Page 14 of To Wed a Highlander (A Highland Magic Collection #3)

Chapter 2

T o Kenna de Moray, watching a Berserker with the golden visage of a Norse God turn into a demon with eyes the color of charred coals had to be one of the most defining moments of her short life.

She’d known what he was, even when his clear, ice-blue gaze had heated from one of arrogant dispassion, to branding possession. It was as though she could feel the beast that lay dormant inside of him. Could sense the frenzy that was capable of bursting forth from the cold and capable leader.

She just hadn’t known she would see that beast so soon.

Berserkers killed. It was all they did. They had no mercy. No control. Once the bloodlust took them, they indiscriminately slaughtered whatever life they could reach.

A flash of magick burned before her, bringing images of the near future. The stones of the courtyard painted with rivers of blood. The folds of habits, once lily-white, stained crimson. Rain washing gore and carnage into the gardens. The victorious roar of a Berserker beast, and then the tortured roar of a man…

Kenna and the Berserker would be the only two left standing.

What would happen then ?

There was no time to think. No time to philosophically consider the good of the many versus the good of the few. She needed to live in order to keep the Doomsday Grimoire safe. In order to stay hidden, she couldn’t use her magick. Not on purpose. But, could she allow this Berserker to be unleashed upon this cloistered order of nuns? Women who thought the worst of her, who stood by while she was beaten and berated?

Pain and weakness wrought by the lashes of hatred and the cold of the rain dissipated behind a surge of fear, and then of her fire. Nay . She couldn’t let this man, who was turning into a creature more fearsome and beautiful than she’d ever seen, lay waste to the convent that had become her home.

These women weren’t evil. They were afraid. Ignorant. They didn’t deserve to be slaughtered like beasts.

The Berserker still held her, his grip becoming stronger, his teeth sharper, his eyes impossibly darker. Of all the abbey’s in the world, why did this warrior have to pick hers ?

When a terrified scream from a young novice drew his attention, Kenna knew she had to act now and live with the consequences.

Feeding on the anger of Mother Superior, the terror of her sisters, and the heat burning from the warrior before her, she drew the flames from the torches beneath the awning and created a wall of fire.

Battle-hewn Viking warriors jumped away from the blaze, lest it claim their flesh, and then their lives. Pagans had an innate fear of fire these days, as so many were sentenced to suffer a Christian death within walls just like these.

But this inferno couldn’t be extinguished by the rain, could not be breached by the brave. And it cut Kenna and this frenzied creature of death from the rest of the world, from men now desperate to reach their leader, and from women desperate to escape him.

Kenna and the beast were truly alone.

And now that he was trapped with her between a wall of stone and a wall of flames, his soulless eyes promised retribution.

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” she told the terrifyingly handsome monster staring down at her with those fathomless eyes.

Nor did he seem to care.

Still caught in his clutches, she gasped when he swept her up and over one massive shoulder, his arms avoiding the raw lashes on her back. He carried her away from the comforting heat of the fire wall. Away from the frantic cacophony of whimpering women, and bellowing Vikings.

Where did he plan on taking her?

Ducking beneath the awning, he stopped and took in two quick breaths before selecting the door that led to the kitchens and then the chambers above. He none-too-gently climbed the back stone stairs of the abbey and stalked down two dank and narrow halls—hardly wide enough for his shoulders—before he kicked open a chamber door three down on the left.

Her chamber door.

His nose, it seemed, had led him here.

Choosing to ignore those implications, Kenna couldn’t suppress a wince as the Viking lowered her to her feet, still taking care with her wounded back.

Beneath her weight, her legs buckled as though her muscles were made of bread dough, and the beast caught her by the shoulders, propping her up.

They shared a curious moment of investigation.

Kenna had to tilt her neck back at an alarming angle to meet eyes as perceptive as time and yet opaque as a moonless night. They could have belonged to the devil. Hadn’t the Bible called Lucifer the Star of the Morning ? Wouldn’t a creator’s favorite son be blessed with features such as these?

Golden-hued perfection. Skin like amber glass cut and shaped by raw bones and thick sinew. This warrior was a stoic mystery. Only a few weathered lines branching from his eyes hinted at age, or maybe just a restless spirit. His mouth, set with ruthless ferocity, called to her with an erotic challenge.

For a man emulating violence, he also seemed relaxed.

She wished she could step out of his grasp. It seethed with power, and power was something she needed at the moment. It called to her as though begging to be a part of her.

And, though it should have been impossible, her body answered that call.

Kenna considered her options, which weren’t many. She’d saved the nuns of Westmire Abbey from a violent death at the hands of this Berserker, and in doing so, she may have brought about the end of days.

Goddess help her, but she was impetuous. Always had been. Acted with little regard and spoke with even less thought. She was supposed to be protecting the Doomsday Grimoire in this most unlikely of places. The only way she could stay hidden from the evil witches searching for it was to refrain from using her fire magick.

Now she’d not only used it, but drained the rest of the powers she’d been working so hard to suppress. Not only was her magick weak, but her body was also. Not just weak, but wounded, and she hadn’t the gift for healing like her cousin Morgana did.

Kenna’s element was fire. And, though it was one of the more powerful and dangerous elements, it wasn’t among the earth’s most abundant resources like air or water. It needed fuel. Ignition. Something upon which to burn. Those druids who were evil or lazy used powerful and plentiful resources upon which to feed their fire. Fear, anger, and hatred.

But those who were actual practitioners of elemental magick, who understood from where true power could be found, drew theirs from the well of the less profuse, but ultimately infinite. The potency of passion overcame fear and anger. The intensity of love always conquered hatred. It was from sensations such as these that Kenna knew she could revitalize her strength in order to face the dangers that lie ahead.

She thought of the nuns in the courtyard, most of whom were generous, pious women. Of her cousins Malcom and Morgana with whom she shared the bond of blood, duty, and magick. Of the book hidden in the walls of her room that contained the secrets of the Goddess and the workings of the cosmos. Of all the souls who were and are and would ever be, who needed this earth upon which to live out their incarnations.

She thought of extraordinary men, like the one supporting her weight and staring at her as though she held his universe in her hands.

She did, after a fashion, and it was heavy.

He was supposed to be attempting to tear her limbs from her body in true Berserker form. The fact that he didn’t only meant one thing.

Their eyes met and held. Hers heating with fire. His cold with a fathomless abyss, but unmistakable intent.

The Berserker wanted her, and that was just as well, because he was a powerful being with magick of his own. And his magick was just what she was after, and there was only one way to get it.

“Take off your clothes, warrior,” she whispered. “I need you inside me.”