Dangerous Highlander

dead in the great hall, were made from evil and Druid magic. They are called wyrran.”

She sat up and leaned her back against the headboard, her knees to her chest. “Magic? There is no such thing as magic.”

Lucan didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Her dark gaze was open and honest, and he couldn’t deny that his gut told him she believed she spoke the truth. How could she have magic and not know it?

“Magic is real. Look at what you saw tonight. Those were very real,” he said.

“There are those who say the Druids were good people.”

“Just like with anything, there is a good side and an evil side.”

She licked her lips and wiped away the last of her tears. Lucan clenched his jaw to stop a moan when he imagined tasting her mouth with his own, sweeping his tongue between her lips, and drinking the intoxicating flavor of her.

Lucan forced his breathing to remain calm, to remember Cara was frightened and in need of protecting, not ravishing. Yet he knew she would fit him perfectly, that their lovemaking would be earth-shattering.

No woman had ever inspired such need, such yearning. Such hunger. He couldn’t turn away from Cara any more than he could turn out the god inside him.

“I need to know what is going on, Lucan.” Her voice was stronger, the determined glint of her eyes telling him she wouldn’t give up until she knew the truth.

If Deirdre was after her, Cara deserved to know the reality. All of it. No matter how painful it was for him to tell it.

“Long ago, in another age, the Romans tried to take control of Britain.”

She nodded. “Britain, but never the Highlands.”

“The Romans wanted the Highlands, but the Celts never gave up fighting. Many generations saw the Romans grow in numbers, their territory increasing with each year. The Celtic tribes fought the Romans as best they could.”

“But they weren’t able to beat them back because they didn’t align together,” she said.

Lucan grinned, impressed by her knowledge. “The clans turned to the Druids for aid. The good Druids, or mie, were the ones the tribes sought for counsel and healing. They knew what the Celts needed was beyond their abilities. The mie looked to nature for their magic.

“It was the other Druids the Celts needed. Those Druids, the drough, were ones who used human sacrifices and dark magic and forgot their true Druid ways. The drough knew to defeat the Romans the Celts were going to need special assistance.”

Cara leaned her chin on her knees. “What kind of help?”

Lucan shrugged. “At the time, I’m sure the Celts, desperate to have their land returned, would have done anything to get the Romans out of Britain.”

“So,” Cara urged. “What happened?”

“The drough used their black magic and forbidden spells to call up ancient gods long buried in Hell. These gods took the strongest warrior from each clan, possessing him.”

Cara swallowed. “How many gods were called up?”

“No one knows.”

“And the gods? How ancient?”

Lucan glanced at the fire. “So ancient that their names were lost over time.”

“I see. Go on.”

“With the gods now inside the warriors, they easily defeated the Romans, beating them back again and again until Rome finally left Britain, never to return.”

“Then it worked,” she said, the corners of her mouth tilting up.

“It worked, but when the Druids tried to call the gods back to Hell, they refused to leave the warriors. With no one else to fight, the warriors turned on each other.”

She scooted closer to him. Her brow was furrowed, her concentration steady. “I cannot imagine that’s what anyone thought would happen.”

“Nay. It took both sets of Druids to find a spell that would bind the gods inside the Warriors, since the gods wouldn’t release them. As long as a god is free in his Warrior, the man is immortal, with immeasurable strength and other abilities. With the gods bound, the Warriors returned to their mortal selves.

“The Celts continued life as if nothing had happened. The possessed Warriors and what they had done was lost to legend over time. Forgotten except for the families of those Warriors. Others said the tale to be nothing more than something to frighten people.”

“But it wasn’t,” Cara whispered.

“Many, many years later it is said that a Druid priestess of the old, dark ways came upon a scroll with the story. Somehow, she discovered how to unbind the gods within the Warriors.”

Cara frowned. “Why would she want to do that?”

“She wanted—wants—to control the Warriors, to lead an army unlike any other over Britain. She wants control of Britain, and the world.”

“You’re one of those Warriors, aren’t you?”

Lucan blew out a breath and rose to walk to the hearth. He leaned his hands upon the stones and let his gaze drown in the red-orange flames.

“Three hundred years ago, I was the middle son of the laird of the MacLeods. Quinn was already married, with a young son of his own. Fallon’s bride had been chosen and was on her way to the castle. The three of us, with twenty MacLeod men, set out to meet her and her guards.”

Lucan swallowed. He had never spoken of that day to anyone, not even his brothers. By unspoken agreement, they had kept their thoughts to themselves.

“Everything went according to plan,” he continued. “We got Fallon’s bride and started toward home. We were leagues away when we saw the smoke. We left the girl with our men, and Fallon, Quinn, and I rode toward the castle.”

He paused, reliving the scene in his mind. The stench of death, the eerie silence, and the crows that feasted on the dead. Yet none of it compared to seeing the once lively and bustling castle in flames or the ground littered with their clan. So many bodies, men and women, young and old. Bile rose in his throat when he recalled seeing an infant still in its mother’s arms lying dead with her.

“Lucan, you don’t have to,” Cara said.

He held up his hand to silence her. He needed to speak of it. He hadn’t realized it until then, but once he had begun, he couldn’t stop.

“When we saw the castle on fire, we knew something awful had happened. Yet we heard no shouts from our father or other men, as there should have been if they tried to put the fire out. It wasn’t until we reached the castle that we saw what had happened.”

He straightened and turned to face Cara. Her dark gaze was steady and held so much sorrow that it nearly broke him.

“They must have attacked as soon as we left, because the crows were already there, feasting. They killed every man, woman, and child. Not a horse, sheep, or chicken was left alive. Everything was dead. And burning.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed past the nausea that overcame him each time he thought of the reek of the deceased. “Death hung in the air, infusing everything. We had no idea who had attacked or why. All too soon, Fallon’s bride and the other men reached the castle.

“The woman took one look at what had happened and had her men return her to her family. It was for the best. With our father’s death, Fallon became laird to a clan that didn’t exist. He didn’t know what to do. None of us did.”

“Did you try to discover who had done it?” Cara asked.

He nodded. “There were too many to bury, so we burned the bodies and turned our attention to vengeance. The twenty men we had with us we sent off in different directions to spread the word about what had happened to see if we could gather any information. Fallon wanted me and Quinn to stay at the castle with him until the others returned. He said a laird had to remain in case some of the clan got free and tried to return.”

“None returned, did they?”