could hear the music again.
She rose to her feet in an effort to stay warm when she caught sight of the copper Warrior across the way. Charon’s gaze, like always, was riveted on Quinn.
Marcail didn’t need to be in Duncan’s cave to know that was who Charon stared at. Why the copper Warrior was so intrigued by Quinn she didn’t know.
Duncan had told her he hadn’t sided with Quinn. Why, then, was Charon so interested in everything Quinn did?
Marcail took a step toward Charon to ask him when Quinn strode back into his cave. Her gaze fastened on Quinn, and the smile she had worn just moments ago reappeared.
Quinn’s steps slowed when he caught sight of her. His tunic was still gone, and he had once again transformed into his god.
She met him in the middle of the cave. She lifted his hand in hers, examining the black skin and claws. Just as she touched one of those deadly long claws he began to shift back.
“Nay,” she begged. “Let me feel you. All of you.”
He hesitated for a moment, and when he didn’t move, she again touched his claw. His claws were longer than her fingers and, she imagined, sharper than any blade.
It was amazing to watch him change from man to Warrior and back again. She didn’t know where the claws and fangs went, and she didn’t care.
Before her stood the very reason Rome didn’t rule Britain, and for that she was grateful.
“What do you see?” Quinn asked.
She glanced into his black eyes. That was the one part of a Warrior she would never become accustomed to. She missed seeing Quinn’s green eyes, but more than that, when the entire eye changed, removing any iris and the whites of the eyes, it was…disturbing.
“I see strength and power,” she whispered. “The evidence of magic is standing before me in all its stunning ebony glory.”
“Magic?”
She nodded and lifted his hand so that his palm faced her. “You need no sword or dagger to defend yourself. You have your weapons right here. Ten, in fact. Is that not magic?”
“It’s evil.”
“Is it?” She dropped his hand and reached up to touch one of his fangs. “Do you not feel the magic coursing through your blood each time you allow your god to show? Are you not reminded how the Druids and Celts sacrificed so much just to save this land?”
“I’m reminded every damned day, Marcail. How can you look at me and not be repulsed? I have fangs and claws like a beast,” he said with a growl.
She understood in that moment that there was nothing she could say to Quinn to prove to him that, even in his Warrior form, he was magnificent to her.
Maybe it was because she had just had the most wondrous experience of her life, but Marcail felt daring. She rose up on her toes and kissed Quinn.
The tips of his fangs snagged her lips but she didn’t care. At the first contact of his mouth against hers, the heat that had filled her body a short while before surged through her once more.
Quinn’s arms wound around her as he slanted his mouth over hers. He was careful not to cut her lips, and no matter how hard she tried to deepen the kiss, he wouldn’t let her.
“My God,” he whispered when he ended the kiss. “What are you trying to do to me?”
Marcail smiled. “I wanted to show you what I think of you as either the man Quinn MacLeod or the legendary Warrior all of Scotland is talking about.”
“If you keep this up, I’ll have you on your back again.”
She loved how he teased her, but she also knew he was deadly serious. And it thrilled her beyond reason. “Really?”
He sighed and pulled her against him as he wrapped his arms around her. “You are like the first rays of sun after a hard winter. You shouldn’t be in this dark, evil place, Marcail.”
“Neither should you, Quinn.”
Thirteen
Isla shouldn’t have been surprised to find Deirdre had taken steps to turn Quinn to her side. Deirdre was known to use whatever tactic she had to ensure she got what she wanted, and she wanted Quinn, regardless of everything else.
Isla was one of the few who knew that Quinn was supposed to give Deirdre a child, a child that would house all the evil of Hell. Just thinking about it made Isla shudder.
“Where shall we start?” William asked Deirdre.
Isla looked around the small chamber. Besides Deirdre, William, and the two Warriors who held their prisoner, Broc was also in the chamber.
Isla knew why Deirdre wanted her there, but why was Broc present? Broc usually kept to himself. Lately, however, he had been called more and more to Deirdre’s side.
“Not just yet,” Deirdre said, interrupting Isla’s musings.
Isla turned her attention back to the prisoner. He was one of the twins from the Pit. Why Deirdre had taken him, though, was a mystery.
Deirdre moved in front of Ian, who was held on his knees. She bent and put her face near his pale blue one. “I will ask you this only once. Will you turn to my side?”
“Never, bitch.”
Deirdre stepped out of the way and William sliced open Ian’s chest with his claws before punching him in the face. Isla had learned long ago how to keep her feelings from her face. Even so, she wasn’t shocked to find Deirdre watching her.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Ian,” Deirdre said and turned to face the Warrior. “I had thought you would understand the situation. Quinn has refused me, and so someone has to experience my wrath.”
Ian spit a mouthful of blood on the hem of Deirdre’s gown and smiled up at her. “Do your worst,
Instead of killing Ian as Isla had thought she would, Deirdre merely took a step back. Isla had been around Deirdre long enough to know that no good could come out of Deirdre when she was as calm in her anger as she was now.
“You are very close to your twin, are you not, Ian? I wonder just how close the two of you are joined through your god?”
“I’m a Highlander. I will withstand any amount of pain you give me,” Ian retorted, his lips raised in a sneer.
Isla was impressed with the Warrior, but with his comments, he wouldn’t live long at all.
“I will make sure you withstand all of the pain I give you,” Deirdre said. “I wonder, though, have you thought about how Duncan will endure the pain, knowing you are suffering as you will?”
In a flash Ian jerked out of the guards’ hold and launched himself at Deirdre. “I’ll kill you,” he bellowed.
Deirdre’s primary weapon, her hair, halted Ian before he could reach her. The white locks squeezed his neck until he passed out from lack of air. Once Deirdre released him and Ian fell to the floor, the pale blue tint of his skin faded away.
Lying just steps away from Isla was a man with short, light brown hair and a kilt so frayed and faded that she could barely make out the colors.
William and the two guards lifted Ian and carried him from the chamber, leaving Isla alone with Deirdre and Broc. Isla at one time had thought Broc might betray Deirdre, but the dark blue Warrior was as faithful as ever.
