Read Online Redeemed (Heroes of the Highlands) (The MacKays #2) by Kerrigan Byrne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kerrigan Byrne
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of his sword but surprisingly, the Laird made no move to stop him.
Daroch grasped the chair he’d been sitting on with both hands and hurled it at the stone wall. It shattered as though made of glass instead of oak.
“Angus was brutally slaughtered by the Berserker Laird, Connor MacLauchlan.” Rory insisted, putting a staying hand out. “They all were. They didna die… well.”
“Good!” Daroch barked. “I will curse their bones. I will submit their names to the Gods and mark the rest of my flesh to pay for their eternal suffering.”
Rory jaw worked over raw emotion and Daroch realized for the first time he truly spoke of the man’s brother. His twin. The Laird’s shame made sense now. And, though he pitied the man, he was glad to see it.
“Ye care for her,” Rory murmured.
The Laird’s statement stunned Daroch into silence. He looked at the destroyed table. The shattered chair. Down at his own trembling hands.
Fuck.
“They should have had their vengeance,” he growled.
“I know.” Rory put his hand on Daroch’s shoulder, his first human contact in a hundred years. Daroch didn’t shrug him off, but took a strange, surprising comfort in the gesture. “Angus is eternally burning in hell for what he’s done. But the pact is struck, and the two younger lasses will belong to the Banshee Queen come the Solstice. Unless there’s something ye can do.”
Daroch choked on his own impotence. “There is naught I can do unless the Queen breaks her pact first.” He let out an exhausted sigh, the entirety of his day catching up with him in a single moment.
Rory nodded in understanding and for an added first, Daroch had to fight another feeling he’d thought had deserted him a millennia ago.
Embarrassment.
“I’m… sorry about yer table.”
“It was my father’s table.” Rory shrugged, but his voice held a curious dark note. “Better suited to firewood anyway. It’s high time I crafted my own legacy as Laird of this clan.”
“Aye,” Daroch agreed and turned to the door, wondering if Lorne lurked behind it.
“Katriona is afraid to lose her sisters to the Fae,” Rory admitted.
Daroch turned to him, his intent deadly serious. “She should be.” He plunged into the night, which was empty of angry stewards or glowing, inquisitive Banshees. Looking around the dark streets of Durness, he noted the changes in the village since last he came. Roofs were newer, structures reinforced, and the energy of the place had changed from one of fear and strife to one of hope and careful optimism. Rory was a good man, a good Laird. Different than his brother had been.
A blue glow from the window of a cozy, thatched cottage caught his eye. Right next to the castle. Kylah’s home.
He had to see her.
Daroch found himself in front of the door before he remembered the strides it took to get there. He knocked louder than he should have this time of night.
“Who- who’s there?” a brittle voice inquired.
“The Druid. I need to see Kylah.”
Daroch jumped back when a wee young face burst from the sturdy wood of the closed door followed by slender shoulders. “What do you want with Kylah?” the young Banshee’s voice demanded with a shake of her strawberry curls.
“I need to speak with her,” he hedged.
“She’s not here, you may go.” The girl disappeared back behind the door.
Daroch frowned. Being dismissed felt… well he felt a little ashamed for how many times he’d uttered that command to Kylah. And with much less civility. He put his palm on the door. Then his forehead. “I-I put her bones in the ground.” He didn’t recognize the husky voice as his own. “Will ye tell her that? I removed the chains… and she rests next to her father.”
After a quiet moment, several latches released and the door swung inward. Instead of the young Banshee, a stooped creature draped in soft robes and furs appeared.
“You did what I could not bring myself to do.” A gnarled hand pushed the hood
Daroch grasped the chair he’d been sitting on with both hands and hurled it at the stone wall. It shattered as though made of glass instead of oak.
“Angus was brutally slaughtered by the Berserker Laird, Connor MacLauchlan.” Rory insisted, putting a staying hand out. “They all were. They didna die… well.”
“Good!” Daroch barked. “I will curse their bones. I will submit their names to the Gods and mark the rest of my flesh to pay for their eternal suffering.”
Rory jaw worked over raw emotion and Daroch realized for the first time he truly spoke of the man’s brother. His twin. The Laird’s shame made sense now. And, though he pitied the man, he was glad to see it.
“Ye care for her,” Rory murmured.
The Laird’s statement stunned Daroch into silence. He looked at the destroyed table. The shattered chair. Down at his own trembling hands.
Fuck.
“They should have had their vengeance,” he growled.
“I know.” Rory put his hand on Daroch’s shoulder, his first human contact in a hundred years. Daroch didn’t shrug him off, but took a strange, surprising comfort in the gesture. “Angus is eternally burning in hell for what he’s done. But the pact is struck, and the two younger lasses will belong to the Banshee Queen come the Solstice. Unless there’s something ye can do.”
Daroch choked on his own impotence. “There is naught I can do unless the Queen breaks her pact first.” He let out an exhausted sigh, the entirety of his day catching up with him in a single moment.
Rory nodded in understanding and for an added first, Daroch had to fight another feeling he’d thought had deserted him a millennia ago.
Embarrassment.
“I’m… sorry about yer table.”
“It was my father’s table.” Rory shrugged, but his voice held a curious dark note. “Better suited to firewood anyway. It’s high time I crafted my own legacy as Laird of this clan.”
“Aye,” Daroch agreed and turned to the door, wondering if Lorne lurked behind it.
“Katriona is afraid to lose her sisters to the Fae,” Rory admitted.
Daroch turned to him, his intent deadly serious. “She should be.” He plunged into the night, which was empty of angry stewards or glowing, inquisitive Banshees. Looking around the dark streets of Durness, he noted the changes in the village since last he came. Roofs were newer, structures reinforced, and the energy of the place had changed from one of fear and strife to one of hope and careful optimism. Rory was a good man, a good Laird. Different than his brother had been.
A blue glow from the window of a cozy, thatched cottage caught his eye. Right next to the castle. Kylah’s home.
He had to see her.
Daroch found himself in front of the door before he remembered the strides it took to get there. He knocked louder than he should have this time of night.
“Who- who’s there?” a brittle voice inquired.
“The Druid. I need to see Kylah.”
Daroch jumped back when a wee young face burst from the sturdy wood of the closed door followed by slender shoulders. “What do you want with Kylah?” the young Banshee’s voice demanded with a shake of her strawberry curls.
“I need to speak with her,” he hedged.
“She’s not here, you may go.” The girl disappeared back behind the door.
Daroch frowned. Being dismissed felt… well he felt a little ashamed for how many times he’d uttered that command to Kylah. And with much less civility. He put his palm on the door. Then his forehead. “I-I put her bones in the ground.” He didn’t recognize the husky voice as his own. “Will ye tell her that? I removed the chains… and she rests next to her father.”
After a quiet moment, several latches released and the door swung inward. Instead of the young Banshee, a stooped creature draped in soft robes and furs appeared.
“You did what I could not bring myself to do.” A gnarled hand pushed the hood
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