Wicked Highlander (14 page)

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.

She lowered herself onto his thick, hard shaft. Marcail closed her eyes when she was seated fully. The feel of Quinn deep inside her was one that she would never grow tired of.

Quinn's hand wound in her hair and held her head in place. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes when you come.”

A tremor went through her at his words. How he could touch her with his voice alone, she didn't know, but she loved that he could. She opened her eyes. With his free hand, he gripped her hip and began to move her back and forth. Marcail bit her lip as a wave of rapture raced through her.

She never looked away from Quinn's amazing light green eyes, not even when he ground into her, rubbing her clitoris in the process.

It was amazing the control she had being on top of him. She rotated her hips, loving the sound of his moan as she did. She also used her legs and rose up and down on his shaft. But then it became too much. Her release was so close that she couldn't hold back any longer.

Quinn took over then, rocking her back and forth until her world fell apart. Her breath locked in her lungs and white lights blinded her to all but Quinn as her body convulsed around him.

“Marcail,” he whispered as he gave a final thrust and she felt him jerk inside her.

She collapsed onto his shoulder while his hands
caressed her back. Now that Quinn had returned, the anxiety that had plagued her vanished, and all she wanted to do was lie in his arms for all of eternity.

Each time she made love to Quinn, it seemed a part of her opened up, as though she felt more, experienced more. Understood more.

The strange musical chanting she had been hearing ever since she had been thrown into the Pit suddenly filled her mind and grew louder than it had before.

She lost herself in the chanting. Though she tried, she could only catch a few words, but she recognized the language as that of the Celts.

What it meant though, she had no idea.

Quinn kissed her neck, reminding her that she was naked and Arran or Duncan could walk in at any moment. She sat upright as the chanting vanished and looked around for her gown.

“They will not bother us yet,” Quinn said with a smile.

She winced as she imagined the sounds she had made. “They heard us, then?”

Quinn's laugh was music to her ears. “I doona know, and I doona care. Do you?”

“Aye, I do. What we did is personal.”

“True, but we aren't exactly in a private place.”

She thought over his words and then shrugged. She would never see the light of day again. Who knew how many days she had left before she was killed? Why should it matter if everyone in the mountain knew she and Quinn had made love?

“You're right,” she agreed. “I don't think I do care.”

“Liar,” he said with a quick kiss on her lips. “I like that you are bashful about our lovemaking. Makes me want to take you again until you scream my name.”

Marcail's body throbbed at the idea. “Does it?”

“You know it does.”

A laugh escaped her as he toppled them sideways until they were lying face to face on the stone slab.

 

Charon looked away, unable to watch Quinn and Marcail another moment. He hadn't intended to spy upon them as they made love, but he'd been unable to turn away.

The way they touched each other, looked at each other, was unlike anything he had ever seen before. They had made magic together, something Charon knew he would never in his very long life experience.

He turned from the entrance and retraced his footsteps to his own cave. Ever since Marcail had told him she had the spell to bind his god, his mind had been working.

Given his two-hundred-plus years of life, he knew better than to align himself with a side that was destined to lose. Yet, neither could he go against Deirdre who was so powerful. Marcail's admission, however, gave him just what he needed.

He had planned to speak to Quinn about it, and he was glad he hadn't. Charon's plan was his own. He had never needed anyone before, and he certainly didn't need anyone now.

After all the evil Quinn had witnessed at William's hand over the past hours, it felt right to hold something so good as Marcail in his arms. She wiped away the stain of evil from him, reminding Quinn that there was good in this world.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He started to nod his head, then paused. “I could withstand any amount of punishment and torture they could give me except what I saw today. To know that Ian was being tortured because of me was too much.”

Marcail intertwined her fingers with his. “I cannot imagine what you went through. Are they done with Ian?”

“I doona think so, not if I know Deirdre.”

“That doesn't bode well for us then.”

He lifted their hands and kissed the back of hers. “I willna let them take you.” And he meant it, whether she believed him or not.

“I know,” she answered. “It's strange how your life can alter in the space of a heartbeat. Just the other week I was lamenting the fact that my life was boring. I did the same tasks every day with nothing to look forward to. I was alone, and would likely have been alone for the rest of my days.”

“You aren't alone now.”

She smiled. “Nay, I'm not. Now, I'm stuck in this mountain wishing I could return to my cottage and pull the same weeds day after day from my garden, collect and dry my herbs, and practice my spells. I didn't realize how good a life I had until I was brought here. Strange, isn't it?”

“Nay. For three centuries I've gone against my brothers in everything they asked because I couldn't let go of my rage and guilt. I should have listened to them.”

“Ah, but you'll have plenty of chances for that,” she teased.

“Will I? I doubt it.” He hated to dampen her mood, but he needed her to understand he wouldn't be with her much longer.

Just the thought made him want to rip out his own eyes, but it was the truth. He needed to make sure no one else was hurt because of him. And he could do that by Deirdre's side.

“Please don't say that,” Marcail whispered.

He cupped her cheek. “I wish there was another way, but there isn't.”

She blinked rapidly. “I had a cat when I was a little girl. A great big tom, black as midnight. He had the most unusual green eyes, and he was fiercely protective of me.”

Quinn listened to her, understanding her need to change the subject. “Was he?”

“Aye. I found him when he was just a kitten. He would wander off as male cats do, but he always returned. Sometimes he would be so cut up that I wondered if he would live. Thankfully, Grandmother would use her magic to make him better.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died two years ago one winter's night in my arms. As he had gotten older, he wandered less and less. He got into the habit of sleeping with me every night curled at my feet.” She smiled suddenly. “I would fall asleep listening to him purr.”

Quinn ached to hear the sadness in Marcail's voice for her beloved pet. She had lost so many people in her life that he didn't want her to lose any more.

“One morning I woke to hear him wheezing when he breathed. I knew his time was short. He had lived a long life, but I wasn't ready to let him go. He was in so much pain for days. No matter what I did, I couldn't call my magic to me to ease him. Three days later he died.”

Quinn didn't know what to say or even why she had told him that moving story.

Marcail's turquoise eyes were filled with tears. “I have no control over my magic, Quinn. I want nothing more than to help you, to give you the spell to bind your god, but I cannot.”

He tucked her head into his neck and sighed. He understood all too well the need to help, to control some aspect of what was happening. The only one who had control was Deirdre, and she wouldn't relinquish that easily.

“My father used to tell us that as men, we should be able to look back over our lives and know we've done the best we could on everything. I couldn't say that before, but I will be able to say it soon.”

Marcail lifted her head to meet his eyes. “You're the best man I've ever known.”

He was humbled by her words, even though he knew
they weren't remotely true. There were many men better than him. “Thank you.”

“When do you think Deirdre will come for you?”

“William will hold off telling her as long as he can. He has become attached to Deirdre and doesna wish to share.”

Marcail giggled. “Attached? Are you telling me he has feelings for her?”

“I'm not sure if it's genuine feeling or if he just enjoys the power being near her gives him. She's granted him much command while she's been angry with me.”

Marcail shifted, her brow furrowed. “That doesn't give us much time.”

“Much time for what?”

“To convince the others to side with you.”

Quinn loved how her mind worked, but sometimes things weren't as easy as she made them. “It willna happen. We've only got Duncan and Arran. That's not nearly enough.”

“Do you remember when you told me you thought Charon was a spy?”

He got a sick feeling in his gut as he stared into her eyes. “That's the real reason you went to speak to him, isn't it?”

“It is. He didn't outright admit it, but he didn't deny it either. I do think he's the spy, Quinn.”

“Then what made you think he would help?”

She scrunched her face. “I thought maybe whatever Deirdre used to make him spy we could either get back or help him with.”

“And…” Quinn prompted. He had thought to confront Charon that way himself, and was surprised Mar
cail had done it alone. She had risked much in taking such a chance.

“He refused. Apparently, whatever Deirdre is using to make him spy is too great for him to even consider going against her.”

“Shite,” Quinn murmured. He was short one man with Ian gone. It would help greatly to have Charon on their side.

Any words Marcail might have spoken were drowned out by the unmistakable sound of the trapdoor over the Pit opening. Quinn leapt to his feet and jerked up his breeches.

“Stay in the shadows,” Quinn said as he glanced at Marcail over his shoulder.

He transformed. Quinn reached the cave entrance a moment before something large landed with a heavy thud on the ground. He wasn't surprised to see the orange skin of a Warrior on the ground.

“Friend or foe?” Arran asked as he stepped beside Quinn.

Quinn didn't take his eyes from the newcomer. “We'll find out in a moment.”

Duncan moved to Quinn's other side. “I'm in need of a fight.”

At that moment the orange-skinned Warrior leapt to his feet, blood running down the side of his face and his kilt ragged and stained. He growled, showing one of his fangs missing.

“I think he's looking for a fight as well, Duncan,” Quinn said.

But it wasn't Duncan the Warrior wanted to fight. Quinn lowered his shoulder the moment he saw the
orange Warrior come at him. The force propelled the Warrior backward, and Quinn slammed him into the rocks.

“Why did she throw you down here?” Quinn asked.

The newcomer laughed. “She told me you would try to trick me.”

Quinn was so taken aback by his words that he didn't put his arm up in time to stop his chest from being sliced. He groaned and punched the Warrior on the jaw.

“I willna listen,” the orange Warrior bellowed. “I will die if I listen to you.”

Quinn wrapped his hand around the Warrior's throat. “If you doona listen to me, you'll die. Deirdre only sends Warriors down here that she wants to break.”

“We are the evil ones,” the Warrior said as he clawed at Quinn's fingers. “She is trying to stop us from being made. She tried to stop my god from taking control, but she was too late.”

Quinn tossed the Warrior aside and threw back his head as he roared. Deirdre had sensed the weak soul of the new Warrior, had sensed it and made sure he wouldn't believe a word Quinn said.

The orange Warrior scrambled to his feet, wary and waiting.

“When were you turned?” Quinn asked.

Frantic orange eyes looked around the Pit at the other Warriors who stood and watched. “Two days ago.”

Quinn raked a hand down his face. “In time you will learn that what Deirdre says is all lies. She's the one who unbound your god, friend. She's the one who is evil.”

No sooner were the words out of Quinn's mouth than
the Warrior attacked. More gashes appeared on Quinn's chest as he fought the frenzied Warrior.

There was no talking, not now. Time, however, was Quinn's friend.

“Quinn,” Arran yelled in warning.

Quinn spotted the bottle in the orange Warrior's fingers. He rolled over until he held the newcomer on the ground, but somehow the Warrior had uncorked the bottle. Quinn managed to pin the Warrior's arm out to the side as something dark and red spilled out of the bottle.

He didn't need to sniff the liquid to know it was blood, but why would the Warrior want to pour blood on him?

“Cease or you will die,” Quinn warned. He wouldn't kill the Warrior, but he knew Arran or Duncan would.

“I will be redeemed if I kill you,” the orange Warrior shouted.

Quinn didn't know what Deirdre was playing at, but he would be sure to find out.

The Warrior tossed the bottle at Quinn, aimed at his chest and his multiple wounds. Quinn managed to duck the vial, but Duncan had already removed the orange Warrior's head from his body by the time Quinn looked up.

“I willna see you harmed,” Duncan said by way of explanation.

Quinn nodded and rose from the Warrior's dead body. The only way they could be killed was by decapitation, and though Quinn hadn't wanted the Warrior dead, it was probably for the best.

Overhead there was laughter as Quinn remembered
too late that he was being observed. He looked up and found Deirdre watching him with a cruel smile on her lips.

“I abhor her,” he mumbled. A good man had died for her benefit.

“Does she have so many Warriors that she can have them killed so easily now?” Arran asked the question that had been going through Quinn's mind.

Quinn refused to move until the trapdoor was closed. He turned to his men, but a banging on the Pit entrance took his attention. Did it mean another attack? His wounds were healing, but he needed a little more time to be completely restored.

He spotted Broc through the square in the door. At the winged Warrior's nod, Quinn walked to him.

“What was that all about?” Quinn demanded. “A Warrior died for nothing.”

Broc raised a brow. “The man is dead. The god is not.”

“Explain.”

Isla stepped beside Broc and trained her ice-blue eyes on Quinn. “Just as the god passed through the bloodlines, finding the best Warrior, he will continue to do so until the bloodline runs out.”

“Are you telling me the god of the Warrior back there has left his body and now traveled to another of his bloodline?”

“That is exactly what I'm telling you,” Isla replied. “Look for yourself.”

Quinn looked over his shoulder to find the orange skin of the Warrior gone. In its place was that of a young lad who had barely reached manhood. He ground his teeth together and faced Broc and Isla.

“So what now?” he asked. “Does Deirdre want to
gloat? I've spent too many hours watching Ian being tortured for her to want more.”

“What did you say?” Broc asked.

Isla turned her head slightly to Broc. “Deirdre has been in a rage. She put William in command for a few hours.”

Broc let out a measured breath. “Did William touch you?”

Quinn found his question odd, especially for one who worked for Deirdre. “Does it matter?”

“Aye,” Isla said. “Answer the question.”

Quinn looked from one to the other. “Nay,” he finally answered. “He didna. He seemed to know better.”

“The Warrior thrown into the Pit was Deirdre's way of telling you she can do whatever she wants,” Isla said.

Quinn chuckled. “The bitch has always been able to do what she wants, except when it comes to my body. I find it odd that she doesn't try to use magic on me. It must be because she canna. And the child of prophecy willna be born unless I give her my body willingly.”

Isla gave a slight nod of her head. “You are correct, MacLeod.”

“What do you want?” Broc asked. “In exchange. What do you want for willingly going to Deirdre?”

Quinn thought back to the lovemaking he and Marcail had experienced, how with one touch she brought light into his world. As much as he wanted to free her now, he couldn't. He had to keep his brothers away from Deirdre. Marcail he would liberate as quickly as he could.

“My brothers,” Quinn said. “I want them left alone.”

Isla lifted her hand and Quinn saw the slight wince
that passed quickly over her schooled features. “That she will not grant. She has need of your brothers.”

If Quinn spoke of Marcail now, Deirdre would likely have her killed immediately regardless of the protection spells. Quinn couldn't ask for the release of Arran and Duncan because no one would be there to guard Marcail.

“Ian. I want Ian released not just from the torture but from the mountain. Send him on his way.”

Isla's mouth pinched in what appeared to be fury. “Ian is a Warrior, MacLeod. He can withstand much.”

“He's withstood more than anyone should have to.”

“Is this really what you would have me trade your…seed for?” Isla asked.

Quinn frowned. There seemed to be more in Isla's words than what she was speaking. Even Broc looked at her strangely. If only they were alone, then Quinn could speak to her.

“What would you have me ask for?” Quinn asked.

Isla's ice-blue eyes seemed to flame with emotion. “That is not for me to say.”

Quinn was so tired of the riddles and evasive answers. He just wanted to do the right thing and protect the people he cared about. It was becoming more and more difficult, though.