Wicked Highlander (9 page)

Isla shouldn't have been surprised to find Deirdre had taken steps to turn Quinn to her side. Deirdre was known to use whatever tactic she had to ensure she got what she wanted, and she wanted Quinn, regardless of everything else.

Isla was one of the few who knew that Quinn was supposed to give Deirdre a child, a child that would house all the evil of Hell. Just thinking about it made Isla shudder.

“Where shall we start?” William asked Deirdre.

Isla looked around the small chamber. Besides Deirdre, William, and the two Warriors who held their prisoner, Broc was also in the chamber.

Isla knew why Deirdre wanted her there, but why was Broc present? Broc usually kept to himself. Lately, however, he had been called more and more to Deirdre's side.

“Not just yet,” Deirdre said, interrupting Isla's musings.

Isla turned her attention back to the prisoner. He was one of the twins from the Pit. Why Deirdre had taken him, though, was a mystery.

Deirdre moved in front of Ian, who was held on his
knees. She bent and put her face near his pale blue one. “I will ask you this only once. Will you turn to my side?”

“Never, bitch.”

Deirdre stepped out of the way and William sliced open Ian's chest with his claws before punching him in the face. Isla had learned long ago how to keep her feelings from her face. Even so, she wasn't shocked to find Deirdre watching her.

“I'm very disappointed in you, Ian,” Deirdre said and turned to face the Warrior. “I had thought you would understand the situation. Quinn has refused me, and so someone has to experience my wrath.”

Ian spit a mouthful of blood on the hem of Deirdre's gown and smiled up at her. “Do your worst,
drough
.”

Instead of killing Ian as Isla had thought she would, Deirdre merely took a step back. Isla had been around Deirdre long enough to know that no good could come out of Deirdre when she was as calm in her anger as she was now.

“You are very close to your twin, are you not, Ian? I wonder just how close the two of you are joined through your god?”

“I'm a Highlander. I will withstand any amount of pain you give me,” Ian retorted, his lips raised in a sneer.

Isla was impressed with the Warrior, but with his comments, he wouldn't live long at all.

“I will make sure you withstand all of the pain I give you,” Deirdre said. “I wonder, though, have you thought about how Duncan will endure the pain, knowing you are suffering as you will?”

In a flash Ian jerked out of the guards' hold and launched himself at Deirdre. “I'll kill you,” he bellowed.

Deirdre's primary weapon, her hair, halted Ian before he could reach her. The white locks squeezed his neck until he passed out from lack of air. Once Deirdre released him and Ian fell to the floor, the pale blue tint of his skin faded away.

Lying just steps away from Isla was a man with short, light brown hair and a kilt so frayed and faded that she could barely make out the colors.

William and the two guards lifted Ian and carried him from the chamber, leaving Isla alone with Deirdre and Broc. Isla at one time had thought Broc might betray Deirdre, but the dark blue Warrior was as faithful as ever.

“Quinn is holding out hope of his brothers' arrival,” Deirdre said. “I want to be able to give him proof that Lucan and Fallon have either been caught or won't be coming for him.”

Broc lifted a shoulder. “You've sent wyrran to stop the brothers.”

“Ah, but Lucan and Fallon have outsmarted my pets. For the moment.”

“Then let me find the MacLeods,” Broc said. “You know I can track anything anywhere. I will find them for you.”

Deirdre considered his words. “Can you trap them?”

“That will take more planning. If you want something done now, I can ensure that they are…occupied with wyrran until Quinn agrees to your terms.”

Isla didn't like the feeling that swirled cacophonously in her stomach at Broc's words. For years Isla hated the MacLeods because the scroll Deirdre had found had named them. Because of that one surname, Isla's life had been taken away from her.

She hated the MacLeods, hated all Warriors, in truth, but more than anything she wanted her freedom. She was tired of being used as Deirdre's puppet.

“I have another weapon,” Deirdre said, her white eyes flashing dangerously, and turned to Isla.

Isla met Deirdre's gaze without blinking. To show any fear or weakness would ensure her doom.

“Nay,” Broc said into the silence. “Not yet, mistress. Let me detain Fallon and Lucan. Once Quinn breaks, we can capture the brothers. They'll see Quinn has chosen you and they will no longer deny you rule them.”

Isla's eyes jerked to Broc, but the Warrior refused to look at her. Why didn't he want Deirdre to send her? They could capture the brothers, but why then did Broc want to wait? Was he thinking of siding with the MacLeods?

She wanted to talk to him, but Isla knew she couldn't chance it, and neither could Broc. If Deirdre suspected anything, they would be killed instantly.

“I will agree for the moment, Broc,” Deirdre said and ran her hand down the black material of her gown. “But only because I want to keep the brothers from reaching Quinn just yet. I do want all three MacLeod brothers under my rule before the moon has finished its cycle this month.”

Broc bowed his head. “I will see it done, mistress.”

“You may leave us.”

Isla waited as Broc left the chamber before she turned to Deirdre. There was no use asking the
drough
what she wanted. Deirdre would tell all when she felt like it.

“It's time for you to visit him again.”

Isla jerked even though she tried hard not to. Every time she saw Phelan she remembered she had been the
one to deceive him, the one to chain him in the mountain as a child.

To fight Deirdre or try to talk her way out of it would only let Deirdre know how much Isla hated visiting Phelan in any fashion. Instead, Isla merely gave a nod of her head.

“I'm told you are the only one that can approach him.”

Isla lifted a brow. “No one can approach him, which is why he is chained.”
Constantly
.

“He is going to be one of my greatest Warriors. I still celebrate the day your sister discovered him. And let's not forget how you captured him.”

Isla fisted her hand in her skirt as her stomach rolled. She would never forget that day. She relived it every night in her nightmares.

Deirdre walked to the door and paused. “Stay with him longer this time. It won't be long now before I will have need of him. He has to be tamed.”

 

To say Quinn was worried was putting it mildly. It wasn't just Duncan and Ian or Marcail, either, it was his brothers.

It was true Quinn had lost track of time in the mountain, but he knew a considerable amount had passed. Where were Lucan and Fallon? Why hadn't they come for him?

Or worse, had they tried to rescue him and Deirdre had them?

That thought made Quinn want to kill something. He breathed through his mouth to calm his rage while ignoring his god.

It just took one look at Marcail for his fury to disappear while his desire flared to life. She sat on the floor,
her head to the side as all her hair draped over one shoulder, and combed out the back of her hair with her fingers.

He could sit and watch her for hours. The way she moved and spoke and did everything fascinated him. The fact she was not only unafraid of him but seemed to like his Warrior form by the way she kissed him earlier had made him want her all the more.

She amazed him at every turn. Marcail had courage and spirit and strength that rivaled his brothers'. She was what every Highlander looked for in a mate.

Quinn's view of Marcail was blocked by Arran when he walked into the cave. Quinn turned his attention to Arran, who paced in front of him.

“What are they going to do to Ian?” Arran asked.

Quinn ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Deirdre told you what they would do. They will make him suffer.”

“Will she kill him?”

“Only so she can bring him back.”

Arran halted and turned a concerned face to Quinn. “Can she really do that?”

“I have no idea, but with the power she holds, it wouldna surprise me.”

Arran blew out a long breath. “How long will she keep it up?”

“I can end it before it begins, Arran. It's what I should do. She is only hurting Ian to hurt me.”

“You canna, Quinn. We need you.”

“And Duncan needs his brother.”

“Quinn—”

Quinn held up a hand to stop him. “I know what you would say, and I thank you for it. The simple truth is
my brothers are better men than I am. They can—and will—destroy Deirdre with or without me.”

“You've already made up your mind, haven't you? You're going to go to that bitch.”

“I am.”

“And Marcail?”

Quinn tried, and failed, not to look at the Druid in question. He was going to miss her. He wanted one night of loving her, of tasting her kisses and feeling her heated touch, but it was one night he couldn't allow himself.

There was a man going through torture because of him. Quinn couldn't live with himself if he allowed that.

“Take care of her for me,” Quinn said.

“You arna going to tell her farewell?”

He should, he knew it. “I canna.”

Quinn moved past Arran before he could stop him and walked to the doorway of the Pit. Though Deirdre warded the door with her spells and magic, there were always Warriors standing guard.

Quinn stopped at the door and whistled to get the guards' attention. “Take me to Deirdre.”

The Warrior on the left began to laugh. “She said you would want to see her. We're to relay a message to you.”

“And what would that message be?”

“That she's busy torturing Ian, and that you shouldn't have refused her.”

Quinn cursed and turned on his heel. He hadn't expected that move from Deirdre. She wanted him, aye, but he had infuriated her. Now Ian would pay for it with torture that would likely last for days if not weeks.

Once back in his cave Ian leaned against the stone
wall and stared up into the darkness. “Holy Hell,” he ground out.

“She wouldna see you?” Arran asked.

“Nay. She said she's too busy torturing Ian.”

“Shite. What are you going to do now?”

Quinn shrugged. “I canna do anything but wait. She knew I would give in after she took Ian. She did it to make a statement. There's nothing I can do for Ian now, but I will see everything put to rights as soon as I can.”

“As much as I don't like Ian or anyone tortured, I think that's a very bad idea,” said a feminine voice.

Quinn jerked his head around to find Marcail standing two steps away from him. “What choice do I have?”

“You and your brothers are the key, Quinn,” she argued. “You have to continue to reject her.”

He pushed off from the wall and faced her. “Then what? She takes Arran or you? Am I supposed to stand by while the people who have befriended me are tormented or killed? You canna ask that of me.”

“I am, and I will,” she said calmly. “I know exactly what it means to say that I've sided with the MacLeods. I'm sure if you ask Ian he will say the same.”

Arran nodded. “As do I. If I have to die, then I will die.”

“You're very noble now, my friend,” Quinn said to Arran. “You willna be quite so noble once Deirdre begins to torture you.”

“I'm a Highlander, Quinn. Doona insult me.”

Quinn bowed his head. “Forgive me. I know the courage that's within you, and it's going to be Warriors like you who will help end Deirdre.”

“I'm ready for that battle.”

“As am I,” Quinn murmured. “I've been ready for it since I first laid eyes on her.”

Marcail put her hand on his arm. “The time will come. Until then, you need to prepare yourselves for whatever is to come next.”

“And do you have an idea of what that will be?” Arran asked.

Marcail bit her bottom lip as she hesitated. “Deirdre has already told us. She'll start with Ian and work her way through all of us.”

Quinn stalked around them, the anger at his situation rising within him. “You two are asking too much of me.”

“Deirdre held that you have a destiny,” Marcail said as she trailed after him. “I believe she is right.”

Quinn stopped and spun to face her. “You mean to give her a child?”

“Nay, to kill her. The prophecy about the child could very well be truth, I don't know. What I do think is that Deirdre knows how important you and your brothers are to us, to the world. She knows if she can have you on her side, the battle is over before it has begun.”

Quinn wanted to believe her, but he couldn't. The idea that the Druids and other Warriors were putting all their hope on the MacLeods was humbling and overwhelming. Too overwhelming, especially for a man who had lost everything once already.

Hours had slowly ticked by since Marcail had told Quinn she believed it was his destiny to kill Deirdre. He hadn't bolted, but he wasn't comfortable with the news either. Not that she could blame him. She certainly wouldn't want to have that responsibility on her shoulders.

From what she had learned from Quinn, there was much of his past he was ashamed of. She was apt to forgive him because he had been acting on losing his wife and child. That in itself had broken many a man.

Quinn hadn't broken, though, thanks to his brothers. Marcail wanted to meet them. She was curious as to the sort of men they were. Quinn spoke highly of them, which said a lot for the bond they shared, a bond that could never be broken.

Marcail huddled in Quinn's tunic against the chill. He had tossed it to her before he had set up to keep watch. With Ian gone and Duncan lost in his misery, Marcail didn't expect to see Quinn for several more hours yet.

But she longed to.

She yearned to wrap her arms around him and kiss his lips. She wanted to feel his hard body against hers, to know the skilled caress of his hands. He had told her
he would take her, and God help her, she wanted it to be tonight. She wanted to feel again that utter bliss when she had peaked by Quinn's hands and mouth.

Not knowing what the morrow brought made her want to grasp the here and now with both hands and never let go, especially of Quinn.

Marcail knew she was foolish to latch on to Quinn as she had, but not only had he saved her, he protected her. And he showed her the pleasures of being a woman.

Her body heated just thinking of being touched and held by Quinn again. She squeezed her legs together as a bolt of desire speared her, but the pressure only increased her longing.

She hadn't bothered to lie down on the slab. After waking in Quinn's arms that morning surrounded by his heat and scent, Marcail preferred to doze as she sat.

It wasn't until she had met Quinn, had felt his desire, and had experienced the need within herself that she realized how lonely she had been.

Marcail's gaze shifted to the cave's entrance when a shadow moved. Quinn had taken the torch from his cave, which left her bathed in darkness. She was learning the Pit, though. Since she couldn't see as well as the Warriors in the dark, she relied on her hearing.

The shadow that moved stood tall, and she could just make out the torc around his neck.

Quinn.

She hadn't realized he had been so close to her all this time. Her heart leapt in her chest as he took a step toward her.

Marcail rose to her feet, her hands clutching his tunic. When he didn't make another move to come to her, she decided to go to him instead. For too long she had
sat through life and waited to see what would come her way. It was time for her to take charge.

She had crossed half the distance when Quinn took two long strides and grabbed her before he spun her toward the wall. She gasped as his hard, hot body pressed her against the cool stones of the mountain. She was so surprised that her hands released their hold on his tunic.

“You should have pretended to be asleep,” he murmured in her ear.

“Impossible when all I think about is you.”

He growled and took her mouth in a kiss that stole her breath. She didn't need magic to feel his desire. Each stroke of his tongue against hers told her all she needed to know.

And she couldn't wait to feel more. She wanted all of it—all of
him
—and she would have it tonight.

Quinn's body had never hungered for a woman the way it did for Marcail. She might have been married, but her body was still innocent to the ways of the flesh. But she learned quickly.

Already, she held him captive with just her amazing turquoise eyes. He had known the entire time he kept watch that she was awake. He prayed she would sleep so that he could keep his distance, but he should have known better. His body craved another taste of her.

Right now, he would move heaven and earth to ensure he had her.

His fingers dug into her hips in an effort to keep her still. He had such slim control over his desire that he feared he would lose all of it if she ground against him.

Control or not, he had to touch more of her. He let his hands move up to the indent of her small waist,
then up farther still. He paused and let his thumbs rest against the bottom swell of her breasts.

Quinn wanted to slice her gown from her body so he could feast upon her with his own eyes. He stopped himself at the last moment when he realized she didn't have anything else to wear.

She arched her back when he deepened the kiss, pushing her breasts against his chest. He cupped the mounds, marveling at the fullness that filled his hands.

He lightly skimmed her breasts with his thumbs and heard her sharp intake of breath when he touched her nipples. Instantly, he could feel the hard little buds as they pushed against the fabric that held them.

“Quinn,” she moaned.

“I'm going to have you, Marcail.”

Her fingers slid into his hair and pulled his head back down to hers. “Aye, you are.”

Holy Hell, she stirred his blood.

Quinn released her breasts and tugged her skirts up until they were bunched in his hands. Marcail took over from there and hastily removed her clothing.

He knelt down in front of her and kissed her bare stomach while his hands removed her shoes and woolen stockings. Her legs were lithe and her skin smooth to the touch. He kissed each knee before he stood and pulled her into his arms.

“I'm without clothes,” she said.

Quinn grinned. “I can see that.”

“You aren't.”

“Hmm,” he said against her neck. “That's because if I remove my boots and breeches, I willna stop to do this.”

She whispered his name when he bent and closed
his mouth around one pert nipple. Quinn smiled against the creamy smoothness of her breast and suckled harder.

He wrapped an arm around her to keep her upright when she sagged against him. Her breathing was ragged, and her moans music to his ears.

But he wasn't nearly done with her.

Quinn spread her gown and his tunic out as best he could with his foot before he lifted Marcail in his arms and laid her on the clothes. It wasn't a bed, but it was the closest thing he had.

Marcail smiled at him, her half-closed eyes watching his every movement. Quinn knew he should wait to remove his clothes, but he wanted to feel his skin against her. Without another thought, he pulled off his boots and jerked out of his breeches.

“Oh,” Marcail murmured and sat up on her forearm. “You're…stunning, Quinn.”

“Nay, my Druid. You are the one that is stunning.” He knelt at her feet and crawled over her. “You have skin softer than silk and eyes more exotic than any treasure on earth. You,” he licked her navel, “make me,” he nipped her breast, “burn.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck. “I've been burning too, Quinn. Don't make me wait. Please.”

There was so much he wanted to do to her, but he felt her need and it matched his own. Hungry. Yearning. Aching.

As soon as his body touched hers, he was lost. He had loved holding her before, but skin to skin, he craved to get closer to her.

Quinn claimed her lips again because he couldn't get enough of her taste. How he had gone three hundred
years without kissing was beyond him, but he knew as long as Marcail was near him, he would kiss her at least once an hour.

He groaned when her hands roamed over his back to his buttocks. She squeezed and raised her hips to grind into his already aching rod.

The feel of her wet heat against him shredded the last bit of control. With just a shift of his hips, the head of his shaft slid against her sex.

He had felt the heated folds of her sex, knew how sensitive she was. Quinn rotated his hips so that his cock circled her clitoris. Marcail groaned his name as she arched her back and wrapped her legs around his waist.

Quinn wanted to tease her body more, but the need to feel her slick heat surrounding him won out. He shifted his hand between them and guided his cock to her entrance.

He paused before he pushed inside her. He wanted Marcail with an intensity that frightened him, but more than that, he wanted her to want him as well.

“Quinn?”

“I want you,” he said. “I want you desperately, but—”

She placed a finger over his lips. “No one,
no one
, has ever touched me as you have. If you stop now, I think I might die.”

It was all the answer he needed. Quinn clenched his teeth together when her wet heat surrounded him and he eased his way into her sex. She was so tight, so hot that he shook with need. He tried to be gentle, but his desire—and his god—pushed him for more.

Quinn thrust once, seating himself to the hilt. Mar
cail's nails dug in his back, her breath hitching. He glanced down at her to find her eyes closed, her head thrown back, and her mouth parted in bliss.

He kissed her neck and began to move within her, slowly at first and then gradually increasing his tempo. The friction of his shaft in her nearly made him spill his seed right then. It was only the way her body began to move with his that kept him from giving in to the climax.

Quinn felt her stiffen and knew Marcail was close to peaking. He bent his head and fastened his lips around her nipple. He laved and suckled the tiny nub until she was trembling. And then he bit down gently.

He watched, amazed, as she shattered in his arms. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. He continued to move, prolonging her orgasm. When the last tremor ran through her body, his climax burst from him.

With his face buried in Marcail's neck, Quinn experienced the most glorious, most moving orgasm of his very long life.

 

Marcail didn't want to move. She loved the feel of Quinn on top of her, but more than that, she loved the feel of him inside her.

The few times she and Rory had mated, it had been quick and, though not painful, it hadn't been pleasant either. But those memories shouldn't mar what had just taken place.

“Are you all right?” Quinn asked.

Marcail nodded and let her feet run over his tight buttocks and firm legs to his calves. She couldn't get
enough of touching him. The way his muscles moved and bunched beneath her hands was mesmerizing.

And his body. She sighed. He was so gloriously beautiful that she couldn't look her fill enough. Not only was he finely sculpted with muscles across his shoulders and arms, but also down his chest, which narrowed to his waist and firm bottom and legs. He was perfection in every way.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?”

She heard the worry in his voice and gave him a quick kiss. “Nay, Quinn MacLeod, you did not. The one thing you did do was pleasure me so well I don't think I can move.”

He chuckled. “Is that so?”

“It is. Tell me something.”

“Anything.”

“What just happened between us? Is it normal?”

He hesitated for a moment, and Marcail was afraid he either wouldn't answer, or she wouldn't like what he had to say.

“Nay, it isna normal. A man will usually always experience pleasure, but not a woman. For a woman to peak, a man must stimulate her.”

Just as she thought. Rory hadn't cared enough about her to give her any pleasure. “Then I'm glad to share this with you.”

“Aye, Marcail. I agree.”

He pulled out of her and rolled to his back before he tucked her against his side. She enjoyed resting her head on his shoulder. It was an intimacy she had never had before, and one that she wouldn't be able to live without now.

If it weren't for his fingers caressing her back she would have thought he was asleep by how quiet he was. She was not known for her patience, and even though she told herself it was none of her business, she wanted to know where his thoughts were.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

He blew out a breath. “My clan and the day they all died.”

Marcail put her hand over his heart, wishing her magic would work instantly so she could take away his pain. “Time has not dulled that day, has it?”

“Nay. The smell of rotting and burning flesh was so great I kept gagging. That is a smell I hope you never have to suffer.”

“If Deirdre has her way, everyone will know that odor.”

“Do you know what I remember most about that day?” he asked. “The silence. MacLeod Castle had always been full of people. Amid the conversations were men training, children laughing, the blacksmith at work, and the animals. So many sounds.”

Marcail kissed his shoulder. “I cannot imagine.”

“The first sound I heard was that of a crow. The next thing I knew they were everywhere.”

“The stories never say what you did with everyone. Did you bury them?”

He wrapped a lock of her sable hair around his finger. “We wanted to, but there were just too many. We had to burn them.”

“You said that you returned to the castle.”

“For two hundred and fifty years we've lived in the castle of our birth. We could not repair it as we wanted
because we didn't wish anyone to know we were there. People feared what had happened to our clan, so they stayed away from the castle.”

Marcail rose up on her elbow to look into his face. She smoothed a lock of his light brown hair from his brow. “You've had a very hard life.”

“Nay,” he said with a shake of his head. “It's been Hell, but others have had it worse. I realized that after I've been in here. I wish you could have seen the castle before it was ruined. It was majestic.”

“Will you show it to me?”

That brought a grin to his face. “Oh, aye. I will surely do that. Lucan has a gift for shaping wood to whatever he wants. He made us a new table and chairs and even repaired our beds.”

“And Fallon? What is his talent?”

“Leading,” Quinn answered without hesitation. “He was born to be the laird, and a better man God couldn't have chosen. He will lead Hayden, Ramsey, Galen, and Logan well.”