Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  “Since ye were washed and dressed when I left the tent, ’twas no’ a concern. I should’ve kent ye’d crawl back beneath the covers as soon as I was gone.” He hauled her to her feet and gave her bottom a familiar slap.

  “Ouch.” Pouting, she rubbed her behind.

  “Ye missed yer callin’, angel. Ye should’ve been on the stage.” He lowered his mouth to hers for a quick kiss before calling to the men, “Time’s a-wastin’, lads.”

  She stifled a groan. They were six days into their journey, each day more grueling than the last. “Aidan, how much—”

  Her husband gave an exasperated shake of his head. “Do ye ken ye ask the same question every mornin’? We have a long ways to go, but we’re approachin’ the Lowlands and the goin’ will be easier. And if ye’re a good lass, I may find ye an inn with a soft bed to lay yer bonny head on.”

  “I’m always good,” Syrena bristled. She doubted any other woman would have been as pleasant as she had been under the circumstances. Maybe she was a little difficult to awaken in the morning, and her attempts at cooking for the men had been inedible at best. But besides that, she didn’t think her husband had much to complain about.

  “Aye, ye are.” He grinned, the crescent moon in his cheek deepening. Unable to resist him, she reached up on the tips of her toes to kiss his full lips. Deepening the kiss, he walked her backward toward the horses. Settling her onto her mount, he dug in her saddlebag and handed her a hunk of bread. “Eat, there’s an apple in yer bag fer later.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “I ken,” he said with exaggerated patience. She didn’t like to eat until later in the day and they had the same argument every morning. “But I doona want ye gettin’ skinny on me. I like ye the way ye are.” He patted her thigh and the heated look in his cloud gray gaze caused her stomach to clench, and a frisson of awareness to race up her spine. She knew she would never love anyone as much as she loved this man, and over the last few days she’d begun to believe he felt the same way.

  After enduring six straight days of rain, Syrena tilted her face to the sun, smiling as its warm rays caressed her cheeks. Aidan chuckled as he mounted Fin.

  “Ye’ve missed the sun, have ye?”

  “Um-hmm. I’m not accustomed to rain. In the Enchanted Isles we have only sunshine.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Knowing how Aidan felt about the Fae, she did her best not to remind him she was one of them. Certain it made it easier for him to accept his feelings for her.

  She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. His expression was shuttered. After a moment of painful silence, he asked, “Do ye miss yer home?”

  “No,” she replied honestly. She didn’t, and felt a twinge of guilt at the realization. But she did wonder how they fared without her. The knowledge Fallyn was more than qualified to lead alleviated some of her worry. And at the moment, there was nothing she could do about it; the portals to the Enchanted realm were closed. What she would do when they were opened, when they found Lachlan, she couldn’t think about, not now, not yet.

  He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, about to say something, when Callum galloped toward them. Aidan slowly lowered her hand and met the other man’s distressed gaze.

  “Eight Lamonts comin’ this way, Laird MacLeod.” Callum said, but she didn’t miss the silent exchange between the two men.

  “Be on yer guard, lads,” Aidan called out, unsheathing his sword.

  Gone was her teasing husband and in his place sat a warrior. His beautiful face set in hard, unyielding lines, he exuded confidence and strength. Syrena knew he would never allow anyone to harm her, but neither would she allow anyone to harm him.

  She leaned over to remove Nuie from the satchel Aidan asked her to hide him in. He’d been so insistent her protest had been minimal. Her sword was a reminder to him of who she was, and she’d been willing to make the sacrifice—for him.

  “Nay, Syrena, leave yer wee sword where it is,” he said firmly.

  “Callum, Connor.” He jerked his chin in her direction as he rode to the head of their small party.

  “Wee sword ” she grumbled. Callum and Connor exchanged an amused look. Men. But her aggravation became moot when the party of eight approached.

  They had the look of hardened warriors, bulging muscles visible beneath their belted plaids and long scraggly beards that did little to hide the menace of their features. Leading them was an auburn-haired man whose barrel chest puffed up with pride. He looked at Aidan and sneered, a maniacal gleam in his pale blue eyes. Syrena tensed. She’d seen the look before, on the battlefield, in the eyes of men just before they attacked.

  Despite Aidan’s demand, she retrieved Nuie. Shards of red flashed through her fingers as her sword made his unhappiness at being shut away known. She laid him across her lap, touching the tips of her fingers to the gleaming jewels, ensuring he was at full power.

  Connor appeared ready to protest, but she shot him a look she’d perfected on the battlefield. His brows went up, and he clamped his mouth shut. If these men attacked, they would have no choice but to allow her to fight alongside them. They would need her whether they wanted to admit it or not. Having trained her own army, Syrena recognized that only Aidan and Callum would be of any use in battle. The remaining four were too young and inexperienced. She wouldn’t allow the boys to die simply because the fools wouldn’t acknowledge her as a warrior.

  Lowering her voice, she asked Callum, “What does that man have against Aidan?” Early on, she’d learned the best way to ensure victory in battle was to know your enemy, and know him well.

  “Bad blood between the MacLeods of Lewis and the Lamonts of Harris. They were kin of Angus, the one in charge.”

  “Were?” Syrena asked out of the side of her mouth, keeping an eye on the man Callum referred to.

  “Aye, their castle burnt to the ground, none survived.”

  “What has that to do with Aidan?”

  “’Twas rumored he or his brother ordered the fire started.”

  Syrena’s mouth fell open. Surely it was a misunderstanding. “Why would . . .”

  Callum shook his head, his attention focused on the Lamonts.

  He was right—it was not the time.

  “Ye’re a long way from Lewes, MacLeod,” the leader said. He spat on the ground, missing Fin’s left hoof by an inch. With the back of his hand, he wiped gobs of spittle from his mangy auburn beard. Angus Lamont took the measure of each man in their party before his gaze came to rest on her. A salacious smile revealed broken, yellow-stained teeth.

  “I ken where I am and where yer lands are, Lamont, and I’m no’ even close to them. What is it ye want?” Now she understood why Aidan had seemed more cautious of late.

  The man had not taken his eyes from her, and Connor and Callum stiffened in their saddles. “Curiosity ye might say. ’Twas brought to my attention ye were in the area.” Jerking his head in Syrena’s direction, he asked. “And who might the bonny lass be?”

  “My wife.” No one could miss the edge of steel that sliced through Aidan’s deep voice.

  “Then ’tis only polite I offer her my cond . . . congratulations.”

  Tension rolled off Aidan. His powerful muscles flexed across his broad back and down his sword arm. Syrena almost shook her head at Lamont’s misguided attempt to bring his shaggy brown mount toward her. Aidan raised his sword and held the flat of the blade inches from the man’s chest. “Doona even think about it.”

  The disgruntled mutters rumbling through Lamont’s followers caused the five men behind Aidan to straighten in the saddle, their swords at the ready.

  “’Twould be best if ye move on, Lamont.”

  “Would it? But mayhap I should warn the lass to have a care of the company she keeps, else she’ll wind up dead like my cousin Janet.”

  Before the man could utter another word, Aidan had fisted his hand in Angus’s plaid. “If ye want to live to see another day, you’ll no’ th
reaten my wife.” With a hard shove, Aidan released him. “Now get the hell out of here.”

  Angus rubbed his reddened neck and sneered. “Aye, we’ll be leavin’.” He jerked his head at his companions, but before they rode away, he looked back at Aidan. “I hear yer brother’s gone missin’, MacLeod. I’d wish ye well in findin’ him, but ’twould be a lie. I hope the bastard rots in hell. ’Tis where he belongs. And mark my words, ye’ll be joinin’ him soon enough.”

  Chapter 20

  Aidan, with a white-knuckled grip on Fin’s reins, watched as the Lamonts rode into the early morning mist, furious that there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do about it. Angus and his men were ruthless. Besides Callum, he had naught but four lads, and a woman—a woman who no matter how well she wielded a sword—he would not put at risk. He didn’t care how many times she’d fought before. Women had no place in battle, most especially his wife.

  Syrena tugged urgently on his sleeve. “What are we waiting for? They’re getting away.”

  He drew his gaze from the valley the Lamonts had disappeared into and met her determined gaze. “I can see that, Syrena, but what would ye have me do? We’re sorely outnumbered. I’ll no’ put the men at risk when I doona even ken if Angus has information as to Lan’s whereabouts. I’ll no’ put ye in danger.” The glint from her sword caught his eye. “I see ye chose to disobey me, again.”

  She narrowed her gaze on him. “You can’t truly believe I would sit by like some helpless maid while you and your men defended me. I don’t need safeguarding, Aidan.”

  “So ye keep tellin’ me.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “There’s enough talk about my family without ye makin’ a spectacle of yerself, Syrena. The last thing I need is fer people to start questionin’ who ye are and where ye’re from.” The words came out more forceful than he’d intended. The wounded look in her eyes cut deep, but before he could take them back, she guided her horse away from him.

  Although he didn’t mean to hurt her, he realized there was more truth to his statement than he cared to admit. He’d spent a lifetime protecting Lan from censure, protecting his family’s name. If not for the fire that had claimed the Lamonts, his efforts would have been in vain. And he would let nothing else jeopardize his family’s honor or his brother’s safety, not even his feelings for Syrena.

  Callum brought his steed alongside him and Aidan realized they awaited his command.

  “We’re no’ goin’ after Angus, then?”

  “Nay.” Lifting a hand, he motioned for the men to move out and noted the look of relief in Callum’s gaze.

  “I ken ’twas no’ an easy decision fer ye to make on account of yer brother, but ’twas the right one if ye doona mind me sayin’ it. The Lamonts are fearsome in a fight. And no’ to take away from the lads, but they’re no’ battle hardened.”

  “I’m thinkin’ ’twas a good thing Angus didna ken that. He’s been waitin’ fer a chance to seek his revenge.” The knowledge weighed heavy on Aidan. Why hadn’t Angus taken the opportunity to avenge his cousins’ deaths as he had so often threatened? Aidan sucked in a shuddered breath—unless they’d already been avenged, and Lachlan was dead.

  “Aye, ’tis what we’ve been hearin’ at Dunvegan. But he’s seen yer prowess on the battlefield, Laird MacLeod, and he didna ken the lads were untried.”

  “Thank ye fer that,” Aidan managed, praying he was wrong and Callum right. He followed Syrena’s progress over the glen, realizing she veered toward the forest. “I’d best see to my wife,” he said.

  “She seemed a mite fashed.”

  “Aye,” he said, wishing that was all it was. He’d rather deal with her anger than her tears any day.

  By the time Aidan skirted the forest, his regret at causing Syrena pain had vanished. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled for riding off and leaving herself open to attack.

  Warrior, my arse!

  The woman couldn’t tell north from south. She’d gotten herself turned around and was headin’ through the woods in the wrong direction. Thankfully, he thought, in the opposite one the Lamonts had taken.

  Aidan circled back, slowing his mount. He guided Fin through the dense grove of birch and oak trees. At the sight of her riderless mount, he leapt from Fin, his heart hammering in his chest. A light breeze rustled the leaves and a glimmer of gold caught his attention. He held the branches out of the way and the tightness in his chest eased. Syrena sat on a log, talking to her sword.

  He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the tree. “Are ye hopin’ yer wee friend will set ye in the right direction?”

  She didn’t look at him. Coming slowly to her feet, she shook out her skirts. He thought she meant to ignore him until she said, “I wasn’t lost.” She brushed past him, absently patting Fin’s nose as she walked by him to her mount.

  “More like ye kent I wouldna let ye out of my sight and would come to retrieve ye.”

  “No.” Hand on the bridle, she turned to look at him. He wished he’d kept his bloody mouth shut when he noted her red-rimmed eyes. “For all I knew, you might be glad to be rid of me. After all, no matter how much we pretend I’m not Fae, I am. Nothing’s going to change that, Aidan, and the last thing I want is for you or your family to suffer on account of who I am.” With her back to him, she placed her sword, glowing blue, inside the black satchel.

  Although Aidan would never admit it to her, he had been deceiving himself. He’d set who she was to the far reaches of his mind—it was easier that way.

  Reaching her in two strides, he placed his hands on her shoulders to keep her from mounting her horse. “I’m sorry I hurt ye.” Her slender shoulders were rigid and he knew an apology would not be enough. “ ’Twas no’ easy lettin’ the Lamonts ride away as I did. I took my frustration out on ye and ye didna deserve it.”

  A slight tremor shook her body and he was angry at himself for not having insisted she wear her cloak. Ignoring her protest, he scooped her into his arms and set her on top of Fin. Grabbing her mount’s reins, he swung into the saddle behind her. “Doona try and deny it—ye’re freezin’ and I will no’ have ye catchin’ a chill.”

  “You could’ve just given me a blanket,” she muttered, her teeth chattering.

  “Nay, I’d rather have ye in my arms.” Holding her close, he breathed in her sweet scent. “Besides, I doona want anyone to hear what I have to tell ye.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to meet his eyes. “About what?”

  “Why there’s bad blood between us and the Lamonts.”

  “I already know. Callum says they think you set fire to their cousin’s castle. Did you?”

  He held her gaze, disappointed she thought him capable of such a heinous act.

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine, I know you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  Riding out of the woods and into the watery sunlight, he tipped her chin and kissed the grim set of her lips. “Ye’re still fashed with me.”

  “Yes, but I want to hear your story.”

  He nodded. He wanted to tell her. Besides his cousin and Fergus, he could share the tale with no one else. But he could tell Syrena, and there was a sense of relief in being able to do so. Being able to unburden his soul to someone who would understand, someone who loved his brother as much as he did. He no longer doubted her love for Lan and knew she would do everything within her power to protect him.

  “It happened several months back. Lan fancied himself in love with Janet Lamont, Angus’s cousin. He began courtin’ the lass. I didna ken anythin’ about it until it was too late.”

  Aidan would’ve warned his brother had he known. He’d met the lass a time or two; her brothers and father doted on her. ’Twas no’ right to speak ill of the dead, but for all her fine looks, she led the lads on a merry chase without a care for anyone but herself. “She found herself with child. Lan meant to marry her, so he was no’ overly upset. He went to her father and asked fer her hand.”

  “Ouch, Aidan,�
� Syrena protested, rubbing her arm.

  He shook his head and loosened his hold on her. Telling the tale brought everything back. “Sorry,” he murmured. He let his gaze drift over the distant hills in an attempt to regain a semblance of his control. “Lan had never been to the Lamonts holdings, and from their surprise he didna think the lass had made mention of him or their intentions. If no’ fer the old crone, it might have worked out but—”

  Syrena’s smooth brow furrowed. “Old crone?”

  “Aye, she had been with us since Lan’s birth. ’Twas her that saw the seven-pointed star on Lan’s shoulder, branding him as Fae. On the night of my father’s death, I tossed her from Lewes with enough coin to buy her silence. I didna ken that she’d taken up residence with the Lamonts. Once she heard who her young charge was set to wed, and that the lass carried his bairn, the old woman went mad. Breaking her oath to me, she told the laird and his sons that Lachlan was half-Fae. She pleaded with them no’ to allow the marriage, offering to rid the lass of the bairn she carried.”

  “No,” Syrena gasped, clutching his hand.

  “Aye, they beat Lan and sent him home with a missive. They demanded I marry the lass in my brother’s stead and banish him from Lewes.”

  “Did you . . . would you have married her?”

  He met her searching gaze. “Aye, I didna see any way around it. She had been an innocent, Lan admitted as much. And the bairn, I could no’ allow them to—”

  “But Lan . . . you would have banished him from his home? You could do that to your own brother?” Her mouth tightened, and anger sparked in her topaz gaze.

  Aye, at the time he’d felt he didn’t have a choice. He’d been as furious with Lan as he had been with the old crone and the Lamonts. Once again, on account of his brother and his god-forsaken bloodline, Aidan’s life was turned upside down, the chance to take a bride of his own choosing destroyed.

  His gaze dropped to Syrena. Not that he wanted any other, not after her. “I thought once the furor died down, Lan would be able to return home. I would’ve sent him to Dunvegan, but it proved unnecessary.” He closed his eyes—he could still smell the acrid scent of death, of charred remains—before continuing, “ ’Twas that same night the castle burned. A smoldering shell was all that remained when I rode in with my reply the next day—all within had died.”