Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression grim. “It seems you have fond memories of the mon.”

  “I do, but he was only a boy when I knew him.” A memory of Lachlan sounding scared and alone echoed in her mind, and she wondered if Aidan had been the cause of her brother’s anguish. Her temper flared on Lachlan’s behalf. She matched Aidan’s stance and pinned him with an indignant look of her own. “You were angry at your brother. Why?”

  He frowned. “’Tis no concern of yers.”

  She opened her mouth to protest then closed it. She couldn’t tell him the truth, and without it, to argue would be pointless.

  “I have much to do, lass, before the gatherin’. So it would be best if ye tell me who yer kin are and I can have ye back to them before nightfall.”

  “You’re having a gathering—here.” She couldn’t help it, her nose wrinkled.

  “Aye, in a few days’ time, but ye needn’t worry. Most of my guests’ expectations are lower than what yers appear to be.”

  Once more heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She looked toward the grand hall. “I could help you tidy things up while we wait for . . . I mean, until I recall my kin.”

  He angled his head to study her. “Ye still canna recall them?”

  “No.” She shook her head firmly. “I can’t.” Syrena stepped into the hall. “Oh my,” she murmured. The sight that greeted her horrified her Fae sensibilities. There were buckets scattered everywhere. The tables and chairs that remained intact were coated with grime. A far wall with a large hole in it looked as though it might crumble into a heap right before her eyes.

  “Lord MacLeod, do you not have servants to help you with . . .” Unable to think of a word that would not offend him, she waved her hand.

  He grinned. “Are ye takin’ back yer offer to help, Syrena?”

  “No, of course not, but I . . . I think perhaps you should hold your gathering out of doors.” Her poor brother, to see the squalor in which he lived pained Syrena. The sooner she got him away from this place, the better.

  Aidan rubbed his hand along his jaw. “’Tis no’ a bad idea, lass, if the weather holds.”

  She smiled. No one had ever taken one of her suggestions seriously before, and the thought Aidan did ignited a happy glow inside her.

  He took her hands in his and turned her palms up. She watched, mesmerized, as his thumbs traced her sensitive skin. His hands dwarfed hers, and his touch caused a flutter low in her belly. She drew her gaze to his and their eyes held.

  “I doona think these hands have ever seen a day’s work, have they, Syrena?” Her name rolled off his tongue as though he caressed her, a heated caress that warmed her in places never before touched.

  Forgetting everything but how she’d felt in his arms, she stepped closer. He watched her as he stroked her palms, and she trembled with the intensity of his gaze.

  “Aidan, old Tom is beside him . . . oh.” The man named Gavin grinned. “Sorry, I didna mean to interrupt ye.”

  Aidan released her hands. “Ye didna. Now what was that ye were sayin’?”

  “’Tis Tom, he says . . .” He waggled his brows.

  “Mayhap ’twould be best if I speak with him now. Syrena, make yerself comfortable while I—”

  “I’m coming with you,” she said, certain there was a problem with her deer.

  “Nay, let me calm old Tom before ye have a visit with yer pet.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “You promise no one will harm her?”

  “I promise, now be a good lass and let me be on my way.” Aidan looked over his shoulder when a tall, auburn-haired woman pushed past Gavin. “Beth, I was wonderin’ where ye got to. Lady Syrena has offered to give ye a hand with the cleanin’. Mayhap ye can fetch her a bucket and some rags.”

  The woman’s mouth dropped. “Ye canna be serious, my—”

  “Ah, but I am.” He grinned and winked at Syrena before he followed Gavin from the castle.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “I must apologize fer our laird. He likes to tease.”

  “I did offer,” she assured the woman with a smile. “And by the looks of things, you could use my help.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

  Beth waved off her apology. “No offense taken, my lady. There’ve been a fair number of lasses hurt of late on account of the keep’s disrepair. And ’tis a lot fer only four bodies to manage.”

  Syrena, wanting to let the woman know she was serious, rolled up her sleeves in the manner in which the servants at the palace did.

  With a shake of her head, Beth said, “I’ll be back with yer rags.” Chuckling, she left the hall.

  Over the last hour, Syrena had developed an appreciation for all the servants accomplished in the Enchanted Isles. Although she was certain they had never dealt with filth such as this. She wrinkled her nose as she wrung out the blackened cloth, her arms aching from the constant scrubbing. But when she looked at the long wooden table she’d cleaned, she stood taller. Pleased with her accomplishment.

  A low drawn-out hiss came from behind her and she turned. Her eyes widened. What in the name of Fae is that?

  An animal, as black as night, slunk across the room toward her, its yellow eyes gleaming. It hissed again and bared its pointed teeth. She thought back to the book she’d read the night before, sorting through her memory. A cat, it was a cat. A tingle of nerves prickled beneath her skin. There was something important she was forgetting, something about cats and the Fae. “Go away,” she pleaded as it prowled toward her.

  She whimpered, sensing the evil intent that pulsed from the creature. Her hip bumped the table and she squealed. The animal arched its back, hair standing on end. Syrena whirled around and clambered on top of the table, tugging her gown from where it caught on the splintered wood.

  The creature lunged, its teeth bared, long extended claws glittered white against its shiny black coat and latched onto her gown. She screamed, shaking her skirt, trying to dislodge the animal. And in the midst of her terror, she remembered—cats suck the very essence from a faery. Her panicked cries echoed in the grand hall as the animal slithered its way up her body.

  Chapter 4

  Syrena’s high-pitched shriek greeted Aidan as soon as he entered the keep. He raced into the hall, laughter rumbling in his chest at the sight of her standing in the middle of the table with a wee cat attached to her gown. His laughter faded when he noted the look of terror in her eyes, and the pallor of her skin. The woman was beside herself with fear.

  He strode to the table. “He’ll no’ harm ye, Syrena,” he tried to reassure her while he pried the animal from her gown. He cursed the wee beastie when it got in one last swipe and raked the delicate skin of her chest with its claws, leaving a fiery red welt in its wake.

  “Beth,” he bellowed.

  “I’m here, my laird, no need to make me deef,” Beth remarked from behind him.

  He shoved the hissing animal into her arms. “Take the cat and lock it away. It appears to have gone mad.” As though to make a mockery of his statement, the wee beastie purred loudly as it left the hall in Beth’s arms.

  Aidan turned back to Syrena. Placing his hands on either side of her tiny waist, he lifted her easily from the table and into his arms. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she released a shuddered breath and hiccupped on a sob.

  “Shh, angel, ye’re all right,” he murmured into her hair, inhaling her now familiar sweet scent.

  “I . . . I know. It’s just a little . . . a little scratch.”

  Aidan bit back a smile at her attempt to hide how frightened she’d been, and lowered himself on a chair, settling her on his lap.

  He placed his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. “The cat willna bother ye again,” he promised, entranced by the shimmering depths of her topaz eyes.

  She drew her arms from his neck and plucked at the laces of his tunic. “Thank you for saving me,” she murmured.

  He chuckled.
“’Twas only a wee cat. Yer life was never in danger, Syrena.”

  She lifted her wide-eyed gaze to his. “But it was. You don’t understand. Cats will suck the essence from a . . .” She caught her full bottom lip between her teeth and dipped her head while absently stroking the flesh at the opening of his tunic.

  The action seemed to comfort her, but it was wreaking havoc on his self-control. Glad of the voluminous amount of fabric between them, he hoped it was enough that she wouldn’t feel him harden beneath her. He wrapped his fingers around hers, and brought them to his lips. “I ken the beastie appeared mad, but ye calmed Fin, and befriended a deer. I canna imagine why ye’re afraid of a wee cat.”

  “I told you . . .” She clamped her mouth closed. Bringing her hand to her chest, she touched the raised, reddened mark that marred her creamy white skin.

  His eyes were drawn to the dark valley between her breasts, and he cleared his throat, jerking his chin to the scratch. “Does it hurt?”

  Watching the tip of her finger trail the length of the welt, he had to tamp down the temptation to press his lips to her satiny smooth skin. To soothe her heated flesh.

  “It burns.” She let her hand fall away.

  Aidan couldn’t help himself. He pressed his palm to the mark.

  “Oh,” she gasped. Her gaze went to his, and instead of the rebuke he expected, she rewarded him with a soft smile. “Your hand is cool. It’s soothing.” She rested her head on his shoulder.

  The gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath his palm caused him to swallow a groan. The tips of his fingers inadvertently stroked the full swell of her breast and he felt her squirm in his lap. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he lowered his head, about to press his lips to her wound when the clamor of male voices drew his attention. He jerked his hand away.

  “Ouch,” she cried, bringing her hand to where his had been.

  He winced. “I’m sorry, Syrena.”

  She followed his gaze. “Who is that?”

  “My brother. Mayhap ye should have that visit with yer pet now.” He nudged her from his lap, then thought it may not have been the wisest move on his part—his desire for her plain for all to see. He turned his mind to his brother and his blatant disregard of his orders, relieved when the action had the desired effect.

  Lachlan swaggered into the hall with the men trailing behind him. “And what have we here?” his brother asked. Coming toward them, he eyed Syrena with appreciation. The others glanced their way before gathering by the hearth and bellowing at the maidservants for ale.

  Aidan nudged Syrena, but she paid him no mind. “See to yer pet.” His tone gruff, angry at how his brother looked at her, and at himself that it irked him as much as it did.

  She shook her head. Her gaze riveted on Lachlan. Her pink lips parted as though entranced by what she saw.

  His brother grinned, well used to his effect on women. “ ’Twould appear the lass wishes to remain, Aidan.” Lan took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, my lady. Doona mind my brother. My men and I would welcome yer bonny company.”

  Aidan barely contained the urge to shake him. “Yer men, brother? Nay, ye’re mistaken, they’re my men, and ’tis the last time ye’ll risk their lives fer some foolhardy scheme ye’ve concocted.” He yanked the lass’s hand from Lachlan’s.

  “Syrena,” he snapped. “If ye doona go to that wee beastie of yers and see to her care, we’ll be havin’ her fer our dinner.”

  His threat was enough to draw her attention, she whirled to face him. “How can you say that to me? You promised you would not harm her. I just wanted to spend some time with—”

  “I doona care what ye wanted. I mean to have words with my brother and I can promise ye they’ll no’ be fit fer a lady’s ears. Now be on yer way.” He gave her a light shove in the direction of the hall’s entrance. Between his brother, and her reaction to him, Aidan’s patience wore thin.

  She glared at him, and jabbed her finger into his chest. “I thought you were different, but you’re not.” She rose up on the tips of her golden slippers in an effort to look him in the eye. “I intend to . . . I intend to come right back here once I’m finished seeing to my deer and you . . . you can’t stop me.”

  He lowered his face to hers. “I can, and I will. And until I say ye may return, I doona want to see yer bonny face anywhere near here. Do ye understand me?”

  With a haughty toss of her head, and one last look at his brother, she limped from the room. He heard the heavy doors to the keep shut once, and then again. Despite himself, he chuckled at her futile attempt to slam them.

  Lachlan eyed him with interest. “I apologize, brother, I didna ken ye wanted the lass fer yerself.”

  “I doona.” He did, but it was not something his brother needed to know. Especially since nothing could come of it. “Stay away from her, Lan.”

  Lachlan held up his hands. “Whatever ye say. All I want is some ale and to celebrate with the men. ’Twas a verra successful raid, wasna it, lads?”

  “Aye,” several of the men shouted. At Aidan’s quelling look, the celebratory cheers ended. They sheepishly averted their gazes from his.

  He returned his attention to his brother. “On whose authority did ye make this raid?”

  “Mine,” Lachlan said belligerently. “Ye were no’ here.”

  “Aye, I wasna. And ye ken well enough I wouldna given it to ye in the first place. I grow tired of this, Lan. ’Tis time to rebuild and no’ take part in these petty skirmishes that put the men at risk. The Lowlanders are done for. Given time they’ll realize it. And besides that, our uncle has been appointed agent to King James and means to put in a good word for us. So—”

  Lachlan gave a derisive snort. “That should go over well with John Henry.”

  Aidan didn’t want to talk about his cousin. At one time they’d been close, but since John Henry had married Davina, the woman that had been promised to Aidan, there relations were strained. “As I was sayin,’ I’ll no’ have ye puttin’ our chance fer peace at risk. No more, Lachlan, or ye’ll suffer the same consequences as anyone else who goes against my orders. I am laird and my word is law, best ye remember it.”

  “How can I no’, brother? ’Tis all I ever hear and I grow tired of it. Am I never to be given any responsibility?”

  Aidan ran his hand through his hair, weary of the neverending battle of wills with his brother. “Ye have much to learn, Lan. Ye’re only nineteen, time enough fer ye to bear the burden of responsibility.”

  “We return with two cows and no one injured.” Lan glanced over his shoulder. “No’ bad at least, and ye canna even congratulate us on a job well done. All ye do is make me feel foolish, as worthless as a bairn.” He pushed aside Aidan’s restraining hand and strode from the hall.

  Syrena sat on the hard, mud-packed floor strewn with hay, the deer’s head in her lap. “Who does he think he is ordering me about like that?” she said, casting a surreptitious glance around the interior of the stable to be sure she was alone. Relieved when she saw no sign of the cantankerous old man who had confronted her at the entrance to the barn.

  She patted the soft muzzle of the deer and released a heartfelt sigh. She’d found her brother, and he was as beautiful as the most handsome of the Fae men with his golden hair and eyes. As beautiful as his brother.

  Syrena frowned as soon as the thought entered her head. She wished she could deny it, but she couldn’t. Aidan was beautiful, powerful yet gentle with an underlying kindness. She snorted at her fanciful musings. Gentle . . . hah, kind . . . hah, the man was an overbearing beast.

  Her hand went to her chest as she remembered how his palm had cooled the scratch that ravaged her skin. The memory of his fingers stroking the tops of her breasts and her body’s reaction to his touch caused a shiver of trepidation to ripple down her spine. She’d wanted him to keep touching her, to kiss her. Never before had she had feelings such as those. She groaned. She’d been right from the be
ginning. Aidan MacLeod was dangerous, and the sooner she and Lachlan were away from there, the better.

  The door to the stables flung open and her brother stormed into the dimly lit room, cursing loudly. He came to an abrupt halt upon seeing her. “I’m sorry, my lady, I didna ken ye were about.” He rubbed the darkened stubble along his jaw in a manner similar to his brother. “What have we here?” he asked, lowering himself onto the ground beside her.

  The deer sent Syrena a pained look and she realized that in her excitement her fingers dug into its fur. She grimaced, and gentled her touch. “She’s my pet. Your brother shot her, but I think she will soon recover.” She smiled at him, finding it hard to believe her brother sat beside her. The little boy she’d come to love had grown up, and he was her family. The only family she had left.

  His brows shot up. “Ye’ve made a pet of the beastie and my brother allowed it?” At her nod, he let out a low whistle. “Aidan must be more taken with ye than I first imagined.”

  Heat suffused her cheeks. “He’s not taken with me, and I’m not taken with him,” she felt the need to add. She didn’t want to talk about Aidan, or think about him for that matter. Her only interest lay in her brother.

  A crooked grin creased his beautiful face. “Nay? Then mayhap ye and I should get to ken each other a bit better.” He raked her from head to toe with a bold look, then reached out and wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger.

  She let out a horrified gasp and slapped his hand away. “Stop that, Lachlan. I’m your sister,” she blurted out.

  He frowned, slowly unfurling her hair from his finger. “Are ye daft? I have no sister.”

  She hadn’t meant for it come out that way. Now she had no choice but to tell him the truth. “Yes, you do. We share the same father and he’s asked that I bring you home to the Enchanted realm.”

  He leapt to his feet and backed away from her, stumbling over a clump of earth. “Who . . . who are ye?”