Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  She looked like he’d slapped her. He slammed down a pang of regret that he’d hurt her. Pushed aside the memory of her in his arms, the soft innocence of her lips pressed to his, the feel of her lush curves molded to his body. Reminding himself again that, if not for her, Lan wouldn’t be missing. If not for her, the last words he’d spoken to his brother would not have been said in anger. His relationship with Lachlan hadn’t been the same since that long-ago day in the woods, and he blamed her for that.

  Rory, Fergus, and Aileanna looked at him in shocked disbelief. He scowled at Syrena. It was all her fault. They couldn’t see past the innocence of her looks to who she truly was. At that moment, he realized he had to change tactics or she’d turn his family against him. Or worse, she’d disappear again, leaving him with no hope of finding his brother.

  No matter what the others thought, he knew the Fae were behind Lan’s disappearance. If he wanted to get his brother back, he had to use another method to find his answers. Anger and threats had little effect on the woman standing before him. But he’d turn the tables on her, lull her into complacency. Manipulation and seduction were stock in trade for women like her, like his mother, like Davina—see how she liked it when they were used against her.

  His teeth clenched so tight he was surprised he managed to get the words out. “I’m sorry, Syrena, that was uncalled fer. My only excuse is I’m worried about Lan.”

  Rory’s and Fergus’s gazes narrowed with suspicion. Syrena blinked. Her eyes searched his, and then she nodded, a tentative smile touching her pink lips.

  Chapter 14

  Syrena opened one eye then the other. Two little boys, their chins propped on their hands, lay on the big four-poster bed regarding her with interest. With one pair of eyes as blue as the sky in the Enchanted Isles, the other’s leaf green, it was easy to guess who their parents were.

  “Good morning,” she croaked, reaching to prop the downfilled pillows behind her back and make sure Nuie was safely concealed beneath them. Stifling a yawn, she rubbed her gritty eyes. She’d be surprised if she’d managed a solid hour of sleep, tossing and turning when her attempts to reach Lan in her mind proved futile. But it was the images of Aidan from the night before, towering above her, his beautiful face a frightening caricature of itself as he chased her through her dreams. The ferocity of his anger suffocated her beneath a heavy blanket of fear and despair.

  “Good morrow,” said the fair-haired boy with an impish grin. “Mama told us ye’re a princess from a far-off land come to visit.”

  “I am, but you can call me Syrena. And who are you?”

  “Jamie, I’m the biggest, and this is my brother Alex,” he said, jerking his thumb at the dark-haired boy who lay quietly beside him.

  “We’re goin’ to protect you from the monster,” Alex whispered with a furtive glance over his shoulder.

  Syrena bit back a smile, entranced by their sweet cherub faces. She hadn’t spent much time with the children of the Enchanted Isles of late, and she’d missed them. Their sweet scent, the innocent way they looked at the world, and their willingness to give their love even when it was not deserved. She thought back to her long-ago conversations with Lachlan and swallowed a lump in her throat. Not much older than these two, his childlike prattle and innocent giggles had been overshadowed by his underlying fear and sorrow.

  “Thank you. Is it a very big monster?”

  They both nodded. “Aye, verra big,” Jamie said. Puffing out his narrow chest, he tugged a wooden sword from beneath him and Alex did the same. “But we bested him the other day. If our da hadna come along, he’d no’ be botherin’ ye.”

  She winced when the two of them began to bang their swords together in mock battle. Rising to their feet, they bounced up and down, giggling uproariously.

  “Be careful now.” She managed to grab hold of Alex before he toppled to the floor. “Jamie, watch out!” she cried when he clutched the bed curtain for support, pulling it down on top of her. Tugging the swath of red velvet from her head, she looked up to see Aileanna standing at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, lips pursed. Aileanna cleared her throat, loudly, and her sons landed with a whoosh on the bed, scrambling to hide their swords beneath the bedding.

  Jamie’s sword poked her sharply in the leg and she stifled a groan.

  Aileanna wiggled her fingers. “Give me your wee swords.”

  “But, Mam . . .” Jamie whined.

  Alex glanced from his mother to his brother before quietly retrieving his sword and handing it over. Jamie scowled at him, making a grand show of searching for his. He held up his hands and shrugged. “I canna find it.”

  Aileanna folded her arms, her foot tapping impatiently on the slate floor.

  “But, Mam, Da said we could play with them, and we promised the princess we would protect her from the monster.”

  His mother blew out an exasperated breath. “Jamie MacLeod, there is no monster. Besides, Syrena has her own sword. She’s well able to protect herself.”

  Jamie giggled, shaking his blond head at his mother. “Mam, ye’re silly, lasses doona carry swords. They have the men to look after them.”

  “You’ve obviously been spending too much time with your father,” Aileanna commented dryly. “Show him your sword, Syrena.”

  She hesitated, but at Aileanna’s insistent nod, she reached behind her and withdrew Nuie from beneath the mound of pillows, running her hand over the hilt to satisfy herself his power was muted. She suppressed a smile at the sight of the boys’ wide-eyed wonder.

  Jamie and Alex tentatively touched the shimmering stones. “A golden sword, ’tis verra pretty,” Jamie said in a voice tinged with awe.

  She laughed when her sword glowed red between their chubby fingers. “I don’t think Nuie likes to be called pretty. He’s a boy sword. Why don’t you tell him he’s . . . hmmm . . . magnificent.”

  “Ye’re mag . . . magnificent,” Alex said, stumbling over the word.

  Shards of yellow light caused Nuie to glisten. “There, he likes that.”

  “He’s magick!” Jamie exclaimed.

  Syrena grimaced. “Sorry,” she apologized to Aileanna.

  “Why? My sons can keep a secret. Can’t you, Jamie, Alex?”

  “Aye, we willna tell anyone, especially the monster. Then you can surprise him and knock him on his arse,” Jamie pronounced, bouncing excitedly on the bed.

  Alex’s mouth dropped and he looked at his mother.

  Syrena bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “Jamie, what have I told you about using bad language?”

  “But Da—”

  “Oh, don’t you worry, I know what your da says, and next time I’ll wash both of your mouths out with soap. Come, let’s leave Syrena be. She’ll want to get dressed and break her fast.”

  Jamie retrieved his sword, all the while giggling with his brother, obviously imagining their warrior father with a mouthful of bubbles.

  At the children’s laughter, a familiar ache bloomed in Syrena’s chest. Aileanna was blessed. She had everything Syrena longed for but would never have. There had been only one man she had thought to give her heart, and her body, to—Aidan—but he didn’t want anything to do with her. Not now, not ever. She assured herself it was for the best. She didn’t want him either.

  “Join us in the hall, whenever you’re ready, Syrena. The men have gone off to train in the glen so all will be quiet. I left some gowns in the wardrobe for you to choose from.”

  Not sure of Aileanna’s reaction, Syrena hesitated before asking, “If it’s no trouble, would you have some breeches and boots I could borrow instead? I’d like to train with the men and a gown . . .”

  The three of them stared at her, mouths agape. Aileanna was the first to recover. A slow smile curved her lips. “If that’s what you’d like, I’m sure Connor has something that will fit you.”

  Syrena was determined to show Aidan she had changed and thought battling him in the field would be the best
way to do so. He would see then that he could not take her for granted, use her weakness against her.

  Alex and Jamie followed on Aileanna and Syrena’s heels as they walked along a well-worn path through the tall grass of the meadow. “Do you do this often, Syrena, train with the men?”

  “I train every day, but not with men. Only women fight in my army.”

  Coming to a dead stop, Aileanna grabbed her arm, causing the boys to bump into their legs. “Women . . . army, are you telling me you lead a group of women and you actually fight?”

  “Yes, but we’ve only been in two battles to date.”

  “Did you win?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re good?”

  “I suppose so.” She smiled at Aileanna’s gleeful expression.

  “You know, Syrena, the most difficult thing I’ve had to overcome since coming to this time is my abhorrence of violence. But I’ve learned in some situations there is no other way. And right now, I have to tell you, I can’t wait to see the look on those men’s faces when you step onto the field. I’ve never met a more arrogant, chauvinistic bunch as this lot.”

  Syrena chuckled. “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

  Aileanna looked her over. “Somehow, I don’t think you will.”

  As they passed through a stand of pines into a wide-open field, they heard the metallic clang of steel against steel. At least forty men were paired off, grunting and groaning with their exertions. Despite a cool breeze, most had shed their shirts, and seemingly of their own accord, her eyes sought Aidan. He was not difficult to spot standing head and shoulders above most of the men, except the one he battled. She tried not to stare at Aidan’s sun-bronzed skin, the way his muscles rippled along his arms and back as he parried with his cousin.

  “Sweet Christ, Rory, I could’ve sliced ye in two droppin’ yer guard as ye did. And ye’re tellin’ me I’m no’ in shape. What are ye . . ” He followed his cousin’s incredulous gaze and glanced over his shoulder.

  His mouth went dry.

  Syrena, dressed in form-fitting trews and a white tunic that left little to the imagination, stood in the field alongside Aileanna. The wee demons tugged on her hand to tell her something, then pointed in his direction. Whatever they said set the women off, their silvery peals of laughter drawing the attention of the other men on the field.

  “Bloody hell, what are they doin’ here?”

  Rory bent down and grabbed his tunic from the ground. “I’ll find out.” He shot Aidan a warning look.

  Aidan had shared with them how he planned to get the truth from Syrena. Neither his cousin nor Fergus had been overly impressed. More to the point, they’d heartily disapproved. But he knew it had nothing to do with them believing she was innocent, she’d simply enchanted them as she had him. But he was immune to her charms now. He knew who she was, what she was.

  His blood boiled, and he had to school his features to ensure no one knew what was going on in his head, especially her. He tried to ignore the loudly whispered comments of the men, who’d stopped to see who interrupted their training. Their admiring perusal of Syrena was more difficult to ignore. Aidan convinced himself the urge to pummel every last one of them had naught to do with jealousy and everything to do with his anger. Anger at having to face the woman behind his brother’s disappearance and pretend he didn’t despise her, want to throttle her with his bare hands.

  Upon reaching his wife, Rory pulled her protesting into his sweaty embrace, paying no mind to the gagging noises the wee demons were making. For the first time, Aidan found himself agreeing with the bairns. His cousin and his wife were nauseating.

  Rory pulled back from Aileanna, whatever she said causing him to glance in Aidan’s direction. Shrugging, he yelled, “Aidan, Syrena’s takin’ my place.”

  He hung his head, cursing Rory under his breath. Aileanna had turned his cousin’s brain to mush, ’twas the only explanation. Madness, that’s what it was, expecting him to fight a woman the size of a wee lad. A woman!

  Aye, and there she was, walking toward him as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She reached back, capturing long golden locks that swirled around her too bonny face. The tunic molded to her full breasts as she raised her arms to confine the silky curls in a thong. Nay, there’d be no mistaking her fer a lad.

  His hand tightened convulsively on the hilt of his sword. Fae, he reminded himself, she’s Fae.

  She came to a stop, leaving several feet between them, and withdrew her sword. He shook his head. “I doona ken what ye’re playin’ at, Syrena, but I’ll no’ fight a—”

  Clang.

  Her sword struck his in a powerful blow.

  “I’m no’ goin’ to fight—”

  Clang.

  “Bloody hell, are ye usin’ yer magick?”

  She laughed. “No, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

  He didn’t have the chance to consider what she said as her next blow nearly wrenched his sword from his hand.

  Muscles straining, his body reacted as though they’d battled for hours. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Winded, his harsh breath burned in his chest, his throat. The bloody wench was fast. She struck with deadly accuracy, and he wondered what had happened to the wee lass who’d been afraid of a cat. Her face shone, and not with sweat. She was barely winded. Aidan glared at her. He’d had enough. No more holding back, he’d end it now.

  Going after her with all he had, his sword whistled as it sliced through the crisp autumn air. He struck hard and fast. She parried each of his blows. As though sensing the battle between them had turned serious, a deathly quiet fell over the field, the only sound the thunderous clash of their swords.

  He was heartened to hear her breath come out in short, harsh rasps. Her bonny face was a study in concentration, finely honed muscles taut beneath the flimsy sweat-dampened tunic that molded to her lush curves. It was all it took. That one lapse in his concentration proved his downfall.

  Sweeping past his defense, her blade slashed his chest. Blood oozed from the burning wound.

  Cursing, he met her gaze with his own. Color leeched from her face. She dropped her hands to her sides, leaving herself undefended, open to his retaliation.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . ” Her voice was husky, thick with regret.

  He waved off her apology. “’Tis naught but a scratch, I’ve received worse from Connor.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the lean, lanky lad standing alongside Fergus. It was a lie. No one other than Rory had ever bested him. “’Tis what I get fer no’ bein’ in shape. I’ve let my trainin’ slide of late.”

  She gave him a tight nod before she bent down to retrieve his tunic. He wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. Worrying her full bottom lip between her teeth, she handed it to him.

  “You should let Aileanna see to your wound,” she suggested quietly.

  He sighed. “’Tis nothin’.” Remembering his plan, he grudgingly added, “You handle a sword well . . . fer a woman.”

  She slanted him a look as they walked from the field, shaking her head. “And you fight well . . . for a man out of practice.”

  Before he shot back a caustic retort, his cousin slapped him on the back, grinning like a fool. “Never did I think to see the day you’d be bested by a woman.” Aidan glanced at Syrena, but she was too busy accepting Aileanna and the demons’ hearty congratulations to notice. “Ye tired me out, is all. Next time ye can fight her and we’ll see how well ye fare.”

  Rory laughed. “Nay, I’m no’ daft. Aileanna tells me she leads a band of warrior women and they train daily. If they all handle a blade as well as Syrena, I don’t doubt they win more than they lose.”

  Aidan snorted, finding it difficult to believe the Fae men allowed their women to play at war. Especially Syrena’s husband, the one he’d fought that day in the woods. He dragged his hand through his damp hair. Even now, feeling about her as he did, he could not control a flare of jealousy that she was another man’s
wife.

  He shrugged into his tunic, meeting her worried gaze over the top of the snowy white fabric. “What?” he grumbled.

  She waved her hand at his chest. “Let Aileanna see to your wound,” she said as she reached behind her to sheathe her sword. Aidan, unable to take his gaze from her full breasts straining against the fabric, didn’t respond. His cousin nudged him.

  “Don’t worry, Syrena, I’ll see to him when we get back to the keep whether he wants me to or not,” Aileanna promised with a determined look in her eyes.

  “Mama, the monst . . . Uncle Aidan has blood on his tunic. Is he goin’ to die?”

  Aidan scowled at Jamie. The wee demon seemed delighted at the possibility, and Syrena shot a panicked look in his direction. He’d been made enough of a fool of for one day. The last thing he needed was two women fussing over a wee scratch in front of the men. He strode toward the keep, the thought of Syrena’s hands upon his heated flesh causing him to quicken his pace.

  An uncomfortable certainty that the concern in her eyes had not been an act grated on his conscience, but he reminded himself she was not to be trusted. He’d made that mistake before and look where it got him.

  He didn’t get far before he heard someone coming up from behind him. “Aidan, hold up a moment,” Syrena called to him.

  Cursing under his breath, he turned to look at her. The anger that warred inside him must have shown on his face as her eyes widened and her step faltered. “What do ye want, Syrena?” He reined in his temper in an effort to keep his voice even.

  “I . . . I just wanted to know when we would be leaving to look for Lan.”

  The woman should be on the stage. “I’m expectin’ a letter from my uncle any day now. Once it arrives, I’ll have a better idea as to Lan’s whereabouts.”

  “Do you not think we should head directly to London instead of wasting our time here?” She kept pace with him, smiling when the bairns ran past screaming like a pair of banshees.

  Certain no one had said anything about his brother being in London, Aidan clenched his hands, resisting the urge to shake the truth from her. He couldn’t let her think he retained his suspicions. She’d slipped up, and if he remained patient, he’d soon discover where she’d taken his brother.