Forbidden Highlander (24 page)

Fallon glanced to make sure the others were far enough away. “Aye. You know him?”

“I do. I met him in Deirdre’s dungeons.”

He wasn’t surprised that Ramsey answered honestly, but how much he would tell Fallon was yet to be determined. “How long did you know him?”

Ramsey shrugged and looked away. “The entire fifty years she held me. He was already there when I arrived. You lose track of time in that mountain.”

“I know. Why didn’t he escape with you?”

“Escape is not what you think about after a while.” Ramsey’s gray gaze slid back to Fallon. His eyes had hardened and his lips thinned with his memories. “You only think about surviving the next round of torture, wondering if you’re going to break and align yourself with her.”

“Is that what Broc did?”

“I doona know.”

Fallon considered Ramsey’s words for a moment. There was a connection between the two men. He wasn’t sure how strong it was, but it bore investigating. Ramsey could be a spy for Deirdre. God knew she had enough of them. “You’ve given me your advice many times since you’ve arrived, Ramsey. Your mind is quick and your suggestions good. I wonder, though, have I trusted you too quickly? Are you spying for Deirdre?”

Ramsey’s skin shifted from normal to bronze in a blink. “I should kill you for suggesting I’m loyal to that evil bitch.” He inhaled and gained control of the anger that had caught him unawares, as Fallon had intended.

“It is your job to make sure we can be trusted,” Ramsey continued. “If I were in your place, I would ask the same questions. I tell you now, the answer is nay. I’m not spying for Deirdre. I want to see her dead.”

There was no deceit in Ramsey’s gray eyes. He spoke the truth, and Fallon believed him. “I had to ask.”

“I know. It is what makes you a great leader.”

Fallon hadn’t expected praise. He liked Ramsey, and the thought of him being a spy had turned Fallon’s blood cold. “The things Broc said made me wonder just whose side he’s on. He has helped us several times. He killed a wyrran to save Larena today, and he told us of the attacks.”

“He told you of the wyrran attack? Why?”

“I have no idea. Then he told us Deirdre is doing it to keep us occupied so that we can’t make plans to free Quinn. Lucan guessed that she is doing it to give her more time with Quinn.”

Ramsey raked a hand through his hair. “I doubt she would have wanted you to know that information. For whatever reason Broc told us, we need to heed him.”

“I’ve already assumed as much. Do you think he could be swayed to join us?”

Several moments passed before Ramsey responded. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

It wasn’t the answer Fallon wanted, but until he spoke to Broc and asked, he wouldn’t know for sure. Fallon didn’t know if Broc would return to give him that chance, but he had a feeling he might. Whatever motivated the winged Warrior to help them would probably make him come back again.

After the excitement of the morning with Broc, Camdyn, and the wyrran, Larena was ready for a quiet afternoon. Camdyn had been introduced to Sonya and Cara and was now helping with the cottages while the three women sat in the great hall.

“I cannot believe the wyrran attacked.” Cara stuck her needle in the gown she was mending with force and yanked it out the other side. She shook her head and sighed. “I should have been there.”

Sonya smiled and smoothed the material of the tunic she was sewing. “I think I would have liked to see the men fighting. And you as well, Larena.”

With a grunt Larena settled in her chair. “I didn’t do that well. I’m not used to fighting in my skirts.”

Cara put down her sewing, her forehead furrowed. “What do you wear then?”

“I usually use my powers to become invisible and fight naked.”

“Now that’s something I imagine the men would like to see,” Sonya said with a giggle. Her amber eyes twinkled with merriment, and soon Cara joined in her laughter.

Larena smiled despite herself. “Fallon pointed out to me that there won’t always be time to use my powers, and he’s right. Especially when I’m fighting Warriors. I’ve depended on my powers for too long.”

“What will you do?” Cara asked. “You could learn to fight in your skirts as I do.”

“I could, but since as Warriors we jump and leap while we fight, the skirts will hamper me.”

Sonya threaded her needle. “Well, it’s not as if you can wear breeches.”

Larena jerked upright, a sudden thought occurring to her. “Why not? The Celts did. Their women wore trousers and fought right alongside the men.”

“We aren’t in ancient times,” Cara said. “I don’t know if the men will approve.”

“I don’t care if they do,” Larena said as she rose to her feet. “I need to be able to fight, and I cannot do that in a gown.” She swallowed and looked at each of the women. She didn’t normally ask anyone for help, but she needed Cara and Sonya. “Will you help me?”

Cara and Sonya exchanged a look before slow smiles spread on the women’s faces. “Aye,” they said in unison.

“Good,” Larena said as relief swept through her. “Let’s get started. We have no idea when the next attack will be.”

Sonya tossed aside her tunic while Cara finished her last stitch and gently set the gown out of the way.

“I can’t wait until Fallon sees you in breeches,” Cara said with a chuckle. “He’s going to be speechless.”

Larena certainly hoped so. Not that she was doing anything to gain his attention.

Or at least she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t.

Deirdre checked Quinn’s injuries as she did several times a day. He was healing nicely. His body had needed the rest, and she liked having him in her bed. Every night she nestled against him and slept.

It was the first time she had ever let a man spend the entire night in her bed. And Quinn would be the last as well.

Her long nails that she filed to a sharp point traced up Quinn’s bare leg to his hip. Whenever she was in the chamber with him, she took off the blanket so she could look her fill at his beautifully sculpted body.

He had lost weight in her dungeons, as they all did. But she would see the muscle put back on his bones soon. For now, it was enough just to be with him.

One of her pets scratched at her door before opening it. The wyrran let out a hiss, letting her know she had a visitor. Deirdre rose and rubbed behind the wyrran’s large ears.

“Thank you,” she said. “Let’s go see what Dunmore has brought us this time.”

Deirdre walked out of her private chambers to a set of stairs that led to a long corridor where her throne room sat. She opened the door to find the tall, hulking form of Dunmore. He had come to her as a young man eager for power, and through the years she had continued to give him more and more authority.

“Mistress.” He bowed low, his dark curls falling over his high forehead. “You grow more beautiful each day.”

“Such flattery.” But Deirdre smiled.

She had always liked Dunmore. He had lines around his eyes now, but his body was still firm with no fat visible. He knew how to take care of himself, and as a man who had shared her bed, he knew how to pleasure a woman.

He also didn’t mind a woman being in charge, nor did he hesitate to carry out her orders. Just the sort of man she needed to round up the Druids.

Dunmore pushed aside his red cloak and placed his hands on his hips, his feet braced shoulder width apart. “I found them. They were living in caves and starving.”

“How many did you bring me?”

He glanced at the floor, his black eyes troubled. “Twelve in all. Two of the old women didn’t make the trip.”

“You are harsh with them,” Deirdre said.

“As you’ve told me to be.”

She smiled. “Go on.”

“One of the young ones, a lad of about seven summers, escaped. We chased him, and just as we were about to catch him, he jumped off the side of the mountain.”

“It appears my reputation precedes me.” Deirdre walked to a silver chest that sat on a table near her throne. The chest was unadorned except for intricate knotwork in a beautiful design all over the chest. The knotwork had been infused with spells to keep anyone but her from touching the chest since it housed coin and jewels.

Deirdre opened the lid and lifted a small velvet bag. She tested the weight of the coins within before she turned and tossed it to Dunmore. “Once again you’ve done well.”

He tucked the bag into his belt and bowed. “It is my wish to serve you.”

“My seer has told me of another group of Druids that think they can hide from me.” One of her greatest finds had been the seer, and Deirdre put her to use whenever she could.

“Tell me where to find them, mistress, and I will bring them to you.”

Deirdre walked to Dunmore and tapped the cleft on his chin. “These Druids won’t be as easy to find. They use magic to cloak themselves. There is one I want above the others. A young woman with turquoise eyes. You won’t mistake her. She has … information I need.”

“I’ve not failed you before. I willna now.” His eyes glittered with determination, his jaw set.

She studied the man before her. Neither Dunmore nor his family had Druid blood or gods in them. Yet, he had proven to be a wonderful talent. She had intended to kill him for daring to seek her out, but she had sensed in him a thread of evil that she worked to her benefit.

“Nay, Dunmore, you won’t fail me because you know how much I want these Druids. And because you like the influence I give you. Return with the girl and I will reward you with wealth beyond your imagining. Bring other Druids with her, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Once Deirdre relayed where the Druids were hiding, he gave her another bow and left. She watched his retreating back. If Dunmore failed, she would skin him alive and use his bowels to choke him. She had to have this Druid named Marcail.

Fallon wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his tunic. The clouds had begun to gather just after noon, shielding most of the sun. Rain was in the air, and he wanted the roof Larena had fallen through fixed before it began.

“Almost done,” Logan called down from above him.

While Fallon had worked, his mind replayed Broc’s visit and all he had been told. He hoped Broc hadn’t been lying when he said Quinn was all right. Just thinking that his youngest brother might be suffering was like a noose tightening around his neck.

He prayed Quinn stayed strong while in Deirdre’s mountain. Quinn had been so perilously close to losing it before Cara had come to their castle. And seeing Lucan and Cara’s obvious love for each other had just made things worse for Quinn.

Not once since the deaths of his wife and son had Quinn ever spoken of them. Fallon and Lucan had bowed to Quinn’s wishes and didn’t ask questions. So, when Quinn confessed that he had never loved his wife, Fallon couldn’t have been more stunned.

He had thought their union was one born of love. Quinn had fooled everyone, including himself. Fallon wanted the best for his brothers, and each of them deserved the kind of marriage their parents had had. He didn’t want Quinn settling again.

Fallon rubbed his neck as he felt the ache that settled at the base of his skull every time he thought of Quinn. Quinn was strong. He would know they were coming for him.

“Hold on, little brother,” Fallon whispered.

“Finished!”

Fallon looked above him. Logan had repaired the hole so well it was hard to determine where Larena had fallen through. Fallon walked out of the cottage and nodded to Logan as he jumped to the ground.

“Well done.”

Logan shrugged and dusted off his hands. “It was an easy task. I used to have to repair my family’s roof.”

Fallon waited to see if Logan would speak further about his past. It was a rare occurrence when any of them spoke about the time before they had been turned into Warriors.

When Logan said no more, Fallon piled more pieces of shattered beds, chairs, and tables on the fire. Most everything had already been burned, and by the end of the next day, the rest would be gone as well.

“Things are moving well,” Lucan said as he walked up with Galen and Camdyn. “Already the village looks better.”

Fallon handed his brother a water skin and looked up at the dark clouds coming their way. “We have six more cottages that need to be torn down and burned. The rain may delay things.”

Lucan drank deeply before offering the water to Camdyn. “The rain willna bother my work, and if need be, I can work with you in the rain removing the cottages.”

“Nay, work on the construction of the furniture,” Fallon said. “Logan and I can handle the rest.”

“And I can help,” Camdyn added.

Fallon nodded to the most recent arrival. A glance at his brother told Fallon that Lucan liked Camdyn, which was good. The more Warriors they had to fight against Deirdre the better.

“It looks like Broc has returned,” Galen said.

Fallon turned around to see Broc flying toward him with something in his arms. The way Broc flew as if he were injured gave Fallon pause. Without a word to the others, Fallon started running toward Broc.

The winged Warrior was flying low, barely missing the tops of the trees. He landed heavily as Fallon came to a stop in front of him.

“He’s hurt bad, but not dead,” Broc said, and laid Malcolm on the ground between them.

Fallon noticed the cuts and blood on Broc as the others fanned out behind him. “What happened?”

“I saw him being beaten.”

“By whom?”

Broc rubbed his eyes with one hand while he flexed his other shoulder. “It doesn’t matter.”

But it did. Fallon waited while Lucan knelt beside Malcolm then nodded that the man was still alive.

“Why did you help him?” Fallon asked.

Broc’s gaze met his. “Malcolm is an innocent. He is neither Druid nor Warrior. There was no need to harm him.”

Fallon was taken aback by the anger in Broc’s barely controlled voice. Then he noticed the injuries on Broc’s body. Not all the blood on him was Malcolm’s. “He helped Larena. In some people’s mind, that is enough to condemn him.”

“Not in mine.”

Fallon blew out a breath. “Thank you.”

Broc said nothing as he jumped in the air and flew away once more.