Donna Grant: Wicked Highlander

“It’s true then, that the one god is in you and your brothers?”

“Aye. Each god chooses the strongest warrior of whatever bloodline he’s in.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Which means, you and your brothers were all three the strongest.”

“Correct. We each are strong fighters, but when we battle together with the god unleashed, we are unstoppable.”

Marcail’s brow furrowed at his words. “Can you not fight Deirdre that way?”

“If only it were that easy. Maybe in the beginning we could have, but now she has too many wyrran and Warriors around her.”

Quinn noticed how Marcail quickly ate the rest of the bread. She was probably starving for more, and she needed meat to help build her strength. Meat they didn’t have.

“How long have you been down here?” she asked.

“I don’t know. You lose track of time when you cannot see the sun.”

“Have you been in the Pit the entire time?”

“Nay. I was chained in another dungeon for a while and beaten daily. Deirdre thought she could break me that way.”

“But she didn’t,” Marcail said with a smile. “See? You and your brothers will save us.”

Quinn wished it were that easy.

“How did you end up in here?”

Quinn grimaced as he thought of what Deirdre wanted from him. “She wants me to give her a child. I refused, so she put me here to change my mind.”

Marcail’s turquoise eyes grew wide. “Why does she want a child from you?”

“Something about a prophecy. She said I would give in to her demand one day.”

“Why not just use magic to force you?”

“Probably the same reason she didna kill you — she canna.”

Marcail leaned her head back at his words. Quinn had gone over in his mind a thousand times the incident with Deirdre. He had expected her to force him, but she hadn’t. She needed him to come willing, and willing he would never be.

Just thinking of having sex with Deirdre made Quinn want to retch. He would kill himself before he ever agreed to give her his seed willingly.

Quinn looked over to find Marcail’s eyes closed and her breathing evened in sleep. Her head tilted toward his shoulder. He reached up and leaned her against him so she wouldn’t harm herself on the jagged rocks on the walls.

The Pit was not a noisy place. The Warriors kept to themselves for the most part. Few spoke, and when they did it was in whispers. When Quinn had first been thrown in the Pit, the constant dripping of water had nearly made him daft, but now, he didn’t notice it.

What he did notice was a conversation going on between a couple of Warriors. It was quickly escalating, which meant a fight was brewing. A battle between Warriors could get loud. Quinn reached up and covered Marcail’s ear with his hand to help drown out the noise he knew would come.

From his position he could see movement near the entrance to his cave. Other Warriors moved closer to the action to discover what was going on.

Quinn spotted Duncan and knew the Warrior would report all he discovered. Quinn wished the others would stop fighting amongst themselves and learn to band together to battle Deirdre, but nothing he said could convince them.

He also had a suspicion that Deirdre had a spy in the Pit. That notion would be tested soon enough, because if there was a spy, he would report Marcail to Deirdre as soon as he could.

Quinn knew once Deirdre discovered Marcail there was nothing he could do to save her. Deirdre might not kill Marcail herself, but she would do whatever it took to see the Druid dead because of the spell she carried.

If only Quinn could get the spell out of Marcail then they could use it against Deirdre and bind all the gods once more. Without her Warriors, Deirdre only had her wyrran. Though the wyrran were tough, they could be killed easily enough.

Quinn found his eyes closing. He should be up and seeing about stopping the fight between the Warriors, but it felt so good to have Marcail next to him, her head leaning on his shoulder as she slept.

He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head and felt her braids. He couldn’t imagine how long it took her to plait her hair, but he would enjoy watching.

It had been three hundred years since he had let a woman touch him as Marcail was. The women he had taken his ease with had been in the dark where they couldn’t see him, and he had never wanted to hold them.

With Marcail it was different. But then much had changed since Deirdre had captured him. He was able to manage his god now, something he hadn’t been able to do in hundreds of years. Quinn couldn’t wait to tell his brothers.

Marcail nestled more comfortably against him. Quinn smiled and let himself enjoy the small moment. By the growls, the fight between the Warriors had broken out. Soon, the smell of blood and death would fill the Pit.

The ever present rats were moving closer to the brawl, hoping to find something to eat. Quinn sensed when one reached the entry to his cave and began to move inside.

“Out. Now,” Quinn told the animal. “You will not enter here or come near me or the woman.”

The rat immediately moved away from the cave. Quinn had learned of his power only when he had awakened in Deirdre’s dungeon. All those years and he’d had no idea of the power he’d held. For three centuries he hadn’t developed that power or learned to use it.

How he regretted the fury that had run his life. He would do so many things differently if he could. But there was no going back and reliving the past. There was only the future.

And that looked bleak.

Quinn snapped his eyes open. He hadn’t let himself drift off that deeply since being thrown in the Pit. Anything could have happened to him…or to Marcail.

He looked down to find the Druid half lying in his arms. Her head must have slid off his shoulder while he dozed. Thankfully, he had fit her in his arms and her face against his chest.

Her lips were parted as she slept, his arm supporting her head while her hair draped over his arm and legs. Quinn could honestly say he had never seen a more beautiful woman in all his days.

There was a purity about Marcail that shone for everyone to see. But there was strength there as well. Marcail had been intelligent enough to run and lead Dunmore and the wyrran from her village. She had saved countless lives by doing so. It had taken much courage, courage Quinn hadn’t expected from a woman.

Unable to stop himself, Quinn lifted his free hand and ran the back of his fingers over the smooth skin of Marcail’s cheek. His hand shook with the need, the hunger, to touch more of her.

Even knowing he wasn’t good enough for her didn’t stop the yearning to know her as only a man could. He wanted to kiss, to lick every inch of her body.

His rod throbbed. It was made worse by the feel of her in his arms. Three hundred years was a long time not to feel the softness of a woman as he was now.

Quinn’s gaze fastened on Marcail’s mouth. Such a luscious, decadent mouth. Her lips were full, wide, and delectable. He knew they would taste heavenly, and that one kiss would never be enough.

He lowered his head before he realized what he was doing. Just before his lips touched hers, he managed to stop himself. What would she think when she woke to find him kissing her?

Quinn didn’t want to find out. She looked at him with trust in her gorgeous turquoise eyes. He didn’t want that to change.

His free hand brought a lock of her hair to his nose. Quinn breathed in the scent that was hers alone. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. With a tilt of his head, he fit his face against her neck and drowned in the sunshine and rain fragrance. He could still smell the sun on her skin.