Wicked Highlander

Twenty-seven

Marcail swayed with the mesmerizing music. She had been ecstatic when she had heard the magical chant once again. For a while, she had thought it was gone from her forever, but one thought of Quinn and the music returned in a rush of sound.

The words grew louder, but she still could only understand a few of them. She sensed they were important, but for what, she didn’t know.

She let herself succumb to the melody, let it surround her and pull her into its magic. It sounded as if hundreds of voices chanted, but she could see no one.

The breeze that had moved gently around her began to swirl and grow stronger as the chanting rose. It was as if Marcail stood in the center of everything as the magic moved toward her then retreated only to move forward once again, growing closer and closer each time it came at her.

She felt protected, as if she belonged to the magic. The more it touched her, the stronger she felt. It was a wondrous, beautiful feeling she never wanted to end.

The words of the chanting became clear in a blink, their meaning known. She gasped, her heart skipping a beat when she realized the mantra was the spell to bind the gods.

Marcail couldn’t believe she finally was able to find the spell, though in the back of her mind, she knew she hadn’t done it alone. Was it her grandmother? Or was it something else?

It didn’t matter. She would be able to help Quinn defeat Deirdre. Excitement poured through her at the prospect.

Her concentration was shattered and the beautiful melody vanished as hands gently shook her. Marcail snapped open her eyes to find Arran and Duncan squatting before her.

“Why did you do that?” she cried. Instead of listening and memorizing the chant, she had been thinking of Quinn. She only knew half of the spell, and half wasn’t good enough.

“You’ve been sitting like that for hours, Marcail,” Arran said. “We grew worried.”

She bit her lip. She didn’t want them to know she had been so close to freeing them, at least not yet. If word spread before she learned the rest of the spell, it would do them no good. Plus, she had to worry about Deirdre discovering her and ending all hope.

Marcail rose from her position on the floor and moved to the water to splash her face. “Next time, please do not disturb me. I’m not being harmed in any way.”

“You were sitting so ever since Quinn was taken. It’s been almost a full day,” Duncan said.

Marcail paused. She hadn’t realized the chanting had pulled her under so completely. Would she have made it back had the Warriors not woken her? She wasn’t sure.

She knew she would have to tell them before she attempted to find the chant again.

“What has happened while I’ve been…resting?” she asked.

Arran shook his head, his face grim. “Nothing, and that’s what bothers me.”

“It’s only been a day,” Marcail said. “What did you expect to happen?”

“Something,” Duncan replied. “It’s almost as if the mountain is holding its breath.”

Marcail felt the same way. “I know what you mean. It will most likely take Quinn days or weeks before he can manage to help us escape. Until then, we need to stay vigilant as he asked.”

Arran glanced at the entrance to the cave. “It’s more than that, Marcail.”

She looked from Arran to Duncan, then back to Arran. “Tell me.”

Duncan looked away.

It was Arran who finally spoke. “We saw Charon speaking with someone earlier.”

“So,” she said with a smile. That’s what they were worried about? That was nothing. “Charon most likely wants to rule the Pit as Quinn did. Charon figures he’ll talk to some of the Warriors to get them on his side.”

Arran swallowed and scratched his neck with his white claws.

“He wasn’t talking to Warriors in the Pit, was he?” she asked as apprehension began to creep up her back.

Arran shook his head. “I’m not sure who he spoke with at the door, but who ever it was, he was there for a while.”

Marcail grew sick as realization dawned. “I know what he was doing.”

“What?” Duncan asked.

“When Quinn was taken the first time I told Charon to tell Deirdre that I knew the spell, hoping that she would take me in trade for Quinn.”

Arran punched the rocks. “Shite!”

Duncan mumbled something underneath his breath.

“Did Quinn know you did that?” Arran asked.

She nodded. “I told him. He wasn’t happy. Charon didn’t do it, though. I didn’t think he would tell Deirdre about me because he was distressed to learn that I had the spell and was in Deirdre’s control.”

“You canna trust Charon,” Duncan growled. “He cares only for himself. No one else matters to him. No one.”

She realized that now. Unfortunately, it was too late for her. “They will come for me. Neither of you must stop them from taking me.”

“We swore to Quinn we would protect you,” Arran said.

“What you’ll do is get yourselves beaten or killed,” she argued. “Let them take me. The best thing you can do for me and Quinn is to stay alive and unharmed.”

Arran sighed loudly, obviously not liking her logic.

She turned to Duncan. “Have you had any more pain that I need to help you with before I’m taken?”

“Nothing I canna handle,” he said. “They are no longer beating Ian.”

She placed a hand on Duncan’s arm, then did the same to Arran. “Both of you are good men. Quinn is counting on you. Don’t let him down.”

“Never,” Duncan swore.

She smiled because she heard the truth in his words. “Deirdre cannot kill me, remember.”

“She canna kill you but she can have others do it,” Arran said. “Doona forget that, Marcail.”

How could she when she would soon be facing that very possibility? And if she knew anything about Deirdre, her death was going to be very, very painful.

“You canna go with her,” Duncan said. “If you do, we will never be returned to the men we once were.”

Marcail ached for the Warriors. “I don’t see how I will have much of a choice. If I could, I would stay with you.”

“What if we told the other Warriors in the Pit just what you carry in your mind? They might help us protect you,” Arran said.

She shook her head. “You could try, but I don’t think it will work. Besides, do you want everyone to know about a spell that I cannot remember?”

“What I want them to know is that we can push the gods away forever.”

“Can you really?” she asked. “Deirdre can once more unbind your gods, and I imagine there are Warriors with her that don’t wish to be mortal again.”

Arran cursed and turned away. She understood his disappointment because she felt the same way.

“What choice do we have?” Duncan asked. “You need to be protected from Deirdre.”

Marcail felt the sadness weigh heavily on her shoulders. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

Quinn made sure he appeared to sleep well past the time Deirdre rose from the bed. When she stood beside him and ran her hands over his body, it was everything he could do not to throw her hands away from him.

It wasn’t until she finally left the chamber that he rose from the bed. He found a ewer of water and splashed some on his face.

He was sitting to pull on his boots when the door flew open and Deirdre stood in the doorway, fury flashing from her evil white eyes.

“Did you not sleep well?” he asked, uncaring about what had riled her so early in the morn.

“My sleep does not concern you at this moment.”

“Is that so?” He pulled on his second boot and stood. “Then what should concern me?”

“Marcail.”

Quinn felt as if someone had reached into his chest and yanked out his heart. He couldn’t manage to take air into his lungs. The world ground to a halt as he raged between fury and confusion on how Marcail had been discovered.

Deirdre walked to him. “I was told you gave her shelter in the Pit. Why didn’t you kill her?”

“Why didna you?” The more Deirdre spoke about Marcail the angrier he got. Deirdre wasn’t worthy to speak Marcail’s name.

“I had my reasons,” Deirdre replied. “The Druid is a nuisance, Quinn. I tossed her into the Pit so she would be killed. You should have allowed that to happen.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “And why is that?”

“She probably told you she knows the spell to bind your gods. She lied. She has the spell that will allow your gods to take over completely.”

Quinn shook his head and snorted. “Stop with the lies. Marcail does have the spell to bind our gods. You didna kill her yourself because you fear what will happen to you if you harm her. All those protection spells must be an irritation for one so all-powerful as you.”

“Then you don’t know me at all. I fear nothing.”

“Not true. You fear the magic of Marcail’s grandmother. I’ve seen what can happen to someone who harms Marcail. It’s not something you want to tangle with, Deirdre.”

A single white brow rose on Deirdre’s forehead. “You think you know everything, do you?”

“You’ve killed almost every Druid you’ve ever captured, mie and drough alike, so that you can claim their magic. I had to ask myself, why wouldna you want the powerful magic that runs in Marcail’s blood? It was easy enough to figure out.”

Deirdre slowly walked around Quinn until she stood at his back. “Tell me, Quinn, what is your interest in Marcail?”

He knew he had to choose his words carefully. He didn’t want Deirdre to know how deep his feelings went for Marcail, especially since he was still trying to decipher them himself. “I saved her. She’s my responsibility.”

“Hm. I wonder if your feelings go deeper than that. You’ve bedded her, so you must have found something to your liking.”

Quinn faced her. He didn’t want to spoil what had happened between him and Marcail, but he also couldn’t let Deirdre suspect anything.

“It had been a long time since I’d lain with a woman. She was grateful that I saved her and repaid me with the use of her body.”

“You could have had mine,” Deirdre said.

“I’d rather slit my own throat.”

Deirdre suddenly smiled. “Ah, but my dear Quinn, you agreed to bed me in exchange for leaving your brothers alone.”

“I did. I willna go back on my vows.”

“I don’t doubt that you will do your part, but I wonder how long you will try to put me off.”

Quinn clenched his jaw. He hadn’t expected Deirdre to learn of Marcail so quickly. Damn.

“What do you want?” he asked in the most civil voice that he could.

She laughed. “I’ve always enjoyed having this kind of power. It’s exhilarating.”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“How much is Marcail’s life worth to you?”

Quinn wanted to punch Deirdre in the face, to rip her heart from her body and toss her into a fire. “I doona want anyone else to die.”

“And Marcail? What will you do to ensure I allow her to live?”

“What do you want?”

“You. In my bed immediately.”

Quinn ran a hand down his face. He had no other choice. He couldn’t live with himself if he was the cause of Marcail’s death just because he found Deirdre repulsive.

“On one condition. You allow Marcail to leave the mountain. And I want to see for myself that you release her.”

Deirdre lifted a shoulder. “You agree to bed me after she’s gone?”

He nodded, unable to say the words. How had things gone so wrong so soon?