Dark Sword 05: Shadow Highlander (24 page)

Magic
.

Reaghan’s skin prickled with excitement. She was with another Druid. And she could sense her magic.

“I’m Cara,” the Druid said, “Lucan’s wife. Are you better now?”

“Aye,” Reaghan answered. “Much. Thank you.”

Cara waved away her words. “Sometimes jumping with Fallon leaves people light-headed.”

Reaghan remembered Galen had said they called Fallon’s power “jumping.” “I’m Reaghan.”

“Reaghan,” Cara said with a wide, friendly smile. “It is so nice to have more Druids here. I’ll introduce you to the others as soon as you feel up to it.”

Reaghan looked over to find Fallon had appeared in the bailey again, this time with Mairi and three others. Reaghan watched as the people of her village were welcomed into the castle.

“I’m eager to meet more Druids. We thought we were the last.”

“Not the last, but close,” Cara said as she waved a petite woman over. “This is Marcail, my sister by marriage. Marcail, this is Reaghan.”

Marcail winked at Cara, their friendship obvious, as she lowered herself to the steps beside them. “Hello, Reaghan, I’m married to Quinn.”

“Hello,” Reaghan said. She couldn’t stop staring at the numerous small braids which graced the crown of Marcail’s dark head. “I apologize for staring. It’s just that I’ve seen those kinds of braids before.”

Marcail’s brow furrowed as she shared a look with Cara. “Do you know where? In my village, only Druids with the most magic had such a custom.”

Reaghan shrugged as she racked her mind to try and recall where she had seen the braids. To recognize things, but not be able to know why was frustrating. Maybe if she concentrated more she could break the walls of her spell. She smiled as she realized she did have magic. She had to have it in order to cast such a spell. “I can’t remember, but I know I’ve seen such braids before.”

“It’s no matter,” Cara said. “It will come to you later. There are so many people to introduce you to. We have twelve Warriors who live at the castle, well, thirteen if you count Larena.”

“And Malcolm,” Marcail interjected.

Cara nodded. “Malcolm is Larena’s cousin, and the only mortal man.”

“Galen told me.” Reaghan had never met anyone who was so open and welcoming before. These Druids didn’t know of her past, of who she was. She hoped she could become friends with these women. “He also said there were other Druids.”

Marcail pointed to the middle of the bailey. “The woman with the thick braid of red hair is Sonya. She’s our healer.”

“Aye. Then there is also Isla.” Cara looked around the bailey. “Isla is the tiny one with black hair standing next to the blond giant.”

It was said with a smile, and Reaghan had no difficulty identifying Isla. “And you all have magic?”

“We do,” Marcail answered. “Is it not the same in your village?”

Reaghan glanced away and shook her head. “Most have very little magic. I … I have some.”

Marcail stood and smiled as a man bounded up the steps to her side. He had wavy, light brown hair and pale green eyes. She could see a resemblance between him and Fallon, and it didn’t take long for Reaghan to realize the man was the youngest MacLeod.

“Quinn, this is Reaghan,” Marcail said. “Reaghan, this is my husband, Quinn.”

Reaghan rose to her feet and inclined her head. “Thank you for opening your home to us.”

“All Druids are welcome here,” Quinn replied with an easy, sincere smile.

“All Druids?” Cara asked with a smile.

Quinn rolled his eyes as Marcail began to laugh. Reaghan found herself smiling as she recognized they were speaking of Deirdre.

Warmth, like a lover’s touch, spread over Reaghan of a sudden. She knew without looking that Galen had arrived. She turned, searching for him. It was his cobalt eyes that caught her attention as her gaze found him.

He stood with Fallon, Broc, and Logan in the middle of the bailey, surrounded by the Druids from her village. But all she saw was Galen.

All she cared about was Galen.

They lost themselves in each other’s eyes as the rest of the world vanished to nothing. The castle and all others were forgotten as Galen started toward her. Reaghan never took her eyes off him. Her heart beat doubled in time and her hands itched to touch him, hold him.

He walked with purpose, commanding attention and respect. How could anyone think him nothing more than a mere man? The Warrior within was evident in the way he moved, the way his gaze devoured her.

A slow heat built in her belly, tightening with every step Galen took, until she was a smoldering mass of desire, desperate and frantic for his touch.

He stopped a step below her, putting them at eye level with each other. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, to his wide lips that she yearned to feel on her body once more.

“Reaghan,” he whispered, his tone full of torment and ecstasy. “You must stop looking at me so before I carry you to my chamber.”

She raised her gaze to his and grinned. “I wouldn’t complain.”

He groaned low in his throat. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Reaghan lost herself in the depths of his blue eyes and their implicit promise of pleasure. His fingers grazed her cheek with the lightest of touches but left a trail of heat in its wake, heat that centered between her legs and left her throbbing for more. That was always the way with Galen. She could never get enough, and she feared she never would.

His hand dropped and he cleared his throat. “You’re exhausted,” he murmured, and took a step away from her.

Reaghan became aware that Cara and Marcail stood on either side of her. They had witnessed the exchange, but Reaghan didn’t mind.

“We’ve prepared the chambers,” Cara said. “I will show you to yours, Reaghan.”

Reaghan didn’t want to leave Galen’s side again, but she knew he had things he needed to do. And the thought of a soft bed and warm food was too much to resist.

She eagerly followed Cara and Marcail into the castle. Reaghan drank in the sight of the great hall. There were two long tables that filled the space, and four chairs sat before a large hearth.

There was no time to look her fill before they started up the stairs. Cara led her up two flights of steps and down a lengthy corridor before Cara stopped before an open door.

Reaghan glanced inside to find a small chamber with a bed against the far wall and a window on the left side. She stepped within the chamber and spotted a small table beside the bed, four wooden pegs in the wall, and a chest. Above the bed was a shield that Reaghan somehow knew dated back four hundred years.

“This is more than I had imagined,” Reaghan said as she turned to the door to find Cara and Marcail watching her.

“There is a village not far from here,” Marcail said as her fingers grabbed one of the gold bands around her braids. “But Deirdre has destroyed it twice. It was decided all Druids should stay in the castle in case of another attack.”

Reaghan glanced at the bed. “Is there room for everyone?”

Cara grinned and linked her hands in front of her. “Don’t worry. There is a place for everyone.”

“And the Warriors?” Reaghan couldn’t help but ask.

“They will sleep in the village.”

“Are you hungry? I could bring up some food,” Marcail suggested.

Reaghan was starving, but she knew they had many others to see to. “I’ll find my way to the kitchen.”

“Nonsense,” Cara said. “Rest, Reaghan. You’ve had a long journey, been attacked by wyrran, and you’ve had to leave your home. Let us see to you.”

Now that she was at MacLeod Castle, Reaghan was too tired to resist. “Only for now.”

Marcail smiled as she closed the door behind them, leaving Reaghan alone with her thoughts. She kicked off her shoes and climbed on to the bed.

Reaghan sighed as she fell back against the soft pillow. She had slept each night on the ground because she’d been so weary, but the feel of the supple bed beneath her made her realize just how hard the ground had been.

Reaghan rolled to her side and tucked her knees up to her chest. She knew she was filthy and needed a bath, but the other Druids from her village would also want to bathe. So she would wait.

Her stomach rumbled with hunger even though it hadn’t been long since their noon meal. She glanced through her open window to the sky beyond and realized the sun had begun to set.

She had been so caught up with MacLeod Castle and its people she hadn’t realized it was nearing suppertime. Reaghan looked down at her soiled dress and frowned.

With a sigh she sat up and pulled off her gown and tossed it aside. She would wash it later. For now, she would do as Cara and Marcail suggested and rest.

The sounds from the bailey drifted through her window, reminding her of all that she knew of castles. She wondered how long her spell had been erasing her memories. The secrets Mairi and Odara had kept all made sense now, and though she was frightened to her very core of what she was, she was so very glad Galen had told her.

What information did she have that must be kept from Deirdre? That was the scariest of all. Something drastic and terrifying had to have happened to her in order for her to put such a spell on herself.

Would she ever know the reason? Was there a way to break the spell? And did she even want to try?

The thought of losing her memories of Galen and what she was, not to mention the last ten years of her life, made it difficult to breathe. She didn’t want her memories erased again.

If somewhere in her memories there was a means to help Galen and the others defeat Deirdre, Reaghan would do all she could to make sure they had what they needed.

She didn’t know how, but she would.

TWENTY-FOUR

The sun was casting its last rays of light into the darkening sky as Dunmore rode through the gatehouse of the seat of clan MacClure. The castle had been enlarged and expanded in the three hundred years since the MacLeod clan had fallen.

The MacClures were one of the clans who had gained coin and land with the death of the MacLeods. But Dunmore wasn’t interested in the castle or the MacClure coin. He was only concerned about one thing, and that would soon come to pass.

“What is your business?” demanded one of the four guards who stood at the top of the steps that led into the castle.

Dunmore grinned and scratched his jaw with his thumbnail. “I was hoping you’d ask. I’m here to see your laird.”

“What reason?”

Dunmore narrowed his gaze and leaned forward to stare at the insolent man. “That matter is for your laird only. Tell him I’ve been sent by Deirdre.”

The guards paled, and the one who had spoken turned and hurried into the castle. Dunmore rested a hand on his thigh and let his gaze wander the bailey.

The children had stopped playing and huddled at the rear of a group of women who were whispering behind their hands. The men tried to appear less interested by pretending to continue with their work, but Dunmore wasn’t fooled.

He knew his hulking appearance was menacing, but that was just how he liked it. He also had the favor of Deirdre, the most powerful Druid to ever walk the land. But he imagined it was his bloodred cloak that got the most attention.

The castle doors opened and a large, heavyset man stepped outside. Dunmore had seen the MacClure laird before, but it had been several years ago when the man hadn’t had as much gray in his hair or wrinkles lining his face.

“Your name,” the laird demanded in a deep, gravelly voice.

“Dunmore.”

The laird sighed, resignation in the slump of his shoulders, and motioned him off his horse. “Come inside so we can speak. A stable lad will see to your horse.”

Dunmore dismounted and tossed the reins to a lad who reluctantly came forward. Dunmore had been like the boy at one time, but that was before he’d found Deirdre and seen what her magic could do.

He followed the laird inside the castle to the dais where a meal was in progress. The great hall was filled with people, all of whom stared at him. Murmurs ran through the hall as they speculated on what had brought him to their castle. Dunmore hid a smile as servants hastened to prepare a space next to the laird.

“Tell me, Clennan, how do you know I come from Deirdre?” Dunmore asked as he sat.

Clennan turned bleak hazel eyes to him. “I was told someday I might get a visit from a man named Dunmore who wore a red cloak. I was to give him entrance and hear what he had to say.”

“And who told you this?”

Clennan shifted uneasily in his chair as the conversation began to pick up again throughout the great hall. “Through the cold bitch, Isla.”

Dunmore laughed. Clearly the laird didn’t enjoy the pact his forefathers had made with Deirdre, but like them, he recognized when he was beaten and sided with her for his own interests. “You doona have to worry about Isla anymore.”

“Why is that?”

“Because she has sided with the MacLeods,” Dunmore said just before he lifted his goblet and drank heavily of the heady red wine.