The Princess and the Laird

by C. A. Szarek

  Alana.

  A short brown mantle stopping mid-thigh, purple trews, and her touch, which had shot lightning through his body.

  He hadn’t imagined their encounter, had he?

  Nay.

  If it’d been a fantasy, Alex would’ve done more than shake her hand. Not to mention, he would’ve omitted the large, angry protector.

  “Alex?”

  “Lad, where’ve ye been?”

  Two voices called to him at the same time.

  He met the concerned gazes of his father and Janet. Surprise washed over him to see his da. Iain rarely came down to the hall to sup. He usually ate with his wife in her suites.

  Alex jogged up the three steps attached to the dais, and told himself to relax. “Is Ma well, Da?”

  The older man’s expression softened and his shoulders loosened. His father had begun to gray at the temples a few years past, but everyone said he and Duncan looked just like him.

  Since their mother had fallen ill, silver now streaked Iain’s long locks all over, but he was still a tall broad MacLeod, like his sons.

  “She’s restin’. But ‘tis ye I’m worried abou’.”

  “Me?” Alex grunted as he took his seat at the head of the table.

  The housekeeper, Mairi, hurried over and put a trencher of a steaming venison steak and small loaf of bread in front of him, and he muttered thanks.

  “Aye, you!” His sister’s voice was urgent, and when he spared the lass a glance, she was leaning in to the table, her dark brows furrowed. Her plate was empty, and she wrung her hands on her lap.

  “Why?”

  “The lass says ye’ve been gone all day, lad.”

  Ah, so that was why their father had ventured to the great hall.

  He swallowed a sigh and bit back the urge to correct the man. Their father hadn’t said ‘my laird’. “I’m hale. Hungry, though.”

  Iain harrumphed and Alex felt his searching gaze even though he couldn’t meet his eyes.

  He tore the bread open and slathered it with honey butter. It was still warm; his favorite.

  His family was silent, and he did his best to ignore them as he shoveled food into his mouth. In the very least, he could appease his stomach.

  “Duncan an’ tha men got underway?” Alex cleared his throat and went for a distraction.

  “Aye,” his father said, and nothing more.

  One word.

  Iain MacLeod at his most dangerous.

  Alex finished his meal under the scrutinizing eye of his da, but he didn’t speak, and neither did the retired laird. He tried not to shudder in his seat. Couldn’t meet the blue eyes that matched his own. There’d be questions there he didn’t want to answer, and besides, he didn’t want to give his father another worry.

  He’d nothing more to say for the evening. Alex put his fork down and pushed his chair back from the table, but was keenly aware his father and sister both still watched him. “If ye’ll excuse me, I’ll go see Mother, then seek my bed.”

  His father inclined his head, but he still didn’t stop staring Alex down.

  “Good night, Da. Janey.” He left the dais and tried to convince himself not to run from the great hall.

  His sister cornered him before he was halfway down the corridor. She must’ve dashed to catch his hurried pace. “Alex…”

  He cocked his head to one side and studied her open face. She was too young to have so much worry in her pretty countenance. Someone her age should be concerned with a new brooch or what style to order her new gown. Even wonder what the lasses were doing with their hair these days, chittering and laughing with other lasses like her.

  Guilt jumped up and bit at him, but what did he have to feel that way about?

  It wasn’t anyone’s fault their mother was ill and would most likely die. It wasn’t anyone’s fault their father felt his place was at her side, leaving a lass of five and ten to run the castle and a lad of two and twenty as laird.

  But wait…he was a man, was he not?

  Aye, I am.

  So no one was at fault. Other than…God?

  Alex shook himself. Thoughts like that could lead to no good. Anger with no outlet. “What, lass?”

  Janet hesitated, then grabbed his arm and squeezed. “First you ask me ta cut yer hair…then you disappear fer tha day. ‘Tisna like you. What’s goin’ on, brother?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Nothin’? Her blue eyes held more maturity than they should’ve been capable of. “If you were Duncan, I might expect—”

  “All is well, Janey.” He gripped her hands, but her expression said she wasn’t convinced. “I went fer a ride an’ lost track a’ time s’all.” Alex had no intention of revealing his odd encounter on the beach. He needed to figure Alana and Xander out before he could recount it anyone—if he even wanted to share.

  What really happened?

  His sister swallowed and opened her mouth, but he beat her to speaking.

  “Do ye want ta go wit’ me ta see Ma?”

  She rolled her plump bottom lip between her teeth. “Alex—”

  “Janet MacLeod, I’m yer laird an’ I’ve no need fer a second mother. Especially no’ ye.” He clenched his jaw when her sapphire eyes widened and went misty. His chest burned when the first tear made its way down her cheek.

  “I dinna know abou’ a second mother, but I surely wish fer ours!” she snapped. Her dark locks flew about her shoulders as his sister whirled away and stalked down the hall.

  When she disappeared into their mother’s suite, he felt about two inches tall.

  Alex sucked back a wince. He shouldn’t have said that. Any motherly statements had a bite, no matter the context. A glaring reminder that theirs wasn’t her effervescent self, running Dunvegan as she always had.

  His sister held their family together in many ways, keeping their father’s temper in check regarding their brother’s antics, and keeping their mother calm, free of worries about family.

  Janet was probably the strongest of them all, and he’d made her cry. Even as young as she was, it wasn’t something she did often.

  He was the biggest wretch of them all.

  Alex sighed for the hundredth time of the day. He needed to gird his loins before he had the bollocks to join his sister in his mother’s rooms. He wouldn’t be able to withstand more tears.

  Chapter Four

  Alana woke in her own bed. Her temples throbbed and she cradled her head as she sat up and oriented. She groaned and used her magic to chase the pain away.

  It only took a moment for the veil to clear and normalcy to descend. She breathed a sigh of relief when the discomfort fled. That little spellword was handy for headaches, even ones from over-imbibing. But she hadn’t gotten drunk at any feast. Didn’t remember drinking wine or mead, or anything else for that matter.

  What happened?

  She had no memory of…getting back here. She looked around her room, familiar with its sense of suffocation, but that was equal to her sense of security, despite the contradiction. This was the only place that was hers.

  Her eyes rested on her things—her desk, her chest of drawers, the fireplace, as well as the wardrobe that held her many gowns. Alana stared at the arched doorway that led into her sitting room, and to the exit of her suite. Like the rest, it was encrusted with jewels.

  She exhaled and closed her eyes.

  Home.

  Right?

  Funny, she could’ve done just as well without the extravagance. Xander’s room in the Warrior Barracks was much more pleasant in many ways; his furniture simpler, his decorations sparse, even if masculine.

  Females were forbidden there, but she made regular visits to see her cousin anyway—nearly as much as he was present in her rooms, but at least he was permitted in his role as her personal guard.

  Of course, as the princess she wasn’t questioned openly for being in the barracks, only chided by her father when he found out.

  Word always got back to him.r />
  King Fillan had already lost one princess to a Fae Warrior, so he was especially keen that she stay away from winged soldiers. But unlike her aunt, she had no romantic interest in any of them, especially not her blooded cousin.

  Not that her father cared. He just expected to be obeyed without question, as a good daughter should. So of course, she’d upped her discretion after his last lecture, but didn’t heed him.

  At least Uncle Daegus never shooed her away when they’d encountered each other at the barracks or near the fighting grounds, but who knew, the captain probably tattled on her to the king as well.

  She always had to blink into Xander’s quarters when she wanted to see him. Alana had the magical ability to picture where she wanted to go, concentrate, and she could appear there, but she couldn’t do it sight-unseen. She had to a visit a place once before she could blink to it subsequently. And she couldn’t travel between realms.

  Realms—

  She gasped.

  The Human Realm.

  Alex.

  The handsome laird…

  Her cousin had ripped her from his side when he’d still been unconscious on the beach. Xander had thrown her over his shoulder and taken off running.

  After that, things got fuzzy.

  Alana didn’t remember returning to the cave that held the Human Realm’s Faery Stones. She didn’t remember them being opened, or coming home.

  Obviously her cousin had been able to open the portal without her. But if she couldn’t remember anything…that meant he’d used magic on her. To keep her asleep.

  Probably the same spell he’d knocked the laird out with. That didn’t answer the question of how he’d gotten through the wing of Fae Warriors in the Field of Light, but she could figure that out later. When she spoke with him. But…

  Damn him.

  He’d taken her away from Alex MacLeod and brought her home against her will!

  “How dare he?” she growled aloud. Alana swung her legs over the side of her bed and cursed Xander to all five levels of Fae Hell.

  She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to Alex. Or make sure her cousin’s magic hadn’t really harmed him. She could’ve at least placed him on his mount’s back and told the stallion to go home. She could’ve done so with magic.

  Alana stood and said a quick spellword to don a gown. Warm air swirled around her, making her hair dance as the rich lavender day-dress settled over her body and she caressed the front as it formed to her breasts and stomach. It was one of her simpler designs, with white and dark purple stitching up and down the front, forming stripes, and made of the softest Fae silk. It had a higher bodice than most of her attire, and the sleeves were off the shoulder.

  She glanced over her reflection in the full-length mirror, then left her sleeping room, heading to the exit. She turned the decorative knob, but it was locked.

  From the outside.

  Alana tried again, and yelped as white-hot pain shot up her wrist, into her elbow, and blue sparks flew at her from the lock-spell, floating down to the floor as if innocent before dissipating.

  What the…

  “I’m sorry, Princess, you’ve been sealed inside.” The deep voice from the other side of the door was not her cousin.

  “What?” Her head reeled and she took a step back, ignoring the fluffy furniture surrounding her in the lavish sitting room. “Who’s there?”

  “Rannick, Your Highness.”

  She expelled a breath. The guard wasn’t a winged warrior, but one of the many castle men-at-arms. He was oversized, but he’d always been kind to her. “Rannick, can you please open the door so we can speak?”

  “Nay, I cannot, but I know a spell.”

  In moments, a window opened through thick panel, and she could see into the corridor, but experience told her it was for viewing only, not a true opening. She’d be unable to leave her suite, even if her guard allowed a large enough space.

  “What happened?” Alana looked up and met the yellow-gold eyes of the big Fae man.

  He was even larger than Xander, probably seven feet tall, and just as broad. He had long sable locks, and a neatly trimmed beard. His coloring made his eyes all the more stunning, like a lion with a dark mane. He was handsome, wickedly so, like most Fae.

  Rannick carried two swords, so large he had to strap them crisscrossed on his wide back. His palace uniform was blue with silver trim, and an ivory under-tunic spanning his wide chest. The neckline and sleeves were only partially visible.

  “I know not, Princess. I was ordered to guard you, and not permit your exit. The mages sealed your locks.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until his Majesty calls for you.”

  What did Xander do?

  “Where’s my cousin?”

  “I was not told, Your Highness.”

  Alana frowned.

  “Worry not, food will be brought shortly.”

  She pursed her lips and swallowed some unladylike curses. It wasn’t Rannick’s fault he was following orders, or that he’d been the one saddled with her. She’d always liked him. “Thank you, Rannick. I appreciate your explanation. If you see my cousin, can you tell him to come to me?”

  As her personal bodyguard, Xander would be permitted entry to her suites even if she was banned egress, as frustrating as that was.

  The man-at-arms gave a curt nod and waved his hand.

  Alana stared as the door clouded and returned to its normal carved dark wood panel. If the mages had spelled her locks, they also blink-proofed her suite, because her father knew her too well. She always escaped at first chance she got.

  She went back to her sleeping quarters and plopped onto her bed, sighing for the twentieth time since she’d woken. ‘Until his Majesty calls for you,’ Rannick had said. Well, if she’d tapped into her father’s ire, it could be days, maybe even weeks. Once he’d left her confined to her suite for a month.

  However, he couldn’t do that this time, if only to save face. The Feast of Beltane was around the corner, and King Fillan was hosting a lavish ball.

  Most of the Scottish Court would be there, but also the kings and queens from the English, Welsh, and Irish Fae Courts would be in attendance as well.

  So her father would dress her up and put her on display; he couldn’t hide Alana away or let it be known she was a constant ‘problem’ for him. Appearances were everything to him.

  Besides, if she was locked up, he couldn’t parade her in front of the Irish Crown Prince, Seamus. He’d been trying to get her to entertain a betrothal with Seamus for years, but the Irishman was a buffoon. Not to mention a womanizing rake, and she couldn’t stand him to look at him.

  Promiscuity didn’t bother her; it was commonly accepted for young Fae to have several lovers before marrying, but monogamy was expected after vows were exchanged, and Prince Seamus was under the impression royal blood made him an exception.

  He was quite open with such information, which spoke loudly to the fact he was yet unwed; and he was older than she.

  She’d had her fair share of dalliances, but she’d never given her maidenhead away. Kisses and intimate touches were pleasant—both giving and receiving—but she’d never met a man she’d fancied enough to consider having inside her.

  Alex MacLeod’s sapphire eyes and handsome features popped into her mind. His short dark hair was an oddity to most males she knew. It made him more tempting. And…there was the jolt that’d felt like magic when they’d touched.

  What is that?

  She wanted to go back to the Human Realm and see him. See if they had any more…sparks.

  No, she needed to.

  Alana paced her sleeping room, and a flash of ivory caught her eye. A small scroll rested on her bedside table; it was wonder she hadn’t spotted it before.

  She broke the plain red wax seal and unrolled it. The familiar hand of her cousin was scrawled inside.

  I won’t apologize.

  -X

  She harrumphed and threw the offending pa
rchment down. “Of course you won’t.” Alana rolled her eyes and couldn’t help her desire that Xander was somewhere being punished too.

  * * * *

  Xander brought her a well-laden tray of food a few hours—that felt like days—later. She’d expected a servant, but perhaps her father had also ordered her handmaidens away. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Where’ve you been?” Alana demanded as she whirled toward him in her sitting room as soon as the door to her suite shut with a soft thud. She ignored the sizzling sound of the lock-spell reengaging and the blue glow that pulsed around the oversized handle.

  Her cousin sighed and set his burden on the table next to her favorite purple chaise lounge. His posture was stiff, even with his movements, and his wings vibrated, revealing his ire, and reflecting the light in the room. The moving iridescence was pretty, belying his obvious mood. “Dealing with consequences of your choices.”

  “What?” She stilled, but couldn’t pry her hands off their perch on her hips.

  “First, I was chided by my father for allowing you to rein me into your antics. Captain Daegus is not pleased with you, and he’s embarrassed by me, as usual. Then I appeased my dear uncle,” his voice dripped disdain, “by vowing I’d never listen to your orders again.”

  Alana gasped. “What?” She blinked.

  “You’re lucky I’m still charged with your protection, Your Highness. Only my Oath saved me. My father,” he cleared his throat, “convinced yours not to bind me to my word with any kind of magic, but I’ve no idea why. I’ve not seen the king quite that angry in some time. The mages were standing at his side like eager pups, the bastards.”

  Apprehension settled low in her gut and her stomach quivered. She swallowed. Inhaled slowly. “Are you being punished?” Her voice was cracked, more of a whisper than she’d intended.

  “Aye, I was given ten lashes.” He delivered it matter-of-factly, but that didn’t stave off her wince.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and told herself to breathe. “Xander, I’m—”

  He held a palm high. “Alana, don’t bother. I told you your little adventure would lead to no good, and shockingly, I was right.”