Wicked Highlander (16 page)

Isla's gut churned with bile, but she dared not move. She stood still as stone in the chamber Deirdre used to kill Druids and take their magic.

It was a room Isla hated with every fiber of her being. Just being inside it made her skin crawl, but having to watch a Druid die made her want to vomit.

“Dunmore did well, didn't he?” Deirdre asked her.

Isla nodded, unable to speak. She swallowed and tried not to look at the frightened young Druid strapped to the stone table in the center of the chamber.

Deirdre cocked her head to the side as she regarded the young girl. “Thanks to your sister's magic, Isla, I no longer have to wait until the spring equinox to find those that I search for. It was so tedious having to wait, especially when I am building an army.”

Isla parted her lips and breathed in through her mouth to stop the nausea that rolled in her stomach.

“It took me too long to realize you, Isla, are stronger than your sister. Aye, Lavena is a seer, but you, you are almost as perfect as the Warriors.”

Isla had heard enough, and though she knew she would be punished again, she didn't care. “You know I don't do your bidding willingly.”

“Ah, but you willingly submitted to my command once upon a time. I told you then you would always be mine, Isla. I meant it.”

“Why keep Grania? She was nothing to you, just a little girl.”

Deirdre's smile vanished as she sneered down at Isla. “I suppose your torture wasn't enough yesterday. Should I take the lash to you once again for being so insolent?”

Isla turned to face the Druid about to die. “Do as you wish, Deirdre. I care not.”

And that was the truth. Isla had stopped caring. Lavena was no longer her sister, and Grania, dear precious Grania, was no longer the adorable little girl she had loved so dearly. Both her sister and her niece had been corrupted by Deirdre.

Isla understood then what she hadn't so long ago: that she couldn't save Lavena or Grania. If only she had known before, she might have saved her own soul. But it was too late now. She was damned to an eternity in Hell, and after suffering under Deidre's wrath, there was nothing in Hell that could frighten her.

“Now,” Deirdre said as she walked to the Druid on the table. She placed a hand over the girl's chest and smiled. “For one so young, I sense much magic in you.”

“Please,” the young Druid begged. “Let me go.”

Deidre tucked a strand of her white hair behind her ear. “I'm afraid that's not possible. I need your magic, and in order for me to get your magic, you have to die.”

Isla clasped her hands behind her back as the girl began to cry silent tears. She didn't beg Deirdre again, however.

“If you want my magic, you're going to have to force
it out of me,” the girl said. “You don't deserve the magic you were gifted with.”

Deirdre drew in a tired breath. “Enough.”

“Nay, you vicious hag. You will pay for the sins you have committed, and…”

The girl's words were cut off as Deirdre's hair wrapped around her neck. “I told you that was enough. I will not listen to your incessant rambling because you are too afraid to die.”

Isla blinked as the Druid began to laugh. No one laughed at Deirdre.

Deirdre's eyes had lost their blue color and turned white with her black magic narrowed on the young Druid. “I can make this as painful for you as I want.”

“Do it,” the girl rasped.

Isla knew better than to turn away. She had seen too many of her fellow Druids, both
drough
and
mie
alike, die on Deirdre's table. And even though Isla knew what was going to happen, she still flinched when the blade cut into the girl's wrists.

The slashes were deep and long, and the blood drained quickly from the girl's veins into the hollowed parts of the table where the blood then spilled into goblets on the floor.

While the blood flowed, Deirdre stood beside the Druid and began to recite the ancient spell. Isla knew the words by heart, the black magic that called up Satan and all his evil.

But every time she saw the black cloud that rose from the center of the table, Isla still had to fight to keep still and not bolt from the room.

The girl screamed, weak though she was from loss of blood. The cloud, an evil spirit from Hell, descended
on the Druid. The girl thrashed, her screams echoing around the high-ceilinged chamber as the apparition took her soul.

“I am yours!” Deirdre screamed and plunged the dagger through the spirit into the girl's stomach.

The ghoul vanished, and the girl's lifeless eyes stared above her. But the ceremony was far from over.

The two black-veiled servants moved from their corners and collected the goblets that were filled with the Druid's blood. They carried them to Deirdre where she drained each goblet, licking her lips stained red with blood.

The servants hastily moved back as wind began to howl and swirl around Deirdre as the new magic mixed with hers. She threw back her head, her long white hair lifting above and around her.

“I am unstoppable!” Deirdre yelled.

Deirdre pinned Isla with a look as the wind began to lessen. Without moving a muscle Deirdre had Isla restrained against the wall, her feet dangling off the floor.

Isla wanted to claw at the invisible hand that held her throat, but she kept her hands in her skirts. Fighting Deirdre only made the pain worse.

And no matter how much suffering Deirdre put her through, Isla knew Deirdre wouldn't kill her. Not yet, anyway. Deirdre had a hold over Isla that she hadn't been able to duplicate with another since. There was no way she would chance harming Isla.

“I've sent the MacClures a message through Dunmore,” Deirdre said.

Isla waited, wondering what Deirdre could possibly want with the MacClures. Isla had no desire to return to that clan. She'd had enough dealings with them when
the wyrran had destroyed their village looking for the Druid Cara, who was now mated to Lucan MacLeod.

Of course, it was the MacClures who had taken a large piece of the MacLeod land, land that included the castle the MacLeods claimed as their own.

“I think Fallon and Lucan need something to occupy their time,” Deirdre said.

Isla knew she should keep silent, but she couldn't help it. “I thought you wanted to capture the MacLeods?”

“Oh, I do. And I will. I want them to suffer first. The MacLeods might have scared the MacClures from their lands, but I will ensure the MacClures have what they need to get their lands back. Once they have what they require, you will stand with the MacClures.”

Isla bit her tongue to keep from speaking again.

Deirdre released the magical hold. Isla's knees buckled when she hit the floor, but she managed to stay upright by grabbing onto the stones in the wall.

“You have gotten quite audacious recently, Isla. I received information just this morning, and I think I'm going to need you to take a trip.”

Isla's blood went cold in her veins. She knew what that meant, but she was powerless to fight Deirdre.

Lightning split the room, but it was only Deirdre's magic. Isla grabbed her head and bit back a scream of pain as Deirdre's voice boomed in her mind giving her instructions she would be helpless to reject.

 

No matter how hard Marcail tried, sleep eluded her after the dream about her grandmother. And to make matters worse, Quinn hadn't come to her.

When she had seen him walk from the cave, she had sat up and leaned to the side. She hadn't been prepared
to see him and Charon speaking, but whatever they were talking about wasn't good because it was obvious by the way Charon's face went hard that he was angry.

Marcail watched them for long moments until Quinn returned to stand beside Duncan and Arran. She was curious as to what Quinn had to say to Charon.

She pulled her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She was bored and anxious. Quinn wanted her to stay in the shadows, and though she understood why, she was used to moving about and doing her daily chores. She wasn't used to sitting for hours upon hours in the dark.

Marcail blew a braid that had fallen into her eyes. Quinn had made her stay in the Pit tolerable, but once he was gone, then what?

I'm liable to go daft.

And that was the truth. As a Druid, the sun, air, and water sustained her. In the darkness and gloom of a mountain filled with the evil and dark magic, it would only be a matter of time before what little magic Marcail had was gone.

Out of the darkness, the strange musical chanting began again. It was so faint she could barely hear it. Marcail cocked her head to the side and closed her eyes.

She concentrated on the chanting, on hearing the words. The more she focused, the louder the music became. She lost herself in the soft, lyrical music, the words washing over her like a summer storm and infusing her soul with magic.

“Marcail?”

Her eyes flew open to find Quinn standing before her, a frown on his face.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She swallowed, missing the strange chanting. “I am.”

“I've been calling your name for some time.”

“I must have fallen asleep.” Even as she said the words, she didn't believe she had been dreaming. What she experienced was something else entirely.

Quinn squatted down in front of her and took her hands in his. “Charon is Deirdre's spy, just as you suspected.”

“Is that why you went to speak to him?”

“One of the reasons. He will likely stay away from you for the most part, but doona expect him to aid you in any way no matter what he might say to you.”

“You mean when you've gone.” Just saying the words caused a lump to form in her throat. How she wished she didn't care for Quinn as much as she did. She had lost too many people in her life already. To know she would lose Quinn—again—was just too much.

Quinn sighed and nodded. “I wish I could guarantee that you would be safe, but down here, no one is safe.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Duncan and Arran will be with you always. I've told them, and I will tell you, Deirdre willna allow me to return, but be on the lookout for any signs you could escape. It will be quick, and you'll have to be ready at a moment's notice.”

She brushed aside a lock of his light brown hair from his eyes. “And you? While we escape, you still think to stay here?”

“Aye.”

The way he said it was so final.

“I know what you would say, and I ask that you doona,” Quinn said. “This is hard enough as it is, and the thought of leaving you here…I don't like it, Marcail.”

“Whenever I was indecisive about something, my grandmother used to tell me to follow my heart, that it would guide me to do the right thing.”

“That's what I'm trying to do. For you, for my brothers, for everyone.”

The knot of fear and dread grew in Marcail's chest until she found it difficult to breath. “And you think by giving Deirdre a child you will be helping us?”

Quinn smiled then and fingered one of her braids. “I never said I would give her a child.”

“But…” Marcail shook her head. “If you go to her, that's exactly what she will expect.”

“No doubt that's exactly what she will expect, but I plan to make things interesting. I will try and give you and the others time to flee this godawful mountain and find my brothers.”

Marcail threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “You are risking so much.”

“Someone has to, and I'm the perfect one.” His hands rubbed up and down her back.

And that was the problem. He was too perfect.

Broc had survived another meeting with Deirdre. Every time he was with her he expected her to reveal that she knew of his duplicity. It was a dangerous game he played, but one he had no choice but to take part in.

He had hoped to speak to Quinn privately the day before, but Isla had demanded to go along with him. The petite
drough
was one of Deirdre's favorite tools in her bid for dominance of the world.

From what he had seen, Isla was a force to be reckoned with, which was why he didn't try to dissuade her from accompanying him to the Pit. Deirdre may very well have sent Isla to spy on him as Deirdre was wont to do.

Broc had seen the careful way Isla had moved as she made her way down to the Pit. She had been punished by Deirdre, as they all had at one time or another. Deirdre liked to make sure everyone knew she could kill them any time she wanted.

As Broc walked through the corridors, his wings scraped the top of the ceiling. He hated being in the mountain. The freedom of an open sky, the taste of the air upon his body, that's what he craved.

And Sonya.

His hands fisted as he thought of the Druid. Ramsey
had told him Sonya was at MacLeod Castle, but Broc hadn't been able to see for himself. He worried endlessly for her, and until he was free of Deirdre, both Sonya and her sister, Anice, would have to stay hidden.

Broc ignored the black-veiled servants who stood aside to let him pass. His mind, like always, was on Sonya. She didn't know of him, didn't know he had been the one to save her and her sister from slaughter when they were but infants. And he didn't want her to know.

He forced Sonya to the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand. Broc was on his way to see Quinn again. He had hoped Deirdre was still too angry to speak to Quinn, but she had heard of Quinn's request to see her.

If there was time, Broc planned to let Quinn know his brothers were on their way. How soon they'd arrive, though, was the question. Broc had no doubt the MacLeod brothers would think of a way to get to the mountain without being captured. At least he hoped they did.

Broc paused in mid stride as he reached the stairway that veered off into different directions. He could turn to his right and go up the stairs toward Deirdre's chambers, or he could go forward and take the steps that would lead to the Pit. However, it was the flight of stairs on his left that led deep into the bottom of the mountain from which he heard the unmistakable roar of a Warrior.

As far as Broc knew, there was no one being kept below, had never been anyone kept below. But it was obvious by the angry, lonesome roar he heard that someone had been put down there.

Broc decided he'd look for himself later. The more he knew what Deirdre had going on, the better for the MacLeods.

With a sigh, Broc took the stairs in front of him and proceeded to the Pit. There were always at least two guards posted outside the door. Broc always thought it was useless. The door was locked with black magic. It didn't matter how strong a Warrior was, he wasn't getting out of the Pit unless Deirdre wanted him out.

Broc greeted the guards and peered through the window of the door. The torches Deirdre allowed were scarce, but their red-orange flames helped to beat back the darkness. He found it amusing Deirdre had need of the torches to see when she was as powerful as she claimed to be.

Broc took a deep breath because things were about to get very interesting.

 

Quinn let his fingers run though the sable length of Marcail's hair as he held her against his chest. He could feel her unease, knew that she was more scared than she wanted him to see. She was such a brave lass, a woman he would be proud to call his own. And would call his own if he were able.

Marcail lifted her head so that she looked at him. He gazed into her clear turquoise eyes and tried to memorize every inch of her face.

“I wish I could have met you before,” Quinn said. “You would have been good for my soul.”

“Just your soul?” she asked with a teasing grin.

He shook his head. “You have been good for me.”

“And you have been good for me.” Her brow furrowed
for a moment. “Quinn, there is much that I would tell you of how I feel.”

He put his finger over her lips. If she told him she cared about him, he wouldn't be able to leave her. Just thinking she had any feelings for him made his heart skip a beat.

Quinn kissed her. He let himself drown in her intoxicating taste. He wished, then, he had made love to her instead of standing guard. There were many ways Quinn wanted to enjoy her body, many ways he wanted to watch as she peaked and screamed his name.

Her arms wound around his neck and her fingers slid into his hair. He groaned and deepened the kiss, intent on having her one last time.

“Quinn!”

Both of their heads swiveled to the side. Quinn closed his eyes with regret. When he opened them, the fear he saw in Marcail's depths ate away at his soul.

“I'll get you out of here,” he vowed. “Just promise me you'll stay hidden.”

She nodded woodenly. “Quinn, I…stay safe.”

He wondered what she had been about to say, but decided it was best if he didn't know. “You as well.”

The hardest thing he had ever done was lowering his arms from her body and moving away from her. He stood to find Arran and Duncan waiting for him.

“We canna change your mind?” Duncan asked.

“Nay, my friend, you canna.”

Arran slapped him on the shoulder. “Doona let her take your soul.”

Quinn clasped Arran's forearm before he did the same with Duncan's. “Stay watchful,” he warned before he turned on his heel and walked to Broc.

Broc's indigo Warrior eyes were trained on Quinn as he approached the door. When Quinn was a few steps from it, the door swung open and he stepped through it.

Quinn paused as the door banged shut behind him. Every fiber in his body wanted to turn around and take one last look at Marcail, but he didn't dare. Not now, mayhap not ever again.

“Have you changed your mind?” Broc asked.

Was it Quinn's imagination, or did Broc sound hopeful? “I have not.”

“Hm,” Broc said as his mouth flattened into a thin line. “Have you decided what boon you will ask?”

Quinn had thought of little else. “I have.”

“Then I will take you to Deirdre.”

He followed Broc through the hallways and up the stairways as they left the Pit behind. And yet, all Quinn could think about was Marcail, not the evil that awaited him. He should be concentrating on how he would fend off Deirdre for a day or two, not worrying if Marcail would be safe or not.

“You are preoccupied,” Broc said.

Quinn raised a brow. Broc hadn't turned around once to look at him, so Quinn didn't know how the winged Warrior knew what was going on with him. “I'd rather be taken to my own death than to Deirdre.”

“Then why do you go to her?” Broc halted and turned to face Quinn.

“I do it because I must.”

Broc lowered his gaze for a moment. “Are you sure about that, Quinn?”

“Why doona you tell me?” Quinn was in no mood for enigmatic words. “Do I have another choice?”

Broc shrugged. “You have insisted that your brothers will come for you.”

“And you've told me Deirdre sent wyrran to slow them down. Tell me, Broc, does Deirdre already have my brothers?”

“Nay,” Broc answered. “She intends to once you have agreed to give her the child of the prophecy.”

Quinn ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with everything. “Why canna she be content with me?”

“Because when the three of you fight as one, you are unstoppable.”

And that's when Quinn realized how futile his efforts had been. It wouldn't matter how long he stood against Deirdre. She would have what she wanted no matter how long it took her to gain it.

Quinn thought of Cara and how she and Lucan looked at each other. Just as Quinn's parents had done. He didn't want Lucan to lose the one woman who had captured his heart.

“You have to go to her now,” Broc said, his voice lowered.

Quinn looked at the dark blue Warrior with suspicion. “Why?”

“Because you've asked to see her. She expects you to comply. You must, Quinn. Your brothers are coming, but you need to give them some time.”

Quinn took a step back from the Warrior. “What are you trying to do?”

Broc cursed under his breath and moved closer to Quinn. “What do you think? I'm risking
everything
just by speaking with you.”

“You expect me to believe you've sided with my brothers? I doona believe that any more than I do
the absurdity of whatever destiny Deirdre thinks I have.”

“Then you are a greater idiot than I thought. Follow me, MacLeod.”

Quinn was grateful when Broc continued onward. He couldn't stand to hear another word Broc said, not when it inspired hope to flare in his chest, hope that he knew would be dashed as soon as he realized he'd been played for a fool.

He prayed he could go through with everything. Just looking at Deirdre was a chore, and the thought of bedding her turned his stomach.

Holy Hell. What am I going to do?

He'd do whatever he must for his brothers, Marcail, and the men who relied on him. Even if it meant sacrificing his soul to Deirdre, he would do it.

Broc halted outside a door and motioned for Quinn to proceed. Quinn glanced at the Warrior, but Broc wouldn't look at him. Quinn pushed the door open and found himself once more in Deirdre's chamber.

The last time he had been here he found himself naked in her bed. He wondered what she had done with him while he had been unconscious, but he hadn't allowed his mind to dwell on it too long for fear of discovering what she had done.

Deirdre stood in the doorway to her bedchamber, her white hair touching the floor. She wore her normal black gown with material that hugged her shape.

“I was told you wished to speak with me?” she said with a knowing smile.

He nodded and folded his arms over his chest. “I did. I wonder, Deirdre, if you know all that William has been doing in your name.”

In an instant her smile was gone. She took a deep breath and narrowed her white eyes at him. “Explain yourself.”

“I asked to see you mere hours after you had taken Ian. William came for me, but refused to allow me to speak to you. Instead, he made me watch as they tortured Ian.”

“William wouldn't bring you to me?”

He almost smiled at the anger that shook her voice. “Nay.”

“Get me William,” she commanded Broc.

Quinn glanced over his shoulder to find Broc watching him, a small smile upon his face, almost as if he approved at what Quinn had just done.

“William tells me you favor him over any other,” Quinn said after Broc had left to do Deirdre's bidding.

She waved away his words. “William likes to be in command. I give him a little power every now and again.”

“To keep him in line?” Quinn asked. “Is your hold so tenuous that you must resort to such petty methods?”

Her lips thinned in anger. “You dare to question me?”

“I do.”

“I will show you just how powerful I am in this game you and I play, Quinn. Afterward, you will realize how fruitless it is to deny me anything.”

He snorted. “I doubt it.”

She opened her mouth to retort when William strode through the door with all the cocky confidence of one who had gotten all he desired.

“You wanted to see me, mistress,” he said. Then he caught sight of Quinn and that confidence faltered.

Quinn slowly smiled. He wanted William to suffer,
because had Quinn been able to talk to Deirdre, Ian wouldn't have been tortured.

Deirdre stepped in front of William and ran her hand down his bare chest to his breeches in an intimate caress. “Tell me, my dear William, did Quinn ask to see me before now?”

William looked from Quinn to Deirdre. “You said you didna want to be disturbed.”

“By everyone else, but you knew I was waiting to hear from Quinn. Didn't you?” she said as she reached down and grabbed hold of his balls.

William winced as Deirdre squeezed. “Nay, mistress.”

“Don't you dare lie to me,” Deirdre said between clenched teeth.

William's chin lowered to his chest. “I doona want to share you.”

With a snarl, Deidre shoved William away from her. “Because of you a day has been wasted. You will be punished.”

“As you wish,” William murmured.

Quinn was surprised when Deirdre turned her unholy white eyes to him.

“How should he be punished?” she asked.

The answer was easy for Quinn. “I want him to suffer just as Ian suffered. Every hit, every cut, every bite of the whip, I want William to feel. And lest we forget, pull out his claws as well.”

William growled, his lip curling in anger. Quinn lowered his arms, ready to fight him, but Deirdre stepped between them. Instantly, William calmed.

Quinn rolled his eyes at how easily William did as she bade. He didn't even balk at being dragged away by
two guards. Quinn knew that one day he would kill the Warrior, and he would enjoy it immensely.

“Now,” Deirdre said, gaining his attention. “It's time you followed me.”

As much as Quinn didn't want to be around her, he needed to know everything he could so he could tell his brothers and they could kill the evil bitch.

Deirdre didn't say a word as she led him out of her chamber and down several hallways until they came to an archway that held a set of double doors.

The doors swung open as Deirdre neared. Quinn stepped over the threshold and looked in revulsion and wonder at the woman that hovered over the floor, surrounded by onyx flames.

“Isn't she magnificent?” Deirdre asked.

Quinn wasn't sure what he was looking at. “Who is she?”

“She was a Druid, a
mie
, who had the special gift of being a seer.”