Darkest Highlander by Donna Grant Read Free Book Online Page B

them weren’t gone—they merely found the next man in the bloodline.
    All Deirdre had to do was find the strongest fighter, the bravest warrior of those clans and she could once more have her Warriors.
    It would take time, but after living a thousand years, what was another few? While her wyrran searched for the Druids who continued to hide, Deirdre would seek out the clans for her next Warriors while taking vengeance on the MacLeods and anyone loyal to them.
    It was going to be glorious and bloody. Once the MacLeods were imprisoned and the Druids dead, she was going to tear down MacLeod Castle stone by stone. There would be nothing left standing to give anyone hope.
    And when she was finished with the MacLeods, everyone would realize there was no use fighting her.
    She would win, and if it meant killing the Warriors and starting again, she would do it.
    “Mistress.”
    Deirdre stiffened and looked at Dunmore over her shoulder. He was the only mortal in her mountain, the only mortal she had allowed to be close. He had been useful, and her promise of immortality and wealth had kept him loyal.
    But Dunmore was aging. Already his dark hair was streaked with gray. There were lines around his eyes, and he wasn’t as strong as he used to be. If things weren’t so chaotic, Deirdre would kill him. But, unfortunately, she still needed Dunmore. For a bit longer.
    “I’ve returned with Druids,” he said and lowered his gaze to the floor.
    With the tiniest of thoughts, Deirdre’s white hair, which hung to the floor, twitched. It was a weapon she used to defeat many men. Her hair could flay the skin off a person or choke the life out of anyone.
    “How many?” Deirdre asked as she rose and turned to face Dunmore. She ran her hands over his wide shoulders. There was still muscle there, still strength.
    “Fourteen, mistress.”
    Deirdre was impressed. She, of course, wouldn’t tell Dunmore that, however. “So few?”
    “They are the Druids who lived on Loch Awe. The ones who ran from MacLeod Castle,” he said and turned his head to watch her as she continued to walk around him.
    Deirdre stopped in front of him and raised a brow. “The artifact? Tell me you brought Reaghan with the others.”
    “I wish I could, mistress. I saw the artifact, but one of the MacClures delivered a mortal wound to her.”
    Deirdre hissed as anger surged within her. The need to hit something, to see blood pool at her feet surged through her. “What happened?”
    “The spear severed her spine.”
    “There is a healer at MacLeod Castle.”
    Dunmore swallowed and lowered his gaze. “I doona believe they reached her in time.”
    Deirdre brushed past Dunmore and stalked out of her chamber. She could hear the terrified screams of the Druids as her wyrran put them in the dungeons. That fear was just what she needed to calm the rage burning inside her at the loss of Reaghan. “Bring a Druid to the ritual chamber. Now.”
    She didn’t wait to see if the wyrran who always followed her obeyed. She knew they would. She had created them, and they were loyal only to her.
    Deirdre strode into the chamber and looked at the two empty spots that had once held Druids prisoner. Her magic had created the black flames which kept Lavena alive for hundreds of years. It had also given Isla’s sister more power to her magic in which to aid Deirdre.
    The other spot had contained Marcail in the blue flames. Those flames would have killed Marcail—should have killed Marcail. But the MacLeods and the other Warriors had freed her, and somehow managed to keep her alive.
    Deirdre didn’t know who the mie at MacLeod Castle was with such magic. But she was going to find out.
    Deirdre heard the soft whimper of the Druid being hauled down the corridor to her. She turned and looked at the large stone table in the center of the ritual chamber. It was stained red with the blood of the many Druids she had killed there. Druids whose magic she had taken.
    Dunmore had followed her