Untamed Highlander

had ended.”

Hayden heard someone approach and turned to find Arran. Arran was one of the three Warriors who had united with Quinn while he was locked in Cairn Toul.

He didn’t know much about Arran, but Hayden liked the Warrior. The more Warriors they had on their side, the better. Especially now if Deirdre truly wasn’t gone as they had thought.

Arran stopped beside Hayden and pushed his dark brown hair from his face with a swift movement of his hand. “What is going on?”

“First,” Fallon said, “I’d like your thoughts on Isla. You dealt with her in the mountain.”

Arran shrugged as his gaze scanned the small crowd. “She came to the Pit on occasion, but she never harmed us and rarely spoke to us. She would come to ask who wanted to pledge themselves to Deirdre. Other than that, we didn’t see her.”

Broc raised a blond brow. “Do you think Quinn and I lied?”

“Nay,” Lucan answered for Fallon. “We just like to get opinions. We’re not sure what we’re dealing with now.”

“And what is it exactly that we’re dealing with?” Arran asked.

Hayden met Arran’s gaze. “Isla says Deirdre isn’t dead.”

“How is that possible?”

“They’re connected somehow,” Hayden explained. “Deirdre used her black magic.”

Arran leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. “Just when I thought it was over.”

“So you believe her?” Fallon asked.

Arran laughed, though no mirth was in the sound. “After the things I witnessed in that mountain, it wouldn’t surprise me. I always thought Deirdre died too easily.”

“I did wonder about that as well,” Lucan admitted. “I just thought we managed to get the upper hand.”

Broc leaned a hand on the stone wall and shook his head. “If Deirdre isn’t dead, then we can expect her to come after us.”

“Maybe she already has,” Arran said. “If Isla is linked to her, maybe Isla is her weapon.”

“Nay.” The response was instant for Hayden. He didn’t think too hard on how he knew, though. “Isla wants to leave. She’s begged us to let her go. That wasn’t an act.”

Lucan rubbed a hand down his face. “I agree with Hayden. Deirdre wouldn’t have any idea that we’d return to the mountain to look for prisoners. So Isla being found by Hayden couldna have been planned.”

“Aye,” Fallon said. “My worry is the danger Isla said we were in.”

Arran cursed. “Because if she’s linked to Deirdre, Deirdre can use her at any time.”

Hayden began to wonder if he should have killed Isla when he’d had the chance.

*

The next time Isla opened her eyes it was to find the chamber dark with only a candle to chase away the shadows. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she knew she had to get her strength back to evade another sleeping chant.

Just thinking of reliving that dream over and over again made her skin crawl. She was awake now, and she intended to stay that way for quite a while.

“We’re not going to hurt you.”

The soft, feminine voice came from her right. Isla turned her head and found Marcail watching her with those unusual turquoise eyes.

“By keeping me here, you are hurting yourselves,” Isla told her.

Marcail glanced down at her hands. “Why is that?”

“You don’t believe me about Deirdre.” Isla had never imagined they would doubt her.

“Please understand they saw her die.”

Isla sighed and sat up. She pulled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. She wanted nothing more than food and a bath, but it would have to wait. At least her body didn’t hurt as much as it had earlier.

“I never asked to be brought here.”

Marcail smiled. “Nay, you didn’t. You did, however, fight our magic. Why?”

“Because the weaker I am the more difficult it is for Deirdre to use me.”

“I see.” Marcail’s hand went to her stomach with a telltale sigh.

“You are carrying Quinn’s child, are you not?”

Marcail nodded slowly, her face draining of color. “I am. I thought we were safe from Deirdre and the evil she spawned.”

The thought of Deirdre harming another innocent child made Isla seethe with anger. Too many had been hurt already. Before she could think better of it, she said, “There is something I can do to help you.”

“What?”

The eagerness in Marcail’s gaze pulled at Isla. “I can shield the castle for a time to make it more difficult for Deirdre to find me.”

“Therefore more difficult to find us.”

“Precisely. As soon as I leave, however, the shield will no longer work.”

Marcail fingered the gold band wrapped around one of her braids. “Why would you offer such a thing? You were with Deirdre.”

“I was never with Deirdre. I did what I had to do to keep my sister and niece alive. They are both dead now, so there’s no reason not to fight Deirdre.”

Marcail rose and walked to the foot of the bed. “I need to tell the others what you’ve told me.”

Isla nodded, expecting no less.

“I shall have food and a bath sent up immediately.”

Isla couldn’t remember a time when someone had been kind to her simply because they wanted to. It had been so many years since she was Isla, daughter of the village baker, that her old life seemed like a figment of her imagination.

“I would very much appreciate it.”

Marcail stopped at the door and gave her a small smile. “Trust us, Isla. We’re only trying to help.”

Isla waited until Marcail was gone before she dropped her head into her hands. Alone with her thoughts, she felt the tears prick her eyes as she realized she was truly alone in the world for the first time in over five hundred years.

She might not have spoken with her sister or seen much of her niece, but they had always been there in one form or another. Now, with Lavena no longer sustained by Deirdre’s blue flames, and Grania dead by Isla’s own hand — albeit by accident — there was no one.

Marcail had told her to trust them. If only Isla could, but she had seen what trusting someone could do. She had trusted Deirdre not to kill her sister. Instead, Deirdre had put Lavena into the magical blue flames where she’d never be able to leave again.

Trust wasn’t something Isla could give anyone. Not now. Not ever.

Yet, she couldn’t stop the need to help Marcail and her unborn child. Isla hadn’t been able to prevent Deirdre from taking Grania, but Isla would do everything within her power to protect Marcail.

And what power Isla had now. She had only thought she had magic when she was a simple mie. The magic had been pure, but it hadn’t been strong.

Deirdre was the one that made her turn drough. Isla had fought it for as long as she could, but when Grania’s life had been threatened, Isla had given in and completed the ritual.

She shuddered just thinking about seeing and feeling the evil that had taken hold of her when she had said the words and cut her wrists. Her fingers absently rubbed the scars, scars that told the world who and what she was.

The malice had tried to take control of her, and sometimes it actually had. There were times, however, when she’d gained the upper hand. Each time got progressively easier until Isla was able to keep the evil tamped down.

Until Deirdre would use her magic.

There was a light knock on the door before it opened and Arran brought in a tray of food. She looked at the tall Warrior. Gone was the haggard expression on his face and the white skin of his god, and in its place was