Free Incarnate: The Moray Druids #3 (Highland Historical) by Kerrigan Byrne Page A

dark, soulless eyes at Badb.  “So she has.”
    “I doona think that ye want us to break the Seals.”  It was a stab in the dark, but something in the eyes of the Horsemen, in the way their steeds pawed the ground in impatience verified what he’d begun to suspect. 
    “We will unleash the might of the Underworld on this plane, whether we will it or not.  Make no mistake of that.”  Death gestured toward the book, lying innocuously on the stones.  “The prophecy demands it.”
    “Until then, it is yer duty to escort the souls to the Other World.”
    His statement was met with expectant silence.
    “I could offer her to ye.”  Malcolm gestured to the Crone.  “Ye could take her and the souls in her possession to do with as ye will.”
    “You can’t!” Badb hissed.  “Not in time to save your fire witch.”
    “Heal her!” Niall demanded of Morgana.  “Now!”
    “Wait,” Malcolm ordered.  “Doona cast.”
    “Malcolm, Kenna is dying!”  Her blood was now running into the grooves between the stones, creating gruesome rivers in his courtyard.
    “I am your King,” Malcolm commanded.  “You will obey me for once.”
    The eyes of the man called Death were shrewd and unnerving as they narrowed on Malcolm.
    “And what is your price for this trade?” Death inquired.
    “One soul,” Malcolm answered.
    “The Fire Druid?”
    “Nay.”  His throat tightened as he spoke her name.  “Vían.”
    “Malcolm!”  Morgana cried, tears running down her cheeks.  “Malcolm don’t do this!”
    “I’ll kill you and your woman if you let her die,” Niall threatened through the flames.  “Your magic is nothing against my wrath.”
    Badb screeched, her powers flaring as she tried desperately to escape his hold.  “I am immortal!  I serve a master greater and more powerful than any of you!  I’ll return and my vengeance will turn the green Highlands into nothing but blood and ashes!”
    Malcolm ignored them all, gazes locked with the man who eventually held all the souls in the world in his grasp at one time or another. 
    “I don’t make deals,” Death said evenly.
    “This isn’t a deal,” Malcolm replied.  “It’s a threat.  One that I don’t make lightly.  Give her to me, or I cast with them and force yer hand.”
    The time it took for him to draw his next breath felt like an eternity.  Through the wall of flame, he could see Kenna twitching, her eyes beginning to flutter closed.  His heart bled just as much as her body did, but he knew what would happen to her soul if she were lost. 
    She’d be taken to the Other World to wait until she was reunited with her mate. 
    Vían would be locked in a prison that not even Death could breach to set her free.
    He couldn’t let that happen. 
    A silent look passed between the horsemen, and then Death nodded.  “Your descendants will pay the price, Druid King,” he predicted, nudging his horse forward and up the stairs of Dun Moray. 
    Even Malcolm stepped out of his way as the harbinger of the Apocalypse swooped down and scooped up a spitting, cursing Crone before disappearing in a swirl of dark mist. 
    Bael used the distraction to leap through the flames, singing his dark hair, and beheading Nemain with a speed almost undetectable by the human eye. 
    Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed.
    And then Vían stood in the center of the courtyard, naked and trembling, her face wet with the evidence of her grief, and her beautiful eyes wide with disbelieving astonishment.
    Malcolm was only dimly aware of the fire disappearing.  Of Morgana rushing for Kenna.  Of the three remaining Horsemen turning and disappearing into the shadows. 
    He could see nothing but her eyes.  Those lovely irises such an unnatural shade of blue, they seemed purple.  The color of Scottish heather in bloom.  The color of Pictish royalty. 
    The color painted on his heart.
    “Malcolm?”
    His name on her lips was the most beautiful melody he’d ever