“And your torc? That is also a tradition of the ancients.”
“That it is. In my clan the laird’s family always wore a torc. It was my mother who chose the animals that would grace mine and my brothers’ torcs.”
He stilled as her finger reached out to touch the wolf’s head on his torc. His blood quickened when her hand brushed against his chest, sending currents of heat unfurling within him.
“Beautiful. The wolf suits you, I think.”
“How can you say that? You doona know me.”
She shrugged, her body leaning closer to look at the torc, teasing him with her scent and curves. Quinn forced his hands to stay as they were instead of reaching for her.
“Maybe,” Marcail said. “Maybe not. However, I know the wolf is cunning and intelligent. I’ve seen those same traits in you.”
Quinn dug his hands into the bread to keep from caressing her. It had been so long since he had kissed a woman that he’d forgotten how, but he wanted to taste her lips, to sweep his tongue into her mouth and learn her essence.
He wanted to drown in her scent of sunshine and rain, to feel her silky hair surround him and her soft skin bared to his touch.
Marcail suddenly sat back and lowered her hand. “And your brothers? What animal is on their torcs?”
Quinn opened his mouth to talk and had to clear his throat before sound came out. “Fallon, the eldest, has a boar. Lucan has a griffin.”
“Those are powerful animals your mother chose.”
“My brothers are powerful men, and her choice fit each of them.”
Marcail cocked her head to the side, her braids swinging with the movement. “Are you telling me you don’t think your mother chose well for you?”
“Not at all.” Quinn turned his head away and scratched his chin, ill at ease anytime he thought to compare himself with his brothers.
“Liar.”
That one word brought his gaze back to her. “Why would you say that?”
“It’s in your eyes,” she whispered.
Quinn didn’t know how to answer her. He should be angry that she called him a liar, but the truth was she was correct. He had lied.
He looked down to find she had eaten all her bread. “Are you thirsty? I can show you where to find the water.”
“Arran already has, thank you.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than she yawned and wrapped her arms around herself.
“How much sleep did you get this past week while you were evading Dunmore?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Not much. It’s one of the reasons he finally caught me.”
“And food?”
“I ate what berries I could find as I ran.”
Quinn put his bread in her hands. “Eat. No arguments, Marcail. You’re going to need your strength down here.”
“And you?”
“I’ve got a god inside me. Remember?”
She bit into the bread. “Tell me of your god.”
Quinn would talk about anything as long as she ate. “He is Apodatoo, the god of revenge.”
“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
