Donna Grant: Wicked Highlander

Cara hurried to pile blankets on top of the couple before she began to stack wood in the hearth.

“I’ll do that,” Camdyn said as he entered the chamber. “Arran told me everything. What do you need besides a fire, Sonya?”

Sonya blew out a breath. “Prayers.”

She trusted the people around her to ensure she had everything she needed. Cara would stay beside her, adding her magic as much as she could.

This was one of the times Sonya wished they had more Druids at the castle. The more that could add their magic to hers, the better she would be able to heal Quinn and his woman.

Sonya rubbed her hands together before placing one hand over the heart of first Marcail, then Quinn. She should only heal one at a time, but if she did that, one of them would die.

She began to chant, using just the right inflection and softening her tone. Sonya could feel her magic bubble inside her before it poured through her hands into Marcail and Quinn. She concentrated on Marcail, hoping to find the Druid and get her to help with the healing.

“Hear me, Marcail,” Sonya whispered in the Druid’s mind. “You are no longer Deirdre’s prisoner. I’m trying to heal you, but I need your help. Use your magic.”

Again and again Sonya repeated it, but the Druid never responded.

Sonya took a deep breath and poured more of her magic into the couple. She could feel Quinn’s body begin to push aside the effects of Deirdre’s black magic, but with Marcail, there was nothing.

Fallon arrived back at the mountain and had to grab hold of a wall as the peak shook and trembled.

“What is going on?” he asked.

Larena rushed to him, her large smoky blue eyes troubled. “It began not long after you left. Deirdre’s body disappeared and the mountain began to shake.”

“We need to get out of here. Now,” Lucan said.

Fallon took hold of Larena and Lucan; at the same time Larena placed her hand on Duncan’s arm.

In the next blink Fallon had them back at his castle. “Find Sonya,” he told Larena. “She may need help.”

Larena nodded and rushed to do his bidding. Fallon jumped back to the mountain. It took two more trips before he had the rest of the group at his home.

After the last trip, Fallon ran a hand down his face. “Make yourselves at home,” he told the newcomers. “If you need anything let me know.”

Fallon bounded up the stairs to check on Sonya’s progress. He felt a presence behind him and found Broc. It was odd seeing the Warrior without his wings and the indigo skin of his god, and by the way Broc kept rolling his shoulders, Fallon knew Broc wasn’t used to being in his human form either.

Fallon rushed into Quinn’s chamber to find Sonya and Cara standing together with their hands over Quinn and Marcail. To Fallon’s eyes, Quinn’s color looked better, but Marcail’s had gone unchanged.

“How is it coming?” he whispered to Lucan.

Lucan shook his head, his sea-green eyes telling Fallon what words could not. Things weren’t going well.

Fallon walked to Larena and threaded his fingers with hers. Just being beside her gave him strength. Larena smiled sadly and laid her head on his shoulder.

When Fallon looked to the doorway he found it filled with Warriors and Malcolm. They were a family now, and they all had gathered to lend whatever they could to Quinn and Marcail’s recovery.

“She’s pregnant,” Sonya said into the silence. “Marcail is carrying Quinn’s child.”

“God’s blood,” Lucan said. “We’ll lose him for sure this time if Marcail dies.”

Fallon’s throat closed with emotion as he looked at Quinn lying so still on the bed. He had risked his own life to save Marcail’s. God help them all if Marcail died and Quinn survived.

Sonya swayed on her feet, her lips moving with words Fallon couldn’t hear. Larena was the first to reach Sonya and helped to steady the Druid.

Fallon didn’t like feeling in effective, but that’s exactly what he was. Everything was in Sonya’s hands, and though she was a powerful Druid, did she have enough magic to counter Deirdre’s black magic?

There was a loud sigh from everyone when they heard Quinn take a deep breath and slowly let it out. Fallon watched as Sonya shifted all her attention to Marcail, her forehead furrowed and her face lined with worry.

Moments ticked into hours before Sonya finally stepped away from the bed. “I’ve done all I can do,” she said. “The rest is up to Marcail.”

Sonya didn’t know how she was still standing. Her body was weak from using so much magic. She’d never used so much before, but after she had discovered the baby growing in Marcail’s womb, Sonya hadn’t wanted to give up. She’d still be there if her magic was endless.

“Thank you,” Fallon said as he took one of her hands and bowed his head.

Lucan stepped forward and did the same. “You saved our brother.”

Sonya glanced over her shoulder at the bed. “Who is Marcail to Quinn?”

“Everything,” Arran said.

“I thought so.” She sighed, trying to hold back the weariness that threatened to pull her under. “If Marcail doesn’t improve soon, she never will.”

A tall man with long brown hair that fell down to the middle of his back stepped forward. He and another man looked identical, other than their hair. “Is there nothing else you can do for Marcail?”

“I’ve used all my magic, more than I’ve ever used before.”

Sonya had to get out of the chamber and to her own. She needed to rest. Maybe then her magic would build back up and she could return to Marcail.

She walked to the crowd of Warriors at the door. They no longer showed their god forms, but a Warrior held himself differently than other, mortal men.

Her gaze was drawn to a handsome Warrior who stood at the door behind the others. He had dark, mysterious eyes and wavy blond hair that fell to his shoulders. Strands of the golden locks fell across his features, but he didn’t seem to notice.

His face was so perfect it could have been formed by the gods themselves. Sonya forced herself to look away from his bare chest lest she embarrass herself by touching his golden skin, as she longed to do.

She made it out of the chamber and gripped the wall in the corridor to steady herself. By the way her body was reacting, she wouldn’t make it to her chamber without collapsing.

She put one foot in front of the other, determined not to let anyone see just how weak she was when suddenly her legs gave out. Before she hit the floor, strong arms locked around her and held her against a chest of steel.

“I’ve got you,” said a deep, sultry voice in her ear.

“I’m all right. I can make it on my own.”

He lifted her in his arms despite her words. Sonya somehow wasn’t surprised to see it was the Warrior with the golden hair and perfect face that held her.

“You aren’t all right. Now, tell me where your chamber is. I take it you doona want the others to see you like this?”

She shook her head. “Nay, I don’t. My chamber is down the corridor to the left.”

He began to walk, his stride easy and long. He glanced at her once, his dark eyes as fathomless as the night sky.

“Who are you?” she asked.

A frown flitted across his face so quickly she almost didn’t see it. “Broc MacLaughlin.”

“Broc,” she repeated.

She wanted to ask him if he was the same Broc her sister had known, but she knew that couldn’t be possible. Could it?

Sonya’s eyes began to close and she rested her head on Broc’s shoulder, his warm skin against her cheek. She wanted to thank him for helping her when he laid her upon her bed, but sleep pulled her under.

Broc tugged the coverlet over Sonya’s shoulders before he allowed himself to touch her fiery braid. “Finally, I find you. Thank God you are safe. Rest well, sweet Sonya.”