Wicked Highlander (11 page)

Quinn knew he was in trouble when he woke up and couldn't stop looking at Marcail. He had managed to rise without waking her, but now, all he could do was stand and look at her while images of their night together replayed in his head.

How he wished he had met her differently, but he realized, as the man he was before, he wouldn't have given in to the desire to have her. He had changed since being captured, changed in ways he thought he never would.

He still missed his son, but he had come to understand that bad things happen to innocents. Even if his son had somehow survived, Quinn wouldn't have stayed near him for fear of hurting him.

The need for vengeance for his son's and wife's deaths had not left Quinn, however. He would kill Deirdre, or die trying.

A muted curse made Quinn turn away from Marcail's sleeping form to find Duncan leaning an arm against the wall while the other held his stomach.

Quinn went to his friend. “Duncan? What is it?”

“Not feeling well,” the Warrior ground out.

Quinn knew he lied. “Were you attacked last night?”

“Nay,” Duncan said with a brittle laugh.

“Then what is it?”

Duncan turned his pale blue Warrior eyes on Quinn. “Nothing I canna handle.”

Quinn inclined his head and turned on his heel to find Arran on the other side of the entrance. He walked to the white Warrior who stood with his arms crossed over his chest watching Duncan.

“He's not well,” Arran said when Quinn reached him.

“Nay, he isna, but he willna tell me what's wrong.”

Arran rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I doona like this situation.”

“I've never liked it. I have promised Duncan I will set things right, and I will. I need something from you, though.”

Arran snorted and shook his head angrily. “I willna bother arguing with you again but know that I think you handing yourself to Deirdre is horseshite. I've already promised to take care of Marcail.”

“Aye, and I appreciate it. However, this is more important.”

That got Arran's attention. He narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to Quinn. “What is it?”

“I have no doubt Lucan and Fallon will eventually come. No matter what I say, no matter what I do to them, you must leave whenever they escape, because they will escape. I will see to that. Take as many Warriors as you can, but you follow my brothers.”

“I'd rather have you at my side.”

Quinn wanted to be there, but Broc had been right, his time had run out. “Tell my brothers…”

“I will,” Arran promised. “I will tell them everything.”

Quinn inhaled deeply, feeling better after having Arran's vow. He didn't know how much time he had
left with Marcail, but he imagined it wouldn't be long. Deirdre had made her point yesterday, but she wanted Quinn badly enough to grant his audience before too long.

The sounds from the Pit door told him their morning meal had arrived. Quinn transformed and strode from the chamber. When he reached the door he found Isla standing beyond it.

“Have you come for me?” he asked the
drough
.

She raised a black brow and regarded him with her ice-blue eyes. She was as petite as Marcail, but her cool demeanor made her seem taller, deadlier. “I have not.”

“Shite,” Quinn murmured and curled his claws into his palms.

“What is it you want, Quinn MacLeod?”

He leaned his face into the open square and growled. “You know I want to stop her torture of Ian.”

“Her anger is slow to cool.”

“Why are you here?” Quinn demanded.

She lifted a slender shoulder. “I've come to watch them hand out the bread and see if any have realized they would rather serve Deirdre than spend another moment in the Pit.”

“I have,” a voice called from behind Quinn.

He turned to find a Warrior with yellow-orange skin move out of the shadows. Quinn remembered battling the Warrior his first day there, but he hadn't seen the Warrior in weeks.

“Come,” Isla said and bade a guard to open the door. She waited for the yellow-orange Warrior to move past her before she glanced at Quinn once more and walked away.

Quinn grabbed his bread and let his claws cut all the
way through it. He was torn between anger at Deirdre for making him wait and fury at having another Warrior turn to her side.

When he reached his cave, Marcail awaited him. She touched his arm and said, “She still won't see you?”

“Nay.” Quinn gave Marcail her share of bread. “I didna expect her to make me wait. Isla said she is very angry, and if that's the case, she will take it out on Ian repeatedly.”

“She's liable to do the same to you.”

Quinn doubted it. “She wants a child by me too much to risk me saying nay. She won't torture me, not in the way she's torturing Ian at least.”

“Do you think she will capture your brothers?”

“How do I know she hasn't already?”

Marcail's brow furrowed as she chewed. “Wouldn't you have heard it from Deirdre herself? I would think she would want to gloat and use them as pawns to get you to do whatever it is she has planned for you.”

“You could be right. As much as I fear my brothers not coming for me, I know in my heart they will. I've gotten Arran's vow to go with them when they escape. I want that same vow from you.”

“What about you?”

He fingered a braid that had fallen over her eyes. “I'm going to be the one who ensures you all get away.”

“You're staying behind?”

“I am.”

Her beautiful turquoise eyes grew troubled. “You cannot stay.”

“I've thought about it all night, Marcail. Someone needs to stay and make sure Deirdre doesn't get all that she covets. I will be that someone. I canna do that if
I'm worried about my brothers, you, or the Warriors who have given me their allegiance.”

Her gaze dropped to her lap where she stared at her half-eaten bread. “You ask too much, Quinn. I don't think I will be able to leave you here with her.”

“You have to. My brothers will keep you safe. You will be with another Druid and surrounded by Warriors who want nothing more than Deirdre's death.”

When Marcail didn't respond, Quinn put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. “Please. You have the spell somewhere in your mind to end all of this. You are needed.”

Marcail didn't like the feeling churning in her stomach. The thought of Quinn not only going of his own free will to Deirdre, but staying behind and appearing to align himself with her made Marcail ill. He was chancing so much, but then again, she understood why.

“Fallon and Lucan won't be happy about your decision. They'll most likely return for you.”

Quinn nodded and set aside his bread to grip her shoulders. “That's why I need you to make them understand. You and Arran need to tell them everything I willna be able to. Tell them I'm doing it for our parents, our clan. Tell them I'm doing it for them. I owe them so much.”

“I will tell them,” she said.

He dropped his arms and took a deep breath. “There's something else you need to know. I believe there is a spy in the Pit.”

“Who?”

“My suspicion is that it's Charon. He's always watching me and everything I do. I don't trust him. He hasna fought against me or with me.”

She nodded. “Charon does watch you constantly.”

The door to the Pit creaked open. “MacLeod!”

Marcail jerked. She couldn't believe Quinn was leaving her. He was the one thing she had begun to trust, and now, she would have nothing.

Before she could beg him not to go, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with passion and longing that matched her own. She held onto him with all her might. Drowning. Sinking. Yielding.

His hands spread along her back, holding her firm against his rockhard body. His lips were soft, insistent and unrelenting as they took hers. He plundered her mouth, taking her breath, as well as part of her soul, with one heart-stopping kiss.

A kiss that showed her all the passion, all the longing Quinn had. It was a kiss that Marcail would never forget.

All too soon he pulled away from her. “Stay hidden,” he said as he let his god loose. “And for God's sake, doona trust anyone but Arran, the twins, and my brothers.”

Then he was gone.

Marcail stumbled to her feet and raced to the entrance of the cave. Just before she turned the corner in hopes of catching another glimpse of Quinn, Arran pulled her back into the shadows.

“Doona,” Arran said in her ear. “This is more difficult for him than he is letting on. If he hears you, sees you, he's liable to change his mind.”

“Isn't that what we want?” she asked, tears stinging her eyes.

“With all my heart, aye. As much as I hate watching a friend go to his doom, I've given Quinn my vow. I
will keep it, regardless of how much I hate it. His sacrifice will save many lives.”

Marcail flinched when the door banged shut and the bolt slid into the place. Already the Pit seemed different without Quinn. His mere presence had filled the Pit. Now, the darkness was never-ending.

She pulled out of Arran's arms and walked to where she and Quinn had just sat. Their meal lay forgotten on the stones. She had been starving when she'd first bitten into the bread, but now, she couldn't stand the thought of food.

Marcail sank onto the large slab of rock and let her head drop into her hands. She had known her time with Quinn would be short, she just never expected him to be gone so soon. Too soon.

 

Quinn followed William from the Pit through small corridors and up countless steps. He didn't need to try to memorize his way. There was only one way to the Pit through the stairwells, and that was found easily enough.

What Quinn found odd was the way William watched him with such open hostility. They'd had their share of battles, true, but this seemed different. As if Quinn was somehow encroaching on William's territory.

And that's when Quinn realized what it was.

“I gather you doona want to share Deirdre.”

William whirled around and slammed Quinn against the wall. Quinn laughed even when William used a claw to cut a long gash in his throat.

“You willna be laughing when I'm done with you,” William taunted.

Quinn lifted a brow. “Is she too much for you to handle, William? Is that why she needs me?”

“Shut your mouth,” William bellowed.

“Try and stop me.”

For a moment Quinn thought he would get the brawl he wanted, but William suddenly released him.

“As much as I want to kill you, I canna. One day, though, MacLeod, Deirdre will grow tired of you. When she does, I'll be there to end your life.”

“Why wait? Let's take care of this now.” Quinn bared his fangs and widened his stance. He needed to take some anger out on the Warrior, and if it was a fight to the death, all the better.

William growled low in his throat as he grinned. “Not just yet. I'm going to enjoy what's coming your way next.”

Quinn didn't like the sound of that. He had no choice but to follow William. By the time they stopped, Quinn guessed they were well above the Pit.

When William halted next to a door and opened it, Quinn expected to find Deirdre when he stepped inside the chamber. Instead, it was empty. The sound of the door closing behind him had Quinn turning around. To find William standing there with a cocky smile.

“I think you're going to like this,” William said.

Quinn readied himself for anything as he let his gaze wander the chamber. It was small with no weapons or even chairs. The one thing it did have besides the door was a large opening that looked into the next chamber.

“Where is Deirdre?” Quinn demanded.

“She's not yet ready to talk to you.”

Quinn narrowed his gaze on the Warrior. The need to feel his blood on his hands, to kill, was overwhelming. “Then why am I here?”

“Watch and find out.”

Quinn turned back to the opening when sounds from the next room drifted to him. It took everything he had to remain standing still when he caught sight of Ian. He was still in his Warrior form, but his face was mottled with blood and bruises.

The Warriors on either side of Ian were the only things that kept him standing. When they shackled him in the center of the chamber so that he hung from his arms with his toes dragging on the floor, Quinn knew things were only going to get worse.

“You shouldna have denied her, MacLeod,” William said as he moved to stand next to Quinn. “You and your brothers have always thought yourselves better than the rest of us.”

“Not true. We just thought we were better than you.”

Quinn needed an outlet for his fury, and William was that outlet.

William didn't take the bait, though. “Watch your friend suffer for your arrogance, MacLeod.”

The two Warriors who had brought Ian into the chamber each held a lash in their hands. At the end of the whips dangled metal points with jagged edges.

“Ian,” Quinn called, but his friend acted as though he hadn't heard.

“Doona bother,” William said. “He canna hear or see you thanks to Deirdre's magic.”

Quinn gripped the edge of the opening as the Warriors lifted their arms, the whips moving on the floor. He would do anything to stop this, even take the punishment for his own if he could.

Each strike that landed on Ian's back was like a dagger to Quinn's heart. Ian held steady through it all, and
when he passed out, they revived him only to do it all over again.

Ian's back was a mass of blood and skin when they were finished, but they weren't done with him. The Warriors dropped the whips and began to beat Ian with their fists and claws.

Quinn wanted to beg them to stop, but he had to be strong. Deirdre wanted him, and he would make her pay dearly for hurting Ian. As long Ian stayed alive he would heal, and Quinn could set everything right.