“I’m trying to help you and Quinn.”
She wanted to believe Broc, but since she couldn’t see his face, she couldn’t look into his eyes and see his emotions. “Is there a light?”
No sooner had she said the words than a candle flared to life. Broc lit two more before he folded his arms over his chest.
“Tell me why you are helping me,” she urged.
Broc gave a slow shake of his head. “Does it matter? I have my reasons.”
Marcail wanted to know those reasons, but she could tell by the stubborn set of his jaw that she would get no more out of him. She had to decide whether to trust him or not, and with her life on the line, she didn’t have much of a choice.
“All right.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to help get Quinn out, but first, I need to get you away from Deirdre. She learned you were in the Pit.”
Somehow, that didn’t surprise her. “Did Charon tell her?”
“Aye,” Broc mumbled. “Doona blame the Warrior, though. Deirdre has ways of extracting information whether a person wants to give it or not. I’m surprised you were able to stay in the Pit as long as you have.”
“It was Quinn. He kept me safe.”
Broc nodded. “Everyone knows that.”
“Deirdre won’t be happy with him.”
“She ordered me to bring you to her. I doona know her plans for you, but they canna be good. I heard that she has used you to get Quinn into her bed faster.”
Marcail leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut. “Dear God. That cannot happen. Quinn cannot give her the baby she wants.”
“I agree. I’m going to tell Deirdre that you escaped.”
“Won’t she punish you?”
One side of Broc’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “I can withstand it. The important thing is for you to get out of the mountain. Take this,” he said and handed her what looked like a black veil.
“What is it?”
“The servants wear them. It will cover your face and keep you unnoticed. Watch your hair though. All of the women have had their hair shorn off. Nothing of yours can show.”
“Does my gown matter?” she said as she looked down to find it stained.
“Aye. I’ve procured one of the servants’ gowns for you as well.”
She prayed Broc was truly helping her and not setting her up for Deirdre’s amusement. “Thank you.”
“The servants keep their heads down and doona speak unless spoken to. You should be able to move freely. To depart the mountain, you need to leave this chamber and turn right. The corridor is long, but stay on it. Doona venture down any of the stairwells. If you stay on the main corridor it will lead you to the upper level.”
She stared at him, absorbing everything he said. “I understand.”
“There is a doorway on the top level. You’ll have to walk past Deirdre’s chambers. Her doors are always shut and Warriors are standing guard. Once you pass them, you’ll take the next hallway to the left. It will take you up a flight of stairs to the door. The door isna easily seen by mortals. You’ll have to search for the handle.”
“First hallway on the left after Deirdre’s chamber,” she repeated.
“I’m not going to be able to be with you. When I leave, I’ll have to raise the alarm immediately lest Deirdre become suspicious. Get changed and out of here as soon as you can.”
Marcail licked her lips and swallowed. “I will.”
He paused at the door and turned to look at her. “Good luck.”
“Thank you, Broc. If you ever need anything, all you need to do is ask.”
He gave her a curt nod, and then he was gone.
Marcail jerked off her gown and hurried to pull on the one given to her. It was coarse and bleached of all color, but it would help her blend in.
She left her hair tucked into the back of the gown and pulled the veil over her head, making sure her face was covered.
The veil was long and hung past her shoulders, and it wasn’t easy to see through the dark material. Anything, however, was better than what awaited her with Deirdre.
Marcail blew out the candles and opened the door. She glanced first one way, then the other before she stepped into the corridor. She kept her head down as Broc had advised her.
Broc hadn’t lied about spreading the alarm right away. Several Warriors came running toward her. Marcail’s heart pounded so loudly in her chest she was sure they would hear it.
She stopped and put her back to the wall to allow the Warriors to pass. They didn’t look her way as they rushed down the hall.
Marcail smiled to herself as relief poured through her. Thanks to Broc, she would make it out of the mountain for sure.
Twenty-nine
Quinn stared at the stone wall in front of him. He hadn’t risen from the foot of Deirdre’s bed since he’d learned she knew of Marcail.
All he could think about was Marcail and her extraordinary, striking turquoise eyes and her small braids that framed her face and were held together by gold bands. He could still taste the sweet innocence of her kiss, still feel the way her arms locked around him, and how he was the first to awaken the desires in her body.
He had thought she would be safe in the Pit until he could free her and his men. How had he been so wrong? Who had told Deirdre?
And then he knew. Charon.
The copper-skinned bastard would pay for putting Marcail’s life in danger, of that Quinn vowed. He would enjoy making Charon suffer long and repeatedly.
Quinn raked his hands through his hair as he hung his head to his chest. Deirdre had left him in her chambers, locked he was sure. She hadn’t said anything, just turned and left when one of the wyrran whispered something in her ear. He wasn’t sure if Deirdre would release Marcail as he’d asked or not.
Maybe he could talk Deirdre out of killing her. At least if Marcail was somewhere in the mountain he would be able to reach her somehow.
But he knew Deirdre wouldn’t be satisfied until Marcail was dead. Deirdre was too spiteful to do anything else.
Quinn didn’t think he could hate Deirdre more, but it seemed he was wrong. He was angry, aye, but the sadness over losing Marcail outweighed the fury.
He looked down at his hands. No claws were visible, and his skin held no hint of blackness at all. It was almost as if the god was no longer inside him.
The door to the chamber flew open. Quinn didn’t turn to look at Deirdre. He could feel her black magic and the evil inside her.
“Marcail is waiting,” Deirdre said. “She’s most insistent upon leaving my mountain. I don’t understand how anyone could want to leave this beautiful place.”
Quinn didn’t bother to reply. He rose and faced Deirdre, thankful that Marcail would be able to leave. “Take me to her.”
Deirdre raised a white brow. “Don’t try to talk to her, Quinn. I’m allowing you to see her off. That should be good enough.”
It wasn’t, but if he complained, Deirdre was likely to keep him in the chamber. “Take me to her,” he repeated.
