by Donna Grant
Quinn gazed at her a moment before he kissed her again.
And then everything shattered with Duncan’s bellow.
It had taken Duncan all of a heartbeat to recall that Deirdre had taken his twin.
Ian!
In all their years, they had never been apart. They were connected in ways that most people couldn’t understand, and that was before their god was unbound. With the added power from their god, their bond had only strengthened.
Duncan couldn’t control the fury inside him. He had to let it out some way or explode.
“Easy, Duncan.”
He ignored Arran and tried to rise to his feet, but the crushing weight of the loss of Ian was too much. Duncan’s claws tore into his palms and his vision swam with the anger churning inside him.
The roar rose up in him, and he was powerless to stop it. But that small release did nothing to staunch the loss of his twin.
Quinn raced into the cave and came to a stop before Duncan. “If I had known what she would do—”
“Don’t,” Duncan stopped him. “None of us could have known. You did what any of us would have done. I do not fault you for that.”
“You should,” his leader said. “I do.”
If there was anyone who could begin to understand what Duncan was going through, it was Quinn. Duncan climbed to his feet until he looked Quinn in the eye. A part of him wanted to blame Quinn, but the blame lay squarely with Deirdre.
“Hit me,” Quinn said. “Take your rage out on me before it consumes you.”
Duncan lowered his gaze and shook his head. “I willna, Quinn. She could have taken any one of us.”
“I’ll get him back,” Quinn said as he clasped Duncan’s shoulder. “I swear it.”
Duncan nodded, though he knew the chances were slim that his brother would be returned to him the man that he had been. They had all seen what Deirdre was capable of, and they all knew their time in the mountain was limited.
But it had never occurred to Duncan that his twin might be taken.
Duncan took a deep breath. “Did Deirdre see Marcail?”
“Nay,” Arran said. “She would have taken her instead of Ian, I’m sure.”
“Go to Marcail,” Duncan told Quinn.
“I will make this right,” Quinn vowed again. “I will get Ian back.”
With one last look, Quinn left the cave. Duncan lowered himself onto one of the small boulders they used for seats and put his head in his hands.
What the others didn’t know was that Duncan would feel every cut, every punch that was dealt to Ian. Whatever Ian suffered, so would Duncan.
Marcail stretched lazily, her body still pleasured beyond her wildest dreams. She sat up and hugged her legs to her chest. She found herself smiling dreamily, her thoughts centered on a handsome, immortal Highlander.
In those precious moments with Quinn, Marcail had forgotten where they were, had forgotten about Deirdre and her evil plan, had even forgotten that her very life hung in the balance. All that had mattered was the exquisite way Quinn had touched her body.
Reality, however, had crashed down upon them all too soon. Marcail rubbed her hands over her arms through the sleeves of her gown. The only time she was warm was when she was with Quinn. Any other time, the cool temperatures sucked every last bit of heat from her body.
The first notes of a melody floated through her mind, a tune that she recognized instantly. A heartbeat later and the chanting began. As suddenly as it had come, it vanished, leaving Marcail feeling bereft and wishing she could hear the music again.
She rose to her feet in an effort to stay warm when she caught sight of the copper Warrior across the way. Charon’s gaze, like always, was riveted on Quinn.
Marcail didn’t need to be in Duncan’s cave to know that was who Charon stared at. Why the copper Warrior was so intrigued by Quinn she didn’t know.
Duncan had told her he hadn’t sided with Quinn. Why, then, was Charon so interested in everything Quinn did?
Marcail took a step toward Charon to ask him when Quinn strode back into his cave. Her gaze fastened on Quinn, and the smile she had worn just moments ago reappeared.
Quinn’s steps slowed when he caught sight of her. His tunic was still gone, and he had once again transformed into his god.
She met him in the middle of the cave. She lifted his hand in hers, examining the black skin and claws. Just as she touched one of those deadly long claws he began to shift back.
“Nay,” she begged. “Let me feel you. All of you.”
He hesitated for a moment, and when he didn’t move, she again touched his claw. His claws were longer than her fingers and, she imagined, sharper than any blade.
It was amazing to watch him change from man to Warrior and back again. She didn’t know where the claws and fangs went, and she didn’t care.
Before her stood the very reason Rome didn’t rule Britain, and for that she was grateful.
“What do you see?” Quinn asked.
She glanced into his black eyes. That was the one part of a Warrior she would never become accustomed to. She missed seeing Quinn’s green eyes, but more than that, when the entire eye changed, removing any iris and the whites of the eyes, it was…disturbing.
“I see strength and power,” she whispered. “The evidence of magic is standing before me in all its stunning ebony glory.”
“Magic?”
She nodded and lifted his hand so that his palm faced her. “You need no sword or dagger to defend yourself. You have your weapons right here. Ten, in fact. Is that not magic?”
“It’s evil.”
“Is it?” She dropped his hand and reached up to touch one of his fangs. “Do you not feel the magic coursing through your blood each time you allow your god to show? Are you not reminded how the Druids and Celts sacrificed so much just to save this land?”
“I’m reminded every damned day, Marcail. How can you look at me and not be repulsed? I have fangs and claws like a beast,” he said with a growl.
She understood in that moment that there was nothing she could say to Quinn to prove to him that, even in his Warrior form, he was magnificent to her.
Maybe it was because she had just had the most wondrous experience of her life, but Marcail felt daring. She rose up on her toes and kissed Quinn.
The tips of his fangs snagged her lips but she didn’t care. At the first contact of his mouth against hers, the heat that had filled her body a short while before surged through her once more.
Quinn’s arms wound around her as he slanted his mouth over hers. He was careful not to cut her lips, and no matter how hard she tried to deepen the kiss, he wouldn’t let her.
“My God,” he whispered when he ended the kiss. “What are you trying to do to me?”
Marcail smiled. “I wanted to show you what I think of you as either the man Quinn MacLeod or the legendary Warrior all of Scotland is talking about.”
“If you keep this up, I’ll have you on your back again.”
She loved how he teased her, but she also knew he was deadly serious. And it thrilled her beyond reason. “Really?”
He sighed and pulled her against him as he wrapped his arms around her. “You are like the first rays of sun after a hard winter. You shouldn’t be in this dark, evil place, Marcail.”
“Neither should you, Quinn.”
Thirteen
Isla shouldn’t have been surprised to find Deirdre had taken steps to turn Quinn to her side. Deirdre was known to use whatever tactic she had to ensure she got what she wanted, and she wanted Quinn, regardless of everything else.
Isla was one of the few who knew that Quinn was supposed to give Deirdre a child, a child that would house all the evil of Hell. Just thinking about it made Isla shudder.
“Where shall we start?” William asked Deirdre.
Isla looked around the small chamber. Besides Deirdre, William, and the two Warriors who held their prisoner, Broc was also in the chamber.
Isla k
new why Deirdre wanted her there, but why was Broc present? Broc usually kept to himself. Lately, however, he had been called more and more to Deirdre’s side.
“Not just yet,” Deirdre said, interrupting Isla’s musings.
Isla turned her attention back to the prisoner. He was one of the twins from the Pit. Why Deirdre had taken him, though, was a mystery.
Deirdre moved in front of Ian, who was held on his knees. She bent and put her face near his pale blue one. “I will ask you this only once. Will you turn to my side?”
“Never, bitch.”
Deirdre stepped out of the way and William sliced open Ian’s chest with his claws before punching him in the face. Isla had learned long ago how to keep her feelings from her face. Even so, she wasn’t shocked to find Deirdre watching her.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Ian,” Deirdre said and turned to face the Warrior. “I had thought you would understand the situation. Quinn has refused me, and so someone has to experience my wrath.”
Ian spit a mouthful of blood on the hem of Deirdre’s gown and smiled up at her. “Do your worst, drough.”
Instead of killing Ian as Isla had thought she would, Deirdre merely took a step back. Isla had been around Deirdre long enough to know that no good could come out of Deirdre when she was as calm in her anger as she was now.
“You are very close to your twin, are you not, Ian? I wonder just how close the two of you are joined through your god?”
“I’m a Highlander. I will withstand any amount of pain you give me,” Ian retorted, his lips raised in a sneer.
Isla was impressed with the Warrior, but with his comments, he wouldn’t live long at all.
“I will make sure you withstand all of the pain I give you,” Deirdre said. “I wonder, though, have you thought about how Duncan will endure the pain, knowing you are suffering as you will?”
In a flash Ian jerked out of the guards’ hold and launched himself at Deirdre. “I’ll kill you,” he bellowed.
Deirdre’s primary weapon, her hair, halted Ian before he could reach her. The white locks squeezed his neck until he passed out from lack of air. Once Deirdre released him and Ian fell to the floor, the pale blue tint of his skin faded away.
Lying just steps away from Isla was a man with short, light brown hair and a kilt so frayed and faded that she could barely make out the colors.
William and the two guards lifted Ian and carried him from the chamber, leaving Isla alone with Deirdre and Broc. Isla at one time had thought Broc might betray Deirdre, but the dark blue Warrior was as faithful as ever.
“Quinn is holding out hope of his brothers’ arrival,” Deirdre said. “I want to be able to give him proof that Lucan and Fallon have either been caught or won’t be coming for him.”
Broc lifted a shoulder. “You’ve sent wyrran to stop the brothers.”
“Ah, but Lucan and Fallon have outsmarted my pets. For the moment.”
“Then let me find the MacLeods,” Broc said. “You know I can track anything anywhere. I will find them for you.”
Deirdre considered his words. “Can you trap them?”
“That will take more planning. If you want something done now, I can ensure that they are…occupied with wyrran until Quinn agrees to your terms.”
Isla didn’t like the feeling that swirled cacophonously in her stomach at Broc’s words. For years Isla hated the MacLeods because the scroll Deirdre had found had named them. Because of that one surname, Isla’s life had been taken away from her.
She hated the MacLeods, hated all Warriors, in truth, but more than anything she wanted her freedom. She was tired of being used as Deirdre’s puppet.
“I have another weapon,” Deirdre said, her white eyes flashing dangerously, and turned to Isla.
Isla met Deirdre’s gaze without blinking. To show any fear or weakness would ensure her doom.
“Nay,” Broc said into the silence. “Not yet, mistress. Let me detain Fallon and Lucan. Once Quinn breaks, we can capture the brothers. They’ll see Quinn has chosen you and they will no longer deny you rule them.”
Isla’s eyes jerked to Broc, but the Warrior refused to look at her. Why didn’t he want Deirdre to send her? They could capture the brothers, but why then did Broc want to wait? Was he thinking of siding with the MacLeods?
She wanted to talk to him, but Isla knew she couldn’t chance it, and neither could Broc. If Deirdre suspected anything, they would be killed instantly.
“I will agree for the moment, Broc,” Deirdre said and ran her hand down the black material of her gown. “But only because I want to keep the brothers from reaching Quinn just yet. I do want all three MacLeod brothers under my rule before the moon has finished its cycle this month.”
Broc bowed his head. “I will see it done, mistress.”
“You may leave us.”
Isla waited as Broc left the chamber before she turned to Deirdre. There was no use asking the drough what she wanted. Deirdre would tell all when she felt like it.
“It’s time for you to visit him again.”
Isla jerked even though she tried hard not to. Every time she saw Phelan she remembered she had been the one to deceive him, the one to chain him in the mountain as a child.
To fight Deirdre or try to talk her way out of it would only let Deirdre know how much Isla hated visiting Phelan in any fashion. Instead, Isla merely gave a nod of her head.
“I’m told you are the only one that can approach him.”
Isla lifted a brow. “No one can approach him, which is why he is chained.” Constantly.
“He is going to be one of my greatest Warriors. I still celebrate the day your sister discovered him. And let’s not forget how you captured him.”
Isla fisted her hand in her skirt as her stomach rolled. She would never forget that day. She relived it every night in her nightmares.
Deirdre walked to the door and paused. “Stay with him longer this time. It won’t be long now before I will have need of him. He has to be tamed.”
To say Quinn was worried was putting it mildly. It wasn’t just Duncan and Ian or Marcail, either, it was his brothers.
It was true Quinn had lost track of time in the mountain, but he knew a considerable amount had passed. Where were Lucan and Fallon? Why hadn’t they come for him?
Or worse, had they tried to rescue him and Deirdre had them?
That thought made Quinn want to kill something. He breathed through his mouth to calm his rage while ignoring his god.
It just took one look at Marcail for his fury to disappear while his desire flared to life. She sat on the floor, her head to the side as all her hair draped over one shoulder, and combed out the back of her hair with her fingers.
He could sit and watch her for hours. The way she moved and spoke and did everything fascinated him. The fact she was not only unafraid of him but seemed to like his Warrior form by the way she kissed him earlier had made him want her all the more.
She amazed him at every turn. Marcail had courage and spirit and strength that rivaled his brothers’. She was what every Highlander looked for in a mate.
Quinn’s view of Marcail was blocked by Arran when he walked into the cave. Quinn turned his attention to Arran, who paced in front of him.
“What are they going to do to Ian?” Arran asked.
Quinn ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Deirdre told you what they would do. They will make him suffer.”
“Will she kill him?”
“Only so she can bring him back.”
Arran halted and turned a concerned face to Quinn. “Can she really do that?”
“I have no idea, but with the power she holds, it wouldna surprise me.”
Arran blew out a long breath. “How long will she keep it up?”
“I can end it before it begins, Arran. It’s what I should do. She is only hurting Ian to hurt me.”
“You canna, Quinn. We need you.”
“And Duncan needs his brother.”
> “Quinn—”
Quinn held up a hand to stop him. “I know what you would say, and I thank you for it. The simple truth is my brothers are better men than I am. They can—and will—destroy Deirdre with or without me.”
“You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you? You’re going to go to that bitch.”
“I am.”
“And Marcail?”
Quinn tried, and failed, not to look at the Druid in question. He was going to miss her. He wanted one night of loving her, of tasting her kisses and feeling her heated touch, but it was one night he couldn’t allow himself.
There was a man going through torture because of him. Quinn couldn’t live with himself if he allowed that.
“Take care of her for me,” Quinn said.
“You arna going to tell her farewell?”
He should, he knew it. “I canna.”
Quinn moved past Arran before he could stop him and walked to the doorway of the Pit. Though Deirdre warded the door with her spells and magic, there were always Warriors standing guard.
Quinn stopped at the door and whistled to get the guards’ attention. “Take me to Deirdre.”
The Warrior on the left began to laugh. “She said you would want to see her. We’re to relay a message to you.”
“And what would that message be?”
“That she’s busy torturing Ian, and that you shouldn’t have refused her.”
Quinn cursed and turned on his heel. He hadn’t expected that move from Deirdre. She wanted him, aye, but he had infuriated her. Now Ian would pay for it with torture that would likely last for days if not weeks.
Once back in his cave Ian leaned against the stone wall and stared up into the darkness. “Holy Hell,” he ground out.
“She wouldna see you?” Arran asked.
“Nay. She said she’s too busy torturing Ian.”
“Shite. What are you going to do now?”
Quinn shrugged. “I canna do anything but wait. She knew I would give in after she took Ian. She did it to make a statement. There’s nothing I can do for Ian now, but I will see everything put to rights as soon as I can.”
