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smelling her.
    She rubbed her hand on her skirts, wishing she still had her dagger. Even if she had a dozen swords, nothing would help to keep the Warriors away if they wanted her.
    â€œWhy did you save me then?” she asked Quinn.
    He shrugged away her words. “What do you know of Deirdre?”
    â€œThe usual. She has been alive for countless years and has more power than any Druid, mie or drough , has a right to. She has been capturing Druids for centuries and killing them. And everyone knows what she has done to the men who she thinks could be Warriors.”
    Arran shook his head and walked around to standbeside Quinn. “Deirdre doesn’t just kill the Druids, Marcail. She takes their blood and with it their magic. Deirdre kills them herself, careful to collect all the magic within their blood.”
    Marcail looked at Quinn for confirmation. He nodded and it made her blood turn to ice. How did none of the Druids in her village know this? Or had her grandmother known and not told her?
    She gripped the fabric of her skirt in her hand to help steady herself. “Then why didn’t she kill me?”
    â€œThat’s the question we all want answered,” Quinn said.
    â€œI see.” Marcail wrapped her arms around her waist and tried to not shiver. “Deirdre wants me dead. Why then throw me down here for you to do it?”
    Duncan narrowed his dark eyes at her. “Why does she want you dead?”
    Marcail licked her lips and wondered if she should tell them. She had kept her secret for so long she had begun to think her grandmother had spoken falsely. Until Dunmore had come hunting her.
    â€œMost Druids can trace their family lineage to the very Druids who helped bind the gods inside you. My family was one of those.”
    Quinn’s steady gaze held hers. “Why is that important?”
    â€œBecause one of my ancestors was the one who helped to come up with the binding spell.”
    The air grew thick with expectation. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted to tell them. It gave them hope. And she would have to kill it.
    â€œThe spell is passed down through each generation,”Marcail continued. “My mother died when I was very young and didn’t pass it on to me. My grandmother, however, did.”
    â€œWhat is it?” Arran asked anxiously. “Can you speak it now?”
    Marcail shook her head and looked away from the Warriors. “My grandmother told me when I was but a child. She used her magic to push it so far back in my mind that I don’t recall it.”
    â€œNot at all?” Ian asked.
    â€œI’m sorry, nay.” She wished she could help them. She would do it in a heartbeat. Anything to defeat an evil such as Deirdre.
    Quinn shifted his feet. “How do you know you possess the spell, then?”
    â€œI don’t.” She finally made herself look at Quinn. “The Druids I lived with all assumed I had the knowledge, just as I did. They helped to protect those of my family because we hoped that one day I would be able to use the spell.”
    It wasn’t that Quinn didn’t believe her. He knew firsthand that the Druids were capable of great magic, but something wasn’t ringing true. “You say your grandmother gave you the spell?”
    â€œAye,” she said.
    â€œHow?”
    Marcail shrugged. “She told me.”
    â€œDo you recall when she gave you the spell?”
    â€œI remember her sitting me down long after the sun set. It was just days after my brother had died. My grandmother was all I had left of family. She told me she had something important to tell me.”
    â€œAnd then she spoke the spell?” Duncan asked.
    â€œAye,” Marcail whispered. “I can recall seeing her lips move, but I don’t remember the words.”
    Quinn could see how agitated his men were becoming. He had felt that rush of anticipation at Marcail’s words just as they had. “If you