Wicked Highlander

Five

Isla walked through the narrow corridors of the mountain alone. It was just as she preferred it. If she had her way, she would never see another face, human, Warrior, or wyrran, again for the rest of her days.

But her life wasn’t her own. It hadn’t been for so very long.

All too soon Deirdre would summon her. In the beginning, Isla had held out hope that not all of her summons would end in evil and death.

It hadn’t taken her long to realize her hope had been false. Since then, she had lived each day as if it were her last. And in truth, she didn’t expect to live much longer.

At least if she had her way she wouldn’t.

“My lady.”

Isla halted at the soft voice. She slowly turned her head to see one of the other Druids Deirdre kept in her mountain. These Druids, though, weren’t confined to the dungeons or locked up awaiting death. Nay, these Druids had been turned to Deirdre’s side, their magic removed.

Deirdre bade the Druids keep their heads covered with black sheer material at all times because she didn’t want to look at their faces, faces Deirdre had deformed. Even when the Druid slaves spoke, they spoke in a whisper so she couldn’t distinguish their voices.

There were only three Druids who weren’t made to wear the head covering. Those were Isla, her sister, and her niece.

Isla lifted an eyebrow at the servant. It was no secret she hated these Druids; they had been weak enough to give in to Deirdre because they feared death. “What is it you want?”

“You have been requested.”

Isla tensed. She hadn’t expected Deirdre to send for her for some time yet, but there was another who often sent for her. “By whom?”

The servant bowed her head. “Your niece, my lady.”

That news should have relieved Isla, but it didn’t. In fact, it made her more edgy. It had been over a month since she last saw Grania, and she could have gone the rest of her days without seeing her again.

Isla fell in behind the servant as she was led to Grania. Her niece was kept in a chamber locked by Deirdre’s magic. In order to see Grania, Deirdre had to grant Isla permission, which was the only way someone could get through the barrier of magic.

By the time Isla arrived at her niece’s chamber, her nerves were frayed. Nothing good could come of this meeting, of that she knew.

“Is there anything you require, my lady?” the servant asked as she stepped aside at the doorway.

Isla glanced inside the chamber to find her niece. “There is nothing. You may go now.”

She waited until the servant shut the door before Isla turned to face Grania. She recalled the day Lavena had brought Grania into the world. The delivery had been long, and they had celebrated the birth of a healthy baby girl with much joy.

Lavena had promptly called the baby Grania, the name meaning love. It was a perfect finish to the day. Isla thought their happiness would never end. But just three short years later, Deirdre had come into their lives.

“Good day, Aunt,” Grania said from her seat carved out of the wall.

Every time Isla saw Grania, it was like a dagger twisting in her heart. Deirdre had taken an instant liking to the child and used her magic to prevent Grania from aging. Ever.

But Isla knew that Deirdre’s fondess wasn’t the only reason she kept Grania a child. Isla would never do anything to put Grania in harm’s way. An adult Grania who had turned to Deirdre’s side, however, would be easier to go against. Deirdre knew Isla all too well.

“Grania. How do you fare?”

The child laughed and jumped to the floor. “You know I fare as well as a queen, Aunt.”

Isla clasped her hands in front of her and waited. It did no good to try and prod Grania. The child was as manipulative as Deirdre, and nearly as evil. Where was the adorable, loving child who Isla used to rock to sleep?

“Tell me of the mie that Deirdre threw into the Pit.”

Isla kept her features flat. She didn’t like the interest Grania had in Marcail and nothing good could come of it either. “What is it you want to know?”

“Is it true the Druid knows how to bind the gods?”

“You know it is.”

Grania laughed again, the laugh that Isla used to do anything to hear. “So it is. Once again, Mother and her foresight has helped Deirdre in her quest.”

“It has.”

The child resumed her seat on the rocks. “Now, I was told you saw the mie drop into the Pit. The servants didn’t see what happened after that. I want to know what you saw.”

“The Warriors attacked her.”

“But she isn’t dead, is she?”

Isla hesitated. There was something in the way Grania spoke that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “I didn’t stay to see the body. Why?”

“The mie has been protected with a spell. Whoever spills her blood will die a horrible death. Since I’ve heard no screams of pain from the Pit, I assume the Druid isn’t dead, only slightly injured.”

At least Isla now knew why Deirdre hadn’t claimed Marcail’s blood for her own. However, it wouldn’t take Deirdre long to realize Marcail wasn’t dead. And then what?

“Now tell me,” Grania demanded, “did all the Warriors attack the Druid?”

“Nearly. It was brutal. You would have loved it. Now, I must go. I have duties to see to.”

Grania’s blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me summon you. You are my aunt, after all. You should visit me often. If I have to call for you again, you won’t enjoy what I do to you.”

“It is never my intention to ignore you, Grania. My duties take me away from the mountain as you well know.”

But Grania was no longer paying attention. Isla took measured steps out of the chamber. Not until she was in the hallway did she breathe freely. Her once vivacious niece had been turned into a wicked monster with a thirst for blood and gore that would rival the Romans’.

Marcail missed the sun. It had only been hours since she last saw it, but already she yearned for it. There was no need for Deirdre to torture her or throw her into the Pit. Just deny her the warmth and light of the sun and Marcail would slowly go insane.

“I’ve brought you something,” Quinn said as he squatted before her as she sat on the floor.

Marcail’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light well enough that she was able to see Quinn’s face clearly. Finally. He had pulled back his hair into a queue at the base of his neck, revealing a face women would die for.

Quinn’s was perfection. His strong jawline was dusted with dark whiskers, giving him a lethal appearance and accentuating his firm lips and hollowed cheeks. The beard wasn’t full, which told her he had shaved not too long ago. Though she didn’t mind the beard, she wanted to see him without it.

His forehead was high with dark brows that slashed over eyes of the palest green. She had seen enough of his silhouette in her short time to know he was as tall and muscular as any man in the Pit. But there was a presence about him, an air of command, that got everyone’s attention. Including her own.

“Marcail?”

She blinked and made herself look away from his spectacular eyes. “Forgive me. I’ve never seen eyes the color of yours.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I could say the same for yours.”

For a moment they stared at each other.

Finally, Quinn cleared his throat. “Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness, then?”

“They are better, aye. The light from the torch also helps. You said you brought me something?”

“Aye. Food. It isn’t much, but it’s something.”

Marcail had been so wrapped up in being in the dark that she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Just then her stomach growled.

“Eat your fill,” Quinn said as he handed her a loaf of bread. “I will get more if you need it.”

Marcail placed her hand on his arm before he could leave. The feel of thick sinew bunching beneath her palm made her yearn to touch more. “Let me share with you.”

“You need it more than I.”

“Please, Quinn. I don’t want anyone going hungry so that I may be fed.” She broke the loaf in half and held it out. “Won’t you eat with me?”

For a brief moment she thought he would refuse. He eventually took the bread and moved to sit beside her.

Maybe it was because he had saved her, maybe it was because he was a MacLeod, but she trusted Quinn. That trust might very well end her life, but she knew she would die in Deirdre’s mountain one way or another.

“You see in the dark, don’t you?” she asked.

He nodded slowly.

“Why then are there torches down here?”

“For Deirdre. She may be powerful and immortal, but she doesn’t have the powers our gods have given us.”

Marcail pulled a piece of bread apart and popped it into her mouth. “Interesting.”

“How did Deirdre capture you?”

She was surprised by the question. She glanced at Quinn as she finished chewing. “Wyrran were spotted near our village. In the past, small groups of wyrran would roam the countryside looking for Druids. Those were the ones we always fought. But this time, they had a leader. A man.”

“Dunmore,” Quinn spat.

“Aye. I knew they had come looking for me. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone being killed so I made the decision to leave the village. By that time already half of the village had left to save themselves.”

“That was foolish.”

“It is the thought of every person on this earth to live another day. We all knew what awaited us if Deirdre captured us. I do not blame them for running.”

“Then you left as well?”

“I did. It kept Dunmore and the wyrran from following the others. I stayed to the forest and led them about for nearly a week.”

His brows rose. “A week? That’s impressive.”

“Only because I knew the land. Impressive would have been escaping.”

“You couldna have escape’d the wyrran, Marcail. Magic aided them on their quest to find you.”

“I know.”

“What happened once you arrived here?”

Marcail took a deep breath. “I was immediately brought to Deirdre. She knew I have knowledge of the spell locked in my mind, but she didn’t try to find it. Why?”

“I’m guessing it’s because she’s afraid to.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Quinn shifted to his side so he faced her. “Deirdre is nothing if not intelligent. She hasn’t gotten the power she has now by making costly decisions. I think she knew she couldna kill you or extract the spell the same way she knew you had the spell to begin with.”

“And how is that?”

“Black magic.”

Marcail shook her head. “As a Druid I know just how powerful magic can be, but to get the answers she somehow has…There has to be something else.”

“You know mie magic. What you haven’t encountered is drough magic. Black magic has much more power than yours. And as long as Deirdre’s been alive and acquiring her power, her magic is nearly limitless.”

“If that’s so, why doesn’t she have your brothers?”

Quinn found himself smiling again. Marcail’s mind was quick. “Probably the same reason it took her three hundred years to capture me.”

“Which is?”

“We fought her.”

Marcail grinned, making Quinn forget to breathe. He would never tire of looking at her. She was exquisite. So pure in spirit and form that it boggled his mind that she was sitting next to him.

“There are Druids who fight her. The difference is our magic cannot touch hers,” she said.

Quinn didn’t want to talk about Deirdre any more. He reached out and touched one of the small braids that hung from Marcail’s temple down to her breast. “Why do you braid your hair like this?”

“The holder of the spell always has bound her hair this way. It’s a tradition that has been in my family since before Rome left Britain.”

He glanced at the wealth of sable waves that fell down her back nearly to her hips and wanted to plunge his hands in the strands.

“I like it,” he said.

“And your torc? That is also a tradition of the ancients.”

“That it is. In my clan the laird’s family always wore a torc. It was my mother who chose the animals that would grace mine and my brothers’ torcs.”

He stilled as her finger reached out to touch the wolf’s head on his torc. His blood quickened when her hand brushed against his chest, sending currents of heat unfurling within him.

“Beautiful. The wolf suits you, I think.”

“How can you say that? You doona know me.”

She shrugged, her body leaning closer to look at the torc, teasing him with her scent and curves. Quinn forced his hands to stay as they were instead of reaching for her.

“Maybe,” Marcail said. “Maybe not. However, I know the wolf is cunning and intelligent. I’ve seen those same traits in you.”

Quinn dug his hands into the bread to keep from caressing her. It had been so long since he had kissed a woman that he’d forgotten how, but he wanted to taste her lips, to sweep his tongue into her mouth and learn her essence.

He wanted to drown in her scent of sunshine and rain, to feel her silky hair surround him and her soft skin bared to his touch.

Marcail suddenly sat back and lowered her hand. “And your brothers? What animal is on their torcs?”

Quinn opened his mouth to talk and had to clear his throat before sound came out. “Fallon, the eldest, has a boar. Lucan has a griffin.”

“Those are powerful animals your mother chose.”

“My brothers are powerful men, and her choice fit each of them.”

Marcail cocked her head to the side, her braids swinging with the movement. “Are you telling me you don’t think your mother chose well for you?”

“Not at all.” Quinn turned his head away and scratched his chin, ill at ease anytime he thought to compare himself with his brothers.

“Liar.”

That one word brought his gaze back to her. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s in your eyes,” she whispered.

Quinn didn’t know how to answer her. He should be angry that she called him a liar, but the truth was she was correct. He had lied.

He looked down to find she had eaten all her bread. “Are you thirsty? I can show you where to find the water.”

“Arran already has, thank you.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she yawned and wrapped her arms around herself.

“How much sleep did you get this past week while you were evading Dunmore?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Not much. It’s one of the reasons he finally caught me.”

“And food?”

“I ate what berries I could find as I ran.”

Quinn put his bread in her hands. “Eat. No arguments, Marcail. You’re going to need your strength down here.”

“And you?”

“I’ve got a god inside me. Remember?”

She bit into the bread. “Tell me of your god.”

Quinn would talk about anything as long as she ate. “He is Apodatoo, the god of revenge.”

“It’s true then, that the one god is in you and your brothers?”

“Aye. Each god chooses the strongest warrior of whatever bloodline he’s in.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Which means, you and your brothers were all three the strongest.”

“Correct. We each are strong fighters, but when we battle together with the god unleashed, we are unstoppable.”

Marcail’s brow furrowed at his words. “Can you not fight Deirdre that way?”

“If only it were that easy. Maybe in the beginning we could have, but now she has too many wyrran and Warriors around her.”

Quinn noticed how Marcail quickly ate the rest of the bread. She was probably starving for more, and she needed meat to help build her strength. Meat they didn’t have.

“How long have you been down here?” she asked.

“I don’t know. You lose track of time when you cannot see the sun.”

“Have you been in the Pit the entire time?”

“Nay. I was chained in another dungeon for a while and beaten daily. Deirdre thought she could break me that way.”

“But she didn’t,” Marcail said with a smile. “See? You and your brothers will save us.”

Quinn wished it were that easy.

“How did you end up in here?”

Quinn grimaced as he thought of what Deirdre wanted from him. “She wants me to give her a child. I refused, so she put me here to change my mind.”

Marcail’s turquoise eyes grew wide. “Why does she want a child from you?”

“Something about a prophecy. She said I would give in to her demand one day.”

“Why not just use magic to force you?”

“Probably the same reason she didna kill you — she canna.”

Marcail leaned her head back at his words. Quinn had gone over in his mind a thousand times the incident with Deirdre. He had expected her to force him, but she hadn’t. She needed him to come willing, and willing he would never be.

Just thinking of having sex with Deirdre made Quinn want to retch. He would kill himself before he ever agreed to give her his seed willingly.

Quinn looked over to find Marcail’s eyes closed and her breathing evened in sleep. Her head tilted toward his shoulder. He reached up and leaned her against him so she wouldn’t harm herself on the jagged rocks on the walls.

The Pit was not a noisy place. The Warriors kept to themselves for the most part. Few spoke, and when they did it was in whispers. When Quinn had first been thrown in the Pit, the constant dripping of water had nearly made him daft, but now, he didn’t notice it.

What he did notice was a conversation going on between a couple of Warriors. It was quickly escalating, which meant a fight was brewing. A battle between Warriors could get loud. Quinn reached up and covered Marcail’s ear with his hand to help drown out the noise he knew would come.

From his position he could see movement near the entrance to his cave. Other Warriors moved closer to the action to discover what was going on.

Quinn spotted Duncan and knew the Warrior would report all he discovered. Quinn wished the others would stop fighting amongst themselves and learn to band together to battle Deirdre, but nothing he said could convince them.

He also had a suspicion that Deirdre had a spy in the Pit. That notion would be tested soon enough, because if there was a spy, he would report Marcail to Deirdre as soon as he could.

Quinn knew once Deirdre discovered Marcail there was nothing he could do to save her. Deirdre might not kill Marcail herself, but she would do whatever it took to see the Druid dead because of the spell she carried.

If only Quinn could get the spell out of Marcail then they could use it against Deirdre and bind all the gods once more. Without her Warriors, Deirdre only had her wyrran. Though the wyrran were tough, they could be killed easily enough.

Quinn found his eyes closing. He should be up and seeing about stopping the fight between the Warriors, but it felt so good to have Marcail next to him, her head leaning on his shoulder as she slept.

He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head and felt her braids. He couldn’t imagine how long it took her to plait her hair, but he would enjoy watching.

It had been three hundred years since he had let a woman touch him as Marcail was. The women he had taken his ease with had been in the dark where they couldn’t see him, and he had never wanted to hold them.

With Marcail it was different. But then much had changed since Deirdre had captured him. He was able to manage his god now, something he hadn’t been able to do in hundreds of years. Quinn couldn’t wait to tell his brothers.

Marcail nestled more comfortably against him. Quinn smiled and let himself enjoy the small moment. By the growls, the fight between the Warriors had broken out. Soon, the smell of blood and death would fill the Pit.

The ever present rats were moving closer to the brawl, hoping to find something to eat. Quinn sensed when one reached the entry to his cave and began to move inside.

“Out. Now,” Quinn told the animal. “You will not enter here or come near me or the woman.”

The rat immediately moved away from the cave. Quinn had learned of his power only when he had awakened in Deirdre’s dungeon. All those years and he’d had no idea of the power he’d held. For three centuries he hadn’t developed that power or learned to use it.

How he regretted the fury that had run his life. He would do so many things differently if he could. But there was no going back and reliving the past. There was only the future.

And that looked bleak.