Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  With a hand resting on the seductive curve of her hip, she looked around the keep in much the same manner as he had. “You’re right, it is.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t take offense from her comment, not when it was the truth. And she looked so adorable saying it with her hair a tumbled mass of golden curls, eyes wide and earnest in her heart-shaped face.

  She leaned into him, stretching up on the tips of her toes. “But you have coin enough to help you now,” she whispered conspiratorially.

  He grinned. “Aye, I do, thanks to you.”

  “Aidan,” his brother snapped, glaring at him over Syrena’s head. “The men need to ken how many more tables ye’ll be needin’.”

  Entranced by the woman before him, Aidan hadn’t noted his brother’s approach. He shot Lan a quelling look before returning his attention to Syrena. “Ye’re certain ye’ll be all right, lass?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she murmured. But as Aidan went to move away from her, she laid a hand upon his arm. “Since I’ve been banned from the kitchens, I thought I may be of some help to you with the tables.”

  He smiled and ran his knuckles gently over her cheek. “Only because I feared fer yer safety.”

  “Uhmm, mine and your cakes.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement and he wished his brother wasn’t standing nearby glowering at them.

  “Mayhap, and as fer the tables, I’m certain we have all we’ll be needin’. Besides, ’tis no’ a job fer a lady.”

  “No, I meant I could clean the tables and have them ready for the linens and flowers.”

  “Linens . . . flowers?” he asked over Lan’s derisive snort. “I wasna plannin’ on makin’ it a fancy affair, lass.” They hadn’t dined on anything other than scarred wood since his mother’s death. All life’s niceties had died with her.

  “Oh, but you must make it special. It’s the day of your brother’s birth.” She cast a shy smile in Lan’s direction.

  His brother’s expression darkened, and he all but shouted at Syrena, “How did ye ken that?”

  “Your brother told me.” She edged closer to Aidan.

  Bloody hell, he wanted to shake the lad for upsetting her. Aidan gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Aye, do as ye wish, Syrena.” He left his hand on her shoulder and skewered his brother with a look he’d be familiar with. “I ken this day reminds ye of things ye’d rather forget, but I’ll no’ have ye takin’ out yer foul humor on Syrena.” Aidan wondered if the lass’s gift would lessen his brother’s anger. He hoped so. He didn’t relish the idea of pummeling him on his day of birth. But if he continued to treat Syrena as he did, Aidan would be sorely tempted to do just that. He bent his head and said quietly, “Why doona ye give him yer gift?”

  At his nod of encouragement, she took a hesitant step in Lan’s direction. Slipping her fingers into her gown, she withdrew the wee bundle and tentatively offered it to his brother.

  Lan looked as though she had offered him a newt and took a horrified step back. “What . . . what’s that?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Aidan, small, perfect white teeth worrying her bottom lip before she answered, “Your present,” and once more offered him her gift.

  Lan snarled, “Nay, I want nothin’ from ye, nothin’!” With a violent sweep of his hand, he knocked the bundle from Syrena’s fingers and sent the coin flying. Gold and silver bounced on the slate, a dull clinking sound echoing in the deafening silence.

  Syrena let out a startled gasp and sank to the floor. Her head bent, she picked up the scattered pieces with trembling fingers.

  Aidan strode to his brother’s side. Fisting his hand in the front of Lachlan’s tunic, he shook him. “Ye go too far, brother. Apologize to her. Now!” His voice was strangled with barely controlled rage.

  Lan shoved him away. “Nay, I willna do it. I want nothing from her, do ye hear me? Ye’re a fool, brother. Ye doona—”

  “Aidan, please, it doesn’t matter.” Syrena came to his side, covering his fist with icy fingers. “Please, don’t,” she begged him. Her topaz eyes glistened, brimming with unshed tears.

  Aidan released his pent-up frustration on a heavy sigh. Unclenching his fist, he covered her hand with his. Behind him, the door to the keep slammed. He shook his head, disgusted with his brother. “I doona ken what to say to ye, lass.” A tear trickled down her pale face. With his thumb, he brushed it away. “Ye doona deserve his anger. When he calms down, I’ll speak to him.”

  She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No, please, let it be.” The anguished look on her sweet face drew an emotion from him so strong it caught him off guard. He pulled her into his arms and held her as though he’d never let her go, and at that moment, he didn’t want to.

  He stroked her back. “There’s much to do on account of the gatherin’ and I need yer help. ’Tis no’ only my brother we celebrate this day but a lessenin’ of our troubles,” he said, trying to distract her.

  She lifted her head to look up at him. “You really want my help?”

  “Aye, I do.” He kissed the reddened tip of her upturned nose just as the door to the keep creaked open.

  “See, didna I tell ye where he’d be. Ye owe me two shillings, Donald.”

  Donald snorted. “’Twas said in jest, Gavin. I doona have a penny to me name and well ye ken it.”

  Aidan looked down at Syrena and arched a brow, receiving the ghost of a smile in return. She handed him two gold coins, and he tossed one to each of them. “Ye can thank the lass fer it, and no’ a word to anyone else.” If it was friends she was after, he was determined she’d have them.

  Donald sketched her a bow that would do a mother proud. And before Aidan could stop him, Gavin was on his knees at her feet, kissin’ her hands. At the sound of her soft giggle, Aidan knew he’d do whatever it took to ensure her happiness.

  With a cautious glance over her shoulder, Syrena crept unseen from the bush she hid behind. Not an easy task considering Gavin and Donald had remained attached to her hip, and Aidan had kept a very close eye on her. Every time she’d looked up from setting the tables, she’d met his gaze, the gentle concern in his mesmerizing eyes a soothing balm to the bitter hurt of Lachlan’s rejection. Donald and Gavin had lightened her mood, too, with their steadfast devotion and playful flirtations. But she was worn out from all of the attention and longed for the quiet companionship of her deer.

  Syrena hurried across the deserted courtyard to the stables. She stepped within the dimly lit barn, and fingers closed over her wrist and jerked her inside. The doors banged closed behind her. The panicked scream that gurgled in her throat dissolved the moment she recognized her captor.

  Recovering her voice, she cried, “Evangeline, what in the name of Fae are you doing here?” But she was immediately distracted by the notable absence of her deer. “My pet, she’s gone!” She tugged on Evangeline’s arm. “We must find her. Give us some light.”

  “Calm yourself, my lady. She seemed lonely so I put her in with him. Look.” With a wave of her hand a lantern appeared on the post by Fin’s stall. The light cast the stables in a soft amber glow. Syrena blew out a relieved breath. Her pet was happily cozened up to the big, black stallion.

  Her handmaiden’s violet eyes widened. “My lady, whatever are you wearing?” Before she had a chance to respond, Evangeline began to murmur an incantation.

  Syrena tugged on the sleeve of her handmaiden’s amethyst robes. “No, no. I don’t want you to change my gown. I want to know what you’re doing here.”

  “You’re right. We have no time to waste. Come, princess, we must go.”

  Knowing the close confines of the stable would make transportation difficult for her handmaiden, Syrena dug in her heels. Dust billowed up from the dirt floor as Evangeline dragged her toward the door. At the sound of muffled grunts coming from the far end of the stables, Syrena jerked back in alarm. Noting Evangeline’s furious glare in the direction of the sound, she slowly turned.

  Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped.
“What have you done?” she groaned. Her gaze darting from her brother, who hung upside down from the rafters, a rag stuffed in his mouth, to Evangeline, who simply shrugged.

  Evangeline shot Lachlan a look of pure loathing. A look Syrena had never before seen in her handmaiden’s eyes, and it shocked her into silence.

  “He attacked me. But don’t worry, I’ll wipe his mind of the memory and release him once we’re safely away from here.”

  Lachlan fought his restraints. Returning Evangeline’s hostile glare, his grunts grew louder.

  Syrena tugged her hand free. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere, and”—she pointed at Lachlan—“you can’t wipe his mind. He has Fae blood.” Anger at both her brother and Evangeline boiled in the pit of her stomach. Lachlan had hurt her badly, but she still had hopes—small though they might be—of changing his mind about her. But now, after Evangeline’s’s antics, she doubted there was much chance of that. “He’s my brother!”

  “Him?” Evangeline’s lips pulled back in a menacing sneer.

  “Evangeline, release him,” Syrena growled.

  “I will not. The Mortal is an arrogant, disgusting, overbearing lout, with the sensitivity of a rock. He made you cry!”

  Lachlan appeared ready to strangle her handmaiden if he could but break free from the ropes that held him in place.

  Syrena blew out an exasperated breath. The two of them sorely tried her temper. “Please, Evangeline, for me.”

  A mutinous expression hardened Evangeline’s fine-boned features. She crossed her arms over her chest and snarled, “No.”

  Syrena stamped her foot in frustration. “You have to obey me, I’m your princess.”

  “You are, and it is my duty to protect you from the likes of him.” She jerked her head in Lachlan’s direction. “Princess, it is urgent you return home. I promise, I’ll release the . . . him, when we’re at the stones.”

  “The council isn’t set to meet again for a fortnight. How urgent can the matter be?”

  Evangeline grimaced. “Queen Morgana has sent a missive to Uscias demanding the Sword of Nuada.”

  Syrena stiffened. “She can’t do that, there is no precedent for such an act.”

  “No, but she is arguing that because of the agreement between the two of you, the point is moot.”

  “The sword is mine. Besides, the council would never agree to such a request.”

  Evangeline lowered her eyes from hers.

  “Tell me the council didn’t give her their consent?”

  “I’m sorry, your highness, they did,” Evangeline said quietly.

  Syrena tamped down a growing sense of unease. “It doesn’t matter, even if the council has given their support to her, the vote would never pass. She would have to prove I’m incompetent. She can’t win.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t wish to wound you, princess, but she has already begun a campaign against you. She is reminding everyone of your inexperience, but more damaging than that she’s reminding them of your test scores.”

  Syrena buried her face in her hands. What had possessed Morgana to put their agreement at risk? She knew her stepmother had been unhappy when Syrena voiced her concern over the actions Morgana had taken against the Fae men, but surely that couldn’t be the reason. But whether Morgana wanted to admit it or not, Syrena had the upper hand. The Sword of Nuada was hers.

  Dropping her hands to her sides, she looked at Evangeline. “Uscias will not hand over the sword, I’m certain of it. He knows of my . . .” She chewed on her bottom lip, unable to continue in Lachlan’s presence, certain he would do anything to have her gone from his life, from his brother’s life.

  Her stomach knotted at the thought of Aidan, and the memory of his tenderness, of how he made her feel. She glanced up to see Lachlan watching her. She couldn’t leave, not yet. Winning her brother’s love was as important to her as completing her quest, maybe more so. And considering Morgana’s actions, having Lachlan rule beside her just might be what was required to circumvent her stepmother.

  She would return to the Enchanted Isles in triumph, her quest complete. Uscias would give her Nuie, and then all would see she was the one to lead them. “What of Lord Bana and Lord Erwn, surely they would not cast their lot with Morgana?”

  “It is said she seeks to disallow the men’s votes.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “I don’t know. She and Nessa pour over the Books of Fae for hours on end searching for some old ruling that will justify the edict.”

  Syrena felt somewhat more hopeful, since no one knew the Books of Fae better than she did. “There is no such ruling. You must seek out Uscias. He knows why I’m here and will advise you. If he thinks I should return, then I shall, but until then I will remain here.”

  “I cannot change your mind?”

  “No.” She gave Evangeline’s arm a reassuring squeeze, grateful for her friend’s loyalty and protection.

  “All right.” Muttering something beneath her breath, Evangeline waved her hand and Lachlan crashed to the mud-packed floor. Still bound by the ropes, he lay on his back, groaning.

  “Oh, Evangeline, you could have at least let him down gently,” she protested, hurrying to her brother’s side.

  “Yes. I could have.” Evangeline moved to stand over Lachlan and snarled, “You hurt her again and you’ll answer to me. Do you hear me?” She prodded him with the toe of her embroidered black slipper. “Nod if you do, you big oaf.”

  “Evangeline!” Syrena cried out, but her handmaiden ignored her.

  Lachlan growled beneath the dirty rag, his eyes flashing. Evangeline nudged him again, and he nodded.

  Turning to Syrena, Evangeline took her hand in hers. “He’s a fool if he rejects your love, princess, as are the Fae if they listen to Morgana.”

  She blinked back tears and embraced Evangeline. “No one has ever had a friend as loyal as you. Thank you.”

  A rosy hue tinted her handmaiden’s porcelain complexion, and she dipped her head. “You deserve no less. Take care, my lady.” With one last glare in Lachlan’s direction, Evangeline left the stables.

  Syrena dropped to her knees at her brother’s side. “I’m sorry, Lachlan. At times she can be a little overprotective is all,” she apologized while removing the gag from his mouth, praying he didn’t yell once she did.

  “Just get these bloody ropes off of me,” he rasped.

  “Yes, of course.” She dug her fingers into the knots and tried to loosen them, but they were too tight. The thick twine scraped and burned her tender skin. Unwilling to give up, she moved to his feet and tried to pull the rope over his boots.

  He blew out an impatient breath. “Can ye no’ do magick like her?”

  She grimaced. “No, I wish I could. If I tried, I’m just as likely to tighten the knots as loosen them.”

  His amber eyes widened in alarm. “Nay, doona do it then. Ye’ll squeeze the life out of me if ye do.”

  She once more bent over her task. Moisture beaded on her forehead as she struggled with the bindings. Crouching to gain momentum, she rocked back on her heels, tugging as she did, and landed with a thud on her bottom. She heard a low rumble and looked up to see Lachlan laughing at her. The chiseled lines of his handsome face softened.

  “At this rate, I’ll be two and twenty before ye have me free.” He jerked his chin. “There’s a dagger in my boot, Syrena. See if you can reach it.”

  A warmth filled her chest and her heart swelled with hope. Syrena couldn’t have wiped the smile from her face even if she wanted to. She leaned over, digging inside the soft leather of his calf-length brown boot. Finding the dagger, she carefully withdrew it.

  “Have a care. ’Tis sharp,” he warned, craning his neck to watch her work it beneath the rope.

  Gripping the shaft with two hands, she sawed through the thick twine. “I did it,” she cried triumphantly when the rope fell apart. Setting the knife aside, she unwound the coils that ensnared her brother. He raised himself up in order t
o help her.

  Free of the rope, Lachlan shook out his limbs then rubbed his long legs. “That woman is a menace. Mad as old Tom on a bender, she is.”

  Syrena handed him his knife then sat quietly at his side, her knees pulled to her chest. “I’m sorry for what she did to you, Lachlan. As I said before, she’s very protective of me.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance as he slid his dagger into his boot. “Aye, ’tis obvious.” He dragged his hand over his face. “To be fair, I shouldna tussled with her like I did.”

  Her eyes widened. “You fought with Evangeline?”

  “Nay, well, aye, but ’twas dark in here and I mistook her for a lass I was plannin’ to meet up with before the gatherin’. I kissed her.” He flushed under Syrena’s scrutiny. “Before I had a chance to apologize, she had me strung up from the rafters.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all she did to you,” she commented dryly, remembering one of the royal guards who ended up chained in iron and hanging from a mountain peak after attempting to kiss Evangeline.

  “And ye canna do that? Do magick like she does?”

  “No, not like Evangeline. Her magick is very powerful. In truth, I don’t know of many with her abilities. She’s tried to teach me, but I seem to be unteachable.”

  “She called ye princess. Are ye?”

  “Yes, our . . . I mean, my father was king,” she corrected herself so as not to anger him.

  “Was?” His voice had gone very quiet.

  “Yes, he’s dead. He was murdered.”

  “How? I didna think faeries could die.”

  “Not easily, but we can. Weapons such as my sword and the juice from Rowan berries will kill us, and then there are some who simply grow weary and choose to fade.”

  “Fade?”

  “They ask for their life to end, say the incantation, and then that’s it, poof, they’re gone. Nothing remains but faery dust. As for my father, someone poisoned him with Rowan berry juice.”

  His brow furrowed, and then he asked, “Do ye ken who?”

  “No.” She shook her head. Her father said it was her brother who would one day avenge his death. She didn’t think that possible given how Lachlan felt about the Fae. But she had enough to worry about without adding that to her list.