Shadow Highlander

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.

Clennan’s hand shook with fury. “Those that call themselves MacLeods,” he said, spittle flying from his lips. “They took my land.”

“It’s theirs actually.” Dunmore smiled when the old laird glared at him. “Well, you cannot deny that. Your ancestors stole what wasn’t theirs, and the MacLeods took it back.”

“What do you want with me?” Clennan challenged.

Dunmore bit into a piece of venison and chewed slowly, letting the laird wait. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Deirdre requires you gather an army.”

“For what?”

The hall grew deathly quiet as they awaited Dunmore’s response.

With a smile, Dunmore rested his left elbow on the table as he took his dagger from its sheath at his waist. He spun the dagger in his hand and speared another portion of meat. “Do you really want to question Deirdre’s orders?” he asked before he took a bite.

“Nay,” Clennan murmured. “I would, however, like to tell my men why I have called them to me.”

“This is really good,” Dunmore said as he motioned to his trencher with his dagger. “You need to compliment your cook for me. And you can tell your men, they come to you because you are going to attack the MacLeods.”

The entire hall gasped as one.

“They are Warriors,” Clennan said. “We cannot battle them.”

Dunmore sighed disdainfully and cleaned off his dagger with the laird’s kilt. “Deirdre willna let you attack them alone. Her wyrran will be there.”

“Will she no’ spare some Warriors of her own?”

“Be glad she’s granting you the wyrran. And myself. That is all you will need.”

“So she has a plan?”

Dunmore sheathed his dagger and rose. “Do your part, laird, and you will survive this. Leave the planning to Deirdre. Have your men ready to ride out in three days.”

“That’s no’ enough time,” Clennan said as he jumped to his feet. “It takes that long just to reach the fringes of my land and back.”

“Then you’d better hurry.”

Clennan watched Dunmore stride from the castle, anger and more than a bit of trepidation settling in his gut. He had little time to think of Deirdre’s messenger as his earlier visitor stepped from the shadows.

“Interesting,” the man said.

Clennan’s spine tingled at the delight he saw shining in the brown eyes of the man. “You knew he would come, Charon?”

Charon chuckled and raised a dark brow. “Of course. As I told you, I’ve been watching the coming and goings on Cairn Toul. Deirdre wants the MacLeods. It was only a matter of time before she needed you to take action.”

“We doona stand a chance against those Warriors,” Clennan said.

Charon shrugged. His uncaring attitude was evident in the way he regarded those around him. “It’s no’ as if you have a choice. You either do as Deirdre has requested. Or you die by her hand.”

“Either way we die.”

“Possibly.”

Clennan stepped closer to Charon. He knew Charon was a Warrior, but Charon wasn’t aligned with Deirdre. There might be a chance he could help them. “Ride with us.”

“Against the MacLeods and the Warriors there?” Charon laughed and shook his head as he walked to the castle door. “I’m no’ that foolish. Deirdre may manage to kill or capture one or two of the Warriors, but the MacLeods will continue to stand.”

“You doona stand with Deirdre, but you doona stand against her. Who do you ally with?”

Charon paused as he pulled open the castle door. “I fight for myself. That’s all that matters to me.”

*

Galen forced himself not to ask Cara or Marcail about Reaghan. Most of the Druids brought to the castle had chosen to eat in their chambers, and Reaghan had been one of them.

Cara had been the one to inform him she had brought a tray to Reaghan, but Galen hadn’t asked which chamber was Reaghan’s. In truth, he didn’t need to. He could feel her magic throughout the castle. All he would have to do was follow it to her.

“She’s safe now,” Logan said from across the table. “There’s no need to fret.”

“It’s no’ worry that’s bothering me,” Galen admitted.

Logan grinned. “Ah. I see. Then go to her.”

Galen sat back and raked a hand through his hair. He had chosen to sit at the second table instead of his usual seat because he’d wanted time to gather his thoughts before the others heard his tale.

When the meal was finished and the women cleared the table, Fallon’s dark green eyes turned to Galen. “We would hear what transpired.”

Galen put his elbows on the table and looked at his hands. “The Druids were exactly where Isla said they would be.”

“Though the magic kept us from seeing the village. If it hadn’t been for Reaghan, we might never have found them,” Logan said.

Galen turned his head to look at the Warriors watching him. “They were reluctant to let us in. Their fear of Deirdre made them hide. They’ve also been told for countless generations that Warriors are evil and cannot be trusted.”

Fallon’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “So what did this magic of theirs do exactly?”

“It made the Druids very difficult to locate. We walked by their village countless times,” Logan said. “The spell was centuries old, and with the Druids’ magic fading, I’m no’ sure how much longer it could have held.”

“It seems strange that the wyrran located you so swiftly if you had such a difficult time finding the village,” Quinn said.

Hayden shook his blond head. “No’ really. Deirdre needed Druids, and if the wyrran had found Druids in one place before, it stands to reason they would return again.”

Galen gave a nod to Hayden. “He’s right. I’m fairly certain that’s why the wyrran arrived. They didn’t seem to be looking for the artifact. Instead, their objective was to grab as many Druids as they could.”

“Had we no’ been there, they could have gotten the entire village,” Logan said.

Fallon clasped his fingers together and rested his chin atop them. “Thankfully you were there. Sonya was told by the trees that Dunmore was as well.”

“Dunmore?” Galen repeated. “Is he the man I saw?”

Hayden gave a jerk of his head. “If he had a red cloak, then aye. He does Deirdre’s bidding in every way. She rewards him with power and coin, and tempts him with immortality.”

“Too bad I didna kill him.” Galen rubbed his hands together, wishing Dunmore’s neck were between them. “He tried to go after Reaghan. She escaped to the village, and I was about to pursue him when more wyrran attacked. There were too many for Logan to take by himself and keep the Druids safe.”

“No’ when the Druids stayed in the middle of their village,” Logan said.

Quinn scratched his jaw and nodded slowly. “You made the right decision, Galen.”

There hadn’t been another choice. As long as Reaghan was in danger, Galen would choose protecting her over anything else — even killing Deirdre.

The women walked in from the kitchens then and took their seats at the table.

“We could hear some of what was being discussed,” Cara said.

Isla looked from Cara to Galen. “But not all. Did you ask the Druids about the artifact?”

Logan snorted and shook his head, agitation pouring from him. “Oh, aye, we asked. They knew we weren’t who we claimed to be, that we were somehow more. They didna trust us, and didna want us in the village. However, with just a word from Reaghan, they let us in.”

“How?” Lucan asked.

Galen rubbed his nail in the groove of the table. “Her magic allows her to see into other’s eyes and read the truth — or the lie — of their words.”

Lucan whistled in response.

Galen met Logan’s gaze. “It was no’ until after the wyrran attacked and we convinced the Druids to return with us that we discovered the artifact wasn’t an object. But a person.”

“Reaghan,” Isla said into the silence that followed.

Galen nodded. “One of the elders, Mairi, told me only because I forced her.”

“I don’t understand,” Marcail said. “Reaghan is the artifact? How is that possible?”

Galen scrubbed a hand down his face and rose to his feet. Pent-up frustration and unquenched desire had him pacing the length of the tables.

“Galen, you can tell us,” Sonya urged gently.

He stopped and looked around the table. All thirteen Warriors, including Larena, four Druids, and Malcolm stared at him, waiting. “It appears Reaghan put a spell on herself to lose her memories every ten years. The Loch Awe Druids were in charge of keeping her at the loch and away from Deirdre.”

“Holy hell,” Quinn murmured.

Isla stood and caught Galen’s gaze. “When are her ten years completed?”

“From what Mairi told us, very soon.”