Wicked Highlander Read online

  With a nod, Deirdre bade the trapdoor open. Marcail screamed as the floor shifted and titled beneath her. The Druid’s feet slid out from underneath her. She clawed at the stones, looking for a way to keep herself from falling into the gaping darkness below her.

  Deirdre wasn’t worried that Marcail might get free. Her Warriors loved a good show, and they wouldn’t be denied.

  She wanted to watch what Quinn and the others would do to the Druid, but she knew the anticipation of seeing Quinn would make their joining that much better.

  Deirdre turned her back on the Pit and the shouts and whistles of the Warriors. She headed toward her chamber so she could dream about Quinn. Already her body throbbed for his touch.

  But it wouldn’t be long now. He was succumbing to what the Pit was best for—beating away hope. Just a few more weeks and he would be hers.

  Isla, hidden high above Deirdre in the shadows, gazed at the action below her with interest. As one of the few Druids who hadn’t been killed, Isla was interested in what made Deirdre stay her hand with this newest Druid—Marcail.

  It hadn’t taken Isla long to discover that Marcail had buried in her mind the spell that would bind the gods in the Warriors.

  That alone was what prompted Deirdre to have Dunmore, her mortal huntsman, seek out Marcail. It had taken Dunmore much longer than Deirdre had expected to bring Marcail to the mountain.

  Isla had observed Druid after Druid die beneath Deirdre’s magic. Deirdre enjoyed spilling a Druid’s blood since it gave her magic added power, but she usually preferred to do it in her special chamber where she could be sure no magic escaped. Isla had sensed Marcail’s potent magic as soon as the Druid had entered the mountain, so why then had Deirdre gathered everyone in the cavern?

  No sooner had that thought crossed Isla’s mind than the Warriors hauled Marcail to the entrance of the Pit. Isla’s fingers dug into the stones, causing her nails to bend backward. She didn’t feel the blood oozing from the sensitive skin beneath her nails as she watched Marcail fall into the Pit.

  She gazed into the Pit, waiting for the Warriors to pounce on Marcail and tear her to shreds as they normally did anything that had the misfortune to be thrown into the darkness. Isla glanced at the place Deirdre had been only to find her gone.

  When Isla turned her attention back to the Pit, she saw a black-skinned Warrior leap on top of Marcail. Isla had never figured Quinn MacLeod would give in to his god so easily. After everything she had heard of the MacLeod brothers, she was disappointed.

  She began to turn away when she saw Quinn toss something out of the way, something that looked suspiciously like the body of a woman.

  A slow smile spread on Isla’s face.

  Two

  The scream lodged in Marcail’s throat as the floor slanted under her feet. She was falling. Into the Pit.

  Stay strong. Focus. Think!

  Her body hit the stone with a loud smack, and she scrambled to hold on to the sloping rock. She ignored the pain throughout her body and concentrated on not falling. Her fingers kept slipping on the smooth stone, the darkness rising up to meet her faster and faster with the lowering of the door.

  Then, thank the saints, she found a handhold. She held on for dear life, her fingers aching with the effort. She wanted just a moment to get her bearings before she clawed her way back out.

  But she should have known better.

  She had forgotten the Warriors and wyrran surrounding her. Too late she saw the Warrior come at her out of the corner of her eye. His foot connected with her ribs, the pain sharp and terrible.

  Her fingers released their hold at the same time her brain screamed at her not to let go.

  And then she was falling.

  She hit the ground on her side with a thud that left her dazed and her head spinning. She didn’t move, afraid of the aches she would find. Seconds ticked by as the crowd above her shouted and roared their excitement. What did they know that she did not?

  Then she heard it.

  She wasn’t alone in the darkness.

  Marcail pushed past the hurt of her body and rose up on an elbow to peer into the shadows. Who was there? Or rather…what? She could feel them watching her. And waiting.

  The hairs on the back of her neck lifted as she heard the first growl. Her stomach flipped then fell to her feet as fear took hold of her with a cold hand. She knew then what surrounded her. Warriors.

  Her entire body hurt, and she feared her ribs might be cracked. There wasn’t time to think about that, though, not when certain death faced her.

  The first Warrior stepped out of the shadows at her feet. His skin was bright green, like the color of the first buds of spring. He crouched before her, his lips pulled back to bare his large fangs. His hair was matted and of indistinguishable color with all the filth in it as it hung in his face hiding everything but the blazing green eyes.

  He was going to pounce on her and rip her flesh with his long, green claws. She had used all her courage with Deirdre. Now, all that was left was the terror that settled around her like a heavy cloak, preventing her from moving or even breathing.

  Get up. You’re a Druid. Act like it.

  But she had no weapons, nothing to defend herself with other than some magic that would do no good against these Warriors. She wanted to curl in a ball and let the tears come.

  What would Grandmother think?

  Another Warrior joined the first. This one had skin the color of her favorite gray mare. The Warrior tilted his head to the side and licked his lips.

  Please, God.

  A Warrior of white stepped out of the shadows and regarded her with his pool of milky white eyes. He seemed almost uninterested in her, as if he cared more about what the other Warriors were doing.

  A deep, feral growl filled with menace and death sounded to her left that made all the other Warriors look in that direction. A cold sweat broke out over Marcail’s skin as dread overtook her.

  It happened so fast. One moment the Warriors were looking in the darkness, the next the growling began in earnest. It grew and grew until her ears rang with it.

  And then something large and black leapt out of the shadows to land on top of her.

  Marcail swallowed a scream and braced herself for the pain she knew was coming. Only there was nothing.

  Something grabbed her about the waist and tossed her into the shadows as if she weighed nothing more than a leaf. Marcail’s already injured body shook with renewed pain as she landed against the stone walls. Her head banged against something hard.

  She tried to focus her eyes, but all she saw was a mass of colored bodies flaying each other alive.

  And then darkness took her.

  Quinn waited until the other Warriors realized he would battle them forever if he had to. One by one, they drifted back to their caves. It wasn’t until he was the only one left standing that he moved back into the shadows. It had taken him days to fight each one of the Warriors in the Pit to stamp his dominance on them after he’d first arrived.

  They continued to test him, though. After all, they were Highlanders.

  However, there were a few who sided with him and watched his back. Not that he fully trusted anyone in this Hell.

  Quinn sighed and turned to where he had tossed the female. He had smelled her before Deirdre had thrown her into the Pit. Her scent was of sunshine and rain. He had known what Deirdre wanted of the Warriors as soon as the Druid had been brought to the trapdoor, and he’d given them a warning to stay away from the Druid.

  He wasn’t surprised when the other Warriors had gone toward her. Not that he blamed them. The woman was just what any man would want after being in the dark for so long, especially with the cravings, both physically and mentally, the Warriors dealt with constantly.

  But Quinn knew he couldn’t give in to the urges of Apodatoo, the god of revenge, who was inside him. Not now, not before his brothers came for him.

  The gods had risen from the ravages of Hell all those centu
ries ago to take over the bodies of the strongest Celtic warriors to battle Rome and her great army.

  The Druids hadn’t realized what they had done when they released the gods, not that they’d had a choice. Rome had been destroying Britain bit by bit. The Celts did what they had to do to make sure the land stayed theirs.

  Yet, when the Romans had been defeated, the Druids hadn’t been able to coax the gods to leave the men. The Celts had become Warriors, men with immortality and powers beyond their imagining. As powerful as the Druids were with their magic, they were no match for the Warriors.

  The Druids, split into sects of good and evil, joined forces to bind the gods inside the men as a last resort. It worked, but none of them could have realized the gods would travel from generation to generation through the blood in the hopes of being loosened once more.

  And then it had happened. Starting with Quinn and his brothers.

  Quinn squeezed his eyes closed as he thought of that fateful day and the death and blood that had coated the land he loved. His life had been irrevocably altered in a split second, and there was nothing he could do to change it other than fight the god inside him. And hold onto the last shred of hope he possessed.

  In order to keep his god from taking control, Quinn did what he knew his brothers would have done—save the woman.

  He flexed his fingers, his long deadly claws clicking together, and winced at the wounds on his side and back. They would heal, but not fast enough, not if the other Warriors attacked again. And they would. They wanted the woman.

  But so did he.

  He walked into his cave where he had tossed her and stopped in front of her. He had sensed her magic as soon as she landed in the Pit. Just what was Deirdre doing tossing a Druid down here with Warriors? And more importantly, why wasn’t the Druid moving?

  Had he thrown her so hard that he knocked her unconscious? Or worse? Had he killed her? Quinn had tried to pull back his strength, but he forgot sometimes just how strong his god made him.

  Quinn knelt beside the female and put his finger beneath her nose. Her breath washed warm and steady over his black skin, and he let out a sigh of relief.

  “Is she hurt?”

  Quinn looked over his shoulder to find Arran watching him. The white Warrior had recognized Quinn’s name and had aligned with him just days after Quinn was thrown in the Pit.

  “She breathes, but I fear I might have thrown her too hard,” Quinn answered.

  Arran walked toward him slowly, his gaze seeking the shadows where other Warriors waited and watched. In the Pit, none of the Warriors could afford to change out of their god form and risk being killed.

  Quinn glanced at the woman. She had screamed when the stones had moved underneath her, but she hadn’t made a sound since. Not even when one of Deirdre’s Warriors kicked her, and he knew that had to have hurt by her wince.

  “She fell hard,” Arran said. “Many break bones on that plunge.”

  Quinn nodded. He would know since he had broken his arm and some ribs on his fall. If she had broken something he needed to discover where so he could see to it, but he prayed she hadn’t. She was mortal and couldn’t heal as they did.

  “Shall I check?” Arran asked.

  Quinn wanted to refuse Arran’s aid since he didn’t want anyone touching the female. He had claimed her when he saved her. She was his to watch over. Quinn shook his head and realized he was acting as Lucan had done when his brother had brought Cara into their castle. It was ridiculous for Quinn to want the Druid only for himself. Even knowing that didn’t lesson his hunger for her, though.

  A hunger that had begun the moment he saw her bravery, her beauty.

  “You can help,” he relented.

  Together the men inspected her, and to Quinn’s relief found nothing broken. There was a sizable knot on the back of her head, and he feared her ribs would bother her for some time. If they weren’t cracked, they could be bruised, and even that would be painful and slow to mend.

  “What are you going to do with her?” Arran asked as he stood.

  Quinn shrugged and sat on a large rock next to the female. “I doona know.”

  “Deirdre obviously wants her dead.”

  “After the show we provided them, they’ll think she is.”

  Arran snorted. “Deirdre wants you, in case you’ve forgotten. She’s stayed away, but how much longer do you think that will last before she comes for you? And then finds the female?”

  “I have no answers, Arran. I only know that I had to save the woman. I will continue to protect her as long as I’m in the Pit.”

  Arran raised his hands in front of himself, his white claws gleaming in the darkness and his long dark hair blending with the shadows. “Easy, Quinn. You know you have my loyalty. I just hope you know what you’re doing. A female down here with Warriors who haven’t seen—or smelled—a woman in years could be a terrible thing.”

  Quinn ran a hand down his face. What had he done? Aye, the Druid had smelled heavenly, and aye, she had brought out his protective instincts. But Arran was right. The other Warriors in the Pit would want her, and not to tear apart. They would want to slake their lust on her.

  And, God help him, he couldn’t blame them.

  His cock had been hard since he’d gotten a whiff of her sunshine-and-rain scent. Despite the monster that he was and the evil place he was in, he couldn’t stand by and not help her.

  “Ian and Duncan have given you their loyalty,” Arran said. “They will aid us in this.”

  “Aye.” Quinn glanced at the two Warriors who stood on either side of the cave that Quinn used as his own. The twins. Just as with Quinn and his brothers, they were strong fighters, but when they fought together, they were lethal.

  Ian and Duncan would watch his back. But how long would that last before lust took over?

  Quinn’s gaze caught that of a copper-skinned Warrior across the way. Charon kept to himself, neither fighting nor aligning with Quinn, but he watched Quinn often. Yet, he could see Charon’s copper eyes on the woman, the lust filling his gaze.

  Holy Hell.

  Quinn blew out a long breath. Life was Hell in the Pit, and he had just added to his torment. He told himself he saved the woman because he was holding on to his humanity, but in truth, he did it because once he had smelled her, seen her, he had to have her.

  What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be concentrating on keeping his god from taking over as he waited for Fallon and Lucan to rescue him. Quinn had no doubt his brothers would come for him. He both longed for it and feared it.

  If Deirdre captured his brothers as well, they were doomed in ways he couldn’t begin to fathom.

  Quinn cursed himself as he had done many times since he had woken in Deirdre’s hated mountain. He had run away from his brothers and the love they’d given because he couldn’t stand to be around Lucan and his woman, Cara. The love they shared reminded Quinn of everything he had never had, and never would have.

  But now all he wanted was to go back to their ruin of a castle and all the memories that were in the crumbling stones.

  “We can hide her for a time.”

  Quinn jerked as Arran’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “Maybe. There are at least twelve Warriors down here. Many we doona see because they keep to themselves.”

  “After you made it clear you ruled the Pit,” Arran said with a hint of humor in his voice.

  Quinn cut his eyes to Arran and snorted. The week it had taken him to dominate the Pit had been excruciating and not just because of his bodily injuries, but because he’d had to let his god loose in order to survive.

  Only he, Arran, and the twins knew that when Quinn was in the shadows of his cave he transformed back into a man. It was a huge chance Quinn took each time, but he was already so close to allowing his god to take over that he couldn’t take the possibility of it actually happening.

  Not after surviving this mountain for these past weeks.

  “Did you hear what Deirdre
said?” Quinn asked to turn his thoughts away from the hopelessness that took more of his soul every day.

  Arran went down on his haunches next to him. “I was watching the others to see what they did when the woman fell. The female is a Druid, isn’t she? I sense magic.”

  “You’re correct, Arran. She’s a Druid. Why not kill her like Deirdre has done other Druids, though?” Duncan asked.

  Quinn glanced to his right to find the light blue skin of one of the twins. Behind Duncan was Ian, who moved closer to be able to hear. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, Duncan. Every Druid she brings to the mountain she kills.”

  “There are a few who still live,” Arran corrected him. “Isla is one Deirdre has kept alive.”

  “Aye.” Quinn scratched his whiskered jaw, wishing he could shave. “Some she keeps. But not this one. Why?”

  Ian crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the woman at his feet with a raised brow. “What is so special about her?”

  Quinn motioned his men closer. He didn’t want this getting any further. “There has to be a good reason for Deirdre not to have killed this Druid and used her blood for power. Do any of you have any idea what that could be?”

  The twins exchanged a glance with each other before shaking their heads.

  “We know next to nothing of Druids, Quinn. You know this,” Duncan said.

  Quinn looked at Arran to find the Warrior’s brow furrowed, his gaze distant. “Arran?”

  “I would say the Druid knew something, but if she did, Deirdre would just kill her. It doesna make sense. There has to be a good reason for Deirdre not to have killed her to gain her magic.”

  “We need to find out what that reason is.” Quinn rose to his feet and looked at his hands with his black claws still showing. The claws were long and sharp enough to cut through a tree. They weren’t meant to handle the precious skin of a woman.