Marcail was fascinated, but then she had always been captivated by the MacLeod story. Her grandmother would tell her the story every night, never deviating from a single word.
“Did Arran fight him?”
“Arran did as we did, he watched. Quinn didn’t need our help even when six Warriors attacked him at once.”
Marcail’s mouth parted in shock. “Six? Six and you didn’t help him?”
Duncan chuckled and shifted his feet. “You havena seen him fight yet. Once you do, you will understand why it was so easy for him to be the leader here.”
“You didn’t want his position?”
“Before Quinn there were battles every day, nearly all day. Each of us was trying to best the others.”
“But you’re Warriors. Each of you is powerful, or at least that is what we were told in our stories.”
Duncan crossed his arms over his chest. “We each have a god unbound within us, aye, but Quinn is the oldest of us. He has lived with his god the longest. Also, there are some gods that are stronger than others.”
“What is your god?”
“Ian and I have the god Farmire. He is the god of battle, or father of battle as he likes to be known.”
“Both of you have the same god?”
“Aye,” Duncan answered. “We are twins, so we share everything, even the god. Quinn and his brothers have the same god.”
She nodded. “Quinn told me. How is that possible? I thought only one god in one man?”
“You’ll have to ask the gods,” Duncan said before he walked away.
Marcail was now, more than ever, curious about Quinn. In none of the stories had it said the brothers shared the same god.
If Marcail believed Duncan, it made the MacLeod brothers stronger. She wished now she had been able to see him battle the other Warriors when she was tossed into the Pit. There had been very few times that she saw men fight, and never had she found it intriguing.
But then again, none of them had been Quinn MacLeod.
Ten
No matter how hard Quinn tried to forget there was a very alluring, very beautiful female just steps away from him, he couldn’t.
He tried to think of Deirdre and a plan of escape, but all his mind could concentrate on was the shape of Marcail’s plump lips and her delectable scent. Every drop of blood was now centered in his groin, and by the ache that had settled there, it wasn’t going away anytime soon.
The other Warriors in the Pit had begun to grow restless as well. They smelled her, they heard her. No matter what, Quinn would never be able to leave the Pit or one of them would take her. That thought sent his rage to rising.
Quinn turned that rage to his advantage and channeled it into communicating with the rats. Though he hadn’t mastered his power in human form yet as Lucan had, Quinn was getting stronger with each use.
He had already transformed into his god as he did each time he wanted to be seen. His power swirled within him, growing larger and potent with each beat of his heart.
His sharp hearing picked up the scratch of the rats’ claws as they hurried to carry out his orders. Quinn didn’t hide his smile when he heard the first growl of a Warrior being bitten.
The distraction wasn’t much, but the rats would keep the Warriors occupied for a long time. Quinn couldn’t wait to leave the mountain and try his power out on other animals, like horses.
He had used to love to ride. His favorite mount had been a bay stallion. Quinn missed that horse. Ever since he’d become immortal, he hadn’t ridden. There wasn’t a reason to when he could move as fast, or faster, than any horse could run.
Still, he longed to feel a horse beneath him and see the ground blurred under the animal’s hooves as it moved across the land. Three hundred years ago, racing his mount had made him feel like a god. How naive he had been.
Quinn felt a presence beside him and looked over to find Arran. The Warrior glared across the way into Charon’s cave. For some reason, Arran hated Charon, but Quinn hadn’t figured out why.
“You have claimed the female as your own, yet you doona want to be near her,” Arran said before turning his gaze to Quinn.
Just the mention of Marcail made Quinn’s blood heat. “It’s not a question of wanting, it’s a question of deserving. I’m not the man for her.”
“But you want her.”
“More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. She’s a good person who got caught in Deirdre’s web. I’ve evil inside me, Arran.”
“The evil inside us doesn’t make us wicked. We have that choice.”
Quinn smiled and shook his head. “You sound just like Lucan. He said the same thing to me once.”
“Then your brother is obviously the clever one, not you, as they say.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “I’ll admit Lucan and Fallon are better men, and at times, Lucan has shown himself to be nearly as clever as me, but never has he outwitted me.”
Arran’s grin, weak though it was, dropped from his lips. “If you want Marcail then take her. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, my friend. Doona be a fool and allow this moment to pass you by. I live daily with regrets. Learn from me.”
Quinn lived with his own regrets. “I canna chance it, Arran. Deirdre will discover Marcail soon enough. Already I’ve endangered her by saving her. If I take her as I long to do, Deirdre’s wrath will be fierce.”
“And you worry for Marcail?”
“I do. Deirdre wants her dead. I believe Deirdre will leave Marcail down here to die unless Deirdre discovers I’ve taken Marcail as mine. You can be certain to see Deirdre’s wrath then.”
Arran ran a hand down his face. “You may be right. Who knows how much longer you have before Deirdre takes you? She does want your child.”
When Quinn was first dropped into the Pit he fully expected to stay there until he was either rescued or died. But the longer he was in and the more times Broc and Isla visited him, Quinn knew that one day Deirdre would tire of her game and summon him.
Was that what Broc meant when he said Quinn’s time was running out?
“Holy Hell,” Quinn murmured. He trusted Arran and the twins, but how long would their honor last when faced with Marcail’s beauty on a daily basis without Quinn there?
Not long.
Arran slapped him on the back. “Exactly.”
Quinn yawned and rubbed his eyes. When he glanced behind him he found Marcail stretched out on the slab with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering.
“Go to her,” Arran said. “You’ve kept watch long enough.”
Quinn didn’t argue, not when he yearned to be close to Marcail again. He walked to her and stared down at her form as she rested on her side, facing him. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep. Yet.
He kept his vigil until her breathing slowed. Then he lowered himself beside her. The slab was large, but not large enough to fit two people on their backs comfortably. Thankfully, with Marcail on her side, Quinn was able to lie on his back and scoot close to her.
Quinn raised his arm closest to Marcail and tucked his hand beneath his head. As if she sensed his warmth, she shifted closer to him.
The moments ticked by as Quinn studied her face. She was beauty personified. Her skin was flawless except
