Incarnate: The Moray Druids #3 (Highland Historical)

INCARNATE

By Kerrigan Byrne

INCARNATE
© 2014 Kerrigan Byrne

All rights reserved

The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art © 2014 Kelli Ann Morgan / Inspire Creative Services

Interior book design by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

Other
Highland Historical
Novellas by

Kerrigan Byrne

Unspoken

Unwilling

Unwanted

Unleashed – The First Highland Historical Trilogy – MacLauchlan Berserkers

Released

Redeemed

Reluctant

Reclaimed – The Second Highland Historical Trilogy – MacKay Banshees

Insolent

Indecent

Incarnate

(Coming Soon) – Invoked – The Highland Historical Prequel – de Moray Druids

Read more about the de Moray Druids in:

Which Witch is Which?

The Witches of Port Townsend:  Book One

To Cindy Stark

Thank you for being such a voice of kindness and reason in a chaotic world. 

You are a dear friend!

T
he Wyrd Sisters:

“By the pricking of my thumbs,

something wicked this way comes.”

~
William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Badb:

“Sacred hate and ancient ire,

By the wind, water, and fire.

Reach through the souls now owned by me

And pluck the one who shall be freed.

A maiden fair, a beauty bold,

To ensnare a heart so cold.

She’ll force a King to his knees,

And bring him to be ruled by me.”

Wyrd Sisters:

“As we will, so mote it be!”

The Highland cave became as still as a tomb, and even the Wyrd sisters held their collective breath until one small bare foot stepped out of the nether, followed by a shapely calf, long, sensuous thighs, and a body that would have melted the hearts of the stoutest warriors.

Pale, luminous skin glowed in the light of the nether, illuminating eyes the color of amethysts and hair as dark as midnight.

“Mistress,” the shade spoke, running elegant fingers along her bare flesh as though she couldn’t believe what she felt. “What is your will?”

“Malcolm de Moray,” Badb spat the name. “Bring him back to me, I haven’t finished with him yet.”

“Once we have the Druid King along with the Grimoire, the others will follow,” Nemain drawled. “And since we are without Macha now, we’ll need a third body to absorb the Magick we will claim from them.”

That caught the shade’s attention.  “Me?” she asked hoarsely. 

“Unless you’d like to spend another century in the nether.”

“Nay,” the ebony-haired maiden stepped forward.  “Nay, I’ll do whatever you ask. Just don’t send me back there.”

“Seduce him,” Nemain ordered, stepping to the woman and running fingers through her thick hair.  “Cripple him with lust and weaken him with pleasure.”

Badb cackled at the idea.  “Get him to trust you.  Then his heart will be open and vulnerable for us to take.  Then you’ll say these words when he is at the peak of his pleasure, and all the power that is his, will be yours.”  She handed the shade a parchment with an ancient curse written upon it.

“
That
is when we’ll strike.” Nemain pulled a tattered, charcoal robe from her own shoulders and draped it across the shade.  “A damsel in distress, I think, is just the tactic to disarm the King.”

Badb spit into the cauldron she’d been stirring, and it hissed.  “He’ll be sorry he ever crossed us,” she snarled. 

Nemain smiled, her amber gaze gliding down the new woman’s curves.  “And sorrier still, that he ever laid eyes on you.”

***

Malcolm de Moray’s growl of frustration echoed off the stone wall of his laboratory. The looking glass he hurled shattered against it a scant second later. 

By what ancient Magick had the Wyrd Sisters hidden the Grimoire from him?  From
him
!  The most powerful Earth Druid to be seen in a handful of centuries.  The last potent male of his kind.  The King of the fucking Picts.  And he couldn’t get a simple scrying spell to work.

His enemies were close, he knew it. The trees shuddered at their evil, and the fields swayed with whispers of sightings, but nothing tangible.

He’d be damned if he sat with his cock in hand and waited for them to strike.  Nay, he’d find the vicious bitches and send them to hell where they belonged. 

“Have you eaten today, Brother?” Morgana, his younger sister, flowed into his laboratory carrying a tray of food.  Though breakfast or dinner, he couldn’t be certain. 

“I know not,” he answered shortly, eyeing the doorway for the inevitable following of his sister’s Berserker mate.  “What day is it?”

“Would it matter if I told you?” Morgana’s blue dress shimmered like crystalline water as she made her way past candles, lanterns, shelves, scrolls, and herbs to set his repast on the table in front of him.

“Nay,” he admitted, the word almost drowned out by the loud, hungry sound his stomach made at the scent of salted pork, rosemary roasted potatoes, and beets. 

Morgana reached up and took his stubbled jaw in her hands, and instantly he felt a relief that only a water Druid could give another human with her touch.  His aches and pains dissipated, his tense muscles relaxed, and the pricking of the headache that had begun to pound behind his eyes disappeared. 

“Dear Malcolm,” she murmured softly.  “When is the last time you slept?”

He blinked down into a face the feminine copy of his own.  Unruly russet hair, pale skin, prominent jaw.  Though hers was delicate, and his defined.  Other than the obvious difference in their sexes, the only other thing that set them apart was the color of their eyes.  Morgana’s were as blue as the ocean in summer, while his were a mossy green. 

Elemental colors. 

“Who can sleep with all these bloody Vikings invading
my
castle?” he groused.

Unruffled, Morgana patted his cheek.  “They’re not invaders, dear, they’re allies.
Guests
.  Two of whom are mated to your sister and cousin.  So they’re family, as well.” 

Malcolm grunted. “That damned army of Niall’s is picking our larder clean and planting bastards in all the kitchen maids.”

“They’ve also pledged their swords and lives to help us defeat the Wyrd Sisters,” she reminded brightly.  “Now eat your supper, and I’ll give you the gift that will make your search easier.”

That arrested his attention. “What gift?”

The same mischief had lit her eyes for just over two decades now.  Malcolm loved it, and he hated it.  “Eat first,” she ordered.

Malcolm took a step toward her, towering head and shoulders above her.  “I am not a child, I am your king,” he said darkly.  “I command ye to give me what ye have.”  No one had ever dared disobey him when he was in such a mood.  

Morgana burst out laughing and lifted onto her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “When has that ever worked on me?” she giggled.  “Eat up.”

Nostrils flaring, Malcolm stabbed at a chunk of pork and brought it to his mouth, chewing furiously while holding out his hand to his sister. 

“Your vegetables as well,” Morgana reminded him.

“Give it to me, or I’ll do ye violence,” he threatened.  They both knew he wouldn’t.  First, because he loved his sister and would never lay a hand on a woman, and second, because Baelsar Bloodborn, Morgana’s Berserker mate, would tear his limbs from his body and throw them in the tall grasses.  Magick be damned.

With a gusty sigh, Morgana reached into her pocket and held up a piece of twine on the end of which the most perfect quartz crystal he’d ever seen reflected the light of the candles. 

“Where did ye get that?” he breathed, snatching it away from her grasp.

“From a toad Bael and I met by the river.” Morgana shrugged.  “And you’re welcome.”

“What were ye doing by the river?” Malcolm asked idly, running his fingers over the smooth, clear surface of the spear-shaped crystal.  It fit in the palm of hand, and would be the most effective scrying tool of all time. 

When he glanced up, Morgana’s eyes were sparkling with that mischief again, and also with a lasciviousness that caused his belly to lurch with disgust.

“That’s revolting,” he spat.

“I said nothing,” Morgana sang innocently, all but dancing toward the door. 

“Ye didna have to,” he complained.

“Now if you don’t finish your supper by the time I return in an hour, I’ll have Bael tie you up and shove it down your throat.”  With that cheerful threat, she closed the door to his workshop behind her. 

“I’d like to see him try,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Dinner forgotten, Malcolm retrieved the most recent map of his kingdom and uncurled it across his table.  He murmured a Gaelic scrying spell as he sprinkled powdered mugwort, nutmeg, cinnamon, and yarrow onto the map.  Licking his fingers, he let the crystal dangle over it and circle in the direction of the earth’s rotation. 

After a few minutes, the crystal stilled and skewered the map with its sharp point.

The Caledonian Forest. 
Of course
.  Within its ancient black depths any myriad of evils could hide.  It was said that Fairy Magick still protected some of the forest, and that could be blocking each of the de Moray’s attempts to find the Grimoire. 

“Ha,” he crowed in triumph.  “I’m coming for ye.”  Grabbing his cloak and riding boots, Malcolm strode from his laboratory with vengeance lengthening his every step.  

In his haste, he nearly knocked over his cousin, Kenna, when he rounded a corner on his way to the stables. 

She jumped back into her mate, Niall’s, broad chest and the man steadied her with gigantic, yet gentle hands whist glaring daggers at Malcolm. 

“Malcolm,” she exclaimed, her amber eyes glowing with genuine pleasure.  “I haven’t seen you in ages, you’ve been so isolated in your cave.  Where are you off to?”

“The Caledonian Woods,” he answered shortly, making to step around them. 

“Going hunting are you?” she asked brightly, putting a fond hand on his arm. 

“Aye.”

“For game or for herbs?”

For evil.
“I must be on my way.”

“Of course.” she kissed him on the cheek, which produced a soft sound of protest from her looming mate.  “Ride past the west gate on your way out. My love and his men are erecting spear-tipped fence posts that would stop a war horse.  It’s really very clever.”

Clever?
Malcolm met Niall’s light-eyed glare across Kenna’s head and spoke to him in Gaelic.  “My people were mapping the stars and discovering the mysteries of the universe while ye Nordic barbarians were still dragging your knuckles in your own people’s blood and shit.”
 

Niall’s eyes narrowed even further with suspicion.  “What did he just say to me?”

“They’re just trying to help,” Kenna answered back in the language of their fathers, putting a staying hand on her mate’s chest. 

“I should hex them all with a pox for making changes to
my
keep without
my
permission,” Malcolm growled at Kenna, still in Gaelic. 

“You’ve been locked in your laboratory for days,” Kenna argued. 

“Did he just threaten you?” Niall growled, taking a step forward with murder flashing in his eyes. 

Malcolm made a fist, ready and willing to go to blows with the interloper. 

“Oh… he said that you all are, indeed, quite clever,” Kenna lied, sending Malcolm silent warnings of wrath.  “
And
, he says
thank you
to you and your men for their hard work.” She annunciated every word through gritted teeth.

The Nordic giant quirked a suspicious eyebrow.  “That’s not what it sounded like.”

Kenna grabbed Niall’s arm and guided him around Malcolm.  “Oh, you know Gaelic, a rather harsh sounding language sometimes, isn’t it?  Let’s go check on Ingmar and Bulvark, shall we?”

Malcolm watched as Kenna led her mate past him and disappeared around the corner in a hurry. He’d need to figure out what to do about these Berserker men.  They weren’t even properly married to his kin, and yet they’d begun living together as though they had been in an alarmingly short time. 

Turning, he stalked down the corridor, his footfalls echoing off the stones.  First, though, he needed to stop the impending Apocalypse.  Everything else could wait.

Going after the remaining Wyrd Sisters on his own was reckless, he knew.  But he had a secret vengeance to reap. 

And if Malcolm was in a forest, he had more than enough weapons at his disposal.