Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  He was Fae.

  He flicked an errant spark from robes as golden as his hair, then raised a gaze as blue as the Isles skies to hers. His mouth curved in a predatory smile. “So good of you to come and meet me, princess. I would hate to spend any longer in this dung heap than is necessary.”

  Before she could think of what to do, a brilliant burst of yellow exploded, and Evangeline appeared. Syrena’s trepidation eased somewhat at her handmaiden’s appearance.

  “I’m sorry, my lady, I did not tell him you were here. Morgana did. I tried to stop him.” Fear interlaced with anger knitted her handmaiden’s expression.

  Syrena sucked in a shocked gasp. Morgana knew. And if her stepmother knew she was in the Mortal realm, here at Lewes, she knew about Lachlan. The realization filled her with panic, but she fought against it. She had to, or she wouldn’t be able to deal with the intimidating Fae man standing before her.

  He shot Evangeline an irritated look. “As if you could stop me. But even if you could, why would you? I come to claim what is rightfully mine.” Ignoring Evangeline, who’d moved to Syrena’s side, he raked Syrena with a proprietary look and held out his hand. “Come, our wedding takes place this day.”

  Her heart leapt to her throat. “I don’t even know you.” There had to be some mistake. This couldn’t be happening, not now.

  He quirked an arrogant brow. “You wound me, princess. I didn’t think I was so easily forgotten. But then again, when last we met, I had yet to assume the throne. I was Prince Magnus from the land of the Far North. Lucky for you I am now king, else you’d be betrothed to my father. And I can’t imagine you would have survived him.” In one long stride he closed the short distance between them and jerked Syrena from Evangeline’s hold.

  “Let me go.” She slammed her palm into his cast-iron chest, kicking her feet as he held her above the forest floor.

  He laughed at her. “I’ll enjoy taming you, little one.” Her foot made contact with the bulge between his legs. He grunted, and his amusement evaporated. His arm banded her chest in a vice-like grip, leaving her gasping for air.

  “Stop, you’re hurting her. Put her down,” Evangeline demanded.

  “You try my patience, wench.” Magnus raised his hand and a bolt of white light arched toward Evangeline. Palm up, she deflected it back at him. He cried out. Staggering, he fought to remain upright, and let go of Syrena in the effort.

  A tingling, pulsating sensation surged through Syrena’s veins, and she dropped to her knees.

  Evangeline, keeping an eye on Magnus, hurried to her side. “I’m sorry, your highness. I should have realized you’d feel the effects as well.”

  Rising to her feet, she leaned against her handmaiden. “No, it’s all right, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  The king rubbed his arm, narrowing his gaze on Evangeline. “Interfere again, and I take the matter before your Queen.”

  “No . . . no, she seeks to protect me, that is all,” Syrena protested, knowing Morgana needed little excuse to punish her friend. And word of Evangeline’s magick, more magick than a servant should possess, would have dire consequences.

  Magnus studied her. “You will accompany me without complaint?”

  It was the last thing she wanted to do, but the matter needed to be settled. She would not allow Evangeline to be punished because of her. And Magnus, well, he would learn a mistake had been made. A shiver of dread slithered along her spine at the thought Morgana knew Magnus meant to marry her. She tamped it down, determined to make everything right. Surely she and Morgana could come to an agreement. Syrena only hoped they could do so before Aidan and her brother realized she was gone.

  Something cold and damp nudged her hand and she looked into the trusting brown eyes of her pet. “Evangeline, would you return her before we leave?”

  “To the stables?”

  “Yes, and this time do not knock the old man out, I—”

  The ground trembled beneath her feet, the pounding of horses’ hooves drawing near. Please, no, not Aidan, don’t let it be him. Evangeline stood behind Magnus. Her apprehensive gaze met Syrena’s and she knew then that it was.

  “Now what have we here?” Magnus purred. Grabbing Syrena’s hand, he tugged her into his arms. “Have you been playing with the Mortals, my love?”

  She struggled in his arms and attempted to call out a warning to Aidan but Magnus curled his big hand around her neck. Cutting off her breath, he pressed her face into his chest.

  “It seems you have been. Lucky for you, I prefer a woman with some experience to a maiden.” His fingers dug into her throat. Pinpricks of light flashed before her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t pay for the privilege with his life.”

  Chapter 10

  Aidan’s heart pounded in tandem with Fin’s hooves thundering across the boggy terrain. Instinct, battle-honed, warned him Syrena was in danger. She stood in the center of the woods with her deer, a woman with long, dark hair, and a man—an impossibly large man in golden robes.

  “Bloody hell, who are they?” he asked Lan, who rode alongside him. His brother wouldn’t look at him, he stared straight ahead, the color leeching from his face.

  Aidan jerked his gaze to Syrena, cursing when the tawnyhaired stranger pulled her against him. Putting his heels to Fin, he raced toward the small copse of trees.

  “Aidan, no!” his brother shouted after him.

  Aidan ducked below a low-hanging branch to be swallowed up in the cool, damp shadows. When he lifted his eyes, he met the cold, lethal gaze of the stranger head-on. A warning flared to life inside him.

  Fae.

  The man was Fae, and he wanted Syrena.

  Red hazed his vision; a raw, all-consuming blood lust overriding his apprehension. He would do whatever he had to. No Fae man would take someone he loved—not again. With a jerk of the reins, he brought Fin to a halt and swung from his saddle, reaching for his claymore before his feet touched the ground.

  “No, please, don’t hurt him,” Syrena pleaded, grabbing hold of her captor’s arm. The man pushed her aside to prowl toward Aidan.

  Meeting her frantic gaze, Aidan tried to reassure her, “Doona worry, lass, ’twill be all right.”

  A malevolent laugh raised the hair on the back of his neck. The man’s thin upper lip curled in contempt. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Mortal.” With a wave of his hand, he replaced his glittering robes with form-fitting trews. Muscle rippled beneath his golden skin.

  “Who are ye?”

  His opponent arched a brow then shrugged. “I suppose it is only right for you to know the name of the one who is about to kill you—King Magnus. Now shall we begin?”

  Syrena and Lan’s panicked cries reverberated through the woods. Blowing out an exasperated breath, Magnus said, “Such dramatics.”

  Leaves and branches rustled behind Aidan, and Magnus looked over Aidan’s shoulder. Brow lifted, he glanced at Syrena, who was being held back by the dark-haired woman.

  “Interesting,” he murmured. Returning his attention to Aidan, he said, “I’d advise you to tell him not to interfere. No need for you both to die when my battle is with you alone.”

  “Stay back, Lan,” Aidan warned, not taking his eyes from Magnus, who armed himself with a sword. “Why bother with the blade when ye mean to use magick?”

  Magnus sneered. “Has no one ever told you, Mortal, it’s against Fae law to use magick when dealing with your race? Not that I need to against the likes of you.” He added with a maniacal grin.

  They circled one another. His opponent delivered the first blow, and pain shot through Aidan’s arm. He tightened his grip on his claymore and steeled himself against the tremor of unease that this was one battle he could not win. For Syrena’s sake, for his own, he cast the thought aside.

  The forest filled with the sound of metal scraping metal. Their swords locked, caught in a fight for supremacy. The muscles in Aidan’s arms shook and sweat burned his eyes, hazing his vision. A blurred image of Syrena, whi
te-faced with fear, drew from him a cold, hard resolve. He allowed his sword to slip, ducked, and spun to his right. Raising his foot, he delivered a blow to Magnus’s ballocks that brought the man to his knees.

  Centering his energy, Aidan smashed the sword from his opponent’s hand. The blade skittered across the forest floor. But there was no chance to savor his victory. Recovering quickly, Magnus wrenched the sword from Aidan’s hand, and flung it against a tree with such force it bent the blade in half. Seemingly unfazed by the blood pumping from his hand, Magnus said, “It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

  Before Aidan could respond, a ham-sized fist caught him on his chin and his head snapped back. Refocusing in time to block Magnus’s next punch, the battle raged on. They landed blow after punishing blow on each other.

  In the distance, thunder rumbled and lightning stemmed the approach of encroaching shadows. Aidan welcomed the cool droplets that splattered his sweat-soaked tunic, mingling with his blood. Every inch of his body protested, but he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t let the Fae have her.

  The thought fueled his rage, reviving his flagging strength. With a roar, he barreled into his opponent, taking him to the ground. Magnus grunted as his head hit the forest floor. He grabbed Aidan’s arms. Locked in a warrior’s embrace, they rolled, pine needles, branches, rocks digging into Aidan’s bruised back. The winds picked up and the driving rain pelted them with stinging intensity. Aidan gained control, rising to his knees. He prepared to go with the advantage, and then his foot slipped, throwing him off balance. It was all the leverage Magnus needed. He surged up and tossed Aidan on his back, planting his forearm across Aidan’s throat. Inch by inch, he squeezed the breath from him. Spots dotted his vision, swallowing the light. And then the pressure lifted. Hand to his throat, he struggled to sit up, gasping for air. Only to be slammed to the ground once more, a foot planted on his chest.

  “You fight well for a Mortal. And for that reason alone I shall let you live.” Slowly Magnus lifted his boot and turned to stride away.

  Syrena’s cry pierced Aidan’s oxygen-depleted brain. Wincing, he rolled to his side. Magnus, again clad in his golden robes, dragged Syrena to her feet.

  Aidan’s bruised throat constricted. He had to find some way to stop the bastard. With bloodied fingers, he dug inside his boot for his dagger. Every muscle in his body ached as he struggled to his knees. At the sight of Syrena’s tearstained face, it felt as though Magnus had ripped Aidan’s heart from his chest.

  “Say a last good-bye, my bride. For you’ll never see him again.”

  “No.” His plea was a tortured whisper. He rubbed his eyes to clear the blood and sweat that clouded his vision. A pained, white-knuckled grip on his dagger, he drew his hand back. With Syrena struggling in the grip of Magnus’s right arm, Aidan aimed for his left thigh. The dagger whistled through the air, straight and true to its mark. And then they were gone, disappearing in a cascade of light.

  He threw his head back and let loose a strangled bellow, “No . . . no.” A dull thud penetrated his anguish, and he looked in the direction of the sound. “Sweet Christ, what have I done?”

  Staggering to his feet, he made his way to the side of Syrena’s wee pet, and dropped to his knees, his dagger buried to the hilt in her chest. Blood soaked through the pink ribbon tied at her neck, pooling in an ever-widening puddle beneath her. Aidan buried his face in his hands, aware of his brother’s presence at his side, his ragged breathing.

  “She’ll never forgive me.” Lowering his hands, he closed the doe’s unseeing eyes and drew his dagger from her chest.

  Lan gently squeezed his shoulder. “’Twas an accident.”

  Aidan came unsteadily to his feet. “You have to talk to the Fae, Lan. Like when ye were a bairn. I ken I told ye never to do it again, but just this once, for Syrena. Ye have to. ’Tis the only way to get her back.”

  His brother shook his head, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

  Frantic with the need to convince Lachlan, he grabbed him by the shoulders. “Lan, I can’t lose her. He means to take her fer his wife. Ye’re the only one who can save her. I’ve never asked anythin’ of ye before, but I ask ye fer this. I’m beggin’ ye, brother. I’ll go down on my knees if need be.”

  Lan bowed his head. “I canna do it, Aidan, I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “Bloody hell, ye canna mean to leave her to the Fae.” A torrent of grief and rage surged through him at his brother’s refusal. Without Lan, he had no way of finding her, no way to get her back. The ache in his chest intensified. With a brutality conceived of frustrated anguish, he closed his fingers over his brother’s shoulders, ignoring Lachlan’s pain-filled gasp.

  “Do it now,” Aidan grated through clenched teeth.

  Lan raised eyes filled with pity. “Syrena’s Fae, Aidan. She’s a Fae princess. No harm will come to her.”

  Aidan shoved his brother away from him with such force he stumbled. His stomach churned, and his heart pounded as though it would explode. Nay, it couldn’t be true. He tried to ignore the doubt, the voice inside him that said it was so.

  He flexed his hands, his knuckles cracked. “How do ye ken?” he grated out.

  “She told me, that day in the barn. She’s my sister, Aidan. It was Syrena I talked to—”

  He slammed his fist in Lan’s gut, and his brother doubled over, gasping for air.

  Aidan paced the forest floor, shaking off the pain in his hand. His rage suffocated him, and he barely managed to restrain himself from beating his brother senseless.

  “Why . . . why did she come here?”

  “I doona ken. Her father was murdered, mayhap she was afraid, lonely. She wanted me to go back with her.”

  Aidan shoved his hand through his damp hair and inhaled deeply of the pine-scented air in an attempt to tame the inferno raging inside him. He needed to get some control over his emotions before the pain of her betrayal brought him to his knees.

  His brother came to stand beside him, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Aidan, I’m sorry I didna tell ye. I ken ye felt somethin’ fer her, and—”

  With a bitter laugh, Aidan jerked away from him. “Is that what ye thought? Nay, I felt nothin’ more fer her than any other bonny lass I lusted after.” After the grief the Fae had caused his family, he’d been fool enough to let one into his home, his heart. She’d manipulated him, used him to get to his brother.

  He shoved the image of her tearstained face from his mind. Never again would he allow his heart, his loins, to ignore the lessons in betrayal his mother, Davina, and now Syrena had taught him. “I doona ever want to hear her name mentioned again, Lan, do ye understand me?”

  His brother gave a jerky nod. “Aye, I’ll speak of her no more.”

  Syrena stumbled blindly through the standing stones. If not for Magnus’s arm around her waist, she’d be unable to move. Her stomach lurched as visions of Aidan, bloodied and bruised, replayed in her mind. A dagger clenched in his fist as he struggled to his knees and the look of horror on her brother’s face were the last things she remembered. She choked back a sob—Aidan now knew her secret. An overwhelming need to go to him, to soothe the wounds he’d suffered on account of her and to explain everything, flared to life inside her. She struggled in Magnus’s grasp. “Please, I have to go back. Let me go.”

  With a rough jerk on her arm, they reappeared in the Enchanted realm, not far from Syrena’s hideaway.

  Magnus looked down at her, irritation sparked in his eyes. “You try my patience, princess,” he drawled. “I let your lover live, for that you owe me your gratitude. Ask more of me and you will be on the receiving end of my anger, and believe me, that is the last place you wish to be.” His fingers bit into the flesh of her upper arm.

  “But I—”

  He slammed her against a tree. The back of her head cracked sharply against the wood. Pinpricks of light flickered before her eyes. The weight of his body suffocated her, and the bark pierced the fabric of her gown to scratc
h her flesh.

  “I think you need a lesson in obedience, little one,” he rasped. Imprisoning her wrists in a punishing grip, he pinned her hands above her head.

  Through a panic-filled haze she heard Evangeline cry, “Stop, you’re hurting her.”

  Her captor slowly turned his head, his profile hard as he pinned her handmaiden with a lethal stare. “Interfere and you’ll regret it. Leave us be.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the palace. The heat of his anger pulsated from him, burning Syrena with its intensity.

  His attention returned to her, and he lowered his huge hand to her neck. The pulse at the base of her throat beat frantically beneath the pressure of his thumb. “Frightened, princess?”

  She was, she was terrified, and the big hand skimming over her breast, her waist, was a catalyst to act. To get away from him before it was too late. She pushed against his barrel chest, squirming in an effort to free herself.

  “If you’re trying to enflame my desire, you’re doing a fine job of it.” He ground his thick bulge against her belly.

  She froze, her breath coming in painful gasps. A panicked whimper escaped when his free hand worked its way beneath the hem of her gown. “No, please, don’t.”

  He nuzzled her neck, his beard-roughened chin abrading her skin. He forced his knee between her legs, kneading her inner thigh. “I begin to wonder if you’re an innocent, after all,” he murmured.

  She turned her head, the bark scraped her cheek, and tears blurred her vision.

  Evangeline hovered nearby, wringing her hands.

  “I think I shall claim you as mine right here, right now.”

  Syrena squeezed her eyes shut. There had to be something she could do, but she was powerless against his strength.