Indecent: The Moray Druids #2 (Highland Historical) (4 page)

Tanned
human
skin.

Blue wodish runes swirled in sacred spirals around the corners of the book and stretched toward the center in tribal arcs. There, in a script long forgotten, was a name he couldn’t read written in a language far too ancient to still be uttered by a living soul.

Perhaps the first language of the first man. Or maybe the language of the Gods.

A kiss of power and lust touched the base of his spine, thrilling through his darker urges with the innate greed of man. This book wasn’t exactly good, but neither could he call the feeling evil. Just potent on a scale he’d never before contemplated.

She handled it with reverence and not a little bit of misgiving, and opened its pages with the appropriate care. “This is the Doomsday Grimoire,” she explained. “It is the book from which all other holy books were produced.”

Niall’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “Even—”

“
All
of them,” she nodded solemnly.

“Contained within these pages is every prophecy, truth, mythology, and spell known to mankind.” She caressed a page with suspiciously russet calligraphy that could have been ink, but was mostly likely dried blood.

Niall swallowed, truly feeling for the first time the direness of their situation.

“You see, the Goddess lends her power to three Druids of de Moray every generation. It has been thus since the evolution of man.”

“Evolution?”

Kenna waved her hand, as though to signal that was for another conversation and continued. “We are wielders of the four elements and keepers of the seasons. For example, Malcolm is Earth and Spring, I am Summer and Fire, and Morgana is Autumn and Water. You may note the absence of Air and Winter, and that is because the Goddess decided that four elemental Druids on the earth at once would be too much power for us mortals to wield, even though we’re wielding them on
her
behalf.”

“You said the Wyrd sisters were de Morays,” he prompted with a growing sense of dread.

She nodded, as though pleased he understood which direction she lead him. “The most terrifying, powerful, and inevitable prediction is the Doomsday Prophecy, itself.” She laid her hand on a page, reading a passage from a long paragraph scrawled in tiny symbols, her husky voice layered with the veracity of divination.

“Verily, when four elements are born to one house and are behind one gate, the seven seals will break. The first, Conquest, on his white horse with a crown. The second, War, on his red horse with his sword. Pestilence is third, on his black horse with his scales of balance. And finally, Death on his pale horse and he shall bring with him the might of the Underworld.” She paused, taking in a shuddering breath and rubbing her arms.  When the four Druids wield together from the Grimoire, they will hear thunder, the heavens will weep, the earth will tremble, the air will burn, and the rest of the seals will be broken, one by one.”

Niall’s own hairs lifted with trepidation. “Don’t stop there.” He chuckled, if only to let the air out of his burning lungs. “It was just getting good.”

“The fifth seal has to do with raising an army of the dead,” she continued. “An army of the slain innocent, the burned witches, and the wrongly executed to reap their vengeance upon the world. The sixth is elemental devastation as wrought by the four horsemen. You know, civil unrest, earthquakes, plague, war, dark suns, the moon dripping with blood— that whole bit. And then…” She looked up, her eyes swimming with moisture that comes from the shiver of truth.

“And then?” Niall asked breathlessly.

“The
reckoning
.”

The ominous word speared his blood with ice.

“What reckoning?”

She shook her head. “It does not say, but I imagine with all that precedes it, it cannot be pleasant.” Her eyes found his and they shared a desperate look. “Like I said before, the Wyrd sisters are of the de Moray line. They’re of our house, so to speak. And with them is the witch Badb, and her element is Air and her season winter. You see, they’ve been after the Grimoire for two hundred years. It is their plan to set the apocalypse into motion, and now that there is an Earth Druid, Malcolm, that makes us
four.

“When we realized King Duncan was dead and Morgana captured, Malcolm sent me away on his fastest horse. We knew the Wyrd sisters were after him
and
the book, and that we weren’t powerful enough to fight them just yet. If they caught both Malcolm and the Grimoire in one place, all would be lost. So we decided I was to hide with the book somewhere the Wyrd sisters would never look, and as long as I didn’t use fire magick, they couldn’t find me.” Her eyes became sad, tortured, and a desperate pain lodged in Niall’s chest. “I’d heard that Macbeth had given Malcolm to the Wyrd sisters in exchange for the throne. I think they did terrible things to him. He didn’t look the same…”

“And so when you used fire to save a bunch of thankless nuns from my Berserker…” Niall trailed off as a lead weight settled in his belly, realizing the true cost of his actions. He’d unwittingly set in motion the end of the world.

Well… Fuck
.

His people had been raiders for generations. They celebrated the strong and preyed upon the weak. It was the way of nature. The way of the world. The strong survived, thrived,
deserved
to be here. The weak were culled and pillaged, preyed upon. But as he looked at his stalwart little mate, he realized that power came in many forms, and that he had a lot to think about.

The first consideration being that Kenna de Moray was
his
mate. More to the point, he was hers.

 And if he had to stop the fucking Apocalypse to get her to accept him, then so be it.

Kenna thought the dozen or so Viking warriors took the apocalyptic news rather well, all things considering. She supposed they were rather used to the idea of Gods, magick, war, and almost-certain death. They rallied around Niall, their undisputed leader, with a ferocity that both warmed and terrified her.

It was the nuns, and her fellow novices, that seemed to take the most issue with it all. Kenna had watched as the Vikings roused the anxious and bleary-eyed nuns from their beds and herded them into the courtyard, unmolested, whereupon Kenna tried to deliver the information regarding the Wyrd sisters, the Grimoire, and her Druid cousins with as much gentility as possible.

“Do you mean to tell us, that you’ve been hiding this evil book within these holy walls
all this time
?” Mother Superior demanded, her jowls shaking with obvious temper. “We knew you had tendencies toward witchcraft—that you might have been beset by a demon or two—but I was willing to help you find your way back to the Lord.”

“You don’t understand,” Kenna argued. “These women will bring the wrath of evil here. They are possessed of powers you cannot comprehend, and they won’t hesitate to hurt or
kill
each and every one of you.”

“On your soul be it,” the elderly nun hissed. “This is hallowed ground. The devil has no hold here and we are not a violent people.  Besides, we are commanded to turn the other cheek.”

“Not violent people?” Niall snarled at the old nun, causing her to jump before her features darkened with outrage. “Are you also commanded to whip defenseless women? Is that how your God teaches his wives and servants, through pain and humiliation?”

“That
witch
cursed young Brigit here, and Mary-Katherine with bodily injury,” the bitter nun spat. “She’s the devil in her heart, and likely her bed.”

“That’s not true.” Kenna fought to keep her voice even. “I didn’t curse them, I
warned
them. I told Brigit that if she didn’t tuck her hem higher, she’d fall down the stairs, and so she did. And if I hadn’t said something to Mary-Katherine about how to save herself from choking, that pit would have killed her.” She turned to Mother Superior, hoping to soften her, though it hadn’t ever worked before. “Sometimes, I can foresee what is to come in the flames. I don’t do it on purpose. I don’t even know when it is going to happen, but can’t you understand that I was trying to help?”

“It says in the book of—”

Kenna squeaked as Niall shoved her behind him and towered over the woman with intimidating promise etched into his brutal features. “I don’t give a dusty
fuck
about any book but the one we’re trying to protect, and if you so much as look her way with questionable intent, so help me, I’ll—”

To Kenna’s utter surprise, Ingmar, Niall’s tall and rather squirrelly-looking general stepped in-between his glaring leader and the battle-axe in charge of Westmire. “Look, woman, this isn’t a man you’d like to see when he gets angry. And, from what we saw of this here Druid lady last night, she isn’t a woman to be trifled with. So, if you want my advice, let’s stop talking and start preparing for the end of the world. Which, to me means a good roast, some wine, and… let’s be honest, how many of you really want to die virgins?”

Sputtering with outrage, Mother Superior whirled on Ingmar. “How dare you!”

“Mother Superior,” Sister Judith stepped from the gathering of nuns who whispered together in a flurry of white habits and black wool. Kenna had always liked Sister Judith, as she was young and energetic, with soft grey eyes and a pretty sort of tranquility that brought peace to all her dealings. If Kenna tried to emulate anyone in the abbey, it would be Judith.

“Perhaps we could consider that God sent these men and Kenna here, to protect us from these evil witches.” Judith cast Kenna a gentle smile. “He does work in mysterious ways, after all. Don’t you think if he created all things, he must have created this Berserker and granted this Druid her—abilities for his own purposes? Perhaps it might be reasonable to help them intervene on our behalf, don’t you think so, sisters?”

The sisters of Westmire appeared indecisive, but most of them seemed grateful to have a soft voice in such a hard time.

“Thank you, Sister Judith,” Kenna breathed. “I promise, I will do all I can to ensure no harm comes to the abbey and the women here.” Her greatest hope was that she could keep that promise.

“Marry me,” Ingmar demanded of Judith, dropping to his knees at her feet.

Instead of seeming incensed, Judith gifted Ingmar with an amused, almost delighted smile. “Dear Northman,” she chided, patting him on the shoulder. “Our heart and souls are promised to another, but we can slaughter a pig and offer you some very good barleywine and the best Highland whiskey.”

Kenna thought capitulation would look odd on Viking features, and she’d been right. Though Ingmar brightened considerably at the mention of drink.

Mother Superior’s deeply-lined face resembled that of a withered aubergine. “How can it be,” she sputtered, “that my abbey is overrun by pagans and demons, witches and devils?”

“It does appear that you’re I‘
nun
’dated,” Ingmar bowed to the enraged nun. “But we promise not to make a ‘
habit
’ of invading your home.” With a self-congratulatory chortle, he nudged Judith in the shoulder a few times, and she offered him a gracious smile, though no one else seemed amused.

“Tough crowd,” he observed. “Someone say something about whiskey?”

Motioning to a few of her sisters, Judith led them to the kitchens, leaving Kenna and Niall to battle with Mother Superior and her many chins of disapproval.

“Do what you will,” Niall informed the woman, obviously out of what little patience he’d ever had. “My men and I are going to help your nuns storm-proof this abbey and build what few defenses we can. Just don’t get in our way.”

Kenna watched as he gave orders and began to organize not just his people, but hers, as well. A horrible thought plagued her as she tried to figure where she would be the most help. It was the very last line of the Doomsday Prophesy, one upon which she and Malcolm had debated most spiritedly. One which alternately gave her hope, and terrified her.

It is not known who shall be left standing at the end of that great day of wrath.

Niall found Kenna at the casement in the abbey’s library, curled in the window seat, using moonlight and a few candles to pour over the Grimoire. The day had been long and productive, and at this moment, the small abbey was as prepared as it could ever be.

Would it be enough, he wondered, to stand against such power as these Druids wielded? Kenna had told him that the in the evil retinue of three, a Water Druid, Macha, and another fire Druid, Nemain, accompanied Badb, and that they used incredibly heinous means to feed their power. Blood magick, human sacrifices, and all manner of dark, torturous deeds. They were masterful witches, with more than two hundred years of practice and preparation on their side.

As calm as Kenna looked, studiously absorbing as much knowledge as possible, Niall could sense that she was terrified. The silver moon and golden candlelight turned the copper of her hair into a molten frenzy of precious metals.  Her amber eyes were too dark as they tracked his entry into the room, as though the embers behind them were dangerously close to being extinguished.

“You should get some sleep,” he prompted. “I’ll sit watch over you.”

“Nay,” she sighed, returning to her book. “There will be no sleeping tonight. Not until I know that Malcolm and Morgana have arrived.”

Niall moved closer, craving her eyes upon his. Her hands on his skin. That gentle smile upon her face. “I’m sure they’re safe.” He attempted comforting words, which sat upon his tongue less gently than he’d like.

Kenna just shook her head, not looking up from those ancient words in front of her. “No one is safe. Not anymore.” Closing the disturbing cover of the Grimoire, she slid it beneath the faded cushion of the seat, as though the habit of concealing it was an unbreakable one. The moon illuminated her frown with an eerie blue cast when she turned from him to gaze out the window. “They’re out there,” she predicted. “The Wyrd Sisters. I can feel them casting. I wish I knew what they were up to. I wish I knew how to stop them.”

Niall joined her in her inspection of the night, finding only a patina of shadow. “I am sorry I led them to your door,” he murmured, the responsibility of her anxiety weighing heavy on his shoulders. On his heart.

She cast a soft glance his way. “I don’t blame you,” she comforted, much better at it than he. “I think it was inevitable that they find me here. That we were kidding ourselves to think that we could outrun a Prophecy as powerful as this one.”

Niall hated that she sounded as though she’d already lost, the defeat etched into the hunch of her shoulders and the dips between her brows. He reached for her jaw, which felt as brittle as glass as he cupped it in his hand. “Accept me, Kenna, as your mate,” he commanded in a husky whisper. “And together we will vanquish your enemies, or be sent to the afterlife in the attempt.”

A tear snaked from the corner of her eye and dripped onto his palm where it branded all the way to his heart. “Don’t you understand, Berserker?” she murmured. “This may be the end. Of
everything
. This is no time to begin a life together. To make promises we may not have made otherwise. I don’t know you. I don’t even think I like you very much—”

Niall lay a finger against her lips, wishing he could do anything to ease the burdens weighing his little mate down. “The Romans have a charming saying by which I have always lived.
Carpe Diem
. Seize the day.” He motioned out the window. “Or the night, as the case may be. We’re never promised tomorrow, little Druid, only this moment.”

She stared at him for a second, her lips trembling behind his fingers doing strange and soft things to his insides. “I hate the Romans,” she surprised him by saying, pulling out of his gentle palm to stand.

Niall let out a bark of amusement. “We all do, but they are a quotable lot. My point is, you should accept me. If you do, you’ll make me nigh on five times as powerful as I am now. I’ll conjure you fire that you cannot conjure yourself to wield as you desire. I’ll give my life to protect you and pledge my Berserker beast to your service.”

Feeling rather proud and poetic, he was certain there was no lass alive who could refuse such a declaration. He was Niall Thorsen, after all, pride of his people and slayer of armies. And finally he’d found a battle worth winning, and a woman worth fighting for. He could barely believe his good fortune.

“How do you know I cannot conjure fire?” she asked dubiously.

“Because my power belongs in my senses, and I’ve observed that you never create fire, only wield what is already burning.”

She stared at him in stunned silence for a moment before whispering, “I’m sorry, but the answer is Nay.”

“Nay?” he echoed, as though the word held no meaning to him. “Why not?”

“How can I? Moreover, how can
you
be thinking of such things now? Do you not understand? The servants of evil are out there, bringing the wrath of hell along with them. Everything, the fate of the entire world is on the line, waiting to be snatched out of our grasp. I don’t have time to be anyone’s mate.”

Niall shook his head, careful not to scoff or condescend. She was young, and afraid. “Kenna,” he crooned her name, crowding her into the bookshelf with his body and trailing his finger along the intriguing neckline of the red frock she’d donned.

A ceremonial color, if he had to guess.

“You shouldn’t be so afraid of losing something that you don’t let yourself have it. Life is to live, and I think you’ve forgotten that by locking yourself in this cold abbey devoid of happiness and focusing your every day on duty and prayer. If you don’t allow yourself pleasure, leisure, risk and reward, then why bother?”

“Because I must!” She pushed against his chest, her tears of pain becoming ones of anger and bitterness. “Because it
is
my
duty
to keep the Grimoire safe and duty is all I have left! I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved. My parents. My uncle and king. Morgana and Malcolm. And now I’ve found them only in time to call them to what possibly could be their demise.” She turned from him, her small body trembling with sobs that must have been locked away for the space of untold moons.

“Don’t you see?” she lamented. “I can’t bind my heart and soul to yours only to lose you. I will not let you be my last failure on this earth.
That
I could not bear.”

His fingers closed around her heaving shoulders, drawing her back to lean against his chest so he could encompass her with his arms. “Don’t cry, my mate,” he murmured against her fragrant curls, her every sob tearing away a piece of his soul. “That is what
I
cannot bear.”

She turned in his arms and collapsed against him, her shudders and convulsions increasing. “I feel I’m not strong enough,” she sobbed against his chest, her tears tickling against his skin. “I fear I will not be able to stand against them. That I will let them defeat me.”

Niall threaded his hands into her hair cupping her scalp and pulling her back to look at him. “Take me then, little Druid,” he commanded. “Take my strength and use it in your battle. I will gladly give it to you, my mate, and let you wield it against our enemies.”

“But…” she sniffed. “We’ll have to…”

A wicked smile stretched Niall’s lips as anticipatory lust speared him. “I’ll just have to tolerate it, I suppose, benevolent marauder that I am.”

The sparks rekindled in her eyes, as well, and Niall had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. “If you’re offering your power, you’ll have to give it to me where before I took.”

“I’ll give it to you,” he promised with a husky growl, and yanked her dress from her body.