Wicked Highlander by Donna Grant

choice.”
    Quinn smiled and shook his head. “You sound just like Lucan. He said the same thing to me once.”
    â€œThen your brother is obviously the clever one, not you, as they say.”
    Quinn rolled his eyes. “I’ll admit Lucan and Fallon are better men, and at times, Lucan has shown himself to be nearly as clever as me, but never has he outwitted me.”
    Arran’s grin, weak though it was, dropped from his lips. “If you want Marcail then take her. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, my friend. Doona be a fool and allow this moment to pass you by. I live daily with regrets. Learn from me.”
    Quinn lived with his own regrets. “I canna chance it, Arran. Deirdre will discover Marcail soon enough. Already I’ve endangered her by saving her. If I take her as I long to do, Deirdre’s wrath will be fierce.”
    â€œAnd you worry for Marcail?”
    â€œI do. Deirdre wants her dead. I believe Deirdre will leave Marcail down here to die unless Deirdre discovers I’ve taken Marcail as mine. You can be certain to see Deirdre’s wrath then.”
    Arran ran a hand down his face. “You may be right. Who knows how much longer you have before Deirdre takes you? She does want your child.”
    When Quinn was first dropped into the Pit he fully expected to stay there until he was either rescued or died. But the longer he was in and the more times Broc and Isla visited him, Quinn knew that one day Deirdre would tire of her game and summon him.
    Was that what Broc meant when he said Quinn’s time was running out?
    â€œHoly Hell,” Quinn murmured. He trusted Arran and the twins, but how long would their honor last when faced with Marcail’s beauty on a daily basis without Quinn there?
    Not long.
    Arran slapped him on the back. “Exactly.”
    Quinn yawned and rubbed his eyes. When he glanced behind him he found Marcail stretched out on the slab with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering.
    â€œGo to her,” Arran said. “You’ve kept watch long enough.”
    Quinn didn’t argue, not when he yearned to be close to Marcail again. He walked to her and stared down at her form as she rested on her side, facing him. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep. Yet.
    He kept his vigil until her breathing slowed. Then he lowered himself beside her. The slab was large, but not large enough to fit two people on their backs comfortably. Thankfully, with Marcail on her side, Quinn was able to lie on his back and scoot close to her.
    Quinn raised his arm closest to Marcail and tucked his hand beneath his head. As if she sensed his warmth, she shifted closer to him.
    The moments ticked by as Quinn studied her face. She was beauty personified. Her skin was flawless except for a small mole on the left side of her upper lip. But even that didn’t distract from her loveliness.
    Unable to help himself, Quinn traced her cheek and jaw with his fingers. Her skin was as smooth as ermine. To his surprise, Marcail’s head moved until she rested against his chest.
    Quinn’s heart pounded in his chest. No woman, not even his wife, had ever lain on him so. He slowly lowered the arm he had behind his head and wrapped it around Marcail. Her shivers had lessened with the addition of his body heat.
    At first he was afraid to move, afraid he might wake her. He liked her draped on his chest as she was, and if she never moved it would be too soon.
    He forced himself to relax and take the time his body needed to rest.
    Â 
    Deirdre paced her chamber. She didn’t like being denied. For any reason. She had told herself holding out for Quinn would make finally having him that much more enjoyable, but she was beginning to doubt that.
    It seemed that no matter how long Quinn remained in the Pit, it wasn’t weakening him. She had been overjoyed to see him take over as he had. It had proven to her that he was, indeed, the Warrior to rule by