Wicked Highlander

Eleven

Quinn didn’t know what to think of the warm feeling in his chest at waking up with Marcail in his arms. The way she looked at him, so open and honest, and the way she spoke to him, as if she didn’t fear him, only made him want to be around her more.

He loved to see her many smiles, from her shy grins to the open-mouthed smiles that lit her up from the inside out.

They talked nonsense through their meal, and it had been too easy, too comfortable to suit Quinn. He was used to rarely speaking to anyone about anything. Hell, half the time he didn’t even eat with his brothers.

Why then couldn’t he stay away from Marcail? What was it about her that made him feel at ease, as if he could tell her anything?

Quinn squatted beside the water and jerked off his tunic. He tossed the dark red tunic aside, hating it because it had come from Deirdre. But it was either wear it or go naked since he would have to remove his breeches and boots as well.

Since the collection of water was also where they drank, Duncan had managed to secure a small bucket. Quinn used the bucket to scoop out some water. Then he splashed the water on his arms, chest, and face in an effort to keep clean before dumping the rest over his head.

He tossed his head side to side to remove the excess water before he ran his hands down his face. Quinn had taken the sea he loved for granted. He missed fishing and hunting as he never thought he would.

But more than that, he missed his home, his brothers, and the land that was in his soul. He wanted out of Deirdre’s mountain, and he would see that it was done if he had to claw his way through the rocks himself.

A change in the atmosphere of the Pit alerted Quinn that someone was coming, and it wasn’t Broc. Quinn released his god as he rose to his feet. He turned to find Arran hurrying toward him.

“Who is it?” Quinn asked.

Arran hesitated, but it was all the answer Quinn needed.

Deirdre.

“Why won’t the bitch leave me alone,” Quinn growled.

“We don’t know if it is her. It could be Isla.”

Quinn shook his head and walked around Arran to the entrance. “I know the feel of that magic, Arran. Isla’s is strong, but this…this is Deirdre.”

The rest of the Warriors in the Pit must have realized it as well because they hurried to their caves and hid in the darkness. Quinn didn’t blame them. He would have liked to do the same. Not from fear but because he couldn’t stand to look at Deirdre.

Arran stood at Quinn’s right while Ian took Quinn’s left. He had warned the Warriors to stay away from him when Deirdre visited, but they had never listened before. He doubted they would now.

Quinn turned his head, his eyes seeking Marcail. She was walking toward him when Duncan stopped her. Quinn gave a small shake of his head. Thankfully, it was enough that Marcail went with Duncan.

The Warrior tucked her into a corner and stood in front of her. Quinn knew Duncan wanted to be closer but none of them could risk having Marcail near Deirdre.

Duncan crossed his big arms over his chest and slowly nodded to Quinn. He would protect Marcail with his life. Quinn returned the nod and faced the doorway Deirdre would enter.

They didn’t have long to wait.

Quinn spotted Deirdre through the square in the door. His skin prickled with the need to sink his claws into Deirdre’s white eyes. The evil that surrounded her could be felt through the stones, but when she was near, it was like the evil was choking the life from Quinn.

He curled his fingers, his claws growing even longer. Blood filled his mouth as his tongue scraped across his fangs. He’d never felt such hatred for another person before. Every time he saw Deirdre he pictured the massacre of his clan and the death of his son.

With just a wave of Deirdre’s hand the door swung open with a few creaks as the rocks scraped against each other. Quinn wasn’t surprised to see the royal blue Warrior he had come to despise almost as much as Deirdre.

William.

He had dared to attack the castle twice, and it had been he who had nearly made off with Cara. It had only been because Fallon finally released his god that Lucan had time to reach his woman.

Quinn was going to kill William as well. The Warrior’s death would bring him much delight, but not nearly the pleasure that Deirdre’s death would give Quinn.

Deirdre and William strolled into the Pit as if they were walking down the streets of Edinburgh. They were a perfect pair, Deirdre and William. Both had submerged themselves in evil and craved power like a body craved breath.

“Quinn,” Deirdre said as she stopped in front of him. “You are looking well. Or as well as can be expected living in the Pit.”

He didn’t bother answering her.

She glanced from Arran to Ian, then looked into the cave for Duncan. “I see that you’ve taken over.”

“Stop,” Quinn demanded. “You’ve known from the day I was dropped in here.”

She laughed, the sound like a banshee’s scream. “So I have, Quinn. Are you ready to come with me and take your place by my side? And in my bed? To give me the child I need?”

“I’d rather eat my own eyeballs.”

The smile dropped from her thin face. Her nostrils flared and anger poured off her in waves. “That can be arranged.”

“As long as I wouldn’t have to see you,” Quinn taunted. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself.

As suddenly as her anger came, it left. She took a deep breath and raised her chin. “Why do you fight me? We are destined to be together. I have the prophecy to prove it.”

“I doona believe in destiny. I make my own decisions, and my answer to you will always be never.”

William growled from next to Deirdre. Quinn peeled back his lips and bared his fangs. He’d been itching for another fight with the bastard. Now was as good a time as any.

“William,” Deirdre barked.

Instantly the royal blue Warrior was silenced. He turned his gaze to Deirdre with reverence. It made Quinn want to gag.

“Tell me,” Deirdre said as a strand of her white hair lifted from the ground to caress Quinn’s chest. “What is it you care about most in this world?”

Quinn bit his tongue to keep from saying a snide remark aimed at her. He wanted to brush aside her hair, which she liked to use as a weapon.

“That would be your brothers. I suppose that Cara is now added to that as well, since she is Lucan’s.”

It took every effort not to swipe away her hair. Quinn clenched his jaw and tried to think of the sound of the waves crashing into the cliffs, anything other than the rage rising within him.

Deirdre’s knowing grin grew. “You’ve been away from your brothers for over a month now. Many things could have changed. Fallon mayhap has found his own woman.”

Think of the waves. Think of the waves.

“Better yet,” Deirdre continued, “let us talk about the men around you now. What would you do in order to save them?”

Quinn’s control snapped. “You touch them, any of them, and I will make your death as painful as I can.”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I know that will never happen. You will be mine, Quinn. Will you make this easy or difficult?”

He would slit his own throat before he became hers, but there was no need to alert her to his last resort. “As I said, my answer is never.”

“William,” Deirdre said with a snap of her fingers.

In the next heartbeat, chaos rained. William launched himself at Ian as Deirdre used her hair to bind Quinn. Arran tried to help but was flung backward with a blast of magic from Deirdre.

Quinn used his claws to slice Deirdre’s hair. As soon as a strand was severed, it mended itself instantly. There was a great roar behind Quinn as Ian was dragged away.

There was a blur of pale blue as Duncan attacked William in order to save his brother. Before Duncan could reach Ian, Broc and six other Warriors raced into the Pit.

Quinn bellowed his rage as Duncan was knocked unconscious and Ian was hauled away. Deirdre’s hair coiled around Quinn’s neck, choking him.

“You’re beginning to make me angry,” Deirdre told him. “Ian is mine now. I will torture him, kill him, and bring him back to life to do it all over again until he turns to my side.”

“Nay.”

“Aye,” she yelled. “I will do it to each one of your men. If that still doesn’t make you willingly come to my bed, I will make you watch as I torture the young Druids I’ve captured.”

She walked toward him and placed her hands on his chest. “I will leave you to think about what I’ve said. The next time I come for you, I suggest you take my offer.”

The moment her hair released him, Quinn staggered backward. Ian was gone, perhaps forever. Duncan’s wrath would know no boundaries, and it was all Quinn’s fault. He shouldn’t have mocked Deirdre.

Across the way Quinn caught sight of Charon watching him. Arran had already reached Duncan and dragged the big Warrior into his and Ian’s cave.

Quinn had never hated himself more than at that moment. Was his own future worth more than the lives of his friends? And God forbid if Deirdre discovered Marcail. What she would do to Marcail would be worse than what she would do to any of the Warriors.

He turned and made his way into the cave, but the crushing weight of what had just happened brought him to his knees. Quinn curled his arms around his head and let out the bellow he’d been holding in.

All the anger, frustration, and resentment came out in his roar. But even that didn’t make him feel better.

When he sensed Marcail’s presense, felt her magic, he doubled over. “Leave me be.”

Marcail could no more walk away from Quinn than she could stop the magic of her ancestors. Her own magic vibrated with the feelings that rolled off Quinn.

She wanted to help him, nay, she had to help him. It was apparent he blamed himself, but the blame lay only on one person — Deirdre.

Marcail’s heart bled for the heartache that still echoed in Quinn’s roar. She had never seen someone hurt so much before. It would only get worse once Duncan woke. Just thinking of his angry growl when they had taken Ian made her shiver with dread.

Deirdre thought she was breaking Quinn and the others, but all she was doing was strengthening their resolve to fight her.

Marcail slowly knelt in front of Quinn. Her hand shook as she reached out to him, but not in fear. She shook from the depth of his feelings. She could make him feel better. All she had to do was touch him.

“Quinn,” she whispered and ran her hands over his bare back.

His muscles jerked at her touch, but he didn’t move away. Marcail began to take in his anger and frustration. Whenever she had done this in the past it left her feeling dizzy and sick to her stomach. But now, all she felt was Quinn’s warm black skin and thick muscles beneath her palms.

She closed her eyes when his arms wrapped around her hips and his head rested on her legs. His hair was still damp, and she longed to run her fingers through the wavy strands.

When Quinn’s fingers threaded through her hair she didn’t pull away. He lifted his shoulders and began to straighten, all the while his head touching her stomach, her breasts, and then her chest. Her breathing grew ragged as his hands crept up her back. But it was her heart that threatened to jump from her chest when he pulled her against him. They were pressed together from knees to chest.

Her lips parted of their own accord when she found his face mere breaths from hers. One brawny arm wrapped around her tightly, molding her to his chest that rippled with sinew.

With her body on fire with a need she had never felt before, Marcail thrust her fingers into the cool locks of his hair. The damp, silky strands helped to anchor her against a tide of desire that threatened to engulf her.

That desire drowned out the raging emotions she was taking from Quinn. She watched, fascinated, as his eyes that had been swamped in black instantly changed to pale green.

She didn’t need to look at his skin or hands to know the black had faded and the claws were no longer visible. But the yearning she saw in his eyes only fueled her own.

Marcail whispered his name when his hand cupped the back of her head. As his head lowered, she let her eyes close.

The first brush of his lips on hers stole her breath. She shivered and he brought her tighter against him, if that were possible. She could feel the beating of his heart, hear his harsh breathing.

And then he kissed her again. This time longer, his lips learning hers. She sighed when he licked her, and then his tongue swept into her mouth.

Marcail moaned, her body flooded with heat that centered between her legs at the taste of him. He deepened the kiss until she was clinging to him. Desperate for more. Desperate for him.

Her body was no longer her own. Every touch, every sweep of his tongue against hers made her yearning grow until her body trembled with it.

“My God,” Quinn said.

She blinked up at him, unsure she could use her voice. But he slanted his mouth over hers again. The arm he had locked around her moved to her lower back. He pressed against her and she felt the thick shaft of his arousal.

And God help her, she wanted him. She wanted to feel him, see him, and experience him. Nothing else mattered at the moment but Quinn and the need they shared.