Forbidden Highlander (33 page)

“You need to mend yourself then,” he said, his husky voice dropping even lower. “By saving you, I’ve put you in terrible danger. I will protect you, but with your injuries, it will make it more difficult.”

She never liked being a burden to anyone, but there was something in his voice, a thread of despair and heartache that mirrored her own and caused emotions to stir within her. She had to have his name. “Who are you?”

“My name doesn’t matter. Rest and heal yourself, Druid.”

The pain of her body began to drag her under, but she fought to stay awake, to learn more about the mysterious man beside her. “Marcail. My name is, Marcail.”

“You have my word I will protect you. Now, sleep.”

She could have sworn as she drifted off to sleep that he whispered her name.

Quinn lifted his hand from Marcail’s forehead once he was sure she was asleep. He picked up her small hand and placed it on her stomach. Unable to help himself, he ran his fingers over the back of her hand feeling her soft, supple skin. It wasn’t until his claws touched her that he worried about her discerning what he was.

It was Warriors, after all, who had thrown her into the Pit. She trusted him now, but how long would that last once she realized she was surrounded by more Warriors—most of whom wanted her for her body?

He told himself to leave her and let her sleep, but he couldn’t make himself rise. He didn’t fight the urge to stay near her. It seemed harmless enough. But when the desire to touch her rose within him, he fisted his hands on his thighs until he shook with the crushing need to lay his hands on her again. Was this how Lucan had felt when he’d had Cara in his arms?

Quinn knew in that instant that he had made a fatal mistake. There was something about the female that moved a deep, dark primordial reaction inside him. That emotion could very well be the death of him.

With a curse Quinn leaped to his feet and stalked to the cave entrance. Marcail was too tempting, too sweet to be left alone with the likes of him. He would only bring her down as he had everything else in his life.

“She woke?” Arran asked.

Quinn almost didn’t answer. “Briefly. She’s in a tremendous amount of pain. However, she told me she knew how to help herself heal.”

“Not surprising. Every Druid holds a special kind of magic. It’s lucky for the female that she can mend herself.”

Quinn grunted, not wishing to speak of Marcail anymore since his body hungered for her so. “Any sign of trouble?”

Arran crossed his arms over his chest and jerked his chin to the left. “They smell her. God’s blood, Quinn, we all smell her. She’s like a feast to a starving man, in more ways than one. We’re going to have our hands full.”

“I’ll be watching her myself.” Quinn knew his voice came out more of a growl than anything, and Arran’s narrowed white gaze let Quinn know the Warrior had heard the challenge in it.

“Do you think I would fight you for her?” Arran asked, his voice hard with disbelief. “I gave you my word I would stand by your side. Do you doubt me?”

“What I question is the need within all of us—myself included.”

Arran blew out a breath and raked a hand down his face. “None of us deserves to be here, the Druid especially because she doesn’t stand a chance against us in a fight. Did she say anything else?”

“She told me her name. It’s Marcail.”

“Marcail,” Arran repeated. “An unusual name. She didn’t happen to say why Deirdre didn’t kill her, did she?”

Quinn shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Let’s hope she wakes soon so we can learn more about her.” Arran turned and looked at Marcail over his shoulder.

Quinn watched Arran, waiting for the moment when he would have to battle one of the few men he gave his trust to.

“She reminds me of my sister,” Arran said after a lengthy pause.

“You had a sister?”

Arran nodded and looked away from Marcail, his brow furrowed. “Two actually. One older and one younger. Marcail reminds me of my younger sister. She was small and always into some kind of trouble. I used to call her my little sprite.”

“What happened to her?” It was out of Quinn’s mouth before he thought better of it.

“She died,” Arran murmured absently.

Quinn didn’t press for more. There wasn’t a Warrior out there who hadn’t suffered terribly when Deirdre found him. Quinn had found this out the hard way.

With Arran lost in the memories of his past, Quinn walked to the twins. Both brothers were tall and thickly muscled. They stood similarly with their feet apart and their arms crossed over their chests as they stared at the other Warriors, waiting for someone to make a move against Quinn.

Duncan and Ian looked so much alike that they wore their hair differently to help people know who was who. Both had light brown hair that was streaked with gold, but Ian wore his shorn close to his head while Duncan preferred to let his grow down his back.

Ian turned his head to glance at him. “The Druid woke.”

It wasn’t a question. Quinn nodded. “She’s healing herself now. I plan on questioning her more once she wakes again.”

“Does she know where she is?” Duncan asked.

Quinn shrugged. “If you two find any food, let me know. Marcail is going to be hungry.”

They only got fed once a day, and then only some bread. But it was enough for them. Quinn planned on giving her most, if not all, of his food if she needed it.

“I’ll see to it,” Ian said and walked away.

Duncan scratched his chin and watched his twin. “How long do you think it will take for Deirdre to realize the Druid isn’t dead?”

“Not long enough,” Quinn admitted. “Not nearly long enough.”

Look for the other novels in Donna Grant’s
sensational Dark Sword series

DANGEROUS HIGHLANDER
ISBN
: 978-0-312-38122-6

FORBIDDEN HIGHLANDER
ISBN
: 978-0-312-38123-3

WICKED HIGHLANDER
Coming in November 2010
ISBN
: 978-0-312-38124-0

Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks