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He gave a short laugh, and then a sniff. “It does help a bit,” Sean said fondly, pressing himself closer. “Since I’ve been in the void, Malcolm, I’ve suffered every form of madness imaginable. I’ve prayed to every God and Goddess known, and they’ve all abandoned me to the darkness, just like Kenneth did. And so, you see, I made a vow that if I ever had the chance to escape the void, I would take it, no matter who became a casualty of the circumstance.”
In that moment, Malcolm not only understood his choices, he sympathized with them. His anger drained away, and he was left with a helpless sympathy that unsettled his very soul.
“But ye didna, lad,” he murmured. “Here I still am, in command of my people and my powers.”
Sean made a bitter sound, but didn’t pull away. “Like I said, I’m a fool. I promised myself that I would never again sacrifice my interest for a man or his cause.”
“I doona blame ye.” Malcolm stroked his hair, thinking that he ought to take the shackles from around Sean’s wrists. He didn’t deserve them. He’d been imprisoned enough.
Sean lifted his chin and rose on his toes to press a kiss to his jaw, lips seeking Malcolm’s own mouth. Malcolm tilted his head down to comply. The kiss was soft and achingly sweet. Malcolm drew his lips over Sean’s again and again, the tenderness passing between them blooming to life against his soul.
It was Sean who pulled back, lovely eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I lied,” he whispered. “I lied to myself.”
“How do you mean?” Malcolm brushed hair away from the pale perfection of his cheek. Such a beautiful creature, this man. Almost ethereal.
“Your cause is to save humanity from the Apocalypse. That is a cause worth giving my soul for.”
“Sean, no.” Malcolm panicked, clutching him with the strength of a desperate man. “Doona do anything foolish.”
A tear slid down Sean’s cheek, but his features were disturbingly serene. “And you, Malcolm de Moray, are a man worth the sacrifice, because it’s one you’d never ask me to make.”
Malcolm gasped his name, but in the next instant he was only clutching the thin, empty garment as the manacles that had once shackled Sean’s wrists clattered to the stones.
The inhuman sound that ripped from him shook the entire castle and brought his family storming into the dungeon.
“Malcolm!” Kenna gasped, her amber eyes wide with astonishment. “What’s happening?”
Malcolm turned to them slowly, shaking with the force of his rage and loss, trying to summon the cold wrath of which he knew himself capable.
“Arm yourselves,” he ordered his Druid family, and their Berserker mates in a dark voice he’d never heard before. “We’re going to war.”
Even Bael and Niall stepped out of Malcolm’s way as he stalked toward the stairs, aiming to make preparations for the battle to come. First, he was going to defeat the Wyrd Sisters and stave off the Apocalypse. Then, he was going to fetch his lover, even if he had to claw his way through the depths of hell to do so.
Chapter Seven
Sunset turned the Berserker knights and their Viking comrades into dark silhouettes against the flaming sky. Loch Fyne glimmered like a lake of fire as it buffeted against the western side of the castle. Thirteen men, including Bael and Niall, stood bravely in front of the fence of wooden stakes, angled to impale an advancing enemy. Across the expanse of the Moray Valley, a vast army crested the rough Highland peaks and began a syncopated march down toward Dun Moray and the village.
Ingmar—a general of Niall’s who would have been a jester but for his voracious bloodlust—turned to address Malcolm and his small garrison of kilted countrymen as they approached the Vikings from behind. “You should stay behind your wards, King Malcolm, and let us battle your enemies,” he said smugly. “You’ve marched to the front lines with no armor, flanked by women and mostly naked men, which, in my opinion, should be the other way around.” He hit his leather jerkin with his shield. “Leave us the glory of plunging into battle and bloodying our armor. It is what we are bred to do.”
“I believe we shall,” Malcolm replied absently, as he scanned the approaching army for the Wyrd Sisters. They were yet too far away to make out distinct features, but Malcolm knew they were out there. The distinct stench of evil flowed on the Highland breezes, and demoralizing threats whispered on the chill winds.
“Who are they, Colm?” Morgana touched his elbow and squinted into the gathering shadows that seemed to follow the endless swarm of the advancing enemy. “They wear no colors.”
“I think it’s an army of the damned,” Kenna drew up to his other side. “Badb said that she had countless souls at her disposal. I think she’s unleashed them all upon us at once.”
Souls like Sean. Some innocent. Some malevolent. All desperate to do whatever it took for the promise of redemption. Or maybe just for the release of death.
“Do you think he’s out there?” Morgana whispered, the compassion in her eyes cutting Malcolm to the quick.
He knew to whom his sister was referring.
“Nay. The Wyrd Sisters know Sean wouldna march against me. ‘Tis why they took him from me.” Malcolm fought to keep his composure and reminded himself that a village full of women and children relied on his protection.
The future of humanity, itself, relied on the strength of his principle and power.
How would they feel if they knew he was tempted to sacrifice it all for someone he’d met yesterday?
Tempted.
