Page 27 of Highland Warlord
A troubled frown replaced the sparkle in Malcolm’s eyes. “I wasna lying when I said I doona know. But I know she is safe, and so is the Grimoire.” He took off his crown and placed it on the empty altar adding, “For now, at any rate.”
Morgana wasn’t done with her brother, and Bael found himself thanking the Gods he’d never been the recipient of the wrath glowing on her features. He’d remember that look for the future, and mark it as a signal to retreat.
“Then,howcould you let them go?” she cried, pushing her strapping brother in the chest to no effect. “They killed our parents. Stole your birthright. Separated us. Don’t you want to take your vengeance?”
Malcolm grabbed his sister’s wrists, subduing her. “Ye canna comprehend how badly I want vengeance,” he said in a voice filled with secrets, and eyes haunted with darkness. “But what ye doona understand, sister, is that revenge doesna happen in the market place, or the throne room, slinging insults and elements at each other.Truevengeance is shadow and silence. It is patience. It is flawless calculation and perfect timing.”
“You’re hurting me,” Morgana whispered. “Malcolm let go.”
Bael made a threatening noise. Brother or no, he’d crush the man if he didn’t unhand his mateimmediately.
The king blinked a few times, and seemed to return to himself, glancing at the lethal warning etched on Bael’s face. The Druid let go of his sister’s wrists, but Bael had the impression it wasn’t because he was afraid of her new Berserker mate, but because it was what he should have done.
Bael knew little of the Pictish Druid King. But if nothing else, he loved his sister.
Malcolm swept an assessing glance at Bael, pausing at the manacles still encircling his wrists and dangling with brokenchains. “How did ye escape my chains?” he asked with only mild curiosity. “Not that I’m not grateful that ye did.”
Bael reached for Morgana, and couldn’t deny the astonished pride he felt when she melted into his arms. “Your sister accepted me,” was all he said by way of explanation.
Malcolm nodded, as though he understood the implication. Then made a sound of only half-mocking disgust. “If ye’re going to be here with my sister, I suppose I doona have to tell ye that if she sheds one tear over ye I’ll trap ye alive in a hollow tree and sit by and listen to ye starve to death while dozens of tiny insects feast on yer flesh.”
Bael could respect the threat. “And I suppose I don’t have to tell you that, though I respect that you rule this land, I do not kneel when a King asks me to kneel.”
“A good King never has to ask.” It was neither acceptance nor threat. But something in-between. “Though, I’d appreciate yer help with the battles yet to come. The Wyrd sisters are injured, but they aren’a defeated. Not yet.”
Bael nodded, wondering how two such men would survive each other for the sake of one tiny Druid woman. He looked down into his mate’s shimmering blue eyes. Smudges of exhaustion darkened the skin beneath them, and she could only summon a wan smile.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.
“You truly accept me?” he asked, unable to help giving her one last chance to send him away.
She reached up to his rough cheek. “You’ve endured a century of loneliness. Perhaps you’ll allow me to fill the next century with family and all that comes with it. All the high-handed opinions, theirritation, and the disagreements.” She glanced at her brother, but then her gaze softened. “All the pride, the strength, and support in your moments of weakness.”
Her eyes were misty when they met his again. “I can’t believe you’ve lived so long without it all. And it’s a gift I want to give to you. As your mate. As your wife.”
“Aren’t I supposed to propose to you?”
She snorted. “This is no proposition. We’regettingmarried, whether you want to or not.”
“May the Goddess grant ye strength,” Malcolm grumbled, curling a disgusted lip.
Bael grinned. No one had ever dared talk to him like she did. He loved it.
“I’m falling in l—”
She pressed a finger against his lips. “Those are words better suited to when I’m not recovering from near-apocalyptic experience.” She lifted on her tiptoes to press her lips against his. “And also for when we’re alone, becausesomeonewill ruin the moment.” She cast a glare at her brother, who looked offended for a second and then shrugged with a nonchalant nod before returning to his imposing throne.
“Besides, I can feel what you feel,” she continued. “So you don’t have to say it, though it is nice to hear from time to time.” She tucked her body against his, drawing him gently toward a darkened hallway that Bael hoped led to her chamber. “I’ll have few words to give back to you,” she murmured into his ear. “Though words are not the primary vocation I’d have for those lips of yours.”
“Oh?” Intrigue and heat speared through him, along with a softer, more tender emotion. An unhurried glow that was wholly unfamiliar and paradoxically thrilling. Was this love?
“Yes,” Morgana was saying, answering both his spoken and silent question. “I do not think that words will be the basis of our relationship.”
“Thank the Gods,” Bael said honestly. For he was more a man of action than words, and it seemed that was fine with her. Asingular woman, his mate. If she already knew what he felt, he didn’t have to find words he didn’t possess to convey the depth of his emotion. Some men would find that an imposition, Bael found it a great relief.
“No more talk of dying then,” she said seriously.
Bael paused and pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I’ll spend the rest of my long life fighting to stay by your side,” he vowed into her eyes.
He couldn’t believe his good fortune. She’d dragged his dying body out of a river and breathed life not only into his lungs, but into his heart. He had a purpose to fulfill. A life to live. A mate to worship. And battles left to fight.
And to a Berserker,thatwas a world very worth saving.