Midnight's Promise (7 page)

“If we’re going to do this, then you’re going to need me,” she said.

“Aisley—”

“I’m a Phoenix, remember?” she interrupted him.

Ramsey cut his silver eyes to her. “And it’s going to come in handy too.”

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Malcolm waited for the Druid to retaliate with magic to protect herself. Instead, she simply stared at him with an unblinking clear blue gaze. It was then he realized she was looking at his scars. If only she grasped that but half of them were visible to her.

Normally Malcolm shrugged off the gawks, but he grew uncomfortable under the Druid’s stark perusal. He looked for sympathy or pity that inevitably showed in people’s eyes. Oddly, there was nothing but frank curiosity and … was that pleasure he saw flare in her blue depths?

That couldn’t be right. No one so beautiful would look at him in such a way. He was damaged, mutilated—inside and out.

“You doona fear me?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug, careful to keep the blanket covering her. “You said you weren’t a Druid.”

“So?”

“So … it means you can’t do anything if I choose to use magic on you.”

For several seconds, Malcolm could only ogle the female in wonder. Did she not know of Warriors? Was she so naïve about the ways of their world that she would dare to flaunt her magic?

Or was it that she did know what he was and didn’t care, because she knew she could control him if need be?

Malcolm lifted his chin and looked down his nose at her. She was of average height, but she kept eye contact with him, her back against the stones. He saw her hand splayed upon the rocks, most likely listening as they told her all about him.

With one word, she could have him pulled against the stones as they held him prisoner. He’d seen Deirdre do it. While he waited to see what she would do, Malcolm found himself fascinated by a wisp of a Druid who threw him off-kilter more completely than anything else in his life before.

Her clear blue eyes went distant, her head cocked to the side. “Malcolm Munro.”

Just as he expected. The stones were telling her who he was, but would they tell her everything? There was no denying the pureness of her magic. She wasn’t
drough
—not yet at least. Did the stones know she would leave if she discovered what had happened in the mountain?

He decided to go along and see just how much the rocks told her.

“Aye.”

She blinked, focusing on him once more. “All the stones will tell me is your name. They also say I need to make you leave.”

“Is that so?”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m no’. I knew the last Druid who commanded the stones.”

Her eyes grew large with curiosity. “Really? Who was she? What can you tell me about her?”

“Ask the stones.”

That drew her up short. “You haven’t asked my name.”

“I doona need to know it,” he lied. To his surprise, he very much wanted her name. Because he did, he didn’t ask for it. It was enough that he couldn’t stop looking at her or enjoying the wash of her magic over him. She was addictive. “We both need to leave this place.”

She shook her head, her damp hair curling becomingly around her face. “I can’t. I’m safe here.”

“Who are you running from?”

“Maybe you?”

He raised a brow at her question. Something was making her run. Interesting. “Did the stones tell you someone was after you?”

“As if,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “They’re the ones who told me to come here so I could hide. No one was supposed to know I was here.” A frown marred her forehead. “How did you know I was here?”

Malcolm didn’t want to let her know too much too soon. The less she knew about him the better. “I felt your magic.”

“You can feel my magic? What does it feel like?”

Sunshine. Harmony.

Hope.

Not that he would tell her any of that. Ever.

Instead he said, “Wholesome.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste, her stance becoming more casual and comfortable. “Is that bad?”

“It would be if the feel of your magic made me sick. That would tell me you had black magic. If you were
drough
, I’d kill you.”

“You say that as calmly as if you do it every day.”

He let his silence be his answer.

The Druid swallowed hard and shifted her feet nervously. “What are you, some kind of Druid Hunter or something?”

“Or something.” Malcolm watched the red-orange glow of the torch flicker alluringly over her skin. He remembered how soft her cheek had been, and he found he wanted to test the rest of her body.

Did she know how fetching she looked standing there with the blanket barely covering her and giving him glimpses of her lean legs and feminine curves? Was she trying to tempt him?

His body had been aching since he first held her in his arms. That ache only increased the longer he stood near her.

“Are you intentionally not giving me in-depth answers?”

Malcolm widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re just now recognizing that?”

“Ah. Answering a question with a question. That was something my mum did,” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sarcasm and anger. Her gaze narrowed on him as she pushed away from the wall. “The stones don’t like you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

She gave a loud snort. “They’re stones. How could you not like them? They didn’t do anything to you.”

“Really? How do you know? Just because they doona tell you doesna mean it’s the truth, Druid.”

“Then you tell me.”

Malcolm walked right into the trap without realizing it. It was the amazing feel of her magic surrounding him that kept him from focusing properly. Her magic crashed over him like the waves against the cliffs at MacLeod Castle—violent and unforgiving. But beautiful and beckoning all the same.

He wanted to sit back and soak up the wonderful essence of her magic. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to her.

“You berate the stones for not sharing your past, but you won’t do it either?” she asked with a slight shake of her head. “What am I to think?”

“I doona give a rat’s arse what you think, Druid.”

“Is that so? Do you forget I’ve magic?”

How could he when it enveloped him so completely? His body roused at the first feel of her magic, and the longer he was around her the more he …
yearned
.

There was just a thin blanket blocking the tempting view of bare skin and a turquoise bra and panties. He could yank it away from her. If he dared.

And at the moment, he dared.

“Are you so sure your magic will work on me?”

She let her hand not holding the blanket slap against her thigh. “You’re impossible.”

“If you’re running from something, then you shouldna trust anyone.”

“You came here to scare me, and it worked. Now you can leave.”

He studied her closely. She might have been afraid of him, but not anymore. Too bad she didn’t realize she was tempting a monster whose desire built for her with each breath. “Why do you no’ believe I’m the one after you?”

“Because you didn’t ask for the one thing they would have.”

“I see.” With great effort, he turned on his heel and started for the door. Just before he reached it, he paused and looked at her over his shoulder. A dark curl lay just over her breast provocatively, as if begging him to give it a tug … then cup her breast. “You put your soul in danger by remaining here, Druid. Do us both a favor. Leave while you can.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He met her blue gaze and tried to think what the old him, the man he’d been before he was maimed, would have said to her. He’d have charmed her to get what he wanted, seduced her to his way of thinking.

It was too bad none of that was left in him. There was only coldness, hardness now. He had a beast within him, but worse, he was becoming that monster inside and out.

“That’s too bad, Druid.”

He walked away from her then. Even as he wanted to stay near her magic, he made himself leave the chamber. But not the mountain.

As much as he wanted to put distance between himself and Cairn Toul, he found himself remaining within the cold, evil structure. Though he couldn’t say exactly why. He could call Fallon and have him retrieve the Druid, saving him from continuing the argument or forcing her to leave.

He wound his way through the twists and turns to the chamber he’d been given when he was there with Deirdre. It was two levels below the Druid, but that didn’t stop her magic from reaching him.

Malcolm stood in the doorway and looked at the sparse chamber. There was only a bed and a small table. He’d never actually stepped foot in the room.

When Deirdre had given it to him, he hadn’t even looked within. He might have had to be in the mountain with her, but that didn’t mean he had to sleep there.

Malcolm backed out of the room and shut the door. He wouldn’t be sleeping there this time either.

*   *   *

Evie wanted to call Malcolm back. She bit her lip to keep from giving in to the urge. Obviously the infuriatingly gorgeous man didn’t like her. Not that she could discern why.

It bugged her that he hadn’t asked her name. But more than that, she was disturbed at the lack of information the stones had given about him.

All they kept repeating—even now—was for her to make him leave. Or kill him.

Evie wasn’t a murderer. Malcolm might have frightened her at the start, but he hadn’t harmed her. The apathy she glimpsed in his azure gaze left a cold ache in her chest.

There was such desolation in his eyes, such bleakness that it made her want to cry. How could someone be so empty inside? It was as if every emotion had been severed, as if he were dead inside.

Despite that, she knew he meant every word when he said he would make her leave the mountain. Which she couldn’t do.

“I could try and explain things. Maybe he’d help.”

As soon as she said the words, she knew they weren’t true. It was too bad, because she was sure Malcolm with his bulging muscles and hard stare could stop anyone in their tracks.

“
No. Make him leave!”

“Why don’t you like him?”

For the first time, silence met her question.

Evie took a deep breath and tried again. “Who was the Druid here before me? The one who spoke to you?”

“Deirdre!”
The stones spoke in unison, nearly deafening her with their shout.

Deirdre? Who was this Druid? And why did it make Malcolm urge her out of the mountain?

“Tell me of her,” she begged the stones.

“Powerful. She was powerful! Shouldn’t have died. Was betrayed. She was betrayed!”

“So she was powerful and she was able to speak to you. You cared for her very much.”

“She was our mistress.”

“What did she use Cairn Toul for?”

“Her home. It was her home.”

“So she wasn’t safe here.”

“She left ussssss!”

Once more there was wailing, as if the rocks were mourning this Deirdre. And they weren’t happy she left. Evie wanted to know more, but she had a feeling the stones were too far gone in their grief to tell her anything else at the moment.

She climbed back into bed and found her gaze going to the doorway. Where had Malcolm gone? She hoped he was still in the mountain since she had more questions for him.

Plus, she wanted him to ask her name. Why hadn’t the blasted man asked her name? It was beyond rude, and yet seemed to fit him.

Evie slid back down on the bed and tugged the covers up to her chin. It was cool within the mountain. Thinking about how it felt to come in contact with Malcolm’s muscular chest helped warm her.

She went over their conversation, as maddening as it was. That’s when she recalled his mention of Druids. He knew of them. She was going to have to remember to ask him. Because if he knew them, that meant she might not be the last.

Evie glanced at her watch to see it was half past six in the morning. Normally, she would be up and about. But she was far from normal now. She let her lids drift shut as she thought of Deirdre, Druids, azure eyes, and a deep, sexy voice that made her blood heat.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Malcolm discovered the small tunnel Broc dug while he’d been in Cairn Toul and found the one place he could remain.

For hours, Malcolm sat in the opening and simply gazed at the beauty around him. It was stark and wild, harsh and remote, but there was no other place on earth he would rather be.

The jagged mountains were a stunning sight in any season. The Cairngorm mountain range was also one of Scotland’s top destinations, but despite that, Malcolm didn’t worry about bumping into anyone.

He grimaced when his phone vibrated for a third time in a matter of minutes. When his mobile vibrated for the fourth time he jerked it out of his back pocket and glared at the screen. Phelan, the bastard, wasn’t giving up trying to get a hold of him. The text read: “Call me or I come and find you.”

Malcolm knew it wasn’t an idle threat. He dialed Phelan. The Warrior answered on the first ring.

“About bloody time,” Phelan ground out. “Where have you been?”

“Busy. What do you want?”

“No small talk today, aye?”

“When has there ever been?” He heard Phelan blow out a breath through the phone. “What is it?”

Phelan paused before he said, “I doona want to wait around for Wallace to attack again.”

“He’s a crafty one for sure. If we give him time, there’s no telling what he’ll do to the Druids or innocents.”

“Precisely,” Phelan said.

“Do you have a plan?”

Malcolm could almost see the Warrior shrug as he said, “In a way.”

“Meaning you doona.”

Phelan chuckled dryly. “It’s coming together.”

Malcolm started to respond when he heard male voices through the phone. Instantly, he was on guard. Why was Phelan calling him for a battle instead of Fallon? “I know you well enough to know you are no’ at the castle. I imagine you’re with Charon.”

“Aye,” he readily agreed.