Wicked Highlander (12 page)

Until then, Quinn would have to stand solid and not give in to his desire to rush into a fight as he normally did.

“I have much more in store for your friend,” William said. “I wanted to bring the other twin, but Deirdre hasn't allowed that. Yet.”

Quinn faced his enemy and bared his fangs. “You know as well as I that Deirdre wants me. I've already told her I will be hers.”

William threw back his head and laughed. “Actually, MacLeod, the message never reached Deirdre. It stopped with me.”

Cold fury poured through Quinn. He lunged for William and had his hand wrapped around the bright blue Warrior's throat in a heartbeat.

“Kill me, and Ian dies.”

Quinn let his claws puncture William's skin and blood ran in five rivulets down the Warrior's bare chest. Quinn could kill William and take on the other two Warriors with Ian, but getting Ian and the others out of the mountain without alerting Deirdre would be impossible. And he wasn't leaving Ian behind.

“Why am I here?”

William jerked against Quinn's hand, but Quinn
didn't release him. “I've been ordered to torture Ian until tomorrow. Deirdre has refused to speak to anyone until that time. Even you, MacLeod.”

Quinn released William with a growl. He paced the small chamber and glanced at Ian who was helpless to shield his body from the brutal hits.

“I will kill you for this,” Quinn told William.

William rubbed his throat. “You can try. Until then, you can either watch your friend being beaten or watch him be killed.”

“Deirdre didn't order his death.”

“Maybe not, but accidents do happen.”

Quinn took a step toward him. “I will tell her what you've done.”

“And I have two Warriors who will say differently,” William replied. “What will it be, MacLeod?”

Not wanting to chance his friend's death, Quinn turned to the opening. As he watched the torture continue, Quinn planned out how he would leisurely and painfully kill William.

Marcail was lost as she never had been before. She still couldn't believe Quinn was really gone. As much as she wanted to believe that he would return, she knew he wouldn't. Once Deirdre had him, she would never release him.

She huddled in the shadows with her arms wrapped around herself. Though she longed to hide and pretend she wasn't in the worst place in Scotland, she kept herself near the entrance so she could see any movement.

Many times before she had seen Charon take more than just a curious interest in Quinn and his men. Now, that interest had shifted to Arran.

Arran was in the next cave with Duncan, who hadn't been seen since Quinn was taken from the Pit. The more she watched Charon, though, the more interested the copper Warrior seemed to be in whatever Arran and Duncan were doing.

She thought over Quinn's words about Charon being a spy. All she had were her suspicions, and she didn't even know what to do with them.

Marcail grasped the end of a braid and ran her fingers over the gold that bound her hair. If only there were some way to help Quinn.

If she wanted to help Quinn she was going to have to
take risks she normally wouldn't, and that meant leaving the safety of Quinn's cave. Before she changed her mind, she rose to her feet and walked to Charon.

The copper Warrior raised a brow when he caught sight of her. “Have you lost your way, wee Druid?”

She hated being smaller than others because someone always used that against her. She looked up at the tall Warrior and the thick copper horns. “I know my way.”

“Do you? Since you've come to me, I gather you want something now that MacLeod is gone?”

“I do want something from you.”

He pushed off the wall and smiled down at her. “Protection? Have you come to realize Arran and Duncan are lacking?”

“What I've come to realize is that you are Deirdre's spy.”

He blinked, taken aback by her words. Marcail liked that she had surprised him.

“Have you nothing to say?” she asked.

“If you were a Warrior, I would kill you for even speaking those words.”

Marcail knew enough to be afraid, but she knew in her gut her suspicions were correct. “Because they are true perhaps?”

“God's teeth, you are bold, woman. Is that what Quinn found so appealing about you?”

She refused to allow the discussion to turn. “Why are you spying for Deirdre?”

He took a step toward her and peeled back his lips to show his fangs. “If I were you, I would forget we ever had this conversation and focus your attention on staying alive.”

A low, tortured moan filled the Pit. She knew instantly it was Duncan. Marcail forgot about Charon and rushed into Duncan's lair to find him lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his waist as he curled into himself.

“Marcail,” Arran snapped. “Get back to Quinn's cave.”

A trickle of blood ran from the corner of Duncan's mouth. Whatever he was suffering was bad. She needed her magic to help, and she'd do whatever was needed to ensure her magic worked. “I can help him.”

Arran shook his head. “No one can help him.”

She didn't bother arguing. Instead, she shoved Arran out of the way and knelt beside Duncan. She put her hand to his head and felt the heat of his skin. He trembled uncontrollably, and his eyes were squeezed tight.

Marcail licked her lips and prayed her magic would come to her easily. She concentrated on her magic deep inside her just as her grandmother had taught her. The musical chanting began again, just a whisper that floated around her. It took a moment, but her magic shifted inside her as the chanting faded.

She wasted no time in celebrating such a feat but pushed her magic through her hands into Duncan. With the contact she instantly felt the pain and agony writhing inside the Warrior. As soon as she began to pull the emotions out of Duncan, Marcail became dizzy and nauseous.

Duncan's suffering was so great that it took her longer than she expected to take his feelings into herself. By the time she was finished, her body ached so, she couldn't
lift her hand to brush away the hair in her eyes. At least Duncan rested comfortably now.

“What did you do?” Arran asked, his voice tight.

“I took his emotions. It's what my magic can do. He was suffering, and I knew I could help.”

Arran glanced from her to Duncan and back to her. “Where do the emotions go?”

Marcail tried to shrug but only ended up losing her balance. Arran's hands gripped her shoulders as he cursed.

“Quinn is going to kill me,” he murmured.

“Nay. Quinn will never know.”

Arran mumbled something under his breath and pulled her to her feet. “Come, Marcail. You need to rest.”

She tried to walk, but no matter how many times she told her feet to move, they wouldn't budge. Arran ended up lifting her in his arms. As they left Duncan's cave she spotted Charon watching them, his copper gaze centered on her.

Marcail wanted to tell Arran her suspicions about Charon, but her stomach rolled viciously. She scrambled out of Arran's arms just as he reached Quinn's cave and emptied her stomach.

With the help of Arran she lay down on the slab. The amount of feelings she had taken from Duncan was more than she had ever pulled from a person before. She wasn't sure how the Warrior had stood the emotions, and the longer they were inside her, the more they made her ill.

Tremors racked her body as her strength melted away. It hurt to breathe, and she flashed from hot to cold with each heartbeat.

“Marcail, tell me what you need?” Arran asked.

“She needs time.”

Marcail cracked open her eyes to find Charon standing at the entrance to the cave.

Arran growled at the intrusion. “Get out.”

“Heed me, Arran,” Charon said in a low voice. “She may get worse. Doona leave her side and give her plenty of water.”

Marcail had to close her eyes again when the room began to spin. Even lying down she felt as if she were adrift on the sea.

She must have dozed because when she opened her eyes the next time she felt better, but any small movement sent quivers through her stomach.

“What did you do to me?”

She turned her head to see Duncan walk toward her. She licked her lips and said, “I used magic.”

He went down on his haunches beside her. “You felt what was inside me, didn't you?”

She nodded. “I don't know how long the emotions will be gone.”

“I will be prepared for them next time.”

She didn't know how anyone prepared for pain the like of which had been inside Duncan. “I didn't know you were sick.”

“I wasn't.”

And then she knew. “Ian,” she whispered.

Duncan gave a slow nod of his head.

“I'm so sorry, Duncan.”

“I would trade places with him if I could.”

She covered his hand with hers. “I will be there next time to take the pain away again.”

“Nay,” Duncan said. “You have made yourself terribly ill. I appreciate what you have done, but you canna do it again.”

Arguing with him was pointless, so she let the matter go. For now. She would help him again, and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it because he would be gripped by the agony of his brother's torture.

“Rest, Marcail. Arran and I are guarding you.”

“Have you heard from Quinn?”

Duncan shook his head. “There has been nothing, and it has been hours.”

He didn't say the words they all knew in their hearts, that they might never see Quinn again.

 

Cara stood on the battlements of MacLeod Castle, her gaze to the north where her beloved Lucan had traveled with the others. She missed her husband, the ache in her chest from his absence growing each day. But worse than that was the worry that Deirdre would capture him as she had Quinn.

Everything Lucan and Fallon had begun with the castle had ground to a halt. No longer did Cara hear the laughter and banter of the Warriors as they worked to reconstruct the towers and rebuild the cottages from the village.

The castle seemed more deserted than it had the day she had gazed at it before Lucan had saved her life. Cara was sure she would go daft if she were alone.

But she wasn't. Lucan had asked Camdyn to stay behind. The Warrior hadn't seemed to mind, but she had seen him looking into the distance as she did now. There was also Sonya, the other Druid. Sonya had wanted to
accompany the group to Cairn Toul Mountain, but she had stayed behind to help Malcolm recover from his wounds.

Cara sighed as she thought of Larena's cousin. He was the only man at the castle who wasn't a Warrior. Malcolm had risked much to help Larena stay hidden from Deirdre.

If only Malcolm hadn't been attacked by Warriors and left for dead. As it was, he was scarred and his right arm almost useless. Sonya used magic daily to try and help his recovery, but he had long since stopped getting better.

Malcolm's discontent had grown each day. Despite his useless right arm, he was still able to wield a sword with his left as he had proven when he and Camdyn sparred. But Malcolm called himself worthless.

Cara could understand. She was a Druid who could help the herbs in her garden grow and aid Sonya in her healing but could do nothing else. Sonya worked with Cara on the spells all Druids should know.

Yet nothing Cara did worked. Even growing up alone in the nunnery she had never felt so lonely as she did at that moment.

The sound of boots on the stones drew her attention, and she looked up to find Malcolm. He stopped beside her and sighed.

“They will return,” he said.

Cara stared at the man who was next in line to be laird of the Monroe clan. “Do you say that to ease my mind or your own?”

Malcolm snorted and rubbed his right shoulder where the constant pain never left him. The Warriors who had beaten him had ripped his arm from his
socket, tearing muscle and tendons in the process. “For both of us, I think. I've seen Larena battle and know she is capable of defending herself.”

“She is your cousin.”

“And my friend. I know Fallon will watch her, but I canna help but worry.”

“Fallon would die before he let anything happen to his wife.”

Malcolm scratched his jaw where a shadow of a beard grew. “I've never liked being left behind.”

“They have powers neither of us have. We would only be in their way.”

“Ah, but you are a Druid, Cara. You have magic.”

She reached up to touch the Demon's Kiss around her neck. The small vial held her mother's blood, blood given in the
drough
sacrifice to bind a Druid to black magic. It was the only thing she had left of her mother, but it was also a reminder of all that she had lost.

“Sometimes I wonder, Malcolm.”

“Do you feel your magic?”

“I…” She looked down at her hands, hands she had felt her magic pulse through into the seeds she had planted. “Aye.”

“Then you are a Druid. Doona doubt yourself. Lucan doesn't.”

She smiled and turned to Malcolm. “And what of you?”

“What about me?”

“Will you allow Sonya to continue her magic on your arm?”

Malcolm frowned and turned his face away. “She is wasting her healing on me. I knew my arm would never work again the moment I felt it wrenched from its
socket. They broke every bone in my hand, Cara. It's not just using my arm, but my hand as well. Most of the time I don't even feel my fingers.”

“I didn't know.”

He signed and shook his head. “You couldn't have. I asked Sonya not to tell anyone. Larena was so worried about me I feared she wouldn't go with Fallon, and they need her to rescue Quinn.”

Cara returned her gaze to the distant mountains. “God help Deirdre if Lucan doesn't return to me.”

“Aye,” Malcolm murmured. “God help her.”