Wicked Highlander (20 page)

Marcail should have known better than to enjoy Deirdre's discomfort, but it had been wonderful to see the
drough
in pain. If that little bit happened from a slap, what would occur if someone killed her? Marcail was almost afraid to find out.

She struggled in vain against the grip the two Warriors had on her arms. They half dragged, half carried her to the center of the chamber where a table stood with straps that would hold her arms and legs.

“Don't worry,” Deirdre said in a much too pleasant voice. “That is not for you, though I wish it were.”

Marcail had never known such hatred as she did at that moment. “How can you kill your own kind?”

“Easily,” Deirdre said. “If you knew the sheer force of the magic I received with every kill you would understand.”

“I could never understand evil such as you.”

Deirdre tsked. “Such a pity. Shall I tell you what I have planned for you?”

Marcail bit her tongue to keep silent.

“Have nothing to say this time?” Deirdre laughed. “Ah, well, I won't keep you waiting. Do you see Lavena behind you?”

The Warriors turned Marcail so that she was staring
at a woman who appeared to be floating, though there was no water around her, only black flames.

Deirdre came to stand beside Marcail. “Lovely, isn't she? I've held her thus for hundreds of years.”

Marcail's blood turned to ice as she realized Deirdre would do the same to her. She had been so close to getting away, but when she had seen Quinn, she'd had to stop and look at him, to try and talk to him. It had taken everything she had not to reach out and touch him, to tell him it was her.

And now, it was too late.

Deirdre began to whisper words that Marcail recognized as Gaelic, the ancient Celt language. As the spell continued, ice-blue flames shot up from the stones on the floor to the ceiling in a swirling mass of magic.

“I hope you like your new home,” Deirdre said. “You'll be with me forever, Marcail. No one will ever know the spell to bind the gods now.”

Marcail swallowed and blinked back the tears. She wished she could have been the Druid her grandmother had wanted her to be. She wished she could have helped all the Warriors and other Druids who were locked in the mountain. But most of all she wished she could have told Quinn she loved him.

That's when she realized the connection between the chanting she heard in her head and Quinn. Her grandmother had told her to always follow her heart. Quinn had been the first time Marcail had ever done that, and when she had, the chanting had begun.

Her grandmother had made sure that when Marcail fell in love she would learn the spell. But now it was too late. For everyone.

The Warriors jerked Marcail in front of the cylinder of blue flames, halting her thoughts of the spell and Quinn as panic took hold.

“As soon as the flames touch your skin, you will cease to feel anything,” Deirdre said.

Marcail lifted her chin. She was a Druid. She would not cower in front Deirdre. “Your reign will end soon. Enjoy the power you have now because it will soon be gone.”

“Wishful thinking, little
mie
. Toss her into the flames,” Deirdre told the Warriors.

Marcail's last thought was of Quinn as the blue flames engulfed her. There was a moment of icy pain and then…nothing.

 

Broc cursed under his breath as he watched the Warriors drag Marcail away. He had known it was the Druid when Quinn had backed into her while watching the fake Marcail leave the mountain.

If there hadn't been so many wyrran and other Warriors, Broc would have told Quinn what was happening. But Broc had wisely kept his mouth shut or they'd all be feeling Deirdre's wrath.

Broc pushed open the door to Deirdre's chambers and walked inside. He had hoped to hear from Fallon or someone in the group to let Broc know they where there to help Quinn escape, but Broc couldn't wait any longer. Not now that Deirdre had Marcail.

He found Quinn sitting on Deirdre's bed, his head in his hands. Of a sudden Quinn's head jerked up and he looked at Broc.

“What do you want?” Quinn demanded in a flat tone, devoid of any feeling.

Broc wasn't sure how to begin. Quinn had been in Deirdre's chamber for a full day. Deirdre could have done anything to him.

“Broc?” Quinn urged in a wary voice.

Broc glanced over his shoulder to the open door and wondered how long he had before Deirdre returned. “The Marcail you saw leave the mountain wasna real.”

Quinn's pale green eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. “What kind of jest is this?”

“None. The servant you backed into was Marcail.”

“You lie!”

Broc inhaled deeply as he struggled for patience. He needed Quinn to believe him, not spend precious moments trying to make Quinn understand.

“I'm not. I helped Marcail to evade the other Warriors. She was to leave the mountain dressed as one of Deirdre's servants and look for your brothers.”

“Stop it,” Quinn murmured as he rose to his feet and began to pace the chamber. “I doona know what you're trying to do, but just stop. Marcail is safe. My brothers are safe.”

Broc glanced down at his dark blue skin and the long claws. He had lived as Deirdre's for so long that Quinn wasn't going to believe him without proof, and since Lucan and Fallon weren't there, Broc had nothing to show Quinn.

“Is it a fight you want?” Quinn asked. “Do you want to see if you can best me?”

Broc shook his head. “I'm not looking to battle you, Quinn. You must believe me.”

“Aye, Quinn, you must believe Broc.”

The female voice came from beside Broc but there was no body. Yet he recognized the voice. “Larena?”

“Aye,” she answered. “I'm here, Broc. Find me something to cover myself, please.”

Broc hurried to the bed and jerked a blanket off.

“What the hell is going on?” Quinn commanded.

There was a soft tug and the blanket was taken from Broc's hand. In a blink Larena materialized beside him, the cover wrapped around her to hide her nudity.

“I was beginning to think you werena coming,” Broc said.

Larena grimaced. “I saw them take Marcail.”

“I know. I've been trying to convince Quinn.”

Quinn punched the stone wall as his skin turned black with his anger. “Tell. Me. What. Is. Going. On.”

Larena took a step toward Quinn. “It's finally good to meet you, Quinn. I'm Larena, Fallon's wife.”

 

Quinn stood in quiet shock as he stared at the blonde-haired woman before him. She had just appeared out of nowhere. She was pretty with her classical beauty, but she didn't hold a candle to Marcail.

“Fallon's wife?” he repeated, unsure he had heard her correctly.

She smiled. “Aye. I'm also a Warrior. Deirdre tried to take me a few weeks ago, but Fallon and the others helped to keep me out of her hands.”

Quinn rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He no longer knew what was real and what wasn't. But Fallon married? That, he couldn't—and wouldn't—believe unless Fallon told Quinn himself.

“We haven't much time,” Larena said. “Quinn, I doona know what Deirdre is going to do to Marcail, but we need to get to her quickly.”

“Deirdre canna kill Marcail,” Quinn said. “Though
it's pointless to speak of it. I saw Deirdre release her.”

Larena shook her head, her long blonde braid moving back and forth down her back. “You have to know Deirdre is deceiving you. Would she willingly give up a Druid so easily?”

“I doona know what's real anymore,” he yelled. Quinn turned away from them, his stomach churning as he imagined Deirdre tricking him and doing God only knew what to Marcail.

If Broc and Larena were speaking the truth…Quinn couldn't even complete the thought.

“You've been away from your brothers for a while,” Larena said in a soft voice. “They have thought of you every day. Since you were taken, they have done nothing but try to find a way to get you out of here.”

He believed that. He and his brothers might fight, but the love they shared was unbreakable. Quinn knew he'd walk through Hell itself to free his brothers.

“Look at me,” Larena bade him.

Quinn turned and watched as she moved aside the blanket from her neck to show a gold torc with boars' heads, just like Fallon's.

“Fallon gifted this to me when I agreed to become his wife,” Larena said. “We've been married but days, Quinn. Neither Lucan nor Fallon will rest until you are once more at MacLeod Castle with them.”

Quinn couldn't take his eyes off the torc. It was proof that Larena was indeed Fallon's wife. Quinn remembered the day his mother had given Fallon the torc. She had told him it would be his gift to the woman who held his heart. They would be bound forever.

Just as Lucan and Cara were bound when Lucan gave her a dagger with the head of his wolf on it.

Quinn looked to Broc. “And you?”

“I've been spying on Deirdre for years. It was a pact Ramsey and I made. I will explain it all once we are free of this mountain.”

“Holy Hell. Deirdre really does have Marcail, doesna she?” Quinn asked in disbelief.

Broc and Larena nodded.

Quinn looked down at his hand and watched his black claws lengthen from his fingers. Fury unlike he had ever known roared through him. It clawed at his insides, demanding release and revenge for the taking of his woman. It demanded blood.

“I'm going to kill the bitch.”

“Wait,” Larena said. “Fallon wants me to get you out of here first.”

“I'm not leaving without Marcail.”

Broc walked to the door. “I know where Deirdre took Marcail. I'll take Quinn. There is a door just down the hall that opens out of the mountain. Have the others come through there.”

“Then what?” Larena asked. “We are outnumbered with the wyrran and Warriors.”

Quinn smiled as he looked at Broc. “Not with all the people and Warriors in the dungeons.”

“I'll see them released then,” Broc said. “Now come. We must go.”

Quinn's heart pounded in his chest. For the first time in a long time it felt good to release his god. He would enjoy killing Deirdre, and he would make it slow and excruciating.

Fallon paced back and forth outside the mountain. Ever since Larena had left, he had been anxious and terrified that something would happen to his wife and he wouldn't be there to help her.

“She'll be all right,” Hayden said.

Fallon hoped his friend was correct, because if anything happened to Larena he didn't know what he would do. She was the very life inside him, the only thing that kept him breathing, and the one thing that helped him remember to be the man he always wanted to be.

She had been gone too long, though. Deirdre's mountain was huge, but there were so many places Larena could get caught. It should have been him that went inside. A man didn't put his wife in danger this way. Fallon rubbed the back of his neck, which had begun to ache.

There was a rustle of something behind him. Then he heard the sweetest thing in the world, his wife's voice.

“I need my clothes,” she whispered.

“Everyone turn their backs,” Fallon told the men.

Once they complied, he watched Larena materialize in front of him and hurriedly put on her clothes.

“All right,” she said when she was covered.

Fallon squatted next to her as she pulled on her boots. “Did you find Quinn?”

“I did. It took some time to convince him who I was. It was the torc that did it.”

Fallon glanced at Lucan. “Where is Quinn now?”

Larena held out her hand and Fallon pulled her to her feet. “He went after his woman.”

“His woman?” Lucan repeated. “The Druid Broc spoke of?”

“Aye,” Larena said. “Broc tried to help Marcail escape, but Deirdre caught her. Quinn and Broc have gone to try and stop Deirdre.”

Hayden stepped forward. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Fallon fisted his hands and cursed. “I knew I should have gone into the mountain. Then I'd know where to jump us.”

“I can help,” Galen said.

Fallon raised his brows. “And how is that?”

Galen moved to Larena's side and placed his hand on her head. “Think of the best place for us to be, a place in the mountain that Warriors wouldn't find us. Do you have it?”

“Aye,” she answered.

Galen then put his other hand on Fallon's head. In an instant Fallon saw in his mind's eye a place in the mountain. He didn't hesitate, but jumped all three of them into the mountain.

The darkness of the mountain consumed Fallon. He squared his shoulders and looked at Galen. “You're going to have to tell me how you did that.”

“As soon as we're back at MacLeod Castle. Now go get the others.”

Fallon gave Larena a quick kiss and jumped back to get the rest of the Warriors.

 

Deirdre stared at the now immobile Marcail. The blue fire had been the perfect magic to hold the irritating Druid. Whereas the black fire that detained Lavena allowed her to speak to Deirdre with her visions, the blue fire that held Marcail kept her body alive but that was all. It also contained all the magic from the protection spells, keeping it from reaching out and harming Deirdre.

She was so excited about having Marcail and her spell locked away that she decided to spend more time looking at her handiwork. Quinn would be waiting for her from now on. After all, he thought his precious Marcail was safely out of the mountain.

What a fool he was, but then again, all men were fools. Deirdre had thought Quinn would be different.

However, once she had Quinn's baby, the child of the prophecy, everything would change.

Deirdre rubbed her hands together in anticipation. She could very well conceive tonight. And the start of a new era would begin.

 

“Do you know where Ian is being kept?” Quinn asked Broc as they walked down the corridor.

Broc nodded. “He's in no condition to help, though.”

“Damn. We still need to free him.” Quinn wanted to get to Marcail, but he knew he would need to time everything perfectly. With his brothers and the Warriors
loyal to them coming to help along with his men in the Pit, they just might stand a chance in defeating Deirdre.

Broc led him down several hallways and stairwells before he stopped in front of a door.

Quinn unlatched the door to find Ian hanging from the ceiling by his wrists. “Ian,” he said as he rushed to his friend.

Ian lifted his head, dried blood coating his face and chest. “Quinn?”

“Aye, it's me. I've come with Broc to get you out of here.”

Quinn and Broc released Ian from his chains and helped him to his feet.

“Can you aid Broc in releasing your brother and Arran from the Pit?”

Ian squared his shoulders and weaved on his feet. “Aye.”

“Then hurry. There are many in these dungeons that need to be freed. We need total chaos.”

“We'll see it done,” Broc promised.

Quinn watched them leave before he stepped back into the corridor. Broc had told him how to reach the chamber to which Deirdre had taken Marcail, and he couldn't get there soon enough. The fear that he was already too late propelled him faster down the hallway.

He knew Deirdre wouldn't kill Marcail herself, but that didn't mean Deirdre wouldn't have someone else do it. Her wyrran would do anything for her, as they had proven countless times.

As much as Quinn knew it would be beneficial to wait for the disorder to begin with the release of the prisoners, he couldn't. Marcail needed him, and he
wouldn't allow someone else he cared about to die because of Deirdre.

Quinn kept his strides long and quick as he followed Broc's directions. As he turned a corner, he spotted two Warriors. They stopped and stepped aside for him.

When he reached them he halted. “I'm going to give you one chance. Either you fight for me or you die right here.”

The Warriors looked at each other and laughed. Quinn released his god and attacked both of them at once. While he used his claws to slice open one Warrior's chest, the other cut the back of Quinn's knee.

When Quinn tried to stand, he couldn't use one leg, but that didn't stop him. He punched the Warrior who had wounded him, knocking him back. Quinn wasted no time before he used his claws to sever the Warrior's head.

Quinn tossed him aside and turned to the second Warrior. Though he was unbalanced with his wounded leg, Quinn wasn't going to give the Warrior any chance to break free.

He leapt atop the Warrior, sinking both sets of claws into his neck. Blood flowed from the Warrior's neck as his eyes bulged. With a twist of Quinn's hands, he cut off the head.

“You should have chosen to fight with me,” Quinn said as the dead Warrior fell at his feet.

Quinn continued on his way, determined to convert or kill every Warrior he encountered. He killed another before he heard a commotion and lifted his head to see his brothers.

He forgot about the third dead Warrior at his feet and smiled as he moved toward Lucan and Fallon.

“My God, it's good to see you,” Lucan said as he pulled Quinn against him for a hug.

Quinn had never been so happy to see his brothers. Lucan released him and a moment later Fallon's arms enveloped him.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” Fallon said.

Quinn chuckled. “I wasna going to give up that easily.” He stepped back and glanced at Larena. “I hear you are married.”

Fallon frowned. “We should have waited for you.”

“Nay,” Quinn said. “You take what joy you can find.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Are we going to stand around and reminisce all day, or are we going to kill Deirdre?”

Quinn nodded to Logan, Galen, Ramsey, and Hayden. “We're going to kill Deirdre, but first, we're going to save Marcail.”

“Where's Broc?” Ramsey asked.

“He and Ian have gone to free my men from the Pit. Then the four of them will begin releasing others from the dungeons.”

Lucan laughed. “I like your plan, little brother. Lead on, and we'll save your Marcail.”

Quinn hurried down the hallway, Lucan's words echoing in his head.
His Marcail.
Quinn liked the sound of that. He liked it very much.

They managed to climb two levels before they encountered a group of wyrran. The small pale yellow creatures didn't stand a chance against eight Warriors. In a matter of moments, the wyrran were dead.

“I hope there's more,” Hayden said.

Quinn wiped the blood from his hands on his tunic.
“There will be. I'm giving all the Warriors I encounter a chance to fight for me. If they decline, they die.”

Hayden chuckled and nodded. “I've missed you, Quinn.”

Lucan walked beside Quinn with Larena and Fallon behind him. For every moment that kept Quinn from Marcail it was like a knife to his stomach.

It wasn't much further, but it seemed millions of leagues away.

Below them Quinn began to hear shouts and cries from the dungeons. “My men releasing the prisoners.”

“Be careful not to kill the wrong Warriors,” Fallon cautioned everyone.

 

Isla slumped against the wall, the rocks digging into her wounded arm and back. She was so tired…so weary. When she'd awoken from the trance Deirdre had put her in, it was to find herself fighting for her life with a man three times her size.

It was only with the use of her magic that she had been able to get away, and as hard as she tried not to look, she had seen the dead bodies of a woman, a girl, and a small boy.

Isla had only woken from the trance while in the middle of her “duty” to Deirdre once before. She had tried to run, and paid dearly for it later with a punishment that had her confined to her bed for almost three months.

Yet a small part of her wanted to give it another try. She wanted as far away from Deirdre as she could go. So she ran and didn't look back. Then she thought of her sister and niece. They needed her, even if they didn't know it.

Isla found a horse and quickly returned to the mountain. She hadn't run far, and she arrived at Cairn Toul in less than a day. Once inside, however, she knew something had happened.

And she had an idea it was all because of Quinn.

The MacLeod brothers weren't going to stand by and watch Deirdre take Quinn. Isla had expected Lucan and Fallon weeks ago. Now, it seemed, they had arrived.

Isla made her way to the stairs that would lead her to Phelan. She lost her footing several times on the slick stairs, and once nearly went over the side.

She slowed her steps even though she knew time was of the essence. Her body, however, wouldn't keep up with what she wanted to do. Blood soaked her right sleeve and dripped down to her hand. There was also something running down her back, which she suspected was more blood.

With no idea how many injuries she had or how much longer her body would keep on its feet, Isla trudged down the stairs. As soon as she spotted Phelan from the stairs her legs gave out and she hit the steps with a jarring thud.

Phelan's head jerked in her direction and he growled.

She didn't have the energy to battle words with him today. She would see him freed, though. His chains weren't locked with a key, but with black magic.

Isla lifted her hand and focused her magic on the chains. She repeated the words she had heard Deirdre say only once before, but Isla had memorized them, hoping that one day she could free Phelan.

Phelan's cuffs released and fell from his wrists with
a thunk. Isla inhaled deeply as her vision swam. She closed her eyes to keep her bearings. After a moment she opened them to find Phelan standing over her.

“Why?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “You shouldn't be here. You're free, Phelan. Run as far from this place as you can.”

He glanced up the stairs and cocked his head at the sounds drifting down to them. “What is going on up there?”

“I suspect there has been a revolt against Deirdre. She took one of the MacLeod brothers.”

“Quinn,” Phelan said.

Isla nodded. “His brothers, Lucan and Fallon, have come for him. The noise you're hearing is the prisoners being released.”

Phelan leaned close to her and sniffed. “You're injured.”

“Leave the mountain. The world has changed much since you were brought here. Be prepared for that.”

He studied her for long, quiet moments. “And you? What will you do?”

Isla thought of Lavena and Grania. “I have one other thing I need to do.” She just hoped she had the strength to make it back up the stairs and complete her task.

“You are dying.”

Isla smiled sadly.

In the next instant, Phelan had lifted her in his arms and bounded up the stairs. He set her gently on her feet when they came to the doorway.

Isla grabbed hold of the wall and forced a smile. “Good luck to you. If you ever need anything, search for the MacLeods. They are good men you can trust.”

He didn't bother to respond, just lifted his head and looked around. A moment later he was running down the corridor.

Isla had managed to free one of the people she was responsible for. Two more, and maybe she could find some peace in her nightmares.