He bowed his head. “Aye, mistress. I will depart immediately.”
Broc left Deirdre, but instead of taking the stairs to the right, he turned left and walked down the long corridor before he found another set of stairs and descended into the darkness. He had once tried to count the steps, but had stopped at four hundred. Broc wasn’t sure how far down the stairway went, but he knew it was several hundred feet below ground.
He paused when he reached the end and listened. There was a multitude of small chambers that were sectioned by bars. This was one of Deirdre’s dungeons. It was a place where she put a man to break him. None who were put in the darkness came out whole.
Broc heard the mournful cries of women and flexed his shoulders, his wings opening partway. Druids, he surmised. He never understood how Deirdre continued to find them, but she did. It was her black magic and link to evil of course. Yet, part of him wondered if the rumors of Deirdre having a seer were true.
Each of the Druids would fight her, but in the end, Deirdre always won. Just as with Isla. The petite black- haired Druid was another of Deirdre’s pawns. But then again, they all were.
The men in the prisons were either Druids, or those she thought could be turned into Warriors. There was only one here who was already a Warrior.
Broc turned right and wandered down the hallway. None of the prisoners rushed toward the bars. They stayed in the darkness, but Broc felt their eyes on him, felt their hatred for what he was.
He understood all too well about loathing and disgust.
About halfway down he found what he was looking for. Quinn MacLeod. The Warrior refused to transform for Deirdre. She had him beaten over and over again and kept him chained to the wall. The chains held him upright, and if Quinn couldn’t keep his feet underneath him, his arms and shoulders would feel the brunt of the pain.
“What do you want?” came a muffled voice from the darkness.
Broc’s keen eyesight saw Quinn in the blackness. The Warrior had blood oozing down the side of his face from a cut on his forehead. It looked as though one of his arms had been jerked out of the socket and a leg broken.
“They worked you over well,” Broc commented.
Quinn chuckled. “Have you come to give me more?”
“Not this time, though I’m sure Deirdre will send me soon enough.”
“Then what do you want?” Quinn’s voice was laced with loathing.
Broc wondered how close Quinn was to transforming. Everyone knew Quinn’s fury had ridden him for three hundred years. So much so that he hadn’t been able to control his god. Yet, now in Deirdre’s prison, he kept that anger on a tight leash, much to Deirdre’s ire.
“Do you think you can withstand her?”
Quinn’s nostrils flared as he glared at Broc. “I can. And I will.”
Broc stared at the Warrior for a few more moments. “Maybe you can, MacLeod. Maybe you can.”
Chapter Fourteen
Fallon woke to a pain in his chest like nothing he had ever felt before, and it wasn’t from a wound. It was from betrayal. He couldn’t even rejoice in the fact he was once more home. Somehow he had managed to fall asleep without giving in to his need for the wine.
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head in his hands. There was a throbbing in his skull that had nothing to do with wine, though he wished it were otherwise.
The darkness of the chamber told him it was nighttime, though he had no idea how long he had slept. His exhaustion and loss of blood had pulled him into a deep sleep, despite the fact that his mind couldn’t stop thinking of Larena and what she had kept from him.
He rubbed his chest, wondering why it ached so. The more he thought of Larena, the more the hurt spread.
It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why she hadn’t told him. What hurt was that she hadn’t trusted him enough to even tell him she had it. Did she think he would take it from her? She should have known him better than that.
Fallon sighed. It seemed as if he had known Larena for centuries, not hours. She had trusted him enough to show him she was a Warrior, but apparently she didn’t trust him enough to tell him about the Scroll.
That was how it was in his life. There was never enough for him.
He pushed to his feet. He was tired of feeling sorry for himself. His self-pity had sustained him for three hundred years. No more would he allow it to rule his life.
There was a soft knock on the door before it opened and Cara poked her head inside. She smiled when she saw him standing. “Lucan was getting worried about you,” she said as she pushed the door wider.
“How long have I slept?”
“Just a few hours. I set aside a trencher of food for you, even though Galen tried to take it.”
Fallon found himself grinning. “I suppose Galen is eating us out of the castle.”
“Just about,” Cara said with a chuckle. “His appetite is never ending. I make two extra loaves of bread a day just for him. By noon, they’re gone.”
Fallon eyed his sister-in-law. “How have things been?”
“They’ve been good. Lucan has missed you, more than he’s let on, but I can see it. He was lost for a couple of days with both you and Quinn gone, but he found his way.”
“With your help.”
Cara shrugged. “I do what I can, but Lucan is very stubborn. We’re all glad you’re back.”
“I didna accomplish anything. The king wasn’t there. He prefers to rule Scotland from his palace in London. What has our country come to?”
She walked to him and laid a hand on his arm. “The world is constantly changing, Fallon. You and your brothers haven’t seen it like I have. It will take you all a while to become accustomed to it.”
“I fear one day Scotland will lose herself to England completely.”
“Not as long as there are men like you and Lucan.”
Fallon wrapped his arms around Cara and gave her a hug. “Thank you for everything, but most especially thank you for loving my brother.”
She tilted her head up and kissed his cheek. “Loving Lucan is the easy part.” She pulled out of his arms and walked to the door. “Are you coming downstairs?”
“Aye.”
“She’s doing much better, by the way, though she hasn’t woken.”
Fallon nodded before Cara left the chamber. He had been curious about Larena’s recovery, but he hadn’t been able to ask. As usual, his sister-in-law was able to read him easily.
He wasn’t surprised to find a tunic and breeches laid out at the foot of the bed. Lucan knew him too well. Fallon changed out of his kilt before he headed below.
He stopped at the head of the stairs leading to the great hall and let his eyes take it all in. Lucan had built a bigger table. The other one was still in the hall with a blond Warrior using it. Hayden sat with both legs stretched out before him taking up the entire bench.
“Fallon,” Logan called as he walked out of the kitchen and took the bench opposite Hayden.
Fallon waved to the youngest Warrior of their group. Logan’s brown hair was damp, as though he had recently bathed.
“Finally,” Lucan said as he waved Fallon to him. “Cara managed to save you some food from Galen’s constantly empty stomach.”
Fallon walked down the steps to the men’s jesting with Galen. He stopped at the foot of the table where an empty chair stood. His chair. Another empty spot was on his left where Quinn should have been. He glanced to his right where Lucan sat.
