He rubbed his hands along her bare arms and felt how cool her skin was. Quinn racked his mind for what Lucan or Fallon would do for the woman. He had no food, no blankets, and nothing to assist with her aches. Had he just prolonged her death?
Quinn sank onto the slab near her legs and allowed himself to think of Lucan and the woman his brother loved. Cara was a perfect fit for his brother in all ways. He wondered if they had gotten married. He supposed they had, though the thought of the ceremony without him left an ache in Quinn’s chest that made it difficult to breathe.
His thoughts then turned to Fallon. As eldest, Fallon had been taught since his birth the duties of a laird. None of them could have guessed an evil like Deirdre would wipe out their clan, leaving nothing behind.
Quinn had seen how difficult it had been for Fallon to deal with the god inside him, but Quinn hadn’t been able to help his brother when he grieved so for his wife and son.
As always Lucan had been there to hold them together. Quinn hated himself for the jealousy he felt toward his brother. Lucan had shouldered so much with Quinn’s rage and Fallon’s drunken stupor that he deserved contentment.
Instead of sharing in the joy with Lucan, Quinn had resented him. Quinn envied Lucan because Lucan had what Quinn had always sought — love. The purest, truest form of love.
But Quinn would never know that kind of affection, of that he was certain.
He turned his eyes to the female beside him. She was petite and so slender she appeared no more than a child at first glance. Until one looked at her chest and saw the curves of breasts, full and pert.
Her gown was of common material, but the gold bands that held her braids told him she was much more than she seemed. As all Druids were.
Unable to help himself, he leaned forward and inhaled her scent again. She smelled so good he almost thought he was back at his castle standing on the cliffs with the sea wind ruffling his hair and the spray of the waves washing over him.
Quinn’s gaze raked her face. Her long, sooty lashes rested against her cheeks, and dark brows arched softly above her eyes. He was curious to know what color her eyes were, to see if they were as exotic as the rest of her.
She had high cheekbones, a small, pert nose, and a mouth that begged to be kissed. His balls clenched, desire making his breathing harsh. He touched a finger to her lips before he could think better of it. They were so soft, so luscious he almost leaned down to taste them.
To savor. To enjoy. To claim.
Quinn fisted his hand and moved it into his lap as his blood quickened and rushed to his cock. But he couldn’t tear his gaze from her. The steady rise and fall of her chest drew his eyes. He wanted to tear her gown from her and see her body in all its naked glory.
To feast his gaze upon her creamy skin, her lush curves. To caress. To hold. To embrace.
“Holy Hell,” he ground out as a wave of lust swallowed him.
It wasn’t as if he had remained celibate like Fallon and Lucan. Nay, Quinn had given in to his body’s urging when he could deny it no longer. His brothers never knew when he had left the castle. With some part of his god always showing, Quinn had left at night, keeping to the shadows and darkness.
But he had never wanted a woman like he wanted to touch, to taste…to
The woman issued a long, low moan that made Quinn yank his gaze to her face and bite back a groan of his own. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arran and the twins also glance her way.
She lifted a shaky hand and touched her forehead, her breath hitching as the pain registered in her mind.
“Don’t move,” he whispered in warning of the pain that was to come.
Three
“You’ve got a rather nasty bump on the back of your head, and I think your ribs are bruised.”
Marcail stilled at the sound of the deep, rich voice that sliced through her like the mist that came down from the mountains. A shiver raked her body that had nothing to do with the cool temperatures that surrounded her.
For that short moment, she forgot the throbbing of her head and how it hurt to breathe. All she could think about was who belonged to such a sensual, commanding voice.
And did she dare find out?
With each pounding inside her head she recalled everything that had happened over the past week, beginning with her running through the forest and being cornered by Dunmore and the wyrran. Then she had been brought to Deirdre and thrown into the Pit.
She remembered being surrounded by Warriors before something big and black leapt on top of her. She sucked in a sharp breath and instantly regretted it as the ache exploded in her chest.
“Easy.”
The same seductive, smooth voice surrounded her once more; his tone left her feeling safe and protected. It was a ruse, she knew, but in her current condition there was nothing she could do about it.
Marcail licked her lips, then bit back a moan as that simple movement caused pain to burst in her head once more. She laid there a moment thinking she heard what sounded like a chant. The more she tried to listen to it, the faster it faded until there was nothing.
Any moment she expected her head to explode from the pain. When nothing happened, she cracked open an eye to see she was surrounded by darkness. She hated the dark because of what it represented — evil. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and concentrated on alleviating the aches of her body.
She placed her hand on her forehead and felt a large, warm hand cover hers. “I have nothing to help with your pain.”
Was there concern in his voice? She swallowed to wet her dry mouth. “I will be all right.”
“You are a healer, then?”
She started to shake her head, but his hand held her still. Instead, she said, “Nay. I was taught how to speed the healing of my body.”
Marcail wasn’t sure why she told the stranger that. She shouldn’t trust him, even if he had saved her. Or had he? Was it just another trick by Deirdre?
“You need to mend yourself, then,” he said, his husky voice dropping even lower. “By saving you, I’ve put you in terrible danger. I will protect you, but with your injuries, it will make it more difficult.”
She never liked being a burden to anyone, but there was something in his voice, a thread of despair and heartache that mirrored her own and caused emotions to stir within her. She had to have his name. “Who are you?”
“My name doesna matter. Rest and heal yourself, Druid.”
The pain of her body began to drag her under, but she fought to stay awake, to learn more about the mysterious man beside her. “Marcail. My name is Marcail.”
“You have my word I will protect you. Now sleep.”
She could have sworn as she drifted off to sleep that he whispered her name.
Quinn lifted his hand from Marcail’s forehead once he was sure she was asleep. He picked up her small hand and placed it on her stomach. Unable to help himself, he ran his fingers over the back of her hand, feeling her soft, supple skin. It wasn’t until his claws touched her that he worried about her discerning what he was.
It had been Warriors, after all, who had thrown her into the Pit. She trusted him now, but how long would that last once she realized she was surrounded by more Warriors — most of whom wanted her for her body?
He told himself to leave her and let her sleep, but he couldn’t make himself rise. He didn’t fight the urge to stay near her. It seemed harmless enough. But when the desire to touch her rose within him, he fisted his hands on
