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“Do ye see the symbols carved in those stones?” He pointed to the incredible standing stones at each side of the gate to Moray Village. “They’re placed all around the valley, and are strong enough that neither the Wyrd Sisters nor their minions can cross—”
With a cry, Sean’s arms were jerked from around his waist as he was thrown from the horse and into the grass by the invisible barrier that protected these lands.
Malcolm slowly turned his horse, meeting Morgana’s wide, blue eyes before he could bring himself to look at the man who stared up at him from the ground.
A cold, bitter fury built in his gut as he realized, he’d never told Sean the names of his enemies, and yet he’d only just called them the Wyrd Sisters.
Because he was in league with them.
Chapter Five
Sean turned his shackled wrists this way and that, testing the security of the iron and his ability to slip out of it. Of course, it would figure that Malcolm’s chains would hold fast, that his dungeon would be as absolute as the void had been. It was almost worse, because Sean could mark the passing of time through the narrow-barred window at the top of the tall stone wall. The sunlight crept in a moving square across the floor, and every moment it passed was a moment he could mark his failures.
It had taken some considerable reworking of the wards to allow him into the castle, and still keep the Wyrd Sisters out. The power of the de Moray Druids was nothing like the dark workings he’d seen from his captors. Their spells were lyrical chants and prayers and even songs. Their runes pulsed with light instead of darkness, and their Magick was fortified with love rather than hatred.
But the wrath in Malcolm’s eyes had been terrifying.
Lethal.
More frightening than any of the atrocities he’d witnessed as a captive of the Wyrd Sisters. In fact, it was the dark-haired, black-eyed Berserker, Bael, who’d shackled Sean and whisked him to the dungeon.
Because Malcolm couldn’t bear to look at him, didn’t trust himself to touch Sean without causing him harm. He’d said as much.
And who could blame him?
The irony weighed on Seans chest like a load of bricks.
As the shadows grew long, and the meager light from the outside began to dissipate, he fought an encompassing, paralyzing panic. His chains became heavier, the stones colder and more unforgiving. The scuttles of vermin, unseen or just imagined, were more frightening than the complete isolation of the void.
You’ve failed us, Sean. Badb’s voice hissed on the wind. We’re coming with the Grimoire, and if you don’t take what we bade you when we break the wards, then you’ll be returned to the void for eternity. But first we’ll make you watch as we toy with your lover, and slaughter everyone he loves…
“No,” he whimpered, dropping to his knees. Even in this dungeon he wasn’t safe from their evil. The darkness always found him. That was his curse. He’d traded his soul to it, and now had to live with an eternity of tormented regrets.
The sound of the heavy bolt and the scrape of the door against the stones brought Sean to his feet. Never let it be said that he faced his fate on his knees.
Never again. Not even before Malcolm de Moray.
The king’s climb down the dungeon steps was long, as though he didn’t want to reach the bottom. Golden light from his torch spilled over the stones from the entry a moment before his wide frame filled the archway.
Sean’s heart leapt into his throat and stayed there, rendering him mute, as he watched Malcolm mount the torch in its sconce.
Gone was the gentle, patient lover of the prior night. Gone was the noble, beloved ruler of the Pictish people. The man who stalked into the prison trembled with a fury that covered wounds. Wounds that Sean created. Scars he’d ruthlessly ripped open.
As Malcom loomed, a creature of cold rage and hot blood, one word ripped from his lips that surprised them both.
“Why?”
The question encompassed so much, and yet Sean didn’t know where to start. Malcolm had such control, and such power. Sean realized now that the Wyrd Sisters, as potent as their dark Magick was, underestimated this Druid.
“You have no right to ask me that,” Sean answered, cursing the tremor in his voice. “My reasons are my own.” And they were many.
“I have every right!” The king exploded, the stone walls of the prison trembling with the force of his emotion. He captured both Sean’s shoulders in a brutal grip, and pulled him closer so his eyes burned down with the wrath of a thousand forges. “I wasna asking why ye’re a minion of those evil hags.” He gathered a cold, lethal calm back into his voice. “I was asking why I still desire ye as desperately as I do. Even after everything ye’ve done.”
Sean didn’t have time to process the question as the king crushed his lips to Sean’s in a punishing kiss. He didn’t plunder or explore, didn’t give time to respond, but instead kissed him long enough to bruise his lips and then ripped their mouths apart with a snarl of aggravation.
“Damn ye,” he forced through gritted teeth, and bent to claim another.
“No!” Sean cried out, chains scraping the earth as he lifted his hands and pushed against his chest. “Damn you,” he spat. “Damn you for making me care!”
