Wicked Highlander

Nineteen

Quinn thought the torture to Ian would never end. Ian had never begged and never cried out, and Quinn knew the pain had been excruciating.

Not only did they whip and beat Ian, but they had pulled his claws out.

Several times Quinn had tried to free Ian, and each time Ian was beaten more until Quinn stopped trying. If he lived forever, Quinn would never forget seeing his friend tormented so. And to make matters worse, Quinn knew it was his fault. He’d never felt so helpless in his life, helpless and useless. So much for being one of the great MacLeods.

“Doona worry for your friend,” William said with a smug grin. “His claws will grow back.”

Quinn fisted his hands and let his claws puncture his palms. It was the only thing that kept him from attacking and killing William.

He faced the royal blue Warrior. “One day I’m going to get the battle I want between us. Know that when I do, I will take great pleasure in killing you.”

“Ah, MacLeod, you can certainly try. As much as Deirdre might enjoy seeing us spar, she willna let either of us die.”

Quinn would make sure William died, regardless of what it cost him later.

“I think it’s time to return you to the Pit,” William said.

As Quinn was ushered from the chamber he spotted Isla being led toward him by four black-veiled women. Blood dripped from Isla’s hands onto the floor. The drough’s face was pale and dark circles could be seen under her eyes.

William halted in front of Isla. “Well, well, well. I see Deirdre was thorough with your punishment.”

“Get out of my way,” Isla demanded of the Warrior.

“Or what?”

Isla’s ice-blue eyes bore holes in William’s forehead. “Do you really care to find out?”

William laughed and stepped aside to let her pass. Just as she drew even with him, William slapped her on the back. Isla hissed and stumbled, but she didn’t stop and never looked back.

Quinn watched Isla long after William had turned his attention away, so the royal blue Warrior missed the way Isla had to hold onto the wall to help support herself and the way she limped. Quinn found himself wondering what the Druid had done to be punished.

“MacLeod!” William bellowed.

Quinn turned from Isla and started toward William, but his thoughts were on the drough. If Deirdre had tortured her as William had suggested, then perhaps Quinn could turn Isla to his side. The question was, how much of a hold did Deirdre have on Isla?

The closer Quinn came to the Pit, the more his thoughts turned to Marcail. He had no idea how long he had been gone since the hours had blurred, but he prayed she was still safe.

He was anxious to see her, hold her…kiss her.

Just thinking of having her soft curves against him made his balls tighten in anticipation.

His ears strained to catch her voice as he waited for the door to be opened. He inhaled and tried to catch her scent of sunshine and rain.

But all he smelled was blood and death.

His heart quickened as fear took root. Had Marcail been hurt, or worse, killed? Had Deirdre somehow learned of her presence while Quinn had been away?

As soon as the door cracked open, he shoved it aside and strode into the Pit. The first person he saw was Charon lounging against the stones as if he had all the time in the world.

“MacLeod,” Charon said as Quinn walked past.

Quinn gave a nod of his head. “Charon.”

When Quinn came to the entrance to his cave, he paused. Arran and Duncan weren’t guarding it, and there was no sign of Marcail either.

“Thank God,” Arran said as he walked to Quinn.

Quinn clasped his forearm in greeting. “How were things?”

Arran’s gaze dropped to the ground. “You need to come inside.”

Instantly, worry for Marcail filled Quinn. He pushed past Arran only to stop a few steps into the cave when he spotted Marcail.

She slowly rose to her feet, her lips parted and tilting into a smile. He had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. The horror from the past hours faded away as he gazed at her beauty.

“You’ve returned,” she said.

“Aye.” He couldn’t get anything else past his lips, not when he wanted to kiss her as desperately as he did. He tamped down his god, not wanting to harm her with his claws and fangs.

Uncaring of who was around, he pulled her into his arms as his lips took hers. He kissed her deeply, passionately, the hunger inside only increasing with the sweet taste of her mouth and the feel of her hands on him.

He took her mouth, letting the desire that pulsed within him grow until he shook with it. He remembered vividly what it was like to be inside her, and he wanted her slick walls to surround him once more.

“I could kiss you for eternity,” he said as he nipped her ear lobe.

She smiled against his cheek and hugged him. “That sounds heavenly.”

He rubbed his hands up her back and felt her stiffen. Quinn took her by the shoulders and looked into her turquoise eyes. “What has happened?”

“It was nothing,” she said.

“I didn’t mean it,” Arran said at the same time.

Quinn looked from one to the other. “Someone better explain.”

“I went to speak to Charon,” Marcail began and tucked a strand of sable hair and a small braid behind her ear.

“Charon?” Quinn repeated. “Why?”

She lifted a slim shoulder. “I wanted to know if he could help you.”

Arran rubbed his jaw. “I saw her over there and thought Charon had taken her. I attacked.”

“And I made the mistake of trying to stop it,” Marcail said. “I should have known better.”

“I shouldna have struck you.”

Quinn turned his gaze to Arran and began to shake with rage. “You struck her?”

Marcail grabbed Quinn’s hand. “Only because he didn’t realize it was me. And he didn’t really hit me. It was more of a shove.”

“Holy hell,” Quinn murmured.

“It was an accident,” Marcail repeated. “Please do not be angry at Arran.”

Quinn glanced at the white Warrior.

“You were correct in thinking she had protection spells around her,” Arran said.

Quinn frowned. “You were harmed?”

“It was pain unlike anything I’d felt. It’s no wonder Deirdre didna want to chance hurting Marcail herself. I never meant to harm her.”

“I believe you, my friend. Is that all that happened?”

Quinn didn’t miss the look that passed between them. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on when Arran spoke.

“Duncan is…doing better. He’s still not himself.”

“I doona expect him to be.” In fact, Quinn was surprised Duncan hadn’t tried to claw his way through the stones to get to his twin. And if Duncan had any idea just what they were doing to Ian, Quinn knew Duncan would do whatever he had to in order to reach Ian.

Marcail entwined her fingers with his, bringing Quinn’s attention back to her. The frown marring her forehead told him something bothered her.

“What is it?” he urged.

She glanced at Arran before she said, “There seems to be a very tight bond between Duncan and Ian.”

“Of course there is. Not only are they brothers, but they are twins.”

“It’s much more than that.”

Quinn moved so that he could lower himself onto a large boulder. “I think you better explain.”

“It began after you were taken,” Arran said. “Duncan hadna left his cave, so I had gone to check on him. That’s when I found him on the ground, writhing in agony.”

Marcail sat beside Quinn. “I don’t know how much time passed before I heard his tormented moan. I raced to Duncan to find blood trickling out of his mouth and his body wracked with pain.”

Quinn closed his eyes not wanting to hear any more, but knowing he had to. “You used your power, didna you?”

“Aye,” Marcail whispered. “He looked as if he were dying, Quinn. I had no choice.”

He nodded. “I know. Thank you for looking after him.”

Arran snorted. “I’d rather her not do it again because it made her so sick.”

“Arran,” Marcail snapped.

Quinn silenced her by turning her face to his. “How sick?”

“It was nothing I couldn’t tolerate.”

“That isna what I asked, Marcail. How sick?”

She sighed. “There was much pain and distress inside him. I took as much as my magic would allow me.”

Quinn pulled her against his chest and kissed the top of her head. It scared him that she had done such a thing when he wasn’t there to see to her, but he was also grateful she had helped Duncan. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know how long it will last,” Marcail said as she looked up at him. “Duncan could begin again any moment. He told me he could feel the torture that was inflicted on Ian.”

Quinn rubbed his eyes as regret and resentment settled in his gut. “Where is Duncan now?”

“Resting,” Arran answered. “What happened, Quinn? Did you see Deirdre?”

Quinn briefly thought about not telling them, but they all had a right to know, especially Duncan. Though Quinn would rather cut off his own arm than have to tell Duncan what had been done to his brother.

“I never saw Deirdre,” he began. “William took me to a small chamber where I had to watch Ian being tortured hour after hour. I tried to stop it, but William had ordered Ian to be killed should I deliver one blow to William.”

“My God,” Marcail murmured.

Quinn looked at Arran to find the Warrior with his arms crossed over his chest and his head lowered. He could well imagine what Arran thought of him now.

“I would have traded places with Ian if I could,” Quinn said.

Arran shifted his feet. “I never doubted that. I’m just trying to figure out what William is about.”

“He hates me almost as much as I despise him. I’ve vowed to kill him for this, and I will see it done.”

“What I don’t understand is where was Deirdre? I thought she wanted you to give in?” Marcail asked.

Quinn nodded. “That was my question. It seems that Deirdre has told William she wants to speak to no one. I assure you she has no idea that William made me watch Ian’s torture. She doesna even know I’ve requested to see her, since my demand got no farther than William.”

Arran dropped his arms and lifted his head. “What are we going to do?”

Quinn knew exactly what he was going to do, but he wasn’t about to tell Arran or Marcail. They wouldn’t understand. But he had no choice now. There was too much he had to set to rights.

“We wait,” he answered. “It’s all we can do.”