Indecent: The Moray Druids #2 (Highland Historical) (7 page)

“This ends now,” he decreed.

Lightning struck the ground, called down by the evil crone, and it sang along the nerves of everyone present. “That is where you’re wrong,
King
Malcolm.” Badb’s lips curled into a disgusted sneer at the word. “This is just the beginning of the end. I will bring my army of souls and crush you and your people until there is nothing left but vague memories lost to the ages. I will bring with me the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and they will trample your magick with their immortal might.”

Malcolm’s power rumbled through the earth again. The brutal angles of his regal face and the auburn hair that marked them all as de Morays promised the wrath of the Goddess and a deeper, more personal vengeance. “We are strong as three still,” he observed. “And yer healer has been taken. Ye have no powers in which to do so.”

“So you say,” Badb levitated above them, out of their reach. “But we still have something you do not,” she hissed.

Kenna dropped her head in defeat, as Niall reached her, his big form taking up vigil behind her as Malcolm whirled on her. “Kenna, where is the Grimoire?”

“It is here.” Nemain stepped from the doorway beneath the awning, clutching the Grimoire to her middle.

Malcolm made a downward sweep with his hand, and the awning caved threatening to crush the leering witch, but Badb and Nemain anticipated his attack. The girl dove and Badb caught her with a whirlwind, lifting her above the walls of the abbey.

Without an air Druid, Malcolm, Morgana, and Kenna were bound to the earth.

“The Grimoire is ours and the day is won,” Badb gloated. “We’ll be coming for you next, Malcolm de Moray, and your sister, as well. There are still four elements to wield, and I know how to break you. I’ve done it before.”

Malcolm visibly paled, but he stepped forward, his lips forming ancient words of a binding spell. Kenna knew what he was doing, and began to recite the spell with him, hoping that it brought the witches to the ground. Morgana joined in as well, her dark Berserker looming over her like a black-eyed sentinel.

Badb was too shrewd, though, and with a gust of air, she and Nemain were gone, leaving them with the wet and dark aftermath of the battle they’d just lost.

Niall stood by as the two lovely red-haired women rushed forward and embraced each other with sobs and words that only they could understand. The blue-cloaked Druid could only be Morgana de Moray, Kenna’s beloved cousin. She was tall and voluptuous where Kenna was short and petite, but the family resemblance was unmistakable.

“Christ, Kenna, put some bloody clothes on,” Malcolm growled, taking his cloak off and rushing to cover his cousin.

“Or don’t!” sang a helpful voice from behind them. Niall whirled to see Ingmar struggling to his feet, his eyes round and bright as they appreciated Kenna’s pale and lovely backside. “The only good witch is a naked witch, I always say.” He brushed himself off, slinging mud from his fingertips.

“You’ll look away if you want to keep your eyes in your head,” Niall growled. “That is my mate.”

Ingmar’s eyes widened, and then he very intently began to study his boots. “Bound to a Gael, eh? Does that mean we’re staying here?”

“I am. But it is your choice, and the choice of the men whether or not they will join me. I have to help my mate regain something she’s lost. It’s important to all of us.”

“Well now, that is quite a Co‘
nun
’drum,” Ingmar chortled. “Speaking of, where are those lovely alchemists, they’ve made a
habit
of poison, I think.”

Niall grunted. “They live, but you’ll not take revenge, the old woman who led them has been slain.”

Ingmar chuffed. “Revenge wasn’t what I had in mind, I was going to see what other fun substances they have in their stores. I’ve built up too much of a tolerance for such things to last too long. And I want to raid the wares before the other lads wake up.” He ambled toward one of the only doors left unscathed, stepping over still-unconsious Vikings in his wake.

“How did they get their hands on the Grimoire?” Malcolm demanded, “It should have been guarded.”

“I let them have it,” Kenna answered honestly. “To save Niall’s soul from becoming their eternal prisoner.”

Their gazes collided, Niall’s and his lovely mate’s, and for the first time, it truly occurred to him just exactly what she’d sacrificed to save his soul.

A shudder took him as the aftershocks of what that witch had done to him still lingered in his body. Being ripped away from one’s self, it was the most terrifying experience he could imagine. Worse than death, more difficult than pain or torture, more soul-wrenching than regret or guilt. To feel the very essence of his being as a possible prisoner. It was unfathomable torment.

And she’d saved him from that horrible eternity.

“Why?g” Niall asked her through a throat tightened with emotion. “Why would you risk all that for one man?”

“My question, exactly,” Malcolm gritted through obvious fury. “Of all the selfish, short-sighted, reckless—”

Niall stepped forward with a growl, wondering if his mate would forgive him for rearranging the arrogance that seemed to permanently reside on the Druid King’s face.

Kenna stepped between them, clutching Malcolm’s robes around her now shivering body. “Malcolm, I know this decision affects all of us. But hear me. I’ve always been able to glimpse the future in the flames, and when Mother Superior attempted to set his funeral pyre to burn, I saw
us
. I saw this man, this Berserker, and our children and grandchildren living—thriving—in our world. That is when I knew, I had to do what I must to save him. To love him. Because it is our fate.”

A humbled awe overtook Niall as his little mate held out her hand to him, and he took it, engulfing her slim, warm fingers in his own. This hand, this elegant hand of hers was capable of such power, such awe-inspiring magick, and yet, also generously gave the sweetest caresses and most carnal of pleasures.  

How could a man not love such a woman for the rest of his life?

“The Goddess grants us free will. I doona believe in fate,” Malcolm muttered pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “And I doona understand how it is that the women in this triad of magick can possibly put their bloody mates above the fate of the entire God-forsaken world. Have ye no sense of responsibility? No
fucking
idea of the scope of the loss we just suffered?”

The dark-haired Berserker who’d been looming behind Morgana stepped forward, resting two enormous hands on the shoulders of his own mate. Niall recognized him instantly as Baelsar Bloodborn; Elder, half-breed, and the fastest mercenary Berserker to be born to the temple in a score of centuries.

They’d all thought him defeated at the Battle of Stamford Bridge, and since he was a bastard with no house, they’d not sent anyone after him, not even for his body. The sentiment shamed Niall, who’d been born to a wealthy house with a bloodline as old as the Gods, themselves.

“We can take the battle to them,” Bael suggested, his dark, Persian eyes spearing Niall with equal parts wariness and conciliation. They were mated to cousins, which made them family now, didn’t it? United in the same cause, for the love of these flame-haired Druid royals and their cantankerous King. “They are now two while you are still a sacred three, and Morgana tells me that your power is increased when you all cast together.”

Niall nodded in agreement, wrapping his fingers around the shoulders of his own mate and pulling her back to rest against him. “You now have my sword, Druid King, and Bael’s axe. For the sake of my mate, I will fight to regain what was lost on my behalf.”

It spoke to Malcolm de Moray’s courage and strength that he not only met the eyes of the two gigantic Berserkers in front of him, but he studied them with judiciousness not often seen in the eyes of a mortal. Niall even became a bit restless and uncomfortable, as though the King was stripping away his protection like the bark of a tree, to see the quality of the material beneath.

“Malcolm,” Kenna sighed, reaching for her cousin’s hand. “I’m sorry it happened this way, but just think, everything that has been done so far on our part has been for the sake of love. And, despite our many gifts and responsibilities, isn’t that the most sacred and powerful magick of all? Is that not what the Goddess stands for?”

Morgana stepped forward. “Kenna is right, brother. We are stronger than our enemies, not because we are three, not because we are mated, and not because we are Druids. But because we are family, and we love each other.”

The frigid anger in Malcolm’s eyes softened, and Niall saw something within the Pictish King that made him flinch. This man did love his family. But there was a hatred deep in his soul, as well. One that covered a raw pain and a deep humiliation, that fractured his psyche in a way that only cold logic could keep the pieces together and in working order.

But for how long?

“I respect yer visions, Kenna,” Malcolm finally addressed his cousin with a long-suffering breath. “And why ye did what ye did.” He turned to his sister. “And I think yer husband is right.” He cast his piercing green eyes to the headless corpse of Macha, still slumped in the mud against the wall, and a dark sort of satisfaction spread across his regal features.

“‘Tis time for us to go to war.”

Morgana and Kenna turned to each other, ferocity and fortitude shining in their faces as well as they nodded to each other. 

Niall hadn’t understood until this moment the true strength of a woman’s spirit. Courage was more difficult for such a delicate creature. War and bloodshed conflicted with their better natures. And yet, when called upon to defend the innocent, the weak, or in this case the whole fucking world, they became as stalwart as any general.

Kenna turned to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her body against his as two warm amber eyes gazed up at him, stealing whatever was left of his heart. “I’m asking a lot of you to abandon your homeland for mine, and your battles for our war.”

Touched by her concern, Niall pulled her head against his chest, so she could feel his heart beating for her.

“Berserkers search the decades hoping to find a mate to fight for.” He locked gazes with Bael, who nodded his understanding of what he was about to say. “We are fortunate among our kind because we have found mates to fight next to and a battle worth our legacy. I pledge my life for yours, Kenna de Moray, my magick, my strength, my heart, and my blood. They are all at your mercy and at your whim. My men will follow you, fight and die for you.”

He felt a warm tear touch his chest from where it fell from her eye and he cupped her head with tenderness he didn’t know he possessed. “Your fire will be the light, the beacon against this evil that threatens our world, and I will be your sword in the darkness.”

He looked into Malcolm’s eyes and silently reaffirmed his vow.

The Pictish King peered at him as though he were a queer and fascinating thing, that their tenderness and intensity was something completely foreign and unfathomable to him.

“Just wait until you fall in love, brother,” Morgana teased. “It will amaze you the sacrifices you’re willing to make.”

“Never going to happen,” Malcolm scoffed, lifting his staff and pointing to the stables. “We’re taking horses back to Dun Moray,” he decreed.

Kenna pulled back, her eyes shining up at Niall with a laughter born of intimate secrets. “Remember what you said about
never
?” she asked.

There were, of course, Vikings to wake, nuns to settle, carnage to repair, and a war to plan. Sister Judith would be installed as the Mother Superior, a fair and generous woman. Ingmar and Bulvark would have to rally more men to fight the damned souls of the Wyrd Sister’s army.

But before all that, Niall shared warm, knowing laughter and a hot kiss with his mate.

CHAPTER ONE

Badb:
Sacred hate and ancient ire,

By the wind, water, and fire.

Reach through the souls now owned by me

And pluck the one who shall be freed.

A maiden fair, a beauty bold,

To ensnare a heart so cold.

She’ll force a King to his knees,

And bring him to be ruled by me.

Wyrd Sisters:
As we will, so mote it be!

The highland cave became as still as a tomb, and even the Wyrd sisters held their collective breath until one small bare foot stepped out of the nether, followed by a shapely calf, long, sensuous thighs, and a body that would have melted the hearts of the stoutest warriors.

Pale, luminous skin glowed in the light of the nether, illuminating eyes the color of amethysts and hair as dark as midnight.

“Mistress,” the shade spoke, running elegant fingers along her bare flesh as though she couldn’t believe what she felt. “What is your will?”

“Malcolm de Moray,” Badb spat the name. “Bring him back to me; I haven’t finished with him yet.”