The Princess and the Laird

by C. A. Szarek

  The front of the dress was decorated with large multi-hued purple feathers that didn’t quite hide her cleavage. It was gorgeous, and she’d loved the design from the moment the seamstresses had brought it to her especially for the ball, but now she felt naked. Regretted not choosing something with more coverage.

  Seamus had never hid his want of her, but now that he’d invaded her thoughts, it was worse somehow. More repulsing.

  Xander growled low but quickly disguised the noise by clearing his throat. At least he was still protective, even if he remained upset with her.

  If the prince noticed, he chose to ignore her cousin.

  “I’ll be here when you return,” her bodyguard said.

  Alana threw him a nod and slipped her hand to the Irish prince’s elbow, trying not to quiver against his side. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him, let alone in his arms on the dance floor.

  Equally undesirable, because of the gown’s open back, he would likely be touching her exposed skin. She shivered and gooseflesh rose on her forearms.

  “You’re stunning, as always.” His smooth voice should’ve been a compliment, but she wanted to break their physical contact and retreat. “Purple is certainly your color, my dear princess.”

  She wanted to shout at him that she wasn’t his anything, but managed to reach for decorum. “Thank you.” Alana took another fortifying breath with the statement, and willed herself to calm.

  There was no way someone as calculating as the Irish prince was going to let go of what he’d overheard in her mind. He was biding his time.

  But for what purpose?

  He placed his hand at the small of her back and hauled her into his chest when they’d selected a spot with a multitude of other couples.

  It took everything Alana was made of to let him maintain the hold, as his fingers did indeed brush her bare flesh above her waist. Her spine tingled up and down, as if her body was attempting to dispel his large hand on its own.

  “MacLeod. ‘Tis a human surname, is it not?”

  Alex’s name with an Irish inflection gritted over her senses, and she fought a wince. “What?”

  Something akin to irritation crossed those pale green eyes. “Princess, you’ve never been a good liar.”

  They swayed with the movement of the slow love ballad the best Scottish Fae bards were singing from the raised dais. They used magic to enhance their voices and the tempo, deeper male and higher female blending perfectly.

  Alana fought the urge to shove Seamus away. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  He smirked, then whirled her around as the dance steps required. “Thoughts do not lie, even though you’re shutting me out now.”

  “Again, Your Highness, I think you’re mistaken…I do not know of what you speak. Humans? You should watch what your say. ‘Tis forbidden to speak of such things.” Her heart kicked up.

  Seamus wasn’t going to believe anything she said, and she couldn’t panic.

  His laughter surrounded them, as if she’d said something amusing and the prince was delighted. “I’m going to enjoy owning you, Princess Alana.”

  Anger surged in her veins, as if she was a candle being lit, and the wick traversed her form. “How dare you speak to me as such?”

  He gripped her waist and swung her around as a part of their dance.

  Her slippers left the floor, and she was too stunned to do anything but hold on.

  “Keep your voice down, and keep dancing,” he said in a light tone, as if chiding a child. “Unless you want…others…to enter our conversation.”

  Alana’s eyes darted around the vast room, landing on her father and King Ciaran, Seamus’ father. Both leaders stood together and watched them dancing, and both wore pleased expressions.

  She shuddered and fought the sensation of spiders crawling over her where the prince was touching her. Too much of his palms and fingers were on her skin. The gown couldn’t protect her. “Put me down,” she pushed out through clenched teeth.

  “Keep dancing or I’ll tell King Fillan of your Alex MacLeod.” Seamus’ words were bright, as if he’d imparted some very good news.

  Do not react, Alana chanted. “I don’t know of whom you speak,” she repeated.

  His chuckle spoke for how much he didn’t believe her.

  She thrust away the encroaching terror and reached for her wits, then whispered the first memory-scatter spellword that popped into her head.

  Seamus laughed again.

  She gritted her teeth.

  The Irish prince set her to her feet and reached for something around his neck. He revealed a red-stoned medallion that was glowing. “Spells don’t work on me.”

  Alana swallowed for the hundredth time in lieu of vomiting on him. Didn’t bother trying to deny what she’d attempted.

  “As royalty yourself, sweet princess, I would think you’d have one of these, too.” He tucked the jewel out of view again and gathered her back to him for the last steps of the dance.

  She didn’t answer; didn’t have anything to say.

  True fear wasn’t something she was familiar with, and she didn’t like the feeling as it prickled all over her skin.

  What am I going to do now?

  * * * *

  She couldn’t stop shaking.

  Alana trembled so hard her teeth rattled. The bastard Irish prince had released her with a parting, “I’ll come to you, my sweet.” She hadn’t said a word about Alex—denied knowledge of what Seamus kept remarking on, but he only continued to laugh and call her a bad liar.

  He’d caressed her cheeks while she’d stood frozen and silent.

  She’d gagged as her dinner made another threat to expel itself from her churning stomach, and fled the first chance she’d gotten. She needed some air…or something.

  The winged Fae Warriors guarding the huge doors of the great hall both inclined their heads as she passed.

  Alana felt, rather than heard Xander’s footsteps behind her, and his familiar scent of leather and sage tickled her nose. It was mixed with a hint of armor oil today, but it wasn’t bad. At least the pleasantness of her cousin’s presence helped chase away Seamus’ negative aura a bit. Bile receded and she was able to ground herself some.

  “How bad is it?” The Warrior’s voice was low and serious, right above her ear.

  When she didn’t answer him or stop walking down the wide corridor, he grabbed her arm.

  She tried to whirl on him, but he tightened his grip. Their eyes met and she bit her bottom lip.

  “Nay, Your Highness, not here,” Xander whispered. “You can’t be gone from the celebration for long, and you can’t be seen upset. The king will worry.” He said the last words for public benefit.

  What he’d meant was that her father would send someone to find her. They’d both likely be punished if that happened.

  She didn’t want to cause her cousin any more grief.

  He swept her up into his arms and they slid into the nearest sitting room.

  Alana’s eyes landed on a couple entwined, but they’d interrupted before the tryst could escalate to joining their bodies fully; they were still mostly clothed.

  The male, a short-haired blond nobleman tore his mouth off a redheaded courtier’s large exposed breast. He looked irritated, until his eyes landed on them. The lordling—because he couldn’t be out of his twenties—hastily climbed off his lover and bowed. “Your Highness. Sir Xander.”

  “Find another room,” her cousin growled. “Learn how to lock a door while you’re at it.”

  The lass scrambled up, tucking her bare breasts away and adjusting her bodice. Fae were generally not ashamed of nudity on display, but her pale skin lit up, her cheeks flaring the same color as her hair. She straightened her deep pink gown and also bowed. She was no older than the lordling.

  Alana couldn’t help but think of Alex, and being close to him like that. She hadn’t gone far enough with him on the beach that day, but she’d ached to do so. She wanted to bur
y her face against Xander. Nobles didn’t need to see her close to tears.

  “I hope all is well,” the pretty redhead whispered, then the couple joined hands and left the room.

  Her bodyguard set her down on a fluffy bronze sofa—opposite the one the lovers had been on—and locked the door with magic. Its blue glow receded around the decorative gold plate and handle, holding her attention before took a seat next to her.

  “What did that bastard say to you?” Xander demanded.

  “Nothing.” She kept her eyes busy by surveying the room.

  The large hearth was lit, and a friendly fire was bright, warm. Purple, pink and orange sweetwoods burned, filling the room with the saccharine scents of baking treats.

  The lumber was the finest their realm had to offer. Her father had procured all varieties and colors of sweetwoods from all over the Fae Realms for Beltane. He had to impress his guests, after all.

  The flames danced in the colors of each wood, their enticing aroma filling the room, and good enough to make her want dessert.

  Xander frowned. “What happened? You usually don’t agree to dance with him, no matter how much he begs.”

  Alana’s stomach somersaulted again. “I had to.”

  “Then ‘nothing’ isn’t quite correct, is it, lass?”

  She startled at his gentle tone and inappropriate address.

  Her cousin hadn’t called her that in a long time. Maybe he’d forgiven her. Too bad this time just made her hurt, because it reminded her of Alex.

  His gaze was soft, concerned, but she didn’t want to be honest with him about her interaction with Prince Seamus.

  She was embarrassed that he’d gotten one over on her. Especially considering how dangerous her…situation…was.

  “I heard him ask who the laird was, Alana. He said Alex MacLeod’s name. So just tell me what we’re dealing with.”

  “I didn’t tell him a thing.”

  He sighed. “To an onlooker, it appeared that you and the prince very much enjoyed your time together. It also didn’t escape my notice that your father and his were very pleased. Don’t get yourself into a position you can’t reverse.” He’d had been polite, obviously avoiding the word betrothal.

  “Oh Goddess, I am going to lose my dinner.”

  Xander smirked.

  “He said he’d enjoy owning me.”

  Amusement dissipated and rage darted across his violet eyes. Xander’s jaw was set and hard, his mouth a flat line. “What?” He exercised his arsenal of Fae curses.

  “I tried to use a memory spell, but he wears an anti-magic medallion. And I have a feeling it’s a good one, also spelled against removal from his body, if against his will. He wouldn’t flaunt it, otherwise.”

  Her cousin shot to his feet and started to pace, his wings tremoring. He cursed some more.

  “Relax, he doesn’t know anything.” Alana’s gut roiled. Instinct told her his knowing ‘nothing’ wouldn’t be the case for very long.

  Ireland had Faery Stones, too. The prince couldn’t use the Stones in the Field of Light to get to the Human Realm—undetected anyway, and he wouldn’t be able to get permission—but he could use his own. Where they’d place him in the Human Realm was a mystery, but Ireland and Scotland were only a blink away from each other.

  Alex was the leader of his clan. A nobleman in the Human Realm. It wouldn’t take much of an inquiry to discover everything.

  She blinked tears away and watched her best friend jerk back and forth on the shiny floor. The tile in the sitting room was even finer than her rooms.

  The furniture was of the most comfortable King Fillan’s palace had to offer. The room’s décor had been done in rich metals, all the upholstery was bronze, gold and copper.

  The heavy drapes on both floor-to-ceiling windows matched. The pieces were also coordinated with embossed and engraved filigrees on their backs, arms and legs, so fine it was a wonder anyone was brave enough to sit.

  Three couches, four high-backed chairs, and even the tables all complimented each other. The tone was welcoming, and wasn’t that a jest around this place.

  “Why are you crying?” Xander whispered.

  “I don’t know,” she wailed. Alana swiped at her cheeks, but more tears just graced her skin.

  “What are your plans?” He whirled and stared her down from where he stood. He stopped pacing, but his gaze singed.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “What does Prince Seamus want?”

  Dread rolled over her form, making her shake from head to toe again, despite the fact she was sitting, and her cousin had said the scoundrel’s name and honorific as anything but respectful.

  “I don’t know.” Her answer was low, and quivered as much as she did.

  “Well, you damn sure had better find out.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Do ye want ta tell me why yer takin’ vigils down a’ tha beach every morn?”

  Duncan’s deep voice yanked him from his gloom, and Alex looked up, meeting his brother’s blue eyes.

  “Nay.” The word came out on a sigh and he dropped the parchment Hamish had asked him to read. He reclined in the carved chair at his desk. The wood hit his shoulder blades and he pressed harder, reveling in the discomfort. Alex rocked the chair off the stone floor a few times before letting it land with a thump that resounded in the room.

  His twin shut the door quietly and stepped away from the frame. He ran his hand through his long dark locks. “Shall I restate? Order ye ta reveal all?”

  Alex arched an eyebrow. “Ye? Order me? I’m yer laird.”

  Duncan scoffed. He was the only member of their clan who could get away with such disrespect. “Ye shared a womb wit’ me a’ fore ye were my laird.”

  He narrowed his eyes, weighing his options. Did he want to argue with his twin? Or should he tell him about Alana? Could they get into a brawl? He might enjoy some pounding fists. He should’ve gone out to the yard to spar with their men that morning. Needed a workout.

  “Och, now I know there’s somethin’ wrong wit’ ye. Ye’ve nothin’ ta say abou’ what I jus’ said? I thought a’ least ye’d try ta knock me on my arse.”

  Alex snorted. Duncan always could read him well enough to seem as if he’d taken thoughts right out of his head. “No’ worth tha effort.”

  His twin laughed and took a seat he’d not been invited into. When their gazes brushed, concern chased Duncan’s mirth away. “What’s goin’ on, brother?”

  “Nothin’ of yer concern.”

  Something akin to hurt flashed across the face that matched his.

  Alex winced. Aye, they’d always shared everything. Neither had to say it. “I’m sorry.” He sighed again. “‘Tis nothin’ I care ta discuss.”

  “Are ye well, then?”

  I wouldn’t go that far. “I dinna plan on fadin’ away.”

  “‘Tis a lass, isna?”

  He froze.

  Duncan slapped his forearm; Alex jumped and cursed. “I knew it! Alex MacLeod, tied in knots o’er a lass! Who is she? Why tha beach? Are ye havin’ a clandestine tryst?”

  Alex groaned. “‘Tis none of yer concern, as I’ve said.”

  His twin’s excitement rolled over him, turning to frustration and annoyance when it hit his chest. Duncan was just like the rest of his family.

  Meddlers. The lot of ‘em.

  “She’s no’ a MacDonald, is she?” His brother scowled. “Da dinna—”

  He cast his eyes to the ceiling. Wouldn’t look at a lass from their rival clan if she showed up at Dunvegan naked, ready and begging. “Nay. She isna a MacDonald.”

  “Weel then, who is she?”

  You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. “No one.” The lie burned its way down his throat, into his belly until bile rose back up. Alex swallowed.

  Denying Alana hurt.

  She was so far from ‘no one’ he didn’t have the appropriate words—even if he’d wanted to tell his twin about her. It didn’t matter that he�
�d only seen her twice. Or that it’d been a fortnight since he’d held her. Kissed her.

  Alana was still fresh in his mind, in his dreams.

  In his heart?

  She said goodbye.

  He couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept that he’d never see her again.

  So, he couldn’t give up his morning rides down at the beach. Alex hoped—prayed—he’d find her again.

  They’d had lengthy conversations in his nightly dreams, as well as made love for hours. He longed for another opportunity to do both with her. Explore that little burst when they touched.

  The dreams felt so real. Like they were memories...visions. As if the answers to his questions were real, not something his mind’s eye had just filled in.

  “Then why d’ye look as if yer gonna retch?”

  Again, Duncan’s words were spot on, and Alex wanted to shout, swear, and make him go away. If he was to come clean, where could he even begin?

  “Leave off, will ye?” he barked.

  “Is she wed or somethin’?” Duncan’s eyes widened.

  He didn’t want to answer his nosy brother. He inhaled and shook his head. Alex should call him on his inquiry, really. Duncan knew him better than to ask if he’d touch a married woman. He wouldn’t. Neither of them would, despite his twin’s womanizing ways.

  “Then…what ‘tis the problem? Da would certainly welcome ye marryin’.”

  Marrying?

  He wasn’t ready for that. Maybe not even with Alana…

  She’s not human. She’s Fae. As a matter of fact, she’s a princess. He couldn’t say any of that. “Do ye believe in tha Fae?” Alex cursed the blurt when it tumbled out.

  Confusion drew his twin’s brows tight. “Fae? Whate’er fer? Now, brother, ye are worryin’ me.”

  “Remember tha legend Da always tol’ us when we were abed an’ wee?”

  “Aye, I know it weel.”

  “Weel…” He shook his head. “Ah, ne’er ye mind. ‘Tis foolish.”

  “Alex?” Duncan studied him as if he’d lost his mind now, and he fought the urge to shift in the chair.