Midnight's Seduction (36 page)

“While finding Saffron,” Hayden added.

Fallon looked at Camdyn. “And keep him alive. I refuse to loose another Warrior.”

*   *   *

Phelan knew the moment he entered the small village near Ferness that he’d found where the other Warrior lived. It was the way the men were stationed around the road leading into the village and perched atop buildings that alerted him.

He’d kept what he was a secret from everyone. There hadn’t been a single person in four centuries that he’d trusted enough to even show them what he was.

But somehow this other Warrior had not only done it, but also had an entire town behind him.

“Interesting,” Phelan murmured as he pulled his Ducati to a stop beside a sleek black CLS Mercedes in front of a pub that looked as if it had been around for at least seven centuries.

Phelan put the kickstand down on his bike and turned it off. He removed his helmet and let his gaze roam over the buildings around him.

The door to the pub opened and a burly man with a huge barrel chest stepped outside, his gaze on Phelan.

Phelan swung his leg over the bike to dismount and raised a brow at the man.

“Enough, Tom,” said a voice behind Phelan.

Phelan turned and saw the Warrior. He stood still as the Warrior approached him after Tom returned to the pub. “Who are you?” Phelan asked.

The Warrior lifted a dark brow. “I might ask the same question. Warrior.”

“The name is Phelan Stewart,” he said as he hung his helmet on one of the handlebars of his motorcycle.

“Well, Phelan, doona be getting comfortable here. I doona know what you want, but you willna be staying.”

“You didna help the MacLeods. Or Deirdre. Why no’?”

The Warrior sighed. “You’re persistent.”

“Tell me your name. You know mine.”

“Charon Bruce.”

“It seems, Charon, that you and I have something in common. Neither of us is on Deirdre’s side, and neither of us feels inclined to help the MacLeods.”

“How long have you been a Warrior?”

Phelan shrugged and said, “Five hundred and sixty years about. You?”

“Six hundred and twenty-two. How long did Deirdre have you?”

Phelan’s nostrils flared and his lips flattened. “Isla tricked me when I was but a lad of four. I was kept in that damned mountain until I reached a score of years. Then Deirdre unbound my god.”

“That means…” Charon’s voice trailed off as his gaze lowered to the ground. When he looked back at Phelan he said, “Come with me.”

Phelan followed Charon into the pub and up a flight of stairs to what was apparently Charon’s private office. Fine works of art by Michelangelo and da Vinci graced the walls while expensive Persian rugs covered the floor.

Charon’s desk was about as old as he was, but had been well preserved.

“Sit,” Charon said as he poured whisky out of a crystal decanter into two glasses. He handed a glass to Phelan and said, “I do believe we were both held by Deirdre at the same time. I was there for several decades. It wasn’t until the MacLeods attacked the mountain that I was set free.”

Phelan lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. “Ah. Fine, single-malt whisky. Deirdre kept me far below the ground in a chamber where I was only visited by her and Isla.”

“Who set you free?”

“Isla.” Though Phelan hated to admit it. He detested the Druid, but she had come to him and released him.

He’d thought she had died from her wound, but imagine his surprise when he’d seen her not so long ago.

“Isla is with the MacLeods now. Whether you know it or no’, Deirdre used Isla’s sister and niece against her. It was the only way Deirdre could control Isla.”

“I really doona give a shite about Isla. I want to know why you doona help the MacLeods.”

Charon swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “I know their cause is just. I know the world would be a much better place without Deirdre, but she forced me to spy on Quinn while she held him in the mountain. Deirdre has a way of manipulating people to her advantage. The MacLeods might welcome me, but it’s no’ a chance I’m willing to take. What’s your excuse?”

“I refuse to fight alongside Druids. Actually, I came to see if you would help me kill them.”

“Kill who?”

“The Druids. All of them.”

Charon set down his glass and looked at Phelan with new eyes. “How much do you know of the history of the Warriors?”

“What is there to know?”

Just as Charon thought. “No’ all Druids are evil, Phelan. This land, our Scotland, was built upon magic. Without the Druids, that magic will fade and cease to exist.”

“So?”

“A verra long time ago the Romans invaded Britain. The Celts, our ancestors, fought them for years. They were able to stop the Romans from venturing into the Highlands, but the Romans refused to leave.

“The Druids in those days had split into two factions. The
mies
kept to their original Druid ways and continued to heal, teach, and guide the clan leaders. The
droughs,
however, turned to black magic by giving their souls to the Devil.

“The clan leaders turned to the Druids for help, but the
mies
had no answer for how to defeat the Romans. The
droughs
did. They called up primeval gods long imprisoned in Hell. These gods took the host of the strongest warriors of each family.”

Phelan lowered his eyes to the glass in his hand.

“These men became the first Warriors. They defeated the Romans and had them retreating from Britain. But the gods were no’ satisfied. They wanted to keep killing. It took the combined magic of the
mies
and the
droughs
to bind the gods inside the men. They were unable to force the gods back into Hell, and the gods traveled through the bloodlines, going to the strongest warrior each time.

“The spells were no’ supposed to have been written down, but they were. And Deirdre found the spell to unbind our gods. That scroll listed one clan—the MacLeods. So, Deirdre began there. When she found Fallon, Lucan, and Quinn, she murdered their entire clan in order to have them for herself.”

“Stop,” Phelan said. “I doona want to hear more.”

“But you must. You need to know your history. You need to know who you can trust and who you can no’.”

“Can you trust the MacLeods?”

Charon nodded. “The MacLeods were able to escape Deirdre. They retreated to their castle where they stayed for three hundred years. Then Lucan fell in love with a woman who had no idea she was a Druid. Other Warriors who sought out the MacLeods found them. And the MacLeods opened their castle to any Warrior willing to fight Deirdre. As well as any Druid—
mie
or
drough
—looking for sanctuary.”

Phelan took another drink of the whisky and contemplated the liquid for a moment before he asked, “Are there really good Druids?”

“Aye. You saw them at the Ring of Brodgar. Even Isla, who was forced to become
drough
by Deirdre, is no’ truly a
drough
. She has the power of the black magic, but the evil doesna rule her.”

“Is that why she released me?”

“I think she released you because she never wanted to bring you there to begin with. Isla had many opportunities to harm me while I was in Cairn Toul. Yet, she never did.”

Phelan leaned forward and set the glass on Charon’s desk down carefully. “If all you say is true, and you believe it so much that you’re trying to convince me, I ask you again. Why no’ help the MacLeods?”

CHAPTER

FORTY-TWO

A war raged inside Malcolm. His claws were sunk into his palms as he fought to keep himself still and not kill those around him.

Not that he could kill them. Deirdre had survived death once, and Declan, well, Malcolm was relatively sure the bastard would somehow survive death as well.

Yet, Malcolm couldn’t take his eyes off Saffron. Deirdre and Declan had taken turns trying to wake her from her magic-induced sleep. When that hadn’t worked, they had begun using magic on her.

It hadn’t taken long for the smell of blood to fill the dungeon. That hadn’t satisfied them though. And somehow Saffron had slept through it all.

“Robbie, string her up,” Declan called.

Malcolm growled as Robbie slung his machine gun around so that it rested against his back. Robbie smiled at him and walked into the cell where Saffron was still sitting. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and her nose, but she hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Help him,” Deirdre ordered Malcolm.

He wanted to refuse, wanted to tell Deirdre to go to hell where she belonged. But then Malcolm thought of Larena. He bit back his words and strode into the cell where Robbie had grabbed Saffron’s upper body.

Malcolm bared his teeth, showing Robbie his fangs. A low, menacing growl followed that had Robbie taking a step back so quickly Saffron listed over, banging her head on the cement floor.

Without another look at Robbie, Malcolm lifted Saffron in his arms. All he could think about as he walked her to where Declan and Deirdre awaited was her asking him to tell Camdyn she loved him.

Love.

Malcolm certainly believed in it. He’d seen it with his own eyes between Larena and Fallon as well as the other couples at the castle.

Though he never expected to find it for himself.

Somehow, against all odds, the quiet, withdrawn Camdyn had found it. Malcolm couldn’t help wondering if Camdyn knew where Saffron was. As soon as Malcolm thought it, he knew Camdyn didn’t. Because every Warrior from MacLeod Castle would have descended upon Declan’s mansion to rescue Saffron.

Declan raised a brow. “What are you waiting for, Warrior? I said to string her up.”

Rage began to burn inside Malcolm, making it difficult for him to keep his face impassive. He held Saffron with one arm around her upper body while he released her legs. Malcolm reached for the rope hanging from the ceiling and wound the loop around Saffron’s hands.

As soon as he did, Saffron was yanked from his arms as Robbie pulled on the rope.

Robbie’s smile was pure evil. “Is something wrong, Warrior?”

He and Declan called Malcolm that as if Malcolm were embarrassed to have a god inside him with powers none could comprehend. When in fact, the opposite was true.

Malcolm walked to Robbie and jabbed a claw against his shoulder until blood bloomed and soaked the black shirt. “One day verra soon you and I are going to have a serious disagreement.”

“I’m no’ afraid of you.”

Malcolm’s smile was slow as it pulled at his lips. “We shall see how brave you are without your precious gun.”

“Enough,” Declan bellowed. “Malcolm, resume your place.”

Malcolm didn’t move. He took orders from only one person, and then only when he wanted to.

Deirdre’s laugh filled the dungeon. “Ah, Declan, you should know better. No one orders Malcolm or my wyrran but me.”

“Then control your Warrior,” Declan ground out.

There was a pregnant pause before Deirdre said, “Malcolm, you’ve made your point. Let us continue.”

With great effort Malcolm returned to his post in the shadows. Saffron’s body hung by her wrists, slowly swinging back and forth.

Malcolm was wondering what they were going to do to Saffron when Deirdre’s hair lashed out like a whip and connected with Saffron’s back.

*   *   *

Camdyn walked into Saffron’s chamber and softly closed the door. He looked around the room, picturing her as she sat in front of her vanity and brushed out her hair, or how she twirled a lock of light brown hair around her finger as she talked on her mobile phone.

He walked to the bed and sank onto the mattress. Images of the times they had made love flashed in his mind. Camdyn leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.

He’d left Saffron that last night because he hadn’t been able to face what he’d known from the very beginning. That she was special. Not just because she was a Druid, but special to him.

She was meant for him. He knew that now. Now that it was too late.

He hadn’t wanted to love a woman again, hadn’t wanted to put himself in a position to be hurt as he had been in the past. Even though he hadn’t gone looking for love it had found him. And there was no escaping it.

No matter how much he tried to deny it, Saffron was a part of him. She was in his soul, his psyche. And he wanted her there.

“If only I’d realized this sooner,” Camdyn muttered.

His idiocy could very well have cost him the second woman he had ever loved.

“Nay!” Camdyn bellowed and got to his feet. “I willna give up that easily.”

He stalked to the door and threw it open with such force that it crashed into the wall behind it. Camdyn paid it little heed as he strode to Broc’s chamber.

Camdyn pounded on the door. When Broc didn’t answer it immediately, Camdyn pounded on it again.

“All right!” Broc shouted. “I’m coming.”

The door swung open and Camdyn said, “I need you to look for Saffron again.”

Broc signed wearily and shook his head. “Camdyn, I’ve tried. Numerous times. I can no’ find her, Deirdre, or Declan.”

“I’ve got to find her.”

“And I can help,” said a voice to Camdyn’s left.

He and Broc turned to find Laria watching him.

“Come,” Laria said, and started for the stairs that led down to the great hall.

“She’s your best chance,” Broc said.

Camdyn gave a curt nod and hastened to follow Laria. Hope flared in his chest. It was like a beacon in the darkest of nights, and Camdyn knew all too well how crushing it would be if that hope failed.

But he wouldn’t think about that now. He focused on Saffron, on the love growing in his heart. He had to find her. He would find her.

And he would bring her back to the castle.

*   *   *

Saffron could see Deirdre’s hair lashing at her back in a kind of out-of-body experience. She could see the anger in Deirdre’s face as Saffron gave no response. She could see Declan’s glee at her blood spilling down her back. Could see her naked self hanging by her wrists.

“They won’t stop,”
the ancients said, their collective voices speaking as one.
“They will end up killing you.”