Ian?”
“I doona think so, not if I know Deirdre.”
“That doesn’t bode well for us then.”
He lifted their hands and kissed the back of hers. “I willna let them take you.” And he meant it, whether she believed him or not.
“I know,” she answered. “It’s strange how your life can alter in the space of a heartbeat. Just the other week I was lamenting the fact that my life was boring. I did the same tasks every day with nothing to look forward to. I was alone, and would likely have been alone for the rest of my days.”
“You aren’t alone now.”
She smiled. “Nay, I’m not. Now, I’m stuck in this mountain wishing I could return to my cottage and pull the same weeds day after day from my garden, collect and dry my herbs, and practice my spells. I didn’t realize how good a life I had until I was brought here. Strange, isn’t it?”
“Nay. For three centuries I’ve gone against my brothers in everything they asked because I couldn’t let go of my rage and guilt. I should have listened to them.”
“Ah, but you’ll have plenty of chances for that,” she teased.
“Will I? I doubt it.” He hated to dampen her mood, but he needed her to understand he wouldn’t be with her much longer.
Just the thought made him want to rip out his own eyes, but it was the truth. He needed to make sure no one else was hurt because of him. And he could do that by Deirdre’s side.
“Please don’t say that,” Marcail whispered.
He cupped her cheek. “I wish there was another way, but there isn’t.”
She blinked rapidly. “I had a cat when I was a little girl. A great big tom, black as midnight. He had the most unusual green eyes, and he was fiercely protective of me.”
Quinn listened to her, understanding her need to change the subject. “Was he?”
“Aye. I found him when he was just a kitten. He would wander off as male cats do, but he always returned. Sometimes he would be so cut up that I wondered if he would live. Thankfully, Grandmother would use her magic to make him better.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died two years ago one winter’s night in my arms. As he had gotten older, he wandered less and less. He got into the habit of sleeping with me every night curled at my feet.” She smiled suddenly. “I would fall asleep listening to him purr.”
Quinn ached to hear the sadness in Marcail’s voice for her beloved pet. She had lost so many people in her life that he didn’t want her to lose any more.
“One morning I woke to hear him wheezing when he breathed. I knew his time was short. He had lived a long life, but I wasn’t ready to let him go. He was in so much pain for days. No matter what I did, I couldn’t call my magic to me to ease him. Three days later he died.”
Quinn didn’t know what to say or even why she had told him that moving story.
Marcail’s turquoise eyes were filled with tears. “I have no control over my magic, Quinn. I want nothing more than to help you, to give you the spell to bind your god, but I cannot.”
He tucked her head into his neck and sighed. He understood all too well the need to help, to control some aspect of what was happening. The only one who had control was Deirdre, and she wouldn’t relinquish that easily.
“My father used to tell us that as men, we should be able to look back over our lives and know we’ve done the best we could on everything. I couldn’t say that before, but I will be able to say it soon.”
Marcail lifted her head to meet his eyes. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
He was humbled by her words, even though he knew they weren’t remotely true. There were many men better than him. “Thank you.”
“When do you think Deirdre will come for you?”
“William will hold off telling her as long as he can. He has become attached to Deirdre and doesna wish to share.”
Marcail giggled. “Attached? Are you telling me he has feelings for her?”
“I’m not sure if it’s genuine feeling or if he just enjoys the power being near her gives him. She’s granted him much command while she’s been angry with me.”
Marcail shifted, her brow furrowed. “That doesn’t give us much time.”
“Much time for what?”
“To convince the others to side with you.”
Quinn loved how her mind worked, but sometimes things weren’t as easy as she made them. “It willna happen. We’ve only got Duncan and Arran. That’s not nearly enough.”
“Do you remember when you told me you thought Charon was a spy?”
He got a sick feeling in his gut as he stared into her eyes. “That’s the real reason you went to speak to him, isn’t it?”
“It is. He didn’t outright admit it, but he didn’t deny it either. I do think he’s the spy, Quinn.”
“Then what made you think he would help?”
She scrunched her face. “I thought maybe whatever Deirdre used to make him spy we could either get back or help him with.”
“And…” Quinn prompted. He had thought to confront Charon that way himself, and was surprised Marcail had done it alone. She had risked much in taking such a chance.
“He refused. Apparently, whatever Deirdre is using to make him spy is too great for him to even consider going against her.”
“Shite,” Quinn murmured. He was short one man with Ian gone. It would help greatly to have Charon on their side.
Any words Marcail might have spoken were drowned out by the unmistakable sound of the trapdoor over the Pit opening. Quinn leapt to his feet and jerked up his breeches.
“Stay in the shadows,” Quinn said as he glanced at Marcail over his shoulder.
He transformed. Quinn reached the cave entrance a moment before something large landed with a heavy thud on the ground. He wasn’t surprised to see the orange skin of a Warrior on the ground.
“Friend or foe?” Arran asked as he stepped beside Quinn.
Quinn didn’t take his eyes from the newcomer. “We’ll find out in a moment.”
Duncan moved to Quinn’s other side. “I’m in need of a fight.”
At that moment the orange-skinned Warrior leapt to his feet, blood running down the side of his face and his kilt ragged and stained. He growled, showing one of his fangs missing.
“I think he’s looking for a fight as well, Duncan,” Quinn said.
But it wasn’t Duncan the Warrior wanted to fight. Quinn lowered his shoulder the moment he saw the orange Warrior come at him. The force propelled the Warrior backward, and Quinn slammed him into the rocks.
“Why did she throw you down here?” Quinn asked.
The newcomer laughed. “She told me you would try to trick me.”
Quinn was so taken aback by his words that he didn’t put his arm up in time to stop his chest from being sliced. He groaned and punched the Warrior on the jaw.
“I willna listen,” the orange Warrior bellowed. “I will die if I listen to you.”
Quinn wrapped his hand around the Warrior’s throat. “If you doona listen to me, you’ll die. Deirdre only sends Warriors down here that she wants to break.”
“We are the evil ones,” the Warrior said as he clawed at Quinn’s fingers. “She is trying to stop us from being made. She tried to stop my god from taking control, but she was too late.”
Quinn tossed the Warrior aside and threw back his head as he roared. Deirdre had sensed the weak soul of the new Warrior, had sensed it and made sure he wouldn’t believe a word Quinn said.
The orange Warrior scrambled to his feet, wary and waiting.
“When were you turned?” Quinn asked.
Frantic orange eyes looked around the Pit at the other Warriors who stood and watched. “Two days ago.”
