Wicked Highlander

Thirty

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.