The copper Warrior raised a brow when he caught sight of her. “Have you lost your way, wee Druid?”
She hated being smaller than others because someone always used that against her. She looked up at the tall Warrior and the thick copper horns. “I know my way.”
“Do you? Since you’ve come to me, I gather you want something now that MacLeod is gone?”
“I do want something from you.”
He pushed off the wall and smiled down at her. “Protection? Have you come to realize Arran and Duncan are lacking?”
“What I’ve come to realize is that you are Deirdre’s spy.”
He blinked, taken aback by her words. Marcail liked that she had surprised him.
“Have you nothing to say?” she asked.
“If you were a Warrior, I would kill you for even speaking those words.”
Marcail knew enough to be afraid, but she knew in her gut her suspicions were correct. “Because they are true perhaps?”
“God’s teeth, you are bold, woman. Is that what Quinn found so appealing about you?”
She refused to allow the discussion to turn. “Why are you spying for Deirdre?”
He took a step toward her and peeled back his lips to show his fangs. “If I were you, I would forget we ever had this conversation and focus your attention on staying alive.”
A low, tortured moan filled the Pit. She knew instantly it was Duncan. Marcail forgot about Charon and rushed into Duncan’s lair to find him lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his waist as he curled into himself.
“Marcail,” Arran snapped. “Get back to Quinn’s cave.”
A trickle of blood ran from the corner of Duncan’s mouth. Whatever he was suffering was bad. She needed her magic to help, and she’d do whatever was needed to ensure her magic worked. “I can help him.”
Arran shook his head. “No one can help him.”
She didn’t bother arguing. Instead, she shoved Arran out of the way and knelt beside Duncan. She put her hand to his head and felt the heat of his skin. He trembled uncontrollably, and his eyes were squeezed tight.
Marcail licked her lips and prayed her magic would come to her easily. She concentrated on her magic deep inside her just as her grandmother had taught her. The musical chanting began again, just a whisper that floated around her. It took a moment, but her magic shifted inside her as the chanting faded.
She wasted no time in celebrating such a feat but pushed her magic through her hands into Duncan. With the contact she instantly felt the pain and agony writhing inside the Warrior. As soon as she began to pull the emotions out of Duncan, Marcail became dizzy and nauseous.
Duncan’s suffering was so great that it took her longer than she expected to take his feelings into herself. By the time she was finished, her body ached so, she couldn’t lift her hand to brush away the hair in her eyes. At least Duncan rested comfortably now.
“What did you do?” Arran asked, his voice tight.
“I took his emotions. It’s what my magic can do. He was suffering, and I knew I could help.”
Arran glanced from her to Duncan and back to her. “Where do the emotions go?”
Marcail tried to shrug but only ended up losing her balance. Arran’s hands gripped her shoulders as he cursed.
“Quinn is going to kill me,” he murmured.
“Nay. Quinn will never know.”
Arran mumbled something under his breath and pulled her to her feet. “Come, Marcail. You need to rest.”
She tried to walk, but no matter how many times she told her feet to move, they wouldn’t budge. Arran ended up lifting her in his arms. As they left Duncan’s cave she spotted Charon watching them, his copper gaze centered on her.
Marcail wanted to tell Arran her suspicions about Charon, but her stomach rolled viciously. She scrambled out of Arran’s arms just as he reached Quinn’s cave and emptied her stomach.
With the help of Arran she lay down on the slab. The amount of feelings she had taken from Duncan was more than she had ever pulled from a person before. She wasn’t sure how the Warrior had stood the emotions, and the longer they were inside her, the more they made her ill.
Tremors racked her body as her strength melted away. It hurt to breathe, and she flashed from hot to cold with each heartbeat.
“Marcail, tell me what you need?” Arran asked.
“She needs time.”
Marcail cracked open her eyes to find Charon standing at the entrance to the cave.
Arran growled at the intrusion. “Get out.”
“Heed me, Arran,” Charon said in a low voice. “She may get worse. Doona leave her side and give her plenty of water.”
Marcail had to close her eyes again when the room began to spin. Even lying down she felt as if she were adrift on the sea.
She must have dozed because when she opened her eyes the next time she felt better, but any small movement sent quivers through her stomach.
“What did you do to me?”
She turned her head to see Duncan walk toward her. She licked her lips and said, “I used magic.”
He went down on his haunches beside her. “You felt what was inside me, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “I don’t know how long the emotions will be gone.”
“I will be prepared for them next time.”
She didn’t know how anyone prepared for pain the like of which had been inside Duncan. “I didn’t know you were sick.”
“I wasn’t.”
And then she knew. “Ian,” she whispered.
Duncan gave a slow nod of his head.
“I’m so sorry, Duncan.”
“I would trade places with him if I could.”
She covered his hand with hers. “I will be there next time to take the pain away again.”
“Nay,” Duncan said. “You have made yourself terribly ill. I appreciate what you have done, but you canna do it again.”
Arguing with him was pointless, so she let the matter go. For now. She would help him again, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it because he would be gripped by the agony of his brother’s torture.
“Rest, Marcail. Arran and I are guarding you.”
“Have you heard from Quinn?”
Duncan shook his head. “There has been nothing, and it has been hours.”
He didn’t say the words they all knew in their hearts, that they might never see Quinn again.
Cara stood on the battlements of MacLeod Castle, her gaze to the north where her beloved Lucan had traveled with the others. She missed her husband, the ache in her chest from his absence growing each day. But worse than that was the worry that Deirdre would capture him as she had Quinn.
Everything Lucan and Fallon had begun with the castle had ground to a halt. No longer did Cara hear the laughter and banter of the Warriors as they worked to reconstruct the towers and rebuild the cottages from the village.
The castle seemed more deserted than it had the day she had gazed at it before Lucan had saved her life. Cara was sure she would go daft if she were alone.
But she wasn’t. Lucan had asked Camdyn to stay behind. The Warrior hadn’t seemed to mind, but she had seen him looking into the distance as she did now. There was also Sonya, the other Druid. Sonya had wanted to accompany the group to Cairn Toul Mountain, but she had stayed behind to help Malcolm recover from his wounds.
Cara sighed as she thought of Larena’s cousin. He was the only man at the castle who wasn’t a Warrior. Malcolm had risked much to help Larena stay hidden from Deirdre.
If only Malcolm hadn’t been attacked by Warriors and left for dead. As it was, he was scarred and his right
