Darkest Highlander (18 page)

He shrugged. “I spotted it when I noticed the storm.”

“I’m glad.”

His fathomless eyes shifted to her. They beckoned her, lured her. Some unnamed emotion, dark and full of longing and need flashed in his gaze. It made her stomach flip and her breathing quicken.

When his eyes dropped to her mouth, Sonya sucked in a breath that locked in her lungs. No one had ever looked at her before with such desire, such yearning.

She was drowning in his brown eyes.

Engulfed.

Overwhelmed.

Immersed.

And she never wanted to be anywhere else again.

What was it about Broc that drew her? He tried to keep himself withdrawn, but she had seen the kindness of his soul, knew what lengths he would go to for those he cared about.

But what drew her from the first moment she had seen him was the way he looked at her.

As if she mattered. As if she was important.

To him.

NINETEEN

Broc knew he should look away from Sonya. But he couldn’t.

She consumed his thoughts, his dreams. His desires. He knew the feel of her tall form against his, knew the way she fit alongside him. He knew the scent of her skin, the warmth of her body.

He knew there were seven freckles across the bridge of her nose and she had flecks of gold in her amber eyes. He knew the intense and sensual feel of her magic.

Broc had thought he knew all there was to know about Sonya. Then he had kissed her.

If he had yearned for her before, now he burned.

That one simple, soul-stealing taste of her was seared on his being forever.

Desire blazed within him as he thought of kissing her again, of holding her body against his. Of hearing her soft sighs of pleasure.

His balls tightened, urging him to go to her. To taste her again. Longer, more leisurely. His gaze dropped to her lips, and he bit back a moan when he saw them part.

Could she want him? Did the same raging need fill her veins that did his?

Broc desperately wanted to find out. He wanted to go to her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her until they were both lost in the passion that controlled him.

Then, he remembered his curse.

The fire burning through his veins cooled instantly.

Broc pulled his gaze from Sonya and jabbed at the fire with the stick. He turned his mind from her tantalizing body to the burial mound and how they would find it.

Maybe Sonya was correct. Maybe he should take to the sky and see if he could locate the mound. It would certainly help save time.

“I think your idea of me looking for the mound is a solid one,” Broc said.

“When will you begin your search?”

He glanced out of the cave into the rain. “As soon as the rain begins to lessen.”

“Have you thought about what will happen if we don’t find it?”

“The only way that will be acceptable is if Deirdre doesna find it either.”

Sonya sighed softly. “Does she know where it’s located?”

“She might. She didna say anything about it, but then again, she could have purposefully left that part out.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Broc?”

He glanced at her and shrugged. “I doona know what you’re talking about.”

“You do. If Deirdre has known about this second artifact and where it is, why hasn’t she sent her wyrran or Dunmore after it before now?”

He should have known Sonya would figure out he was hiding something. There was no other choice but to tell her now. Maybe she would know something he didn’t.

“Do you know anything of the burial mounds?” he asked.

She shook her head, her brow furrowing in thought. “Only what they are and that they aren’t to be disturbed.”

“The Celts used the Druids to inscribe spells around the doors to some of their tombs.”

“As a means to keep people out?”

He licked his lips and chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. The few who have these spells etched on their doorways did it because they have something of importance inside, something they doona want anyone to get. They made sure that some people could get inside, but they might never find the one thing which was meant to be kept hidden.”

“In other words, Deirdre cannot get into the tomb.”

“Precisely.”

Sonya drew her legs up to her chest. When she did, the tartan fell open to reveal her foot and most of her calf. Broc thought of reaching over, of laying his hands along her skin and slowly caressing up her leg to her thigh, then the swell of her hip.

“How did she expect to reach the artifact?” Sonya asked, jerking Broc out of his thoughts.

Broc cleared his throat and tried to take control of the desire that burned intensely. “She was going to use me.”

“I don’t understand.” Sonya’s brow was creased, her eyes filled with doubt and uncertainty. “How did she expect you to get in?”

“I’m no’ sure. She was certain I would be able to, though.”

“Before or after she released all the evil in you?”

“After.”

Sonya shook her head, her flame-colored curls coming loose from her braid. “Could it be just
droughs
which are kept out of the tomb?”

“If she didna send wyrran or Dunmore, it has to be more than that.”

“What, then? It cannot be evil. If that were the case, then once your god had control of you, you would be recognized as evil as well.”

“I doona think we’ll understand any of it until we reach the burial mound. Until then, we are doing nothing but speculating.”

She grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know, but I find myself vastly curious. Obviously, Deirdre has known about this artifact for some time but hasn’t been able to obtain it. If she’s so formidable, what would cancel that power?”

“I’m guessing whatever is in the tomb.”

Sonya reached inside the satchel and drew out their last two oatcakes. She handed one to Broc and began to eat hers as she watched him. He was a keeper of secrets, but just what kind of secrets? “You know so much of me and my life, yet I know almost nothing of you.”

“There’s nothing to know.”

She suspected he might not want to tell her, and she didn’t want to push. She might never know who Broc was before Deirdre had first captured him.

Despite his reserved nature, she had seen a glimmer of something in Broc made more obvious by Jean’s statement that Broc was a nobleman.

Since she had been kept in isolation with the Druids most of her life, she wasn’t sure she would know the difference between a noble and a commoner, except for the obvious clothes and jewels.

Sonya finished her oatcake and tried again. “As much as I’ve enjoyed my time at MacLeod Castle, I would like to visit another village soon. Maybe even travel to Edinburgh and see the king’s castle.”

“You think you’ve missed out on things being raised by the Druids, do you no’?” Broc asked, his voice soft, mellow.

“In some ways. There is much of the world I know nothing about.”

“You havna missed anything. People are cruel and savage. They steal and murder at the least provocation, and think nothing of betraying their friends.”

“That is true of everyone. Mortals, Druids, and Warriors alike,” Sonya said.

Broc grunted and his lips twisted in a sneer of anger and bitterness. “You have no’ seen the wars I have, Sonya. Hundreds of men dying because their lords told them to. A war simply because one man thought the other purposefully served him soured wine.”

There was something in Broc’s voice, something in his face that told Sonya he had not only known this but experienced it. “That must have been difficult to watch.”

“No’ watch. I was in the middle of the damned battle.”

Her heart ached for him, for the resentment he still carried. “You survived.”

“Ah, but so many good men didna. Both my brothers fell, as did my father, three cousins, and uncle.”

Sonya reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Broc.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Maybe, but it still bothers you.”

“It took less than a day for my life to turn on its side. One moment for Hugh, the laird of the Ferguson clan and friend of my father, to declare Da had given him spoiled wine on purpose. It wasna like Hugh to act so rashly.”

Sonya lowered her hand when he shifted away from her. So Broc had been a laird’s son. A noble. Jean had been correct. “That statement caused the rift between your clans?”

“Aye. Clans which had been allies for generations were now enemies. Men I had called friends suddenly refused to acknowledge me. The next morning, we met on the battlefield.”

She shivered at the desolation in his voice.

“I thought I would never see such death again. But it wasna long after that the wyrran took me.”

“And your god was unbound.”

“Aye.”

“Who became laird when you went missing?”

His head swiveled to hers. With eyes staring hard, Broc said, “A younger cousin.”

“Have you seen your clan since Deirdre took you?”

“Once. They are thriving, which is all I could have hoped for.”

Sonya rearranged the tartan across her shoulders. “Why didn’t you want me to learn you were nobility?”

“I never said I was.”

“You didn’t have to. Jean did. And it’s the way you act. Why deny it?”

“Because I’m no’ the man I was.”

“You may not be as naïve, but you are a better man than the one who watched his father and brothers die on the battlefield.”

Broc scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve done terrible things, Sonya. If I was such a good man, why would I have done them?”

“You were a spy. You had no choice if you were to have Deirdre trust and confide in you.”

“There was a point, no’ long ago, that I forgot who I was. I wasna sure if I was really spying for Deirdre or if I had aligned with her. The lines had begun to blur.”

Sonya could only imagine what he had gone through at Deirdre’s hands, and the many things he had done in service to her. “You didn’t give in. Instead, you did things others wouldn’t have. You saved me and Anice. You helped the MacLeods.”

“I could have done more.”

“Everyone can look back into their pasts and say that.”

He suddenly grinned at her. “For one so young, you are certainly wise.”

“I am a Druid,” she teased.

“That you are.”

They fell silent, and Sonya once more found herself longing to kiss Broc. She wanted to be in his arms, to feel his strength surround her.

If the past few days had showed her anything, it was that life could be snatched away at any moment. For so long, Sonya had let her fears rule her.

Not anymore.

She would take the risks she had longed to take, say the words she had wanted to say, and kiss an indigo Warrior who filled her thoughts.

Sonya rose to her feet. Broc tilted his head in question, a small frown marring his forehead. She wanted to smooth her fingers across his brow and erase those lines.

“There have been very few times in my life when I’ve done as I wished,” she said and walked around the fire.

“What are you talking about?”

She grinned. “Me. Anice was the one who did as she pleased, uncaring of how it affected others. Whereas I always did what was expected. No more.”

“Sonya…” Broc’s voice trailed away when she continued around the fire.

She stopped in front of him. “No one knows what tomorrow will bring or if we’ll survive this day. I don’t want to regret anything anymore.”

Before he could say a word, she let the tartan drop to her feet.

TWENTY

In all his two hundred and seventy-five years, no one had surprised him like Sonya did.

He let his gaze run over her stunning body at his leisure, from her full pink-tipped breasts to her narrow waist. To the flare of her hips to the triangle of red curls that hid her sex and down her long, lean legs.

And back up again.

Broc was on his feet and standing before her in the next heartbeat. He looked into her amber eyes and saw the desire, the need that beat within himself.

“Sonya,” he whispered.

He put his hands on her elbows then caressed up her arms to her shoulders. A small sigh, barely discernible except to his hearing, was the only sound.

Everything was just as he had imagined it would be, except for one thing.

Broc reached behind her back and grasped her braid. He unwound the strip of fabric and spread her hair about her shoulders.

He traced her lips with his thumb, eager to plunder her depths again. Her scent surrounded him. Lulled him. Appeased him.

But it was the feel of her magic that drove him wild. It was unlike any other magic he had ever felt. Commanding. Imposing. Dominating. Pure, raw
mie
magic at its most powerful.

And she had no idea just how strong her magic was. Which is what made her so special. Special enough that he shouldn’t touch her, taint her with the deeds of his past or the curse.

Yet, he couldn’t walk away.

Deep inside, he had known the moment he had found her with the wolf that their paths would lead to this. He had thought to dissuade her, to keep his distance. But that wasn’t possible.

Broc took the small step which separated them and pulled her body against his. Sonya placed her hands on his chest. His skin burned wherever she touched.

Her caress was feather light as she worked her way up to his shoulders, then around his neck. It was Broc’s turn to bite back a moan when her fingers toyed with his hair at the nape of his neck.

She rose up on tiptoe and used one finger to move a strand of blond hair out of his face.

Broc could take no more. He leaned down and took her mouth in a kiss. It was violent, raw, and passionate. But the need, the ferocious hunger that tore at Broc’s soul would not be denied the sweet taste of Sonya’s lips another moment.

He rejoiced when she melted against him and opened her lips. He delved into her mouth, stroking her tongue with his. With every sweep of his tongue, he claimed more of her, demanded more of her.