Insolent: The Moray Druids #1 (Highland Historical) by Kerrigan Byrne Page B

black path of char leading out into the night. She staggered as though her legs were unready to carry her yet, and Bael had her in his arms before she fell.
    “We must go after her!” Morgana screamed.
    The King was merely surveying his throne room, rolling his wide shoulders looking nothing more than a trifle bemused and relieved.
    Morgana leaned heavily into Bael, who could feel her vigor returning with every beat of her strengthening heart.
    “What is the matter with you?” She demanded of her brother. “How can you just stand there? Malcolm, they have the Grimoire!”
    He turned to her, a half-smile twitching across his otherwise stoic features. “Do they?”
    Bael frowned as Morgana tensed. “Colm, what did you do?”
    Inspecting his singed robes, he asked. “What is a book but earth and skin?”
    “ Malcolm .”
    “Alchemy, my dear sister, can create any number of deceptions, not the least of which, is forgery.”
    “Malcolm Duncan Connor de Moray,” Morgana’s voice gained strength, and she pulled herself from Bael’s supporting arms. “ Where is the Doomsday Grimoire?”
    The King gave a very boyish shrug. “Kenna has it.”
    “Kenna,” she breathed, holding a disbelieving hand to her forehead. “Oh, thank the Goddess, where is she?”
    A troubled frown replaced the sparkle in Malcolm’s eyes. “I wasna lying when I said I doona know. But I know she is safe, and so is the Grimoire.” He took off his crown and placed it on the empty altar adding, “For now, at any rate.”
    Morgana wasn’t done with her brother, and Bael found himself thanking the Gods he’d never been the recipient of the wrath glowing on her features. He’d remember that look for the future, and mark it as a signal to retreat.
    “Then, how could you let them go?” she cried, pushing her strapping brother in the chest to no effect. “They killed our parents. Stole your birthright. Separated us. Don’t you want to take your vengeance?”
    Malcolm grabbed his sister’s wrists, subduing her. “Ye canna comprehend how badly I want vengeance,” he said in a voice filled with secrets, and eyes haunted with darkness. “But what ye doona understand, sister, is that revenge doesna happen in the market place, or the throne room, slinging insults and elements at each other. True vengeance is shadow and silence. It is patience. It is flawless calculation and perfect timing.”
    “You’re hurting me,” Morgana whispered. “Malcolm let go.”
    Bael made a threatening noise. Brother or no, he’d crush the man if he didn’t unhand his mate immediately .
    The king blinked a few times, and seemed to return to himself, glancing at the lethal warning etched on Bael’s face. The Druid let go of his sister’s wrists, but Bael had the impression it wasn’t because he was afraid of her new Berserker mate, but because it was what he should have done.
    Bael knew little of the Pictish Druid King. But if nothing else, he loved his sister.
    Malcolm swept an assessing glance at Bael, pausing at the manacles still encircling his wrists and dangling with broken chains. “How did ye escape my chains?” he asked with only mild curiosity. “Not that I’m not grateful that ye did.”
    Bael reached for Morgana, and couldn’t deny the astonished pride he felt when she melted into his arms. “Your sister accepted me,” was all he said by way of explanation.
    Malcolm nodded, as though he understood the implication. Then made a sound of only half-mocking disgust. “If ye’re going to be here with my sister, I suppose I doona have to tell ye that if she sheds one tear over ye I’ll trap ye alive in a hollow tree and sit by and listen to ye starve to death while dozens of tiny insects feast on yer flesh.”
    Bael could respect the threat. “And I suppose I don’t have to tell you that, though I respect that you rule this land, I do not kneel when a King asks me to kneel.”
    “A good King never has to ask.” It was neither acceptance nor