by Donna Grant
“Nay. Quinn will never know.”
Arran mumbled something under his breath and pulled her to her feet. “Come, Marcail. You need to rest.”
She tried to walk, but no matter how many times she told her feet to move, they wouldn’t budge. Arran ended up lifting her in his arms. As they left Duncan’s cave she spotted Charon watching them, his copper gaze centered on her.
Marcail wanted to tell Arran her suspicions about Charon, but her stomach rolled viciously. She scrambled out of Arran’s arms just as he reached Quinn’s cave and emptied her stomach.
With the help of Arran she lay down on the slab. The amount of feelings she had taken from Duncan was more than she had ever pulled from a person before. She wasn’t sure how the Warrior had stood the emotions, and the longer they were inside her, the more they made her ill.
Tremors racked her body as her strength melted away. It hurt to breathe, and she flashed from hot to cold with each heartbeat.
“Marcail, tell me what you need?” Arran asked.
“She needs time.”
Marcail cracked open her eyes to find Charon standing at the entrance to the cave.
Arran growled at the intrusion. “Get out.”
“Heed me, Arran,” Charon said in a low voice. “She may get worse. Doona leave her side and give her plenty of water.”
Marcail had to close her eyes again when the room began to spin. Even lying down she felt as if she were adrift on the sea.
She must have dozed because when she opened her eyes the next time she felt better, but any small movement sent quivers through her stomach.
“What did you do to me?”
She turned her head to see Duncan walk toward her. She licked her lips and said, “I used magic.”
He went down on his haunches beside her. “You felt what was inside me, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “I don’t know how long the emotions will be gone.”
“I will be prepared for them next time.”
She didn’t know how anyone prepared for pain the like of which had been inside Duncan. “I didn’t know you were sick.”
“I wasn’t.”
And then she knew. “Ian,” she whispered.
Duncan gave a slow nod of his head.
“I’m so sorry, Duncan.”
“I would trade places with him if I could.”
She covered his hand with hers. “I will be there next time to take the pain away again.”
“Nay,” Duncan said. “You have made yourself terribly ill. I appreciate what you have done, but you canna do it again.”
Arguing with him was pointless, so she let the matter go. For now. She would help him again, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it because he would be gripped by the agony of his brother’s torture.
“Rest, Marcail. Arran and I are guarding you.”
“Have you heard from Quinn?”
Duncan shook his head. “There has been nothing, and it has been hours.”
He didn’t say the words they all knew in their hearts, that they might never see Quinn again.
Cara stood on the battlements of MacLeod Castle, her gaze to the north where her beloved Lucan had traveled with the others. She missed her husband, the ache in her chest from his absence growing each day. But worse than that was the worry that Deirdre would capture him as she had Quinn.
Everything Lucan and Fallon had begun with the castle had ground to a halt. No longer did Cara hear the laughter and banter of the Warriors as they worked to reconstruct the towers and rebuild the cottages from the village.
The castle seemed more deserted than it had the day she had gazed at it before Lucan had saved her life. Cara was sure she would go daft if she were alone.
But she wasn’t. Lucan had asked Camdyn to stay behind. The Warrior hadn’t seemed to mind, but she had seen him looking into the distance as she did now. There was also Sonya, the other Druid. Sonya had wanted to accompany the group to Cairn Toul Mountain, but she had stayed behind to help Malcolm recover from his wounds.
Cara sighed as she thought of Larena’s cousin. He was the only man at the castle who wasn’t a Warrior. Malcolm had risked much to help Larena stay hidden from Deirdre.
If only Malcolm hadn’t been attacked by Warriors and left for dead. As it was, he was scarred and his right arm almost useless. Sonya used magic daily to try and help his recovery, but he had long since stopped getting better.
Malcolm’s discontent had grown each day. Despite his useless right arm, he was still able to wield a sword with his left as he had proven when he and Camdyn sparred. But Malcolm called himself worthless.
Cara could understand. She was a Druid who could help the herbs in her garden grow and aid Sonya in her healing but could do nothing else. Sonya worked with Cara on the spells all Druids should know.
Yet nothing Cara did worked. Even growing up alone in the nunnery she had never felt so lonely as she did at that moment.
The sound of boots on the stones drew her attention, and she looked up to find Malcolm. He stopped beside her and sighed.
“They will return,” he said.
Cara stared at the man who was next in line to be laird of the Monroe clan. “Do you say that to ease my mind or your own?”
Malcolm snorted and rubbed his right shoulder where the constant pain never left him. The Warriors who had beaten him had ripped his arm from his socket, tearing muscle and tendons in the process. “For both of us, I think. I’ve seen Larena battle and know she is capable of defending herself.”
“She is your cousin.”
“And my friend. I know Fallon will watch her, but I canna help but worry.”
“Fallon would die before he let anything happen to his wife.”
Malcolm scratched his jaw where a shadow of a beard grew. “I’ve never liked being left behind.”
“They have powers neither of us have. We would only be in their way.”
“Ah, but you are a Druid, Cara. You have magic.”
She reached up to touch the Demon’s Kiss around her neck. The small vial held her mother’s blood, blood given in the drough sacrifice to bind a Druid to black magic. It was the only thing she had left of her mother, but it was also a reminder of all that she had lost.
“Sometimes I wonder, Malcolm.”
“Do you feel your magic?”
“I…” She looked down at her hands, hands she had felt her magic pulse through into the seeds she had planted. “Aye.”
“Then you are a Druid. Doona doubt yourself. Lucan doesn’t.”
She smiled and turned to Malcolm. “And what of you?”
“What about me?”
“Will you allow Sonya to continue her magic on your arm?”
Malcolm frowned and turned his face away. “She is wasting her healing on me. I knew my arm would never work again the moment I felt it wrenched from its socket. They broke every bone in my hand, Cara. It’s not just using my arm, but my hand as well. Most of the time I don’t even feel my fingers.”
“I didn’t know.”
He signed and shook his head. “You couldn’t have. I asked Sonya not to tell anyone. Larena was so worried about me I feared she wouldn’t go with Fallon, and they need her to rescue Quinn.”
Cara returned her gaze to the distant mountains. “God help Deirdre if Lucan doesn’t return to me.”
“Aye,” Malcolm murmured. “God help her.”
Eighteen
Broc flew high above the trees, soaring with the clouds. Thanks to Poraxus, the god inside him, he had the eyes of a falcon to go along with his wings. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the wind and sun.
Below him wyrran ran though the countryside like a quick-moving army. Broc tried to keep them as far away from villages and homes as he could. Superstition ran high in the Highlands, so if anyone saw the small yellow creatures, they would attribute them to one of the many demons they claimed roamed the land.
Broc opened his eyes to look ahead of him where Fallo
n and Lucan MacLeod were. His power to be able to track anyone anywhere had allowed him to find the MacLeods easily enough. He hadn’t expected to find they had split into two groups, though.
With a wave of his hand Broc sent half the wyrran in one direction while the other half stayed with him. His silent command would push the MacLeods back into one group, as he needed them.
Broc whistled down at the remaining wyrran, telling them to halt and wait for him. He folded his smooth wings behind him and dove to the ground. Just before he hit the trees, he spread his wings and glided atop them.
With his keen eyesight he spotted Ramsey well before his old friend saw him. Ramsey’s black head jerked up and their gazes clashed.
Broc flew up and back around to land in a small clearing in the forest where the MacLeods and their group traveled. Broc folded his wings behind him once his feet touched the earth and paused.
He need only wait for the wyrran to push Lucan and his group together with Fallon and the others. The wyrran wouldn’t attack until Broc gave the signal.
Lucan was the first to break through the trees. His green eyes narrowed on Broc as Ramsey, Hayden, and Logan moved to either side of Lucan.
“Broc,” Ramsey said.
Broc shifted his gaze to the man he had come to call his friend. They had made a decision while both were locked in Deirdre’s prison that one would escape and the other would spy. Ramsey had gotten out. Broc was supposed to spy. But that had been over a hundred years ago. Many things had changed.
Before Broc could answer, Fallon, Larena, and Galen emerged into the clearing. Fallon glanced at his brother before stalking to Broc.
“What is going on?” Fallon demanded.
Broc raised a brow. Had he ever gotten so angry? Made decisions as rashly as the MacLeods? He couldn’t remember, and it really didn’t matter.
“You are surrounded by wyrran,” Broc said.
Lucan transformed into a Warrior in a blink. “You came to tell us that? We’ve been battling those nasty creatures for days now.”
Broc looked from Fallon and Lucan to Ramsey. He was going to have to choose a side sooner rather than later. When, though, was the question.
“Deirdre has captured a Druid who holds the spell to bind our gods deep in her mind,” he told the small group.
Larena gasped. Logan cursed and Hayden just stared.
“Is the Druid dead?” Fallon asked.
“Nay,” Broc answered. “For some reason Deirdre didn’t kill her. Instead, she threw the Druid into the Pit. Where Quinn is being held. Deirdre wanted the Warriors in the Pit to kill Marcail.”
“Ah, hell,” Lucan mumbled as he ran a hand down his face. “So the Druid is dead.”
“Deirdre thinks so.”
Ramsey took a step toward him, his gray eyes intense as they stared at Broc. “But you do not?”
“Nay.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Fallon asked.
Broc debated on what to tell the brothers. “Quinn took over the Pit the first day Deirdre threw him down there. The more he proves his strength, the more she wants him. She’s no longer content to wait for Quinn to break.”
“That’s why you’re here,” Ramsey guessed. “She wants you to capture us.”
Hayden growled, his skin turning the red of his god. “I’ll die before I allow her to hold me prisoner again.”
“I’m to see that you are slowed in your attempt to reach the mountain. She does want all of you back under her control, but her attention is on breaking Quinn at the moment. There is a prophecy she was told that she thinks Quinn will fulfill,” Broc said.
“And what is that?” Fallon asked.
“She wants Quinn to give her a child. That child will house all the evil of the world. Once she has Quinn under her control, she will come for each of you.”
Ramsey strode toward Broc, stopping only when he stood in front of him. “I need to know whose side you’re on. Why are you warning us?”
“For amusement, maybe.”
Ramsey shook his head. “You forget, Broc, I know you better than anyone.”
“You knew me. It’s been a long time. Things have changed.”
“Has your hatred for Deirdre changed?”
Broc couldn’t answer him, but his silence was good enough for Ramsey.
“I didn’t think so,” Ramsey said. “Tell me the real reason Deirdre isn’t trying to capture us now.”
Broc looked past Ramsey to the other Warriors waiting for his answer. The real reason he hadn’t already sided with the MacLeods was because Deirdre had a way of learning things, and Broc wanted to be able to glean as much information from her as he could.
“I convinced her to keep her attention on Quinn,” Broc finally answered.
The next thing Broc knew, he was surrounded by Warriors. Lucan and Fallon stood on either side of Ramsey. Broc held up his hands before anyone spoke.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Deirdre’s power is immense, and she uses a seer to gain most of her information. She learns things she shouldn’t know. If you want my help, if you want Quinn freed, I cannot tell you much more.”
Fallon sighed and exchanged glances with his wife. “Then tell us what you can.”
“There are two hundred wyrran with me.”
Hayden snorted. “They’re easily killed.”
“Aye, but they will slow your progress.”
“We have no choice but to fight them,” Lucan said. He turned to Broc and asked, “Can you keep an eye on Quinn?”
Broc nodded. “When I left, Deirdre was ready to do anything to have Quinn. While in the Pit, he not only took control, but three Warriors have sided with him. She had taken one of those Warriors to torture until Quinn agreed to be hers.”
“Shite,” Fallon said. “We doona have a lot of time.”
“I will do what I can,” Broc vowed. “Until then, get to the mountain as quick as you can.”
He didn’t wait for them to respond as he flew into the air. As soon as the wyrran saw him leave, they attacked. Broc wanted to stay and help the Warriors, but he couldn’t. Deirdre had ordered him to lead the wyrran to the MacLeods and then return to her.
If he dallied too long, Deirdre would suspect something. And if he was going to help the MacLeods free Quinn, he had to be near her instead of in a dungeon.
Marcail cautiously sat up. When her stomach didn’t rebel, she slowly crawled to the basin of water and cupped her hand in the cool liquid. She was thirsty, but she was careful not to drink too much lest she upset her stomach once again.
The pounding of her head, however, wasn’t going to go away any time soon. It was an aftereffect of using her magic for as long as she had, but it had been worth it to see Duncan hale and hearty again.
Marcail used the wall to help herself stand. She looked around to make sure Arran and Duncan were occupied before she walked across the way to Charon’s cave.
As soon as she emerged from Quinn’s lair, Charon moved from the shadows. She didn’t want Arran and Duncan to know what she planned, so she moved deep into Charon’s cave.
“I’m surprised to see you up so soon,” he said.
She shrugged. “I will be all right.”
“You doona look well. You should be lying down.”
“I cannot,” she said. “We weren’t able to finish our discussion earlier.”
His lips flattened in annoyance. “There’s nothing left to say, Druid.”
“There is. I want you to tell Deirdre that I’m alive. Let her know I’m here.”
“Why?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. “She’ll kill you.”
“I’m sure she will try. But I want you to have her bring Quinn back in exchange for me.”
Charon shook his head. “It willna work.”
“It will if you tell her I’ve remembered the spell to bind the gods.”
The Warrior went utterly still. His fists clenched and unclenched several times before he spoke. “What did you just say?”
“Buried in my mind is the spell passed down from my grandmother that will once more bind your gods.”
“I would no longer be immortal? Or have the power of my god?”
She shook her head. “Nay, you will have none of it.”
“Did Quinn know of this?”
“He did.”
Charon blew out a breath. “Now I understand why he protected you so. Tell me, Druid, why didn’t Deirdre kill you?”
“Quinn thinks my grandmother protected me somehow. None of that matters now. Will you tell Deirdre I’ve remembered the spell?”
“Nay.”
She blinked at him. “Why?”
“What you have inside your mind could save us all.”
“Possibly. If I ever remember it. That’s a chance I’m not willing to take. If you want out of this place and away from Deirdre, then you should have aligned yourself with Quinn.”
He sliced his hand through the air to stop her. “You’ve been in the Pit for a matter of days. You have no idea what any of us have gone through at Deirdre’s hands. There is only one person I care about in all of this and that’s me. Quinn didna give me a reason to side with him. Deirdre did.”
Marcail could only stare at him, amazed anyone could be so selfish. “I feel sorry for you.”
“I doona want your sympathy, Druid.”
“What do I have that I can give you so that you will tell Deirdre what I want?”
He turned his back to her. “There is nothing you have that could tempt me.”
Marcail, feeling more defeated than when Dunmore had captured her, turned to leave. There was a loud, vicious growl near her. The next thing she knew, Charon had her against the wall as he used his body to shield her from the attack.
His arms were braced on either side of her head, and his big body prevented her from seeing who had attacked. She winced when Charon threw his head back and bellowed as he was hit from behind. Again and again she heard the claws ripping through his copper flesh, but not once did he budge from protecting her.
If anyone had asked her a moment before if she thought Charon would save her life, she would have said nay.
Marcail chanced a glance around Charon’s thick shoulder and saw the white skin of Arran. “Stop it,” she yelled, but Arran and Charon’s growls drowned her out.