Quinn sighed and nodded. “I wish I could guarantee that you would be safe, but down here, no one is safe.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Duncan and Arran will be with you always. I’ve told them, and I will tell you, Deirdre willna allow me to return, but be on the lookout for any signs you could escape. It will be quick, and you’ll have to be ready at a moment’s notice.”
She brushed aside a lock of his light brown hair from his eyes. “And you? While we escape, you still think to stay here?”
“Aye.”
The way he said it was so final.
“I know what you would say, and I ask that you doona,” Quinn said. “This is hard enough as it is, and the thought of leaving you here…I don’t like it, Marcail.”
“Whenever I was indecisive about something, my grandmother used to tell me to follow my heart, that it would guide me to do the right thing.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. For you, for my brothers, for everyone.”
The knot of fear and dread grew in Marcail’s chest until she found it difficult to breath. “And you think by giving Deirdre a child you will be helping us?”
Quinn smiled then and fingered one of her braids. “I never said I would give her a child.”
“But…” Marcail shook her head. “If you go to her, that’s exactly what she will expect.”
“No doubt that’s exactly what she will expect, but I plan to make things interesting. I will try and give you and the others time to flee this godawful mountain and find my brothers.”
Marcail threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “You are risking so much.”
“Someone has to, and I’m the perfect one.” His hands rubbed up and down her back.
And that was the problem. He was too perfect.
Twenty-four
Broc had survived another meeting with Deirdre. Every time he was with her he expected her to reveal that she knew of his duplicity. It was a dangerous game he played, but one he had no choice but to take part in.
He had hoped to speak to Quinn privately the day before, but Isla had demanded to go along with him. The petite
From what he had seen, Isla was a force to be reckoned with, which was why he didn’t try to dissuade her from accompanying him to the Pit. Deirdre may very well have sent Isla to spy on him as Deirdre was wont to do.
Broc had seen the careful way Isla had moved as she made her way down to the Pit. She had been punished by Deirdre, as they all had at one time or another. Deirdre liked to make sure everyone knew she could kill them any time she wanted.
As Broc walked through the corridors, his wings scraped the top of the ceiling. He hated being in the mountain. The freedom of an open sky, the taste of the air upon his body, that’s what he craved.
And Sonya.
His hands fisted as he thought of the Druid. Ramsey had told him Sonya was at MacLeod Castle, but Broc hadn’t been able to see for himself. He worried endlessly for her, and until he was free of Deirdre, both Sonya and her sister, Anice, would have to stay hidden.
Broc ignored the black-veiled servants who stood aside to let him pass. His mind, like always, was on Sonya. She didn’t know of him, didn’t know he had been the one to save her and her sister from slaughter when they were but infants. And he didn’t want her to know.
He forced Sonya to the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand. Broc was on his way to see Quinn again. He had hoped Deirdre was still too angry to speak to Quinn, but she had heard of Quinn’s request to see her.
If there was time, Broc planned to let Quinn know his brothers were on their way. How soon they’d arrive, though, was the question. Broc had no doubt the MacLeod brothers would think of a way to get to the mountain without being captured. At least he hoped they did.
Broc paused in mid stride as he reached the stairway that veered off into different directions. He could turn to his right and go up the stairs toward Deirdre’s chambers, or he could go forward and take the steps that would lead to the Pit. However, it was the flight of stairs on his left that led deep into the bottom of the mountain from which he heard the unmistakable roar of a Warrior.
As far as Broc knew, there was no one being kept below, had never been anyone kept below. But it was obvious by the angry, lonesome roar he heard that someone had been put down there.
Broc decided he’d look for himself later. The more he knew what Deirdre had going on, the better for the MacLeods.
With a sigh, Broc took the stairs in front of him and proceeded to the Pit. There were always at least two guards posted outside the door. Broc always thought it was useless. The door was locked with black magic. It didn’t matter how strong a Warrior was, he wasn’t getting out of the Pit unless Deirdre wanted him out.
Broc greeted the guards and peered through the window of the door. The torches Deirdre allowed were scarce, but their red-orange flames helped to beat back the darkness. He found it amusing Deirdre had need of the torches to see when she was as powerful as she claimed to be.
Broc took a deep breath because things were about to get very interesting.
Quinn let his fingers run though the sable length of Marcail’s hair as he held her against his chest. He could feel her unease, knew that she was more scared than she wanted him to see. She was such a brave lass, a woman he would be proud to call his own. And would call his own if he were able.
Marcail lifted her head so that she looked at him. He gazed into her clear turquoise eyes and tried to memorize every inch of her face.
“I wish I could have met you before,” Quinn said. “You would have been good for my soul.”
“Just your soul?” she asked with a teasing grin.
He shook his head. “You have been good for me.”
“And you have been good for me.” Her brow furrowed for a moment. “Quinn, there is much that I would tell you of how I feel.”
He put his finger over her lips. If she told him she cared about him, he wouldn’t be able to leave her. Just thinking she had any feelings for him made his heart skip a beat.
Quinn kissed her. He let himself drown in her intoxicating taste. He wished, then, he had made love to her instead of standing guard. There were many ways Quinn wanted to enjoy her body, many ways he wanted to watch as she peaked and screamed his name.
Her arms wound around his neck and her fingers slid into his hair. He groaned and deepened the kiss, intent on having her one last time.
“Quinn!”
Both of their heads swiveled to the side. Quinn closed his eyes with regret. When he opened them, the fear he saw in Marcail’s depths ate away at his soul.
“I’ll get you out of here,” he vowed. “Just promise me you’ll stay hidden.”
She nodded woodenly. “Quinn, I…stay safe.”
He wondered what she had been about to say, but decided it was best if he didn’t know. “You as well.”
The hardest thing he had ever done was lowering his arms from her body and moving away from her. He stood to find Arran and Duncan waiting for him.
“We canna change your mind?” Duncan asked.
“Nay, my friend, you canna.”
Arran slapped him on the shoulder. “Doona let her take your soul.”
