She considered this. It could be, but Quinn hadn’t seemed intent on bedding her.
Deirdre liked it the more she thought of it.
She walked to the bed and trailed her hands from Quinn’s feet to his chest. He was snoring slightly so she tugged off his boots and placed them by the bed. She then straightened and gazed down at him.
She knew firsthand what the Warriors experienced in the Pit and sleep hadn’t been something Quinn did often. A strange new emotion filled her, one of almost…kindness as she considered allowing him to rest.
Deirdre moved to the other side of the bed and crawled in beside him. She touched his jaw for a moment before she turned on her side to sleep. They had eternity together now. What was a few more hours?
Quinn’s eyes slid open as Deirdre turned away from him. He couldn’t believe his deception had worked, but he had been desperate for anything so he wouldn’t have to touch her. It was bad enough that she was in the same bed with him.
It had been a long time since he had lain in a bed. Waking from being beaten in Deirdre’s bed didn’t count in his mind.
Even once he and his brothers had returned to the castle he had been unable to sleep in the bed of his old chamber. The night had been his hunting ground. He would race across the land he loved so much, uncaring of what animals saw him.
When his loneliness got too terrible and the need to relieve his cock grew too much, he would find a town and make quick use of a woman.
Then he would roam the castle and the cliffs. Sometimes he would doze for an hour or two, but he was always awake to see the sun crest the horizon.
But it was the softness of the bed that pulled at him now, reminding him how nice it would be to have Marcail beside him. He had made love to her several times, but not once in a bed with fresh linen sheets beneath her beautiful body.
He wanted to see her in the sunlight, to feast upon her curves in the light of day. He wanted to see her spread upon his bed, the MacLeod plaid beneath her with candlelight and firelight burnishing her skin in a golden glow.
There was so much he wanted to do with Marcail. Too much.
Quinn’s chest ached as he imagined Marcail huddled in his cave in the cold darkness. It was no place for a Druid, especially one that meant so much to him.
He knew he cared for Marcail, but the caring went much deeper than the responsibility he ought to feel. Quinn wasn’t sure when his feelings had changed, he just knew they had.
And now he wouldn’t ever be able to touch her, kiss her again.
He didn’t want Marcail to see what he would become with Deirdre. Quinn wouldn’t be able to carry out his plan if he knew Marcail looked at him with shame and revulsion.
Maybe he should have told Marcail what he intended to do, but he hadn’t wanted to give her a chance to talk him out of anything. As it was, he wanted to rush back to her and let Deirdre torture him however she wanted.
Except the torture would be on anyone but him, and that’s what kept him in her bed instead of returning to Marcail.
The next few days were going to be the hardest. He could hold Deirdre off for only so long before she demanded the use of his body.
At least his brothers were safe for the time being, and would continue to be so until the child came.
Quinn shuddered thinking of such a child being created. The conception of a baby was supposed to be a joyous occasion. He had to steel himself with the knowledge that he would have to kill the child the first chance he got. Something so evil couldn’t walk upon this earth for even a heartbeat.
But what kind of man was he that plotted to kill his own infant when he mourned the loss of a son so much it nearly destroyed him?
Twenty-seven
Marcail swayed with the mesmerizing music. She had been ecstatic when she had heard the magical chant once again. For a while, she had thought it was gone from her forever, but one thought of Quinn and the music returned in a rush of sound.
The words grew louder, but she still could only understand a few of them. She sensed they were important, but for what, she didn’t know.
She let herself succumb to the melody, let it surround her and pull her into its magic. It sounded as if hundreds of voices chanted, but she could see no one.
The breeze that had moved gently around her began to swirl and grow stronger as the chanting rose. It was as if Marcail stood in the center of everything as the magic moved toward her then retreated only to move forward once again, growing closer and closer each time it came at her.
She felt protected, as if she belonged to the magic. The more it touched her, the stronger she felt. It was a wondrous, beautiful feeling she never wanted to end.
The words of the chanting became clear in a blink, their meaning known. She gasped, her heart skipping a beat when she realized the mantra was the spell to bind the gods.
Marcail couldn’t believe she finally was able to find the spell, though in the back of her mind, she knew she hadn’t done it alone. Was it her grandmother? Or was it something else?
It didn’t matter. She would be able to help Quinn defeat Deirdre. Excitement poured through her at the prospect.
Her concentration was shattered and the beautiful melody vanished as hands gently shook her. Marcail snapped open her eyes to find Arran and Duncan squatting before her.
“Why did you do that?” she cried. Instead of listening and memorizing the chant, she had been thinking of Quinn. She only knew half of the spell, and half wasn’t good enough.
“You’ve been sitting like that for hours, Marcail,” Arran said. “We grew worried.”
She bit her lip. She didn’t want them to know she had been so close to freeing them, at least not yet. If word spread before she learned the rest of the spell, it would do them no good. Plus, she had to worry about Deirdre discovering her and ending all hope.
Marcail rose from her position on the floor and moved to the water to splash her face. “Next time, please do not disturb me. I’m not being harmed in any way.”
“You were sitting so ever since Quinn was taken. It’s been almost a full day,” Duncan said.
Marcail paused. She hadn’t realized the chanting had pulled her under so completely. Would she have made it back had the Warriors not woken her? She wasn’t sure.
She knew she would have to tell them before she attempted to find the chant again.
“What has happened while I’ve been…resting?” she asked.
Arran shook his head, his face grim. “Nothing, and that’s what bothers me.”
“It’s only been a day,” Marcail said. “What did you expect to happen?”
“Something,” Duncan replied. “It’s almost as if the mountain is holding its breath.”
Marcail felt the same way. “I know what you mean. It will most likely take Quinn days or weeks before he can manage to help us escape. Until then, we need to stay vigilant as he asked.”
Arran glanced at the entrance to the cave. “It’s more than that, Marcail.”
She looked from Arran to Duncan, then back to Arran. “Tell me.”
Duncan looked away.
It was Arran who finally spoke. “We saw Charon speaking with someone earlier.”
“So,” she said with a smile. That’s what they were worried about? That was nothing. “Charon most likely wants to rule the Pit as Quinn did. Charon figures he’ll talk to some of the Warriors to get them on his side.”
