evelyn. His mate. She drew near.
Someone would have been dispatched to the town to tell of their victory. ‘The lands of Ross are safe.’ ‘Come and collect your dead and wounded.’She’d come for him.
He knew it.
Feeling like an expectant boy, he wiped his bloodied sword on the grass and sheathed it. Her scent drifted from the safety of the woods, beckoning him. Feeling encouraged that she’d come out to meet him, he looked down at his blood-streaked armor and frowned. How would seeing him like this affect her? For once a Berserker chose his mate, he still had to wait for her to accept him. Often, he was called upon to deal death in the name of Freya and the fates. It would take a rare and exceptional lass to understand his role in the world. Could she?
Roderick long ago accepted that his inability to communicate with women, in addition to his menacing appearance and pagan reputation, would prevent him from being accepted by a mate.
How am I going to get her to understand what she is to me?
He faltered in his path, gripped by sheer indecision. It hadn’t been easy to get a woman into his bed in the last years he’d spent without a voice. How could he possibly get a woman to share his life with him?
Perhaps he should write her a letter. He wondered if she could read. More scholars littered his bloodlines than berserkers. If it weren't for his beast, he'd be content deciphering a scroll from ancient Rome or Greece. If she couldn't, he'd teach her to love the written word as much as he did. The irony didn't escape him; a man who loved language whose voice had been stolen from him.
Once they married, she would have the responsibilities of a Baroness and unofficial stewardess of the MacLauchlan clan until his brother Connor, also a berserker and the laird of the MacLauchlans, took a wife.
So, likely always. He rolled his eyes. That man was infinitely more hopeless than he. And Connor had no speech impediment.
Roderick crested the hill and plunged into the tree line. He should probably just abscond with the lass no matter her objections and lay siege to her body, spending his every night fulfilling her wildest fantasies. And creating a few that she’d never thought of.
Of course, he would spend his days satisfying her every other corporeal need whilst introducing her to the many wonders of his homeland. Her life would become so full that she couldn’tconsiderneeding aught else.
Breaking into a jog, he tallied a list of plausible enjoyments for her: tending the extensive herb and spice garden, riding horses together from his family stables, archery, mayhap eventhe stag hunt if she were the out-of-door sort. Surely, other more genteel pastimes might interest her; perhaps needlework or musical instruments, or um… beading hairnets and the like.
He mentally shrugged, if she wished it, he would gather threads of the richest colors and finest silks for her. He would take her to exotic markets and let her have her pick of the loveliest shells, pearls, beads, and gems. His clan was prosperous, and he’d been handsomely paid as a mercenary for many years. She would want for nothing.
His blood quickened at the thought of planting babes inside of her, as many as she wanted, a half dozen at least! Another Berserker to carry the line, of course, and many doe-eyed cherubs with honey-colored hair to fill his family’s silent castle with happy chaos. Mayhap she was already—.
“Roderick!” He pivoted at her breathless cry.
