Wicked Highlander (17 page)

“As in seeing into the future?”

Deirdre shrugged. “Of sorts.”

“And you are using her ability?”

“Of course.”

Quinn moved closer to the woman. Her eyes were open, but they stared unseeing at the opposite wall. Her long, black hair floated around her as if she were in water, and her gown proved that she had been held for several centuries, if not longer.

There was something about the woman that looked familiar, as if he had seen her before. She was young, her skin fair and unblemished. Her arms hung by her sides while the black flames, which almost didn't look real, licked at her skin.

Quinn lifted his hand to touch the fire.

“Don't,” Deirdre warned.

Quinn jerked his gaze to Deirdre. “What are the flames?”

“My magic, Quinn. Strong magic. It holds her in a state of being so that I may use her seer abilities to my advantage while keeping her alive as long as I want.”

He was disgusted with how little Deirdre valued life. “How long have you had her?”

Deirdre smiled. “Not nearly long enough. Does she look familiar to you?”

“She does,” he admitted carefully.

“She is Lavena, Isla's sister. I imprisoned both of them as well as Lavena's daughter years ago.”

Quinn ground his teeth at the mention of the child. “And what has become of the child?”

A door opened suddenly and in walked a child with hair so black it shone blue, just as Isla's and her mother's did. Ice-cold blue eyes stared at Quinn.

“I thought you said you took them years ago,” Quinn said as he stared at the child of no more than eight.

Deirdre nodded. “I did. Grania will stay this age forever.”

Quinn glanced at the child and saw the same malice in her that he did in Deirdre. He was going to have to use the cunning his father had always commended him on very carefully if he was going to survive the evil around him.

The slamming of the door still echoed in the Pit long after Quinn had departed. The distress and melancholy that had taken Marcail was hard to break through. Quinn was gone from her again. This time she knew it was for good.

Deep in her heart, she understood the reasons Quinn had given himself to Deirdre were good ones born of love and devotion to the people he cared about. Yet she found herself angry at his brothers for not coming for Quinn before now so he wouldn't have to give in to Deirdre.

But his brothers weren't there.

Arran and Duncan had not left Quinn's cave since he left. Marcail knew they were guarding her, but she didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered without Quinn.

Enough! Stop feeling sorry for yourself!

Marcail blew out a breath and focused on doing the one thing she could to help Quinn and all the Warriors—remembering the spell to bind their gods.

But no matter how long she searched her mind, how many times she thought back over all her grandmother had taught her, Marcail couldn't find the spell.

She rose from her place on the slab and began to pace the width of the cave, anything to keep from going
insane. Her mind was on Quinn, on the sacrifice he had made for all of them, and how she pined for him. It stunned her to realize she missed him more than she missed her family or her grandmother.

“You care for him very much, doona you?” Duncan asked.

Marcail swung her head around to find the pale blue Warrior watching her. “I do. Very much.” More than she ever imagined possible.

Duncan nodded. “It is obvious he cares for you as well.”

“Quinn feels protective of me, aye,” Marcail said. “He cares because he needs to keep me safe so I may help end all of this.”

Duncan snorted and shook his head slowly. “Believe that if you will, Druid, but I've seen Quinn and how he watches you. He cares.”

Marcail wanted it to be true, to the very depths of her soul she prayed it was true, but she knew the reality. She was nothing more than someone who had given Quinn comfort in a dark, evil place.

Quinn had awakened something within her she hadn't known she had. She craved his touch, his kisses, his body. She loved the way his pale green eyes looked at her. She loved the way his brown hair was too long and tended to land in his face. She loved the way he commanded such power and authority that every other man near him knew Quinn could best them. She loved the way he put himself in harm's way just to protect her and the ones he loved.

She loved…him.

Marcail grabbed the wall as the truth hit her. Love? She had never thought to know what it meant to fall in
love with a man, and it had happened without her even knowing it.

“Marcail?” Arran said as he came toward her. “You've gone pale.”

“I love him,” she whispered. “I…love him. And I've lost him.”

Duncan's large hand took her arm as he was careful to keep his claws from cutting her gown. “You need to sit.”

“I've been doing too much sitting,” she said and pulled her arm from his grasp. “I need to do something. Anything.”

“Then remember the spell,” Arran said. “It's the only thing that will help Quinn now.”

Marcail shook her head. “I've been trying, Arran. I don't know what my grandmother did, but it's buried deep. Too deep, I'm afraid.”

 

Quinn searched Grania's face for any of the innocence that always surrounded children, but all he saw was the taint of malevolence. “Were you so desperate for a child that you had to keep her this way?” he asked Deirdre as he pointed to Grania.

Deirdre laughed. “Now come, Quinn. You know I only do things that benefit me. I had my reasons for keeping Grania this age, and those reasons haven't changed. In fact, I doubt they ever will. Grania is…well, let's just say she keeps certain people doing as they should.”

He knew she meant Isla. It was the only explanation. “Have her leave.” He couldn't stand to look at the child any longer.

“I will come to you later,” Deirdre told Grania.

One of the veiled servants came forward to escort
the child out of the chamber. Quinn glanced at each of the other three servants. All wore the black veils that covered their faces, and even their hair, completely.

“Why do you have them wear the veils?”

Deirdre smiled and lifted a white brow. “These are the ones who dared to defy me, the Druids who thought they had more magic than I.”

“So you enslaved them.”

“In a way,” she said with a shrug. “I made them see the error of their ways.”

“In other words, you tortured them until they begged for death and you then offered to make them slaves.”

She laughed and tilted her head. “You understand me better than most.”

“Doona flatter yourself. You're evil. It isna difficult to decipher the things you've done in order to gain what you want. Now, tell me why the veils.”

She motioned a servant to her and removed the veil. “Would you like to look at this?”

Quinn hid his wince as he stared at the scarred and burned face of the servant. She had once been a proud Druid, but now she kept her eyes downcast and her face hidden. Even her dark red hair had been shorn from her head.

Deirdre tossed the veil to the servant and waved her away. “Don't think to try and turn my servants against me. All of their magic is mine.”

“How did you manage that without killing them?”

A sly smile pulled at her thin lips. “There is much I am capable of doing with my power, Quinn. More than you could ever imagine.”

“Then why has it taken you this long to capture me?”

She sighed. “You're growing tiresome.”

He looked down at her with disdain. “I don't think you have the power you want everyone to think you have.”

“Shall I prove it to you then? Maybe another of your men from the Pit as an example?”

Quinn closed his mouth. He didn't want to see anyone else hurt from his actions. “Leave them alone.”

She laughed, the sound harsh and hollow. “It doesn't take much to halt that tongue of yours.”

Quinn turned to Lavena once more. The black flames devoured her, yet her body remained unscathed. But by Deirdre's reaction when he tried to touch it, it would harm him.

He wondered if Isla knew how her sister was being used, and he guessed she did. Quinn tried to imagine what he'd feel if Lucan or Fallon was in Lavena's place. One thing was for certain, he wouldn't allow Deirdre to harm them. He'd kill them himself before Deirdre could put them in such a state.

“Do you not see how far my magic reaches, Quinn?”

He stiffened as Deirdre came to stand beside him. “I see that you will use and kill people however you want.”

“To show my good faith, I have offered you a boon as I'm sure Broc told you. What would you have me give you in return for freely granting me your seed?”

“My brothers,” he said, even though he knew she would refuse.

She shook her head and looked at him as if he were a child. “Broc has already told you I will not grant that. I need your brothers.”

Quinn didn't think he could ever despise anyone as he did Deirdre. He knew Fallon and Lucan were the
answer to whatever Deirdre had planned, and he knew it couldn't be good.

“If you doona give me my brothers, I'll return to the Pit.” He knew he was pushing Deirdre, but he didn't care. As long as his brothers were free of Deirdre, Quinn could concentrate on getting his men and Marcail free.

“I said I refuse,” Deirdre answered, her tone hard.

Quinn shrugged. “Then I had better return to the Pit.”

He turned on his heel and started for the door. He wondered how long it would take her before she gave in, because he intended to make her give in or she would get nothing.

“Halt,” she said as he reached the doorway.

Quinn turned around with an exaggerated sigh. “What is it?”

“You know I need your seed.”

“As much as it revolts me, aye, I do.”

She narrowed her unusual white eyes and strode toward him. “I also need your brothers.”

“You canna have everything.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Not this time,” he said.

“A compromise then?”

Quinn regarded her silently for a moment. He would have to be careful and use all the cunning his father told him he had to ensure Lucan and Fallon were never caught by Deirdre. “I'm listening.”

“I will leave your brothers alone until our child is born. Once the child is born, I will have your brothers.”

Quinn considered his options, few that they were, and knew this was as good as he was going to get. “Tell me, why haven't you used magic to get me to your bed?”

“If the child of the prophecy is to come into this world, it has to be done without magic.”

“And if I canna…perform with you?”

Deirdre's nostrils flared in anger. “Oh, Quinn, I will ensure that you do.”

“Without magic?”

“Aye.”

There was no way he could bed her. She was everything he hated in the world.

“Do we have an arrangement?” she asked.

Since Quinn knew there was no way, without magic, that he could get hard and mount her, he nodded. “We have an arrangement.”

With a snap of Deirdre's fingers a Warrior entered the chamber. “Call the others away from the MacLeods.”

“Mistress?” he asked.

“Do it. Now,” she demanded.

The Warrior rushed from the chamber to carry out her orders, and when Deirdre turned back to Quinn, he knew she would want him much sooner than he had prepared himself.

“I need to bathe,” he said before she could open her mouth. “And I need new clothes.”

She grinned, her gaze between his legs. “A kilt, perhaps?”

“I prefer the tunic and breeches I've always worn.”

“A pity,” she said with a sigh. “I will see it done. Come with me.”

They returned to her chambers where food had been set out. The smell of roasted pheasant, fish, and lamb made his mouth water and his stomach growl. It had been so long since he had had more than bread and
water that he wanted to dive into the food and stuff his mouth with all of it at once.

“Help yourself,” Deirdre said as she sat to watch.

Quinn ignored her and reached for the lamb first. He tore off a piece of meat and stuffed it in his mouth. An explosion of taste had him almost moaning in satisfaction.

He soon had a trencher of food and sat to enjoy the small feast. A servant poured him a goblet of wine that only added to the enjoyment. The more he ate, the more he wanted, and he filled his trencher three times before he was full.

Quinn rested his elbows on the table and thought how much better the meal would have been if he'd been surrounded by his brothers, his men, and Marcail. Then, it truly would have been magnificent.

Instead, he was in Deirdre's private chambers as she salivated, waiting for him to climb into her bed.

“Your bath is ready,” Deirdre's voice broke into his thoughts.

Quinn rose without looking at her and followed the servant waiting to take him to the bath. A large wooden tub had been brought to the chamber and filled with steaming water. Heat rose from the bath, and Quinn couldn't wait to get in.

He shed his clothes and quickly stepped into the water. He closed his eyes for only a moment before he began to scrub away the grime of the Pit from his skin and hair; then he shaved off his beard.

Thankfully, Deirdre had left him alone, though the bed that sat before him was a constant reminder of what awaited him.

Quinn didn't tarry long in the bath. He rose from the water and dried off. He wasn't surprised to find a set of clothes on a chair and hurried to put them on. Then he climbed onto the bed and shut his eyes.

He was going to be asleep when Deirdre found him, and too exhausted to wake and perform his “duty” to her. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was a start.