Donna Grant: Wicked Highlander

Quinn cursed himself as he had done many times since he had woken in Deirdre’s hated mountain. He had run away from his brothers and the love they’d given because he couldn’t stand to be around Lucan and his woman, Cara. The love they shared reminded Quinn of everything he had never had, and never would have.

But now all he wanted was to go back to their ruin of a castle and all the memories that were in the crumbling stones.

“We can hide her for a time.”

Quinn jerked as Arran’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “Maybe. There are at least twelve Warriors down here. Many we doona see because they keep to themselves.”

“After you made it clear you ruled the Pit,” Arran said with a hint of humor in his voice.

Quinn cut his eyes to Arran and snorted. The week it had taken him to dominate the Pit had been excruciating and not just because of his bodily injuries, but because he’d had to let his god loose in order to survive.

Only he, Arran, and the twins knew that when Quinn was in the shadows of his cave he transformed back into a man. It was a huge chance Quinn took each time, but he was already so close to allowing his god to take over that he couldn’t take the possibility of it actually happening.

Not after surviving this mountain for these past weeks.

“Did you hear what Deirdre said?” Quinn asked to turn his thoughts away from the hopelessness that took more of his soul every day.

Arran went down on his haunches next to him. “I was watching the others to see what they did when the woman fell. The female is a Druid, isn’t she? I sense magic.”

“You’re correct, Arran. She’s a Druid. Why not kill her like Deirdre has done other Druids, though?” Duncan asked.

Quinn glanced to his right to find the light blue skin of one of the twins. Behind Duncan was Ian, who moved closer to be able to hear. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, Duncan. Every Druid she brings to the mountain she kills.”

“There are a few who still live,” Arran corrected him. “Isla is one Deirdre has kept alive.”

“Aye.” Quinn scratched his whiskered jaw, wishing he could shave. “Some she keeps. But not this one. Why?”

Ian crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the woman at his feet with a raised brow. “What is so special about her?”

Quinn motioned his men closer. He didn’t want this getting any further. “There has to be a good reason for Deirdre not to have killed this Druid and used her blood for power. Do any of you have any idea what that could be?”

The twins exchanged a glance with each other before shaking their heads.

“We know next to nothing of Druids, Quinn. You know this,” Duncan said.

Quinn looked at Arran to find the Warrior’s brow furrowed, his gaze distant. “Arran?”

“I would say the Druid knew something, but if she did, Deirdre would just kill her. It doesna make sense. There has to be a good reason for Deirdre not to have killed her to gain her magic.”

“We need to find out what that reason is.” Quinn rose to his feet and looked at his hands with his black claws still showing. The claws were long and sharp enough to cut through a tree. They weren’t meant to handle the precious skin of a woman.

For three hundred years Quinn’s rage at losing his wife and son in the massacre of his clan had allowed his god to gain much control over him. Now, he hated seeing the god shown in any form.

“We’ll have to wait till she wakes. Until then, we keep watch. I doona want any of the other Warriors getting close to her,” Quinn ordered them.

The three Warriors nodded and moved to take their positions at the entrance to his cave.

Quinn looked out into the Pit. In the center was a sizeable space where Deirdre would throw her victims and watch the battles take place. Off to each side of the area were caves the Warriors claimed as their homes.

Or prisons without bars, as Quinn thought of them.

His was the largest, but then that came with the territory he had claimed. He hadn’t had to kill any Warriors for his bid for supremacy, and the cave was large enough that it allowed him and the other three Warriors to occupy it without it being crowded. Despite that, Arran and the twins had their own caves as well on either side of Quinn’s.

The cave also had a slab in the back that Quinn used to lie on, not that he slept. Sleep had eluded him ever since he’d been in the mountain. It was for the best anyway. Whenever he closed his eyes he would either see his brothers’ faces or dream about his god gaining control of him and aligning with Deirdre.

Quinn carried too much guilt over leaving his brothers and putting them in the predicament of freeing him to want to see their faces and open his memories of them.

They had spent almost three hundred years securing their castle and fighting any wyrran who dared to get too close to their home. More Warriors had come to them, ready to fight Deirdre in the coming war.

And what had he done? Quinn had ruined it all by running away.

How could he have done that to Fallon and Lucan? After everything they had done for him? Countless times his brothers had been there trying to coax him into controlling his god.

It had been Lucan who brought them back to the castle because he’d thought it would help Quinn. Quinn hadn’t wanted to go, but Lucan had been right. Returning to their home had helped to calm Quinn in ways he couldn’t explain.

With a sigh, Quinn gathered the Druid in his arms and stood. She weighed no more than a feather, but the feel of her soft body made Quinn realize how long he had been without a woman.

He held her pleasing body and curves longer than was necessary before he placed her on the slab he used for his bed. He yearned to lie beside her and feel her warmth, hungered to touch her skin. Longed to taste her lips. He brushed the dark locks of hair from her face, surprised to find rows of tiny braids on the crown of her head and her temples.

Quinn smiled as he fingered one of the plaits. She was a child of the Celts. Her magic thrummed through her veins for all to feel. It was strong, very strong.

He wondered again why Deirdre hadn’t killed her. Though the Pit was far below the space Deirdre used as her great hall, Quinn had heard Deirdre say the Druid thought the MacLeods could save her.

Was it because the woman knew of him and his brothers? Nay, he didn’t think that would stop Deirdre. There had to be something else. If there was one thing Quinn knew about Deirdre it was her self-preservation. Deirdre thought of herself first and foremost on everything.

It was one of the many reasons she had lasted as long as she had. That and the black magic she used. Hatred for Deirdre swelled within Quinn, making his god growl and yearn to be free. The god promised vengeance against Deirdre, and for a heartbeat, Quinn nearly gave in.

He concentrated on battling the god and gaining control again. Each time became more difficult. Quinn didn’t know how much longer he had before the god took over. He prayed his brothers reached him before that happened.

Quinn stilled when the female moaned. She was going to be in pain, but there was nothing he could do to help her. It was also chilly in the Pit. They were far below ground and water constantly ran down the walls, making the Pit damp as well.

He rubbed his hands along her bare arms and felt how cool her skin was. Quinn racked his mind for what Lucan or Fallon would do for the woman. He had no food, no blankets, and nothing to assist with her aches. Had he just prolonged her death?

Quinn sank onto the slab near her legs and allowed himself to think of Lucan and the woman his brother loved. Cara was a perfect fit for his brother in all ways. He wondered if they had gotten married. He supposed they had, though the thought of the ceremony without him left an ache in Quinn’s chest that made it difficult to breathe.