The Princess and the Laird

by C. A. Szarek

  She couldn’t blink out, she’d tried and her molecules had bounced off an invisible interior security shield. Alana had landed on the stone floor in a heap, but at least her body had reformed. Blinking where she couldn’t see was dangerous, and some shields could cause death when trying to go through them.

  The window was sealed shut, and it was just as grand as the rest of the room. Stained glass with a battle scene depicted. Perhaps since the tower was so high, the king was confident she couldn’t scale it to get out.

  She called to Alex mentally, and wished with all her might the man she loved could answer. In the very least, he could hear her, but she didn’t have a way of knowing if he was unharmed.

  He would be tortured.

  Alana swallowed to hold a sob at bay and fired off some prayers that Alex would survive until Xander could get them out.

  Her cousin had to get them out.

  If King Fillan had believed Seamus, her bodyguard would remain free, even if he was demoted because of her actions. Xander likely would be, but if he remained within any caste of Fae Warrior, no matter how low, he’d still have free movement around the palace.

  Her cousin could flee with them, and live in the Human Realm, although she didn’t know if he’d agree to live where he didn’t have wings. His magic was so strangled there, when hers never had been. He thrived when he flew. Alana never saw the same joy in his expression like she did when he was in the air.

  When she’d explored her new quarters, she discovered her father hadn’t taken away her garments, the sparkling wardrobe against the wall in the rounded room was full of her gowns, including the fancy feast ones.

  Had revealing Seamus’ ill intentions saved her from everything but being disowned?

  Did her father intend to let her live, but remain in the tower for all her days?

  She wouldn’t put it past him, but he’d never been afraid to exact harsh punishment with no exceptions, so she was surprised he hadn’t ordered her death. Perhaps he couldn’t do so, despite renouncing their blood tie.

  Even if he planned to keep her locked away, he’d have to name an heir. There weren’t many other blood kin—besides her aunt and Xander—unless the king had hidden a bastard or two. Alana had distant cousins—none of which lived at Court.

  Her father had a healthy appetite for females, and even though having a child out of wedlock was frowned upon, it had of course, happened before. Especially from an ambitious mistress to royalty.

  The king had never marked a particular official mistress, but he had many lovers. After her mother had passed, King Fillan had never shown interest in a second marriage either.

  Perhaps he would remarry now, and have another child. By Fae standards, her father was not an old man. His lovers at Court often bragged about his virility. Something she’d had to endure hearing for years now. Alana had learned to roll her eyes and ignore the talk—who wanted to know of their parent’s sexual dalliances?

  Her Aunt Aileana, Xander’s mother, had also been stripped of her rank as princess, and she wasn’t fit to rule due to her Acana addiction. Her cousin had never been acknowledged by her father officially as royal, even though the same blood ran through his veins.

  She should probably feel guilty for putting her father in the position she had—public embarrassment and such, but she’d never apologize for Alex. Alana had a right to the love she’d found. Besides, she still believed they were fated.

  Noise at the door drew her gaze, and Xander slipped into the room and shut the door.

  “Thank the Goddess!” Relief washed over her, and she rushed into her cousin’s open arms for a quick embrace. Her frantic gaze met his when she tugged free. “Alex?” she demanded.

  His mouth was a hard line. “I’ve just come from the dungeons. He’s fine for now, but—”

  She swallowed and looked down. “I know, they will torture him.”

  “Aye, he’s prepared.”

  “Seamus?”

  Xander smirked. “His Highness is next to your husband.”

  “Good. And you’re free?”

  “I have not been summoned by the king or the captain. Yet.” His voice betrayed no nerves, but he felt some unease; it tingled over her powers, and Alana fell into pacing again.

  “What’re we going to do?” she tried to keep the helplessness that suffused her words at bay. She couldn’t lose her strength now.

  “I don’t have much time; I talked my way in here. I’m going to wait to be summoned, take my lashes for my ignorance for your dealings, and then tell your father about Tamhas. Pray to the Goddess that King Fillan believes Seamus regarding my knowledge, and does not put the mages upon me.”

  She swallowed, fought a shudder and averted her gaze. “You will be demoted.”

  He smirked again. “Well, there’s no other princess for me to guard.”

  “You’ll have to admit to being inadequate.” Alana winced. His pride would have a hard time accepting that, no matter the lashes he’d likely receive.

  “Demotion is preferred to death. The same is true of lashes.” Xander cupped her face. “Don’t worry about me, cousin. I’ll be fine and I will get you and Alex MacLeod out of this.”

  “I pray your words are true,” she whispered.

  “For the sake of my young cousin, I do as well. Angus needs both his parents.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  In all the months she’d been in the tower, the king hadn’t shown his face, summoned her, or done anything close to making his presence known. The only orders regarding her had been on the day he’d locked her away.

  He’d spoken his piece, and Alana assumed he intended to keep her confined for the rest of her life. She was his stain now.

  She no longer thought the word father when referring to the Scottish Fae King. He’d disowned her, after all, and she didn’t want to consider his blood flowed through her veins. She was nothing like him, and neither was her son.

  Thank the Goddess.

  Perhaps sparing her was the only gift she’d ever received from King Fillan, but being imprisoned was the worst thing he’d ever done to her. Aye, she had her gowns, and she was fed, but pacing the rounded room didn’t relieve the antsy-ness that lived inside her and her worry for Alex was a live thing, wriggling around her, worsening daily.

  She glanced over the opulence of the room and guilt rose to bite her. She was stuck in a small space, but at least her meals were regular—if simple—and she was left unharmed.

  Alana was permitted to bathe and use limited magic, and she was allowed to be visited by Xander at this point. He’d gained permission after a few months of her captivity.

  Her bodyguard was cooperating in the investigation of Seamus’ plot, and had gained forgiveness from the king for his ‘ignorance’ of her marriage and child.

  Her husband was kept in a small cell, but it was dark and nasty in the dungeons, and even though her cousin refused to regale her with the whole truth, Alex was being tortured and beaten, probably often.

  She winced and scrawled ‘I love you’ on the parchment she’d written him a missive on. Her cousin had access, and he’d promised he was ensuring that Alex ate regularly. It was common knowledge at Court that people got what they deserved when in the dungeon of the king’s palace, and that certainly didn’t include food.

  Especially for the human who’d dared to defile the princess.

  Guilt took another bite from her heart. Alana would never regret meeting her laird—he was the love of her life, and if they hadn’t met, sweet Angus wouldn’t exist—but his location was entirely her fault. She had put him in danger.

  The peril his life remained in only increased with every passing day.

  If Alex died, she didn’t know what she’d do. She’d always been strong, but even the idea of losing him made her insides shrivel. If she didn’t have her lad, she would take her own life in a world without her husband.

  Alana would fight to get back to her child with or without his father, but sh
e didn’t want to contemplate losing Alex permanently.

  She glanced down at the parchment. She didn’t know what else to say, other than repeating her love for him and her vow to get them free, so she folded it and sighed.

  Xander had made it possible for him write her back, and Alex had several times. She read those letters over and over, trying not to be aware of how messy the script was, or how her husband’s fatigue seemed to melt off the parchment to make her empathic magic ache.

  She swiped at her cheeks; she was so sick of crying. Enough tears to fill an ocean wouldn’t free them.

  The notch-sound of the door’s latch had her gaze flying to the entrance of her prison.

  The kitchen maid caught her vision first, and she set a covered tray down on the floor and bowed, backing out of the room slowly. As if Alana would attack her any moment.

  That was always the same, and very tiresome.

  Xander emerged behind her, but instead of leaving with the servant, he paused right inside the room. “Go without me, I shall have words with the traitor.”

  Alana winced, even if the sentiment was for show.

  The maid said nothing, just tugged the brown hood of her uniform robe over her head and disappeared.

  Her cousin nodded—she assumed to the guard outside—then closed the door. He lifted the tray from the shiny floor and carried it to the small desk she sat at. “I have news,” he said without preamble.

  When their eyes met, her heart skipped. “Alex?”

  Xander shook his head, and his braid slipped over his shoulder. “Nay, your laird is fine. Your prince, however, is not.”

  “I do not have a prince,” she spat.

  He smirked. “No one does, anymore.”

  “What?”

  “Your father, after one last exhaustive interrogation of Tamhas, declared Seamus a traitor and ordered his execution.”

  She gasped. “When?”

  “He was decapitated this morning, with his father in audience.”

  Sorrow washed over Alana, and she looked down. “I’ve always respected King Ciaran. I wish he didn’t have to witness that. Seamus was a wretched bastard, but his father shouldn’t have had to see his life ended.”

  Xander nodded, and his expression softened. “All is not lost for the Emerald Isle.”

  “Oh?”

  “You recall how the king remarried last year?”

  Alana frowned. “I believe my fa—King Fillan—attended the wedding, since you mention it, but I did not. That being said, yes, I remember.”

  Her cousin’s mouth rippled, as if he was trying not to smile. “Aye, you were not permitted to attend—you were secured to your rooms.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Aye, I’ve always been a thorn in the king’s side.” She couldn’t recall what she’d been accused of that time.

  Xander snorted. “I can’t argue with that.”

  “Sod off, Xander,” she murmured, pulling words from her husband’s armory.

  Her cousin chuckled, and shook his head. “I do not like the laird’s influence on you.” His chest rose as if he’d taken a breath. “The new Queen of Ireland gave birth to a son last sennight, so even though it was obvious King Ciaran was distraught over the death of his heir, he now as a new one.”

  “At his age?” She tried not to imagine having to lay with someone as old as the Irish king. She felt bad for his bride—she had to be much, much younger than he to be of childbearing age.

  Again, Xander laughed. “Perhaps it was a love match.”

  “Get out of my head.”

  He arched an eyebrow, unrepentant for reading her thoughts. “King Ciaran agreed with your father’s actions when the proof was presented as undeniable, so we are not worried about going to war. After all, his death was also included in the plot, according to Tamhas.”

  “And what of Tamhas?”

  “The same—two Irish, two Scottish—that were involved. They died this morn.”

  Alana blew out a breath. Xander had mentioned when others had been arrested in the recent weeks. She and Alex had been confined for almost six months, and her cousin had been deeply involved in the inquiry. “So, six were executed this morn?”

  “Aye.”

  “‘Tis really over?” she breathed.

  “Nay.”

  Her gaze shot to his. “Nay?”

  “It will not be truly over until you’re free.”

  * * * *

  The months passed slowly. He’d become used to the torture and having to scramble for scraps so he wouldn’t starve.

  Days before, they’d taken the prince away; of course Alex wasn’t told why, or if Seamus had been executed. He only knew the Irish Fae man had never been returned to his cell.

  He hadn’t seen his wife’s cousin yet to ask. If Xander planned a visit, he only hoped it would be soon. His gut growled and gnawed on itself, the emptiness hollow and sharp.

  Sleep was relief, but then he’d relive what they did to him.

  Wake screaming.

  Daily.

  Xander kept promising he’d rescue them, but at this point, Alex was convinced he was going to die in this cell, in the dungeon in the Fae Realm, never to see his son or wife—or the rest of his family—again.

  He only prayed Alana would survive for Angus’ sake and escape to Dunvegan.

  Their lad was a sensitive, and part of his magic was visions, or premonitions, so he could only pray his son was saved from knowing what was going on in the Fae Realm. He had no need to see his father being tormented and bleeding.

  As for his wife, she talked to him every day. Hearing her voice in his head kept Alex going, especially after she’d stopped apologizing.

  She told him she loved him over and over, and even though he couldn’t answer her with his mind, her cousin could give her messages, and did so whenever he could. First verbally, but then small missives on parchment, and Xander had given him a magic quill that didn’t require an ink well to write her back. No matter how many sentences he penned, it never ran out of ink.

  He begged the Fae Warrior not to tell her how they hurt him, but even without the words, Alana would know. She’d been raised by the king, after all. How they lived in the Fae Realm was no mystery to her.

  Alex fantasized Duncan appeared before his cell, fighting to free him and Alana from the lands with a king that declared that their marriage—their love—could never be.

  He worried that while he was locked away, his would-be-father-by-marriage had sent men to his home and harmed Angus and the rest of his family, but Xander confirmed no one had ventured to the Human Realm, King Fillan had only doubled the guard at the Faery Stones and banned that they be opened under the penalty of death.

  His wife’s cousin swore he’d kept eyes and ears out for a raiding party, but the king had never wanted anything to do with humans in the past, and that hadn’t appeared to change, despite their circumstances.

  “I’ve brought you a letter from Alana.”

  The familiar voice had Alex jerking up off the small sponge-pallet. He’d been healed from the day’s torture, but his muscles were sore, and his legs protested as he climbed to his feet.

  Xander passed the small piece of folded parchment through the crystal bars.

  His dirty fingers grasped and held on, as if for his life. “How is she?” His voice was a thick croak he almost didn’t recognize.

  “She is well. Worried about you, as always.”

  “Dinna tell her,” he ordered.

  The Warrior’s expression softened. “I never do, but she knows, Laird Alex.”

  “I know.” He crushed his eyes shut. “They heal me.”

  “I know. My father can be a sadistic bastard, can’t he?”

  “The captain dinna lay a finger on me.”

  “Everything has his seal of approval, my laird, remember that.” He shoved a small sack through the bars. “Here. I managed to get you some dried meat and bread.”

  Alex scrambled to the pallet and dropped the
letter from his wife. His stomach snarled, and he needed to feed it first. Alana’s comfort would have to wrap around him when the ache in his gut was lessened.

  He stuffed a sliver of meat into his mouth and chewed, caring not that it was dry and hard. He closed his eyes and breathed deep as another piece made it past his lips.

  “Slow down, lest you retch it right back up.”

  He didn’t scowl at Xander—the Warrior was right.

  “I’ll get you another skin of water as soon as I can.”

  “Thank ye,” Alex managed as he bit into the small loaf of bread.

  “I’m sure you noticed Seamus’ absence.” His wife’s cousin gestured to the empty cell with his head and his long flaxen plait jumped.

  “Aye.” He didn’t pause eating, just took another bite of meat and bread.

  “He was executed this morning.” Xander quickly explained what’d happened to the prince and his coconspirators.

  Alex didn’t comment—had nothing to say on the matter.

  Over the months of their shared captivity, Seamus hadn’t learned to be more bearable. His tongue had been as sharp as ever, and his stomach as empty as Alex’s. Except Xander didn’t sneak the prince food.

  Humility had escaped him even after he’d been tortured, so they’d been equal, and Alex had almost felt bad for the Fae royal. After all, he had Alana’s love, and the prince had no one.

  Nothing to save him.

  Xander grabbed the crystal bars and they threw blue sparks under his touch, but didn’t seem to harm him as they did every time Alex touched them for too long. He didn’t so much as flinch. “Something’s coming, I feel it.”

  He looked up from the small chunk of bread remaining, and met the eyes that were so like his Alana’s. He popped the morsel into his mouth. “Meanin’?”

  “Just hang on a while longer, my laird. I’ll hold to my vow, and get you both out of here.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Xander’s footsteps faded; he never stayed long. Couldn’t afford to get caught.

  Alex hid the small now-empty food sack beneath his pallet and opened the missive from his wife.