Wicked Highlander

Twenty-one

After all the evil Quinn had witnessed at William’s hand over the past hours, it felt right to hold something so good as Marcail in his arms. She wiped away the stain of evil from him, reminding Quinn that there was good in this world.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He started to nod his head, then paused. “I could withstand any amount of punishment and torture they could give me except what I saw today. To know that Ian was being tortured because of me was too much.”

Marcail intertwined her fingers with his. “I cannot imagine what you went through. Are they done with Ian?”

“I doona think so, not if I know Deirdre.”

“That doesn’t bode well for us then.”

He lifted their hands and kissed the back of hers. “I willna let them take you.” And he meant it, whether she believed him or not.

“I know,” she answered. “It’s strange how your life can alter in the space of a heartbeat. Just the other week I was lamenting the fact that my life was boring. I did the same tasks every day with nothing to look forward to. I was alone, and would likely have been alone for the rest of my days.”

“You aren’t alone now.”

She smiled. “Nay, I’m not. Now, I’m stuck in this mountain wishing I could return to my cottage and pull the same weeds day after day from my garden, collect and dry my herbs, and practice my spells. I didn’t realize how good a life I had until I was brought here. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Nay. For three centuries I’ve gone against my brothers in everything they asked because I couldn’t let go of my rage and guilt. I should have listened to them.”

“Ah, but you’ll have plenty of chances for that,” she teased.

“Will I? I doubt it.” He hated to dampen her mood, but he needed her to understand he wouldn’t be with her much longer.

Just the thought made him want to rip out his own eyes, but it was the truth. He needed to make sure no one else was hurt because of him. And he could do that by Deirdre’s side.

“Please don’t say that,” Marcail whispered.

He cupped her cheek. “I wish there was another way, but there isn’t.”

She blinked rapidly. “I had a cat when I was a little girl. A great big tom, black as midnight. He had the most unusual green eyes, and he was fiercely protective of me.”

Quinn listened to her, understanding her need to change the subject. “Was he?”

“Aye. I found him when he was just a kitten. He would wander off as male cats do, but he always returned. Sometimes he would be so cut up that I wondered if he would live. Thankfully, Grandmother would use her magic to make him better.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died two years ago one winter’s night in my arms. As he had gotten older, he wandered less and less. He got into the habit of sleeping with me every night curled at my feet.” She smiled suddenly. “I would fall asleep listening to him purr.”

Quinn ached to hear the sadness in Marcail’s voice for her beloved pet. She had lost so many people in her life that he didn’t want her to lose any more.

“One morning I woke to hear him wheezing when he breathed. I knew his time was short. He had lived a long life, but I wasn’t ready to let him go. He was in so much pain for days. No matter what I did, I couldn’t call my magic to me to ease him. Three days later he died.”

Quinn didn’t know what to say or even why she had told him that moving story.

Marcail’s turquoise eyes were filled with tears. “I have no control over my magic, Quinn. I want nothing more than to help you, to give you the spell to bind your god, but I cannot.”

He tucked her head into his neck and sighed. He understood all too well the need to help, to control some aspect of what was happening. The only one who had control was Deirdre, and she wouldn’t relinquish that easily.

“My father used to tell us that as men, we should be able to look back over our lives and know we’ve done the best we could on everything. I couldn’t say that before, but I will be able to say it soon.”

Marcail lifted her head to meet his eyes. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”

He was humbled by her words, even though he knew they weren’t remotely true. There were many men better than him. “Thank you.”

“When do you think Deirdre will come for you?”

“William will hold off telling her as long as he can. He has become attached to Deirdre and doesna wish to share.”

Marcail giggled. “Attached? Are you telling me he has feelings for her?”

“I’m not sure if it’s genuine feeling or if he just enjoys the power being near her gives him. She’s granted him much command while she’s been angry with me.”

Marcail shifted, her brow furrowed. “That doesn’t give us much time.”

“Much time for what?”

“To convince the others to side with you.”

Quinn loved how her mind worked, but sometimes things weren’t as easy as she made them. “It willna happen. We’ve only got Duncan and Arran. That’s not nearly enough.”

“Do you remember when you told me you thought Charon was a spy?”

He got a sick feeling in his gut as he stared into her eyes. “That’s the real reason you went to speak to him, isn’t it?”

“It is. He didn’t outright admit it, but he didn’t deny it either. I do think he’s the spy, Quinn.”

“Then what made you think he would help?”

She scrunched her face. “I thought maybe whatever Deirdre used to make him spy we could either get back or help him with.”

“And…” Quinn prompted. He had thought to confront Charon that way himself, and was surprised Marcail had done it alone. She had risked much in taking such a chance.

“He refused. Apparently, whatever Deirdre is using to make him spy is too great for him to even consider going against her.”

“Shite,” Quinn murmured. He was short one man with Ian gone. It would help greatly to have Charon on their side.

Any words Marcail might have spoken were drowned out by the unmistakable sound of the trapdoor over the Pit opening. Quinn leapt to his feet and jerked up his breeches.

“Stay in the shadows,” Quinn said as he glanced at Marcail over his shoulder.

He transformed. Quinn reached the cave entrance a moment before something large landed with a heavy thud on the ground. He wasn’t surprised to see the orange skin of a Warrior on the ground.

“Friend or foe?” Arran asked as he stepped beside Quinn.

Quinn didn’t take his eyes from the newcomer. “We’ll find out in a moment.”

Duncan moved to Quinn’s other side. “I’m in need of a fight.”

At that moment the orange-skinned Warrior leapt to his feet, blood running down the side of his face and his kilt ragged and stained. He growled, showing one of his fangs missing.

“I think he’s looking for a fight as well, Duncan,” Quinn said.

But it wasn’t Duncan the Warrior wanted to fight. Quinn lowered his shoulder the moment he saw the orange Warrior come at him. The force propelled the Warrior backward, and Quinn slammed him into the rocks.

“Why did she throw you down here?” Quinn asked.

The newcomer laughed. “She told me you would try to trick me.”

Quinn was so taken aback by his words that he didn’t put his arm up in time to stop his chest from being sliced. He groaned and punched the Warrior on the jaw.

“I willna listen,” the orange Warrior bellowed. “I will die if I listen to you.”

Quinn wrapped his hand around the Warrior’s throat. “If you doona listen to me, you’ll die. Deirdre only sends Warriors down here that she wants to break.”

“We are the evil ones,” the Warrior said as he clawed at Quinn’s fingers. “She is trying to stop us from being made. She tried to stop my god from taking control, but she was too late.”

Quinn tossed the Warrior aside and threw back his head as he roared. Deirdre had sensed the weak soul of the new Warrior, had sensed it and made sure he wouldn’t believe a word Quinn said.

The orange Warrior scrambled to his feet, wary and waiting.

“When were you turned?” Quinn asked.

Frantic orange eyes looked around the Pit at the other Warriors who stood and watched. “Two days ago.”

Quinn raked a hand down his face. “In time you will learn that what Deirdre says is all lies. She’s the one who unbound your god, friend. She’s the one who is evil.”

No sooner were the words out of Quinn’s mouth than the Warrior attacked. More gashes appeared on Quinn’s chest as he fought the frenzied Warrior.

There was no talking, not now. Time, however, was Quinn’s friend.

“Quinn,” Arran yelled in warning.

Quinn spotted the bottle in the orange Warrior’s fingers. He rolled over until he held the newcomer on the ground, but somehow the Warrior had uncorked the bottle. Quinn managed to pin the Warrior’s arm out to the side as something dark and red spilled out of the bottle.

He didn’t need to sniff the liquid to know it was blood, but why would the Warrior want to pour blood on him?

“Cease or you will die,” Quinn warned. He wouldn’t kill the Warrior, but he knew Arran or Duncan would.

“I will be redeemed if I kill you,” the orange Warrior shouted.

Quinn didn’t know what Deirdre was playing at, but he would be sure to find out.

The Warrior tossed the bottle at Quinn, aimed at his chest and his multiple wounds. Quinn managed to duck the vial, but Duncan had already removed the orange Warrior’s head from his body by the time Quinn looked up.

“I willna see you harmed,” Duncan said by way of explanation.

Quinn nodded and rose from the Warrior’s dead body. The only way they could be killed was by decapitation, and though Quinn hadn’t wanted the Warrior dead, it was probably for the best.

Overhead there was laughter as Quinn remembered too late that he was being observed. He looked up and found Deirdre watching him with a cruel smile on her lips.

“I abhor her,” he mumbled. A good man had died for her benefit.

“Does she have so many Warriors that she can have them killed so easily now?” Arran asked the question that had been going through Quinn’s mind.

Quinn refused to move until the trapdoor was closed. He turned to his men, but a banging on the Pit entrance took his attention. Did it mean another attack? His wounds were healing, but he needed a little more time to be completely restored.

He spotted Broc through the square in the door. At the winged Warrior’s nod, Quinn walked to him.

“What was that all about?” Quinn demanded. “A Warrior died for nothing.”

Broc raised a brow. “The man is dead. The god is not.”

“Explain.”

Isla stepped beside Broc and trained her ice-blue eyes on Quinn. “Just as the god passed through the bloodlines, finding the best Warrior, he will continue to do so until the bloodline runs out.”

“Are you telling me the god of the Warrior back there has left his body and now traveled to another of his bloodline?”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you,” Isla replied. “Look for yourself.”

Quinn looked over his shoulder to find the orange skin of the Warrior gone. In its place was that of a young lad who had barely reached manhood. He ground his teeth together and faced Broc and Isla.

“So what now?” he asked. “Does Deirdre want to gloat? I’ve spent too many hours watching Ian being tortured for her to want more.”

“What did you say?” Broc asked.

Isla turned her head slightly to Broc. “Deirdre has been in a rage. She put William in command for a few hours.”

Broc let out a measured breath. “Did William touch you?”

Quinn found his question odd, especially for one who worked for Deirdre. “Does it matter?”

“Aye,” Isla said. “Answer the question.”

Quinn looked from one to the other. “Nay,” he finally answered. “He didna. He seemed to know better.”

“The Warrior thrown into the Pit was Deirdre’s way of telling you she can do whatever she wants,” Isla said.

Quinn chuckled. “The bitch has always been able to do what she wants, except when it comes to my body. I find it odd that she doesn’t try to use magic on me. It must be because she canna. And the child of prophecy willna be born unless I give her my body willingly.”

Isla gave a slight nod of her head. “You are correct, MacLeod.”

“What do you want?” Broc asked. “In exchange. What do you want for willingly going to Deirdre?”

Quinn thought back to the lovemaking he and Marcail had experienced, how with one touch she brought light into his world. As much as he wanted to free her now, he couldn’t. He had to keep his brothers away from Deirdre. Marcail he would liberate as quickly as he could.

“My brothers,” Quinn said. “I want them left alone.”

Isla lifted her hand and Quinn saw the slight wince that passed quickly over her schooled features. “That she will not grant. She has need of your brothers.”

If Quinn spoke of Marcail now, Deirdre would likely have her killed immediately regardless of the protection spells. Quinn couldn’t ask for the release of Arran and Duncan because no one would be there to guard Marcail.

“Ian. I want Ian released not just from the torture but from the mountain. Send him on his way.”

Isla’s mouth pinched in what appeared to be fury. “Ian is a Warrior, MacLeod. He can withstand much.”

“He’s withstood more than anyone should have to.”

“Is this really what you would have me trade your…seed for?” Isla asked.

Quinn frowned. There seemed to be more in Isla’s words than what she was speaking. Even Broc looked at her strangely. If only they were alone, then Quinn could speak to her.

“What would you have me ask for?” Quinn asked.

Isla’s ice-blue eyes seemed to flame with emotion. “That is not for me to say.”

Quinn was so tired of the riddles and evasive answers. He just wanted to do the right thing and protect the people he cared about. It was becoming more and more difficult, though.

Isla stepped closer to the door. “It is said, MacLeod, that your brothers are headed this way.”

“It is also said that Deirdre has sent an army of wyrran to stop them while Warriors set a trap to capture them,” Broc said.

Quinn’s hope had risen only to be dashed as quickly. “If she takes my brothers, I will never give her my body.”

“Don’t say never,” Isla cautioned. “You don’t know how powerful she’s become.”

Broc nodded. “Isla isna speaking false. Be cautious, MacLeod. Deirdre always gets what she wants in the end. You need to decide how you plan to come out when all this is over.”

Quinn watched Isla walk away. He knew how he would come out in the end. He would bed a great evil only to spawn the greatest wickedness to ever walk the earth. If that happened, any good that might still be in the world would be gone forever.

“Think carefully, MacLeod,” Broc said. “Whatever you choose in bargaining for your body canna be undone. Deirdre is granting you this one gift. Do not waste it.”

“She willna give me what I really want, which is my brother’s freedom.”

“Is that all you really want?”

Quinn thought of Marcail, of her exotic turquoise eyes and braids that framed her beautiful face. “There is too much I want.”

“Then I will return on the morrow for your decision.”

Quinn turned and leaned against the door. Now he knew how much time he had with Marcail. And it didn’t seem near enough. He feared eternity wouldn’t be enough.