by Donna Grant
“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.
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.”
Twenty
Marcail couldn’t believe Quinn was really back. She had thought she would need to resign herself to never seeing him again. Yet here he was, his hard body pressed against hers.
She licked her lips, still feeling the kiss he had given her. There had been such desire, such hunger in that kiss that it had shaken her to her core. She didn’t need her magic to know that she was becoming attached to Quinn. Despite that knowledge, she couldn’t move away from him.
It was as if Quinn had magic of his own that tugged her to his side. They were in the worst place in the world, but all she thought about was Quinn and how he made her feel.
Quinn’s revelation about having to watch Ian being beaten made her heart constrict. She couldn’t imagine having to endure something so terrible, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“Are you really all right?” Quinn asked as he tugged gently on one of her braids.
She smiled up at him and nodded. “I’m much better now that you’ve returned.”
His hand stroked through her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned her head into his hand. She reached up to begin releasing her braids so he could move his fingers through her hair when he stopped her.
“Nay,” he whispered and kissed her neck. “I love your braids. They are part of what make you you.”
Marcail stroked his cheek and whiskered jaw before letting her finger trace his lips. The feelings he stirred in her were arousing and glorious. And she never wanted them to end. “Quinn.”
No more needed to be said. His arms wound around her tightly, crushing her against his chest, but she didn’t mind. She couldn’t get close enough to him.
His mouth nipped and nibbled hers, and then his tongue licked along the seam of her lips. She groaned and opened for him. His tongue swept inside her mouth in a rush, swallowing her moan of pleasure.
Marcail was carried away on a tide of ecstasy unlike anything she had ever known. Quinn’s mouth conquered hers, seducing and claiming her with just the touch of his tongue.
She didn’t stop him when Quinn lifted her and settled her on his lap so that her legs straddled him. Marcail gasped when she felt the rigid length of his arousal against the sensitive flesh of her sex.
She throbbed with a need so deep, so intense that she ground her hips against him, sending spirals of yearning through her each time she came in contact with his cock.
“You’re driving me wild,” Quinn told her, his breath coming in great gasps.
Marcail wanted to tell him he was doing the same to her, but her voice wouldn’t work. She clutched his shoulders as he began to massage her breasts.
One of his fingers grazed her nipple, sending shock waves of longing to her center. She cried out and arched into him. She had to have more of him, all of him.
She clawed at his tunic, wanting it gone so she could feel his skin under her palms. He released her only long enough to jerk the garment over his head.
Marcail sighed in contentment as she brushed her hands over the muscles in his back and they moved beneath her hands. His mouth was doing wonderful, amazing things to her neck that left her panting and needy.
She threaded her fingers in his light brown locks and tilted her head back.
“Remove your gown before I strip it from your body.”
Marcail shivered at the desire that roughened his voice. With shaky hands she tried to remove her clothes. She heard a seam rip when Quinn’s hands joined hers and he gave a quick yank. But she didn’t care. Not when she was in Quinn’s arms.
His lips closed around a nipple and began to tease it with his tongue and teeth. She whimpered when his tongue swirled around the tiny bud. She ground her hips against him seeking the release that was building with each nip of his teeth.
She reached between them and grasped his cock through his breeches. He groaned, the sound ecstasy to her ears. Just like before, she was amazed at the hardness in her hand.
“I want to touch you,” she told him.
In the next instant he had unfastened his breeches and pushed them down so his rod sprang free. Marcail took him in hand and marveled at the feel of him. He was spectacular. And for now, he was hers.
“If you doona stop, I will spill.”
She wanted to bring him to climax with her hand, but the need to have him inside her was greater. She rose up on her knees and positioned herself over him.
He looked into her eyes while his fingers pinched one of her nipples, blending pleasure and pain so that she groaned and swayed toward him.
