Forbidden Highlander

Chapter Thirteen

Deirdre tapped her nails on the stone wall of her mountain. She had been waiting impatiently for James and Broc to bring her the female Warrior.

She smiled. A female. Who could have guessed the gods would have chosen a female? Deirdre certainly hadn’t. She wondered if there were more female Warriors. She would send messages to her spies immediately and have them begin to look.

Deirdre glanced to her right to see one of a select few Druids she hadn’t killed. Isla stood unmoving in the corner, so still she could have been mistaken for a statue.

The girl and her sister had been so innocent when Deirdre had captured them. Isla had eyes that could pierce right through you, and their color, so pale a blue they almost looked colorless, left men speechless.

She had used Isla countless times to break men. And kill others. While Isla’s sister had come in handy as aseer. Deirdre considered sending Isla to Quinn, but thought better of it. Quinn was hers. She didn’t want another female anywhere near him.

Just thinking of Quinn brought a rush of longing to her limbs and dampness between her legs. Ever since Deirdre had first seen Quinn she had coveted him. She had sensed the reckless power inside Quinn, seen the fury that consumed him. He was the perfect partner to rule beside her and fulfill the prophecy.

And she would convince him.

Deirdre leaned her face against the cool rocks and closed her eyes. Talk to me, she demanded of the stones.

“We are yours. Command us.”

She relaxed shoulders she hadn’t realized were tense. The stones had a way of soothing her as nothing else could. It was one of the reasons she didn’t leave her mountain. Why should she when she had her kingdom all around her?

“The Warriors come. Empty-handed.”

Deirdre whirled away from the stones and faced the doorway. This was twice her Warriors had returned without her prize. First, it was Cara, and now Larena Monroe.

James’s tall, thick body filled the doorway. He paused and bowed his head before he moved into the light. The candles from the chandelier that hung from the ceiling shed its golden light on his pale green skin.

“Where is she?” Deirdre demanded.

“Ask James,” Broc said as he entered the chamber.

Deirdre shifted her gaze to the blue-skinned Warrior. She longed to touch his wings as his cock filled her. Maybe tonight she would take him to her bed. “Tell me,” she demanded of James.

“She fought back.”

Deirdre raised a brow. “And you expected she wouldn’t? I told you she was a female Warrior. Didn’t she transform in front of you?”

James gave a nonchalant shrug. “She’s quick.”

Deirdre blew out a breath and turned to Broc. “Tell me what happened.”

“James cut her with the claws he dipped in drough blood.”

Rage consumed her. How could James have been so stupid? Deirdre raised her hand, her magic rushing through her, and James slammed against the stones with the force of her power. None of them knew just what kind of dark magic dwelled within her. Maybe it was time they learned.

“Bind him,” she ordered the mountain.

James began to scream as the stones moved to lock around his arms, legs, and head. When he was secure Deirdre moved to stand in front of him. He dangled a few feet off the floor as he continued to try to jerk free of the rocks.

“The only way you’ll get loose is if Larena lives. If she dies, James, the torture I have for you will last for centuries.”

The Warrior swallowed and lowered his eyes to the floor. Deirdre turned away and tried to rein in her anger. The Warriors were hers because they couldn’t control the fury inside them, and that wrath sometimes prevented them from bringing her what she wanted.

“Broc, where is Larena now?”

The winged Warrior shrugged and crossed his arms over his thick chest. “We know Larena and Fallon have been spending time together. There is the possibility that he took her back to his castle.”

“Find out,” she demanded. “I need to know whether Larena is alive. I need her in my army, Broc. Do you understand?”

He bowed his head. “Aye, mistress. I will depart immediately.”

Broc left Deirdre, but instead of taking the stairs to the right, he turned left and walked down the long corridor before he found another set of stairs and descended into the darkness. He had once tried to count the steps, but had stopped at four hundred. Broc wasn’t sure how far down the stairway went, but he knew it was several hundred feet below ground.

He paused when he reached the end and listened. There was a multitude of small chambers that were sectioned by bars. This was one of Deirdre’s dungeons. It was a place where she put a man to break him. None who were put in the darkness came out whole.

Broc heard the mournful cries of women and flexed his shoulders, his wings opening partway. Druids, he surmised. He never understood how Deirdre continued to find them, but she did. It was her black magic and link to evil of course. Yet, part of him wondered if the rumors of Deirdre having a seer were true.

Each of the Druids would fight her, but in the end, Deirdre always won. Just as with Isla. The petite black-haired Druid was another of Deirdre’s pawns. But then again, they all were.

The men in the prisons were either Druids, or those she thought could be turned into Warriors. There was only one here who was already a Warrior.

Broc turned right and wandered down the hallway. None of the prisoners rushed toward the bars. They stayed in the darkness, but Broc felt their eyes on him, felt their hatred for what he was.

He understood all too well about loathing and disgust.

About halfway down he found what he was looking for. Quinn MacLeod. The Warrior refused to transform for Deirdre. She had him beaten over and over again and kept him chained to the wall. The chains held him upright, and if Quinn couldn’t keep his feet underneath him, his arms and shoulders would feel the brunt of the pain.

“What do you want?” came a muffled voice from the darkness.

Broc’s keen eyesight saw Quinn in the blackness. The Warrior had blood oozing down the side of his face from a cut on his forehead. It looked as though one of his arms had been jerked out of the socket and a leg broken.

“They worked you over well,” Broc commented.

Quinn chuckled. “Have you come to give me more?”

“Not this time, though I’m sure Deirdre will send me soon enough.”

“Then what do you want?” Quinn’s voice was laced with loathing.

Broc wondered how close Quinn was to transforming. Everyone knew Quinn’s fury had ridden him for three hundred years. So much so that he hadn’t been able to control his god. Yet, now in Deirdre’s prison, he kept that anger on a tight leash, much to Deirdre’s ire.

“Do you think you can withstand her?”

Quinn’s nostrils flared as he glared at Broc. “I can. And I will.”

Broc stared at the Warrior for a few more moments. “Maybe you can, MacLeod. Maybe you can.”