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Wicked Highlander: A Dark Sword Novel by Donna Grant

By Donna Grant

The main reckless and fierce of the MacLeod brothers, Quinn is a prisoner of the god inside of him, affected by his lack of ability to save lots of his relatives from slaughter. His fury governs him, and day-to-day he loses himself to the darkenss in his soul. yet Quinn has a profound craving for a woman’s love…. Raised by way of Druids, the achingly attractive Marcail is as spellbinding because the historic magic that surges via her physique. To Quinn, she is ultimate girl he has ever recognized. yet to his enemy Deirdre, she is the proper bait to trap Quinn into her seize. as soon as the 2 enthusiasts are in her depraved snatch, their ardour might be positioned to the final word try…

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Sample text

She pushed the apprehension aside and raised a brow. Deirdre hadn’t gained her power by giving into threads of panic. “Is that so, mie? ” Deirdre repeated. ” Marcail nodded her head of wavy sable locks, rows upon rows of small braids falling around her face and over her shoulders and mixing with her hair. “It’s spreading like wildfire across the Highlands. ” Deirdre looked at the Warriors holding Marcail and smiled. The Warriors began to laugh, their large muscular bodies shaking with mirth. Deirdre turned to the crowd below her and raised her hand to gain their attention.

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.

They looked like a rainbow below her, but she alone knew the sheer destructive power those Warriors had the potential to create. They were men with primeval gods inside them, each with a distinctive power that set them apart from the others. And these were hers to rule. The Warriors stared up at her, their attention rapt, as they waited to hear why she had convened them. “Hear me. Feel me. Touch meeee…” Powerless to ignore the call of the mountain, Deirdre closed her eyes and lost herself in the song of the stones.

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