Wicked Highlander

Eight

“Quinn.”

Arran’s voice broke whatever held Marcail and Quinn. Marcail looked away so Quinn wouldn’t see how desperately she had wanted his kiss.

It was a startling sensation to want him to touch her. During her brief marriage, Marcail hadn’t enjoyed Rory’s touch or his unfeeling, chaste kisses.

But with Quinn everything was different. Her heart raced, her breath quickened, and her body burned. She didn’t understand how one man could do such things to her, but she enjoyed it too much to question it.

Marcail licked her lips as Quinn rose to his feet. There were no more words between the men. Whatever Arran had wanted Quinn to know, just saying his name had conveyed the information.

Quinn gave a brief nod to Arran before he turned to her. “Stay in the shadows. Doona move, and for God’s sake, doona make a sound.”

“Is it Deirdre?” she asked.

“I doona think so, but whoever it is, I doona want them to know of you.”

Marcail squared her shoulders. “I’ll do as you ask.”

Quinn gave her a wink and freed his hair from the queue before he doused the torch. He hesitated a moment, but it was enough that she realized he had transformed into a Warrior.

The cave was blanketed in darkness, leaving Marcail feeling alone. She huddled against the cool stones. She didn’t think there was time for her to move to one of the darker corners.

With the light of the few other torches Marcail could see Quinn and Arran take places at the entrance to Quinn’s cave. She also spotted the twin with short hair, Ian, moving near them.

“Stay where you are,” Duncan said as he came to stand in front of her. “I will shield you.”

When Marcail tilted her head to the side she could see Quinn and his midnight skin fading into the shadows that surrounded him. Her curiosity was too great not to want to know what was going on. Her heart pounded in her ears as her anxiety rose.

“Easy,” Duncan whispered to her. “All will be well.”

Marcail wanted to believe the light blue Warrior, but nothing had been “well” for her in weeks, years even.

“It’s not Deirdre.”

She looked up at the big Warrior. Only his silhouette could be seen, but even that little bit showed her his gaze was riveted on Quinn.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“The other Warriors. If it was Deirdre, they would hide.”

The only Warrior she could catch a glimpse of besides Quinn, Arran, and Ian was the one across from them. The Warrior leaned one shoulder casually against the stones, his arms crossed over his thick chest.

The torchlight flickered, revealing his copper skin and chin-length brown hair that parted in the middle and hung on either side of his face. His kilt was in better condition than the twins’, but she didn’t recognize the tartan. On either side of the Warrior’s temples were two thick horns that curved around his forehead.

If the Warrior was any indication, Duncan was correct and it wasn’t Deirdre who was coming into the Pit. But if it wasn’t Deirdre, then who was it?

“Quinn,” a deep voice echoed through the Pit.

Quinn wasn’t surprised to find Broc beckoning him. What did the flying Warrior want, though? Quinn had the urge to look back at Marcail, but he kept his head forward and trusted Duncan to watch over her.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Arran asked.

“Nay. I’ll deal with Broc on my own.”

Quinn hadn’t understood Broc’s need to torment him while he had been in the mountain, but the indigo Warrior made sure to look in on Quinn often enough.

Whatever Broc wanted, he didn’t wish for the others to hear it. Broc wasn’t afraid of anything, not even being attacked in the Pit. It had been Quinn’s plan. Attack the Warrior, and he would get free. Though Arran and the twins were up for the task, the other Warriors refused to commit to the plan.

Quinn took his time walking to the door that locked them in the Pit. As with everything, the door was made of stone, with a square large enough for food to be passed through but too small for anyone to escape through. Besides, Deirdre had used her magic, and no matter the power of a Warrior, he wouldn’t be able to flee the Pit without the door being opened.

And even then it was risky.

“What do you want?” Quinn demanded when he reached the door.

Broc flexed his great wings that loomed over his head and folded his arms over his chest. “Your time is running out.”

“Does Deirdre send you here to annoy me, because you aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know?”

Broc rolled his eyes. “You may be the smart one of the brothers, but sometimes, Quinn MacLeod, you are dense.”

Now that got Quinn’s attention. He moved closer to the door and lowered his voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you really believe Fallon and Lucan will come for you?”

“Without a doubt.” Though he’d had his reservations a time or two. After all, he hadn’t been the best of brothers.

Broc glanced at the guard to his left and lowered his voice. “She will make it difficult for them and you. She wants you, Quinn, wants you enough to make sure you never leave.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I think you need to understand where you stand. You’ve been in the Pit for a few weeks. You’ve stated your authority with the Warriors, which just proved to Deirdre that you are the one she needs.”

Quinn narrowed his gaze on Broc. “It doesna matter what she threatens me with, I will never succumb to her.”

“Be careful what you say,” Broc warned and backed up a step. “Your time is running out.”

Quinn wanted to call Broc back and ask why he had repeated that last statement. Just what did Broc know? Quinn knew better than to ask the Warrior, though he longed to call him back. If Broc had wanted him to know, the Warrior would have said.

Quinn turned and walked back to his cave. He didn’t stop at the entrance but continued inside to Marcail. As soon as she saw him, she stood, once Duncan had moved aside.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“One of Deirdre’s Warriors, named Broc. He’s the only Warrior I know that has wings.”

“Wings?” she repeated, her eyes wide.

Quinn nodded and glanced down to the torch that Duncan grabbed to relight. “Every Warrior is different.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” she murmured. “What did Broc want?”

“To warn me.” Quinn looked from Arran to the twins. “Broc asked if I was sure my brothers would come.”

Arran snorted. “Of course they will come.”

Quinn began to wonder, though. Maybe Deirdre hadn’t told his brothers where he was, as he had been led to believe. Maybe she’d told Lucan and Fallon that he had joined her.

He should never have run from his brothers no matter how painful it was to see Lucan and Cara together. If, no, when, he escaped the mountain, Quinn was going straight to his brothers and begging their forgiveness for being such an arse for three centuries.

“What else did Broc say?” Ian asked.

Quinn shrugged. “He just wanted to remind me that Deirdre has noticed how I’ve taken over down here.”

“I assume that has pleased her,” Arran said dryly.

“Unfortunately.” Quinn looked down at his black claws. They were long and sharp and had seen much blood since his god had been unbound. How much more blood would have to be spilled before he found some peace?

Marcail’s hand touched his arm. In a heartbeat he tamped his god down. He didn’t like her being around him when he was transformed. It was silly, he knew. She saw the others in their Warrior form, but he had spent so many years with some part of his god showing that he wanted to prove to himself he was in complete control.

It took a moment for him to realize the others had left him and Marcail alone.

“They are never far from you,” she said of his men.

Quinn looked back at her hand on his arm. “You touch me more freely than anyone ever has.”

“And that bothers you?” She let her arm drop to her side.

“It should.”

“My grandmother taught us that sometimes a touch can do more for a person than any amount of words.”

Quinn clenched his hand in an effort not to wrap his fingers around her wrist and pull her against him. “Your grandmother was very wise.”

“Why is it my touch disturbs you so?”

“I told you. It’s because I’m not used to it.”

She shook her head, the rows of braids falling into her eyes. “That’s very sad.”

“My wife didn’t like my touch.”

Quinn wasn’t sure what made him share such a secret with Marcail. It could be because the Druid hadn’t judged him in any way, or it could be that he just wanted to talk about Elspeth.

Marcail grabbed his fist with both of her hands and gently pried open his fingers. She sat on the slab and tugged him down beside her. “What kind of woman wouldn’t want your touch? You’re a handsome man who comes from a powerful family. You had your pick of women, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Quinn confessed. “My wife and I grew up together. She was always following me around. As a lad she was an annoyance. When I got older we became friends.”

“She must have loved you very much.”

“I thought so.” And that had been his downfall. His mother had cautioned him on marrying Elspeth before looking around at other women, but Quinn hadn’t listened. He had paid dearly for his mistake.

“Were you married long?”

“Nearly four years.” It had felt like four lifetimes.

Marcail sighed, her hands still wrapped around his. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Quinn didn’t want to do any such thing. But his mouth opened, and the words spilled out. “Elspeth became pregnant almost immediately. I was so happy, and she seemed to be as well. She had a difficult time, though. She was sick most of her term and could rarely leave the bed. Any time I got near her she asked me to leave.”

“Some women’s bodies don’t have an easy time of it. None of that was your fault.”

He knew that now, but at the time he hadn’t. “When my son finally came I thought everything would be all right, but he was turned. She was in labor for hours. At one point, the midwife didna believe Elspeth would live. It was nearly two days after she went into labor that our son was born.”

“A joyous moment to be sure.”

Quinn smiled, recalling how Lucan, Fallon, and their parents had celebrated. “Oh, aye. It was a grand celebration, I was told later. I didn’t join in because I wanted to be with Elspeth.”

Marcail’s lips lifted in a smile. “As you should have been.”

“The midwife told Elspeth that she shouldna chance having any more children. She gave Elspeth some herbs to take daily so she wouldn’t swell with my child again.”

Marcail inwardly cringed. She knew what Quinn would say next, but she didn’t stop him. He needed to share this.

“Elspeth refused to take the herbs for fear they wouldn’t work, and I didn’t want to risk her life again. She wouldn’t even allow me to sleep in the bed with her because she thought I would force her.”

Marcail couldn’t believe Quinn’s wife had been so selfish. If she had really known Quinn, Elspeth would have realized he would never harm her.

“Did you never speak to her about it?” she asked.

Quinn shook his head. “I tried a few times in the beginning, but she wouldn’t listen to reason. I stopped trying after that.”

“No one knew, did they? Your family? They thought you were happy?”

The way Quinn looked at her, as if it was strange that she understood him, made her heart catch. The stories she had heard about the MacLeods didn’t tell much about the brothers. They certainly never told her how handsome Quinn was or how he would make her wish she had the magic to give him all the happiness he wanted.

“Nay,” he answered after a long stretch of silence. “My family never knew. I wanted it that way. And yours? Did your grandmother know you were unhappy?”

Marcail released his hand and turned her head away. It was always easier listening to others than revealing anything about herself, especially a part she wished had never existed.

To her surprise, Quinn took her hand in one of his large ones. A finger from his other gently turned her face back to his.

“Is it too painful?”

“Only because I wish it had never happened. Rory wasn’t abusive, but he feared the magic that ran in my family’s blood.”

Quinn’s brows drew together at her words. “How powerful?”

“Powerful enough that my grandmother can hide the spell somewhere in my mind.”

“And your magic?”

She swallowed and lowered her eyes. “My mother and grandmother did not have an easy relationship. My mother thought we should forget the Druid ways. Because of that, I was not taught the spells, and my mother refused to allow my grandmother near me so I could be taught.”

“You don’t know magic?”

“I do, just not as I should. When my father was killed defending our village from wyrran, I think my mother realized how wrong she had been. Yet the grief she felt for my father’s death made her forget me and my brother. It wasn’t long afterward that she died. When my grandmother came, she began teaching me as much as she could, but too many years had gone by already.”

Quinn’s thumb rubbed over the back of her hand. “You know how to heal yourself.”

“Aye, and I can sense people’s moods. My grandmother said that was my greatest power that could have been much more had my mother done as she should have. You see, not every Druid has special magic.”

“Why is that?” He leaned back against the rocks and brought a knee up to place his arm on.

“My grandmother says it’s because they have either begun to drift from the Druid way or their magic wasn’t very strong to begin with.”

Quinn shook his head. “I doona understand. Either you have power or you doona. Cara, my brother’s woman, had no idea she was a Druid. We all discovered it by chance when she was trying to grow the garden.”

“Ah. It is a part of every mie to want to see something grow. We have that power.”

“As we discovered with Cara. It was when she got angry and the plant took it into itself and began to die that we realized the magic she had.”

“Is she learning of her magic? Is there a Druid to teach her?”

Quinn lifted a shoulder. “When I left, Lucan was talking about trying to search out a Druid for Cara, but I don’t know what has happened since I was taken.”

“If there isn’t a Druid to help Cara, then I will.”

“You are a good woman, Marcail.”

She smiled, at ease once more.

“Now, tell me of Rory.”