Wicked Highlander

Eighteen

Broc flew high above the trees, soaring with the clouds. Thanks to Poraxus, the god inside him, he had the eyes of a falcon to go along with his wings. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the wind and sun.

Below him wyrran ran though the countryside like a quick-moving army. Broc tried to keep them as far away from villages and homes as he could. Superstition ran high in the Highlands, so if anyone saw the small yellow creatures, they would attribute them to one of the many demons they claimed roamed the land.

Broc opened his eyes to look ahead of him where Fallon and Lucan MacLeod were. His power to be able to track anyone anywhere had allowed him to find the MacLeods easily enough. He hadn’t expected to find they had split into two groups, though.

With a wave of his hand Broc sent half the wyrran in one direction while the other half stayed with him. His silent command would push the MacLeods back into one group, as he needed them.

Broc whistled down at the remaining wyrran, telling them to halt and wait for him. He folded his smooth wings behind him and dove to the ground. Just before he hit the trees, he spread his wings and glided atop them.

With his keen eyesight he spotted Ramsey well before his old friend saw him. Ramsey’s black head jerked up and their gazes clashed.

Broc flew up and back around to land in a small clearing in the forest where the MacLeods and their group traveled. Broc folded his wings behind him once his feet touched the earth and paused.

He need only wait for the wyrran to push Lucan and his group together with Fallon and the others. The wyrran wouldn’t attack until Broc gave the signal.

Lucan was the first to break through the trees. His green eyes narrowed on Broc as Ramsey, Hayden, and Logan moved to either side of Lucan.

“Broc,” Ramsey said.

Broc shifted his gaze to the man he had come to call his friend. They had made a decision while both were locked in Deirdre’s prison that one would escape and the other would spy. Ramsey had gotten out. Broc was supposed to spy. But that had been over a hundred years ago. Many things had changed.

Before Broc could answer, Fallon, Larena, and Galen emerged into the clearing. Fallon glanced at his brother before stalking to Broc.

“What is going on?” Fallon demanded.

Broc raised a brow. Had he ever gotten so angry? Made decisions as rashly as the MacLeods? He couldn’t remember, and it really didn’t matter.

“You are surrounded by wyrran,” Broc said.

Lucan transformed into a Warrior in a blink. “You came to tell us that? We’ve been battling those nasty creatures for days now.”

Broc looked from Fallon and Lucan to Ramsey. He was going to have to choose a side sooner rather than later. When, though, was the question.

“Deirdre has captured a Druid who holds the spell to bind our gods deep in her mind,” he told the small group.

Larena gasped. Logan cursed and Hayden just stared.

“Is the Druid dead?” Fallon asked.

“Nay,” Broc answered. “For some reason Deirdre didn’t kill her. Instead, she threw the Druid into the Pit. Where Quinn is being held. Deirdre wanted the Warriors in the Pit to kill Marcail.”

“Ah, hell,” Lucan mumbled as he ran a hand down his face. “So the Druid is dead.”

“Deirdre thinks so.”

Ramsey took a step toward him, his gray eyes intense as they stared at Broc. “But you do not?”

“Nay.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Fallon asked.

Broc debated on what to tell the brothers. “Quinn took over the Pit the first day Deirdre threw him down there. The more he proves his strength, the more she wants him. She’s no longer content to wait for Quinn to break.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Ramsey guessed. “She wants you to capture us.”

Hayden growled, his skin turning the red of his god. “I’ll die before I allow her to hold me prisoner again.”

“I’m to see that you are slowed in your attempt to reach the mountain. She does want all of you back under her control, but her attention is on breaking Quinn at the moment. There is a prophecy she was told that she thinks Quinn will fulfill,” Broc said.

“And what is that?” Fallon asked.

“She wants Quinn to give her a child. That child will house all the evil of the world. Once she has Quinn under her control, she will come for each of you.”

Ramsey strode toward Broc, stopping only when he stood in front of him. “I need to know whose side you’re on. Why are you warning us?”

“For amusement, maybe.”

Ramsey shook his head. “You forget, Broc, I know you better than anyone.”

“You knew me. It’s been a long time. Things have changed.”

“Has your hatred for Deirdre changed?”

Broc couldn’t answer him, but his silence was good enough for Ramsey.

“I didn’t think so,” Ramsey said. “Tell me the real reason Deirdre isn’t trying to capture us now.”

Broc looked past Ramsey to the other Warriors waiting for his answer. The real reason he hadn’t already sided with the MacLeods was because Deirdre had a way of learning things, and Broc wanted to be able to glean as much information from her as he could.

“I convinced her to keep her attention on Quinn,” Broc finally answered.

The next thing Broc knew, he was surrounded by Warriors. Lucan and Fallon stood on either side of Ramsey. Broc held up his hands before anyone spoke.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Deirdre’s power is immense, and she uses a seer to gain most of her information. She learns things she shouldn’t know. If you want my help, if you want Quinn freed, I cannot tell you much more.”

Fallon sighed and exchanged glances with his wife. “Then tell us what you can.”

“There are two hundred wyrran with me.”

Hayden snorted. “They’re easily killed.”

“Aye, but they will slow your progress.”

“We have no choice but to fight them,” Lucan said. He turned to Broc and asked, “Can you keep an eye on Quinn?”

Broc nodded. “When I left, Deirdre was ready to do anything to have Quinn. While in the Pit, he not only took control, but three Warriors have sided with him. She had taken one of those Warriors to torture until Quinn agreed to be hers.”

“Shite,” Fallon said. “We doona have a lot of time.”

“I will do what I can,” Broc vowed. “Until then, get to the mountain as quick as you can.”

He didn’t wait for them to respond as he flew into the air. As soon as the wyrran saw him leave, they attacked. Broc wanted to stay and help the Warriors, but he couldn’t. Deirdre had ordered him to lead the wyrran to the MacLeods and then return to her.

If he dallied too long, Deirdre would suspect something. And if he was going to help the MacLeods free Quinn, he had to be near her instead of in a dungeon.

Marcail cautiously sat up. When her stomach didn’t rebel, she slowly crawled to the basin of water and cupped her hand in the cool liquid. She was thirsty, but she was careful not to drink too much lest she upset her stomach once again.

The pounding of her head, however, wasn’t going to go away any time soon. It was an aftereffect of using her magic for as long as she had, but it had been worth it to see Duncan hale and hearty again.

Marcail used the wall to help herself stand. She looked around to make sure Arran and Duncan were occupied before she walked across the way to Charon’s cave.

As soon as she emerged from Quinn’s lair, Charon moved from the shadows. She didn’t want Arran and Duncan to know what she planned, so she moved deep into Charon’s cave.

“I’m surprised to see you up so soon,” he said.

She shrugged. “I will be all right.”

“You doona look well. You should be lying down.”

“I cannot,” she said. “We weren’t able to finish our discussion earlier.”

His lips flattened in annoyance. “There’s nothing left to say, Druid.”

“There is. I want you to tell Deirdre that I’m alive. Let her know I’m here.”

“Why?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. “She’ll kill you.”

“I’m sure she will try. But I want you to have her bring Quinn back in exchange for me.”

Charon shook his head. “It willna work.”

“It will if you tell her I’ve remembered the spell to bind the gods.”

The Warrior went utterly still. His fists clenched and unclenched several times before he spoke. “What did you just say?”

“Buried in my mind is the spell passed down from my grandmother that will once more bind your gods.”

“I would no longer be immortal? Or have the power of my god?”

She shook her head. “Nay, you will have none of it.”

“Did Quinn know of this?”

“He did.”

Charon blew out a breath. “Now I understand why he protected you so. Tell me, Druid, why didn’t Deirdre kill you?”

“Quinn thinks my grandmother protected me somehow. None of that matters now. Will you tell Deirdre I’ve remembered the spell?”

“Nay.”

She blinked at him. “Why?”

“What you have inside your mind could save us all.”

“Possibly. If I ever remember it. That’s a chance I’m not willing to take. If you want out of this place and away from Deirdre, then you should have aligned yourself with Quinn.”

He sliced his hand through the air to stop her. “You’ve been in the Pit for a matter of days. You have no idea what any of us have gone through at Deirdre’s hands. There is only one person I care about in all of this and that’s me. Quinn didna give me a reason to side with him. Deirdre did.”

Marcail could only stare at him, amazed anyone could be so selfish. “I feel sorry for you.”

“I doona want your sympathy, Druid.”

“What do I have that I can give you so that you will tell Deirdre what I want?”

He turned his back to her. “There is nothing you have that could tempt me.”

Marcail, feeling more defeated than when Dunmore had captured her, turned to leave. There was a loud, vicious growl near her. The next thing she knew, Charon had her against the wall as he used his body to shield her from the attack.

His arms were braced on either side of her head, and his big body prevented her from seeing who had attacked. She winced when Charon threw his head back and bellowed as he was hit from behind. Again and again she heard the claws ripping through his copper flesh, but not once did he budge from protecting her.

If anyone had asked her a moment before if she thought Charon would save her life, she would have said nay.

Marcail chanced a glance around Charon’s thick shoulder and saw the white skin of Arran. “Stop it,” she yelled, but Arran and Charon’s growls drowned her out.

“Arran, stop,” she tried again.

Charon turned around as Arran leapt at him. The two Warriors met with a bonecrushing thud. They fell to the ground and rolled around, their claws leaving trails of blood in their wake.

All Marcail could do was watch in horror.

Suddenly, Arran jumped to his feet. He stood in a crouched position, his white Warrior eyes trained on Charon. Once Charon gained his feet they began to circle each other.

Arran was the first to attack. He sunk his claws deep into Charon’s chest as his fangs flashed. Charon gripped Arran’s arms in an effort to pull the claws out.

Marcail wasted no time in rushing to Arran and laying her hand on his arm. “Arran, halt.”

She never saw his arm come at her. It landed in her chest with such force that it knocked the air from her lungs and sent her flying backward. A cry wrenched from her lips as she hit the wall and slid to the ground.

“By all that’s holy,” Arran said as he knelt in front of her.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he doubled over in pain. After a few moments, he raised his head. “Marcail, I’m sorry. I didna know it was you.”

She tried to talk, but she couldn’t put the breath back in her lungs.

Charon lifted her hand and peered into her eyes. “Calm down and allow your lungs to fill.”

It took a moment, but finally she could breathe. She nodded her thanks to Charon who released her hand and move away.

“How badly are you injured?” Arran asked, his face a mask of regret.

“I will be fine. What happened to you after I was hit?”

Arran shrugged. “I’m not sure. It was magic, magic I think came from you.”

“Quinn was right,” she murmured. “My grandmother did protect me with spells.”

“I’ve never felt anything so painful,” Arran confessed. “If that’s what I got just from striking you, I canna imagine the pain one would experience if you were killed.”

Marcail nodded. “I know now why Deirdre didn’t kill me. Now tell me why you attacked Charon?”

“I thought he had taken you for his own.”

She gave him a smile and patted his hand. “Nay, I had to talk to him.”

“Talk to him?” Arran repeated. “About what?”

“To see if he could help trade me for Quinn.”

Arran’s eyes widened in horror. “Doona try it, Marcail. Quinn is ready to sacrifice himself, but if he returns and you’re not here, he’s liable to kill all of us.”

As much as she would like to think Quinn cared about her and that was the reason Arran looked so taken aback, she knew it was because of the spell she had and nothing more.

But how she wished differently.