Wicked Highlander (22 page)

Sonya looked down at Marcail and Quinn and knew it would take every ounce of her magic to save them, and even then it might not be enough.

“Blankets,” she said. “We're going to need blankets. And a fire.”

Cara hurried to pile blankets on top of the couple before she began to stack wood in the hearth.

“I'll do that,” Camdyn said as he entered the chamber. “Arran told me everything. What do you need besides a fire, Sonya?”

Sonya blew out a breath. “Prayers.”

She trusted the people around her to ensure she had everything she needed. Cara would stay beside her, adding her magic as much as she could.

This was one of the times Sonya wished they had more Druids at the castle. The more that could add their magic to hers, the better she would be able to heal Quinn and his woman.

Sonya rubbed her hands together before placing one hand over the heart of first Marcail, then Quinn. She should only heal one at a time, but if she did that, one of them would die.

She began to chant, using just the right inflection and softening her tone. Sonya could feel her magic
bubble inside her before it poured through her hands into Marcail and Quinn. She concentrated on Marcail, hoping to find the Druid and get her to help with the healing.

“Hear me, Marcail,”
Sonya whispered in the Druid's mind.
“You are no longer Deirdre's prisoner. I'm trying to heal you, but I need your help. Use your magic.”

Again and again Sonya repeated it, but the Druid never responded.

Sonya took a deep breath and poured more of her magic into the couple. She could feel Quinn's body begin to push aside the effects of Deirdre's black magic, but with Marcail, there was nothing.

 

Fallon arrived back at the mountain and had to grab hold of a wall as the peak shook and trembled.

“What is going on?” he asked.

Larena rushed to him, her large smoky blue eyes troubled. “It began not long after you left. Deirdre's body disappeared and the mountain began to shake.”

“We need to get out of here. Now,” Lucan said.

Fallon took hold of Larena and Lucan; at the same time Larena placed her hand on Duncan's arm.

In the next blink Fallon had them back at his castle. “Find Sonya,” he told Larena. “She may need help.”

Larena nodded and rushed to do his bidding. Fallon jumped back to the mountain. It took two more trips before he had the rest of the group at his home.

After the last trip, Fallon ran a hand down his face. “Make yourselves at home,” he told the newcomers. “If you need anything let me know.”

Fallon bounded up the stairs to check on Sonya's progress. He felt a presence behind him and found
Broc. It was odd seeing the Warrior without his wings and the indigo skin of his god, and by the way Broc kept rolling his shoulders, Fallon knew Broc wasn't used to being in his human form either.

Fallon rushed into Quinn's chamber to find Sonya and Cara standing together with their hands over Quinn and Marcail. To Fallon's eyes, Quinn's color looked better, but Marcail's had gone unchanged.

“How is it coming?” he whispered to Lucan.

Lucan shook his head, his sea-green eyes telling Fallon what words could not. Things weren't going well.

Fallon walked to Larena and threaded his fingers with hers. Just being beside her gave him strength. Larena smiled sadly and laid her head on his shoulder.

When Fallon looked to the doorway he found it filled with Warriors and Malcolm. They were a family now, and they all had gathered to lend whatever they could to Quinn and Marcail's recovery.

“She's pregnant,” Sonya said into the silence. “Marcail is carrying Quinn's child.”

“God's blood,” Lucan said. “We'll lose him for sure this time if Marcail dies.”

Fallon's throat closed with emotion as he looked at Quinn lying so still on the bed. He had risked his own life to save Marcail's. God help them all if Marcail died and Quinn survived.

Sonya swayed on her feet, her lips moving with words Fallon couldn't hear. Larena was the first to reach Sonya and helped to steady the Druid.

Fallon didn't like feeling in effective, but that's exactly what he was. Everything was in Sonya's hands, and though she was a powerful Druid, did she have enough magic to counter Deirdre's black magic?

There was a loud sigh from everyone when they heard Quinn take a deep breath and slowly let it out. Fallon watched as Sonya shifted all her attention to Marcail, her forehead furrowed and her face lined with worry.

Moments ticked into hours before Sonya finally stepped away from the bed. “I've done all I can do,” she said. “The rest is up to Marcail.”

Sonya didn't know how she was still standing. Her body was weak from using so much magic. She'd never used so much before, but after she had discovered the baby growing in Marcail's womb, Sonya hadn't wanted to give up. She'd still be there if her magic was endless.

“Thank you,” Fallon said as he took one of her hands and bowed his head.

Lucan stepped forward and did the same. “You saved our brother.”

Sonya glanced over her shoulder at the bed. “Who is Marcail to Quinn?”

“Everything,” Arran said.

“I thought so.” She sighed, trying to hold back the weariness that threatened to pull her under. “If Marcail doesn't improve soon, she never will.”

A tall man with long brown hair that fell down to the middle of his back stepped forward. He and another man looked identical, other than their hair. “Is there nothing else you can do for Marcail?”

“I've used all my magic, more than I've ever used before.”

Sonya had to get out of the chamber and to her own. She needed to rest. Maybe then her magic would build back up and she could return to Marcail.

She walked to the crowd of Warriors at the door.
They no longer showed their god forms, but a Warrior held himself differently than other, mortal men.

Her gaze was drawn to a handsome Warrior who stood at the door behind the others. He had dark, mysterious eyes and wavy blond hair that fell to his shoulders. Strands of the golden locks fell across his features, but he didn't seem to notice.

His face was so perfect it could have been formed by the gods themselves. Sonya forced herself to look away from his bare chest lest she embarrass herself by touching his golden skin, as she longed to do.

She made it out of the chamber and gripped the wall in the corridor to steady herself. By the way her body was reacting, she wouldn't make it to her chamber without collapsing.

She put one foot in front of the other, determined not to let anyone see just how weak she was when suddenly her legs gave out. Before she hit the floor, strong arms locked around her and held her against a chest of steel.

“I've got you,” said a deep, sultry voice in her ear.

“I'm all right. I can make it on my own.”

He lifted her in his arms despite her words. Sonya somehow wasn't surprised to see it was the Warrior with the golden hair and perfect face that held her.

“You aren't all right. Now, tell me where your chamber is. I take it you doona want the others to see you like this?”

She shook her head. “Nay, I don't. My chamber is down the corridor to the left.”

He began to walk, his stride easy and long. He glanced at her once, his dark eyes as fathomless as the night sky.

“Who are you?” she asked.

A frown flitted across his face so quickly she almost didn't see it. “Broc MacLaughlin.”

“Broc,” she repeated.

She wanted to ask him if he was the same Broc her sister had known, but she knew that couldn't be possible. Could it?

Sonya's eyes began to close and she rested her head on Broc's shoulder, his warm skin against her cheek. She wanted to thank him for helping her when he laid her upon her bed, but sleep pulled her under.

Broc tugged the coverlet over Sonya's shoulders before he allowed himself to touch her fiery braid. “Finally, I find you. Thank God you are safe. Rest well, sweet Sonya.”

 

Quinn huddled beneath the covers. He'd never felt so cold in his life. His hand brushed against a body, and he found himself turning toward the sunshine-and-rain scent he recognized. He was about to drift off to sleep when he heard his name.

“Quinn?”

He'd know that voice anywhere. Quinn cracked open his eyes. “Fallon?”

Fallon's face split into a huge grin filled with relief and a little sadness. “Aye, brother. How do you feel?”

“Cold.”

More blankets were suddenly piled on top of him. He looked around to find the chamber filled with Warriors, including his own men. There were a couple of men he didn't recognize, though.

“That's Camdyn,” Lucan said. “He's another Warrior and friend to Galen.”

Fallon motioned to the other man in the group, a
man who was obviously mortal by the recent scarring on his face. “This is Malcolm Monroe, my wife's cousin. I'll tell you all about how Larena and I met and how Malcolm helped her once you're on your feet.”

Quinn frowned. Why was he in bed and not feeling quite right? Then it came back to him in a rush. “Deirdre,” he ground out.

“She's dead,” Ian said. “Charon killed her.”

Quinn looked around for the copper Warrior. “Where is Charon?”

Duncan shrugged. “He disappeared after he killed Deirdre.”

Quinn touched Marcail's hand beneath the covers and felt her icy skin. Her breathing was shallow and erratic, and he knew without looking in her face that she was still unconscious.

“Sonya worked long and hard with her magic to heal both of you,” Lucan said.

Quinn nodded and leaned up on his elbow to see Marcail. He pulled the covers up to her chin and ran his finger down her cheek.

“I've lost her, havena I?” he asked no one in particular.

“She could heal herself as before,” Arran offered.

It was possible. “How long has she been like this?”

The silence was deafening.

Quinn rested his forehead against hers and squeezed his eyes closed. His heart was in pieces, his soul torn to shreds. He had finally found a woman he loved, truly loved, and she had been taken from him before he'd even told her what she meant to him.

Was he destined to spend his life alone?

“God's blood,” he said. “I canna do this again.”

There was movement and then two hands rested on
his shoulder. His brothers. As always, they were there for him.

“I love her,” Quinn said. “The love I had always thought I would never find found me in the darkness of the mountain. For the second time Deirdre has taken it from me.”

One of the hands squeezed his shoulder. “Deirdre is dead,” Lucan said. “She willna be able to hurt us ever again.”

But that didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered without Marcail.

Quinn threw back the covers and rose from the bed. He didn't move with the ease he usually did. The residual effects of Deirdre's magic most likely, but he would make do.

“What are you doing?” Fallon asked.

Quinn ignored his eldest brother and lifted Marcail in his arms. “She's been in the dark for days. She needs the light.”

No one stopped him as he carried his woman from the chamber. He walked out of the castle and into the bailey. Only briefly did he realize they now had a gate.

He continued through the open gate toward the cliffs. He had wanted to show Marcail his home and the cliffs he loved. This was his only chance, and nothing would stop him.

Quinn found a spot and lowered himself to the ground. He looked down into Marcail's face, which was pale and icy to the touch. One of her braids had fallen across her eyes. Quinn gently brushed it away and kissed her forehead.

“I wish you could see this, Marcail,” he said. “The sun is sinking into the sky, casting the dark waters of
the sea orange and bronze. It's one of my favorite times of the day.”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Below us is the beach where my father taught me and my brothers to swim and fish. At night, as I close my eyes, I can hear the waves crash against the cliffs. It is a soothing sound, one I think you would have come to enjoy.”

A tear rolled down his face. He sighed and closed his eyes, wishing he had magic to help Marcail himself.

He looked down into her face, now cast in the red-orange glow of the setting sun. “You would have been happy here. I would have made sure of it.”

No matter how hard he stared, Marcail didn't move or answer. As much as Quinn's heart screamed in denial he knew Marcail was lost to him. It would only be a matter of hours before her already weakened heart stopped.

The first thing Marcail felt was the warmth. She realized she had been taken out of the blue flames, since Deirdre's magic no longer held her frozen. Yet she couldn't wake.

She knew her heart was failing, could feel the strain of her lungs as they struggled to draw breath.

For a time, she had felt something else as well,
mie
magic. Had another Druid tried to help her? Since she couldn't hear anything but silence, Marcail didn't know.

Though she didn't want to die, the one thing she wanted—Quinn—was gone from her. What was there to live for now? But still her lungs drew in air.

She could either die, or she could use her magic and help to heal herself. Her grandmother had told her once that her life would hang in the balance and Marcail had to be able to heal against anything.

Had her grandmother foreseen what Deirdre would do to her?

Marcail searched for her magic but found nothing. She was a
mie
, a Druid who knew only goodness. Her bloodline could be traced back to the ancient Celts, when her ancestors had held great power. Her magic couldn't have been taken from her.

Then…she felt a sliver of magic and reached for it with her mind. She held onto that small thread and
focused on it, drawing it into her body and through her blood and heart and lungs.

With each breath she fought against the black magic that wanted her death. Several times the black magic almost won, but Marcail refused to give up. Her grandmother had taught her well, and Marcail wouldn't allow her training and magic to go unused.

Her magic began to grow like a glowing white light inside her. The more she concentrated, the more it grew until it overtook the poisonous black magic inside her and killed it.

In a rush, sound filled her ears. Birds cried, wind whistled around her, and waves crashed below her. But, most wonderful of all, were the strong arms that held her, an embrace she would know anywhere.

Quinn.

She opened her eyes to see him staring off into the distance. Around her the sky was alive with color. Clouds varied from lavender to vibrant pink and lustrous orange. She shifted her gaze and found the sun sinking into the horizon.

Marcail was able to glimpse the last bit of the orange globe before it disappeared and night took its hold over the land.

She turned her gaze back to Quinn and smiled. She didn't know how they had gotten away from Deirdre, and it didn't matter. She was in his arms, the only place she wanted to be.

Her heart was about to burst with happiness, but the grief on Quinn's face made her pause.

He inhaled deeply and looked down at her. His eyes went wide with disbelief. “Marcail?” he whispered.

She smiled and reached to touch his face. “Aye, Quinn. I'm here.”

“How?”

“Magic. My magic.”

His hand shook as he caressed her face. “Holy Hell. I thought I had lost you. Doona do that to me again.”

“Never,” she vowed.

He crushed her against his chest and she welcomed his warmth. It felt so good to touch him, hold him again, that she never wanted to let go.

“You're at MacLeod Castle,” he said as he leaned back. “All the prisoners were freed from Cairn Toul. Duncan, Ian, Arran, and Broc have returned with us.”

Marcail bit her lip. “What of Deirdre?”

“She's dead,” Quinn said. “She'll never hurt us again.”

Marcail was overwhelmed with the news. She wished she could have seen it, but it was enough that Deirdre's evil was no longer part of their world.

Quinn caressed her cheek and she found herself lost in his pale green gaze. “I realized something when I saw what Deirdre had done to you.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

In all her dreams, she had never thought to hear those words from him. “You love me?”

“Aye. My whole life I've dreamed of finding a woman I loved. I never thought it possible.”

She leaned up so that her lips were near his. “It's most definitely possible, Quinn MacLeod. I fear I fell in love with you the moment you saved me in the Pit.”

His lips claimed hers in a fiery kiss fueled with
passion, longing, and the promise of a future. “I doona want to be apart again. Ever.”

She laughed, her soul filled with so much joy she could barely stand it. “I agree.”

Quinn rolled onto his back and pulled her against him. “I cannot wait to show you everything and have you meet my brothers. Once you are settled maybe Sonya and Cara can help you find the spell to bind our gods.”

Marcail frowned and looked away from him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Deirdre almost killed my magic. I brought it back, and though I'm stronger for it, I'm afraid I might have lost the spell forever. You see, I began to remember it while in the Pit. You triggered it.”

He raised a brow. “Me?”

“My grandmother had always told me to follow my heart in everything. I think she cloaked the spell until I fell in love. The more I got to know you and love you, the more I heard the strange chanting in my head. It was only after you were taken that I realized what it was. I almost had it when Broc came to help me escape. I've not been able to try since.”

Quinn smiled and kissed her. “It will be all right. If you find the spell, we will use it. If not…”

“You live forever while I die.”

His lips flattened at her words. “I'd rather have eternity with you, but I'll take anything I can get.”

And in her heart she agreed with him. “We've lost so much time.”

Quinn rolled her onto her back and jumped to his feet. He held out his hands for her and gently pulled her next to him. “I cannot wait for you to meet Lucan and Fallon.”

Marcail laughed and turned her head to see the large castle with its gray stones and mighty towers. “It's magnificent.”

“A lot of work has been done to restore it,” he said. “So much has happened while I've been gone.”

“And you've changed.”

He nodded and pulled her into his arms. “For the better. I never dreamed I'd say this again, but will you be my wife, Marcail?”

She nodded as happiness overflowed within her. “I wouldn't dream of being with anyone else.”

He groaned and bent his head for another kiss, a kiss that was the beginning of a love more glorious than either could have imagined.