“Thank you, my friend,” she panted.
The doors to the grand hall swung open. Too weak to stand, she huddled in the shadows. Behind the masked couple the interior glittered in the flickering glow of candlelight. Through a swirl of color, a crowd of men and women, masked and unmasked, she strained to catch a glimpse of Aidan.
The door closed and out of the darkness, the man asked, “Are you certain you don’t wish to remain a bit longer, my dear?”
“Certainly not, Jasper. Lady Hamilton’s soirees have gone beyond the pale. It started off as a lark, but now they go too far.”
“But, sister, I overheard Lady Ursula promise a display of the dark lord’s power to the followers of Jarius. I will not learn of the location if I don’t remain.” There was a pleading note in the man’s voice.
“Dark lords, secret location,” she scoffed, “honestly, Jasper, how much wine did you consume? I swear it’s drugged. Did you see Lord Billingsly? If you ask me, Lady Ursula has gone mad, and that brother of hers, Jarius, is the cause. Come, I don’t wish to remain a moment longer.”
“But, sister . . ” Their voices faded as the woman dragged off the protesting man.
Rubbing her temples, Syrena tried to absorb what she’d heard. They must have misunderstood. They could not have been referring to the lords of the underworld. The Fae had locked the dark lords away after the battle with Tatianna. There was no way Mortals could release them, was there? She searched her mind for an answer, but stopped herself. There was no time to waste. She had to find Aidan, and together they would decide what to do.
Syrena held on to the wall and pulled herself to her feet. Evil pulsed around her. If she let go of Nuie, she was certain it would attack again. After suffering its effects twice in one day, she didn’t plan on letting it happen again. She had to find a way to keep her hand on her sword while concealing him at the same time. Aidan wouldn’t appreciate her striding into the soiree with Nuie drawn, although if he heard what she had, he might not care. Turning her back to the doors, she cut a slit in the waist of her primrose gown and slipped Nuie inside. Red shards shot through her fingers, but she couldn’t afford to mute his power. She would just have to be careful.
Tugging the mantle closed, she kept her left hand on her sword and held the fabric together with her right. Syrena slipped inside the grand hall. Flattened against the back wall, she searched for Aidan. To the right, at the front of the room, a statuesque woman in a claret gown cut low to display her ample attractions held court. Several men in robes as black as the woman’s hair surrounded her, hanging on her every word.
A liveried servant stepped in front of Syrena, balancing a tray with silver-encrusted goblets. He blocked her view. “No, thank you,” she said, trying to look past him.
“Lady Hamilton insists all her guests partake, my lady.”
“I’m sure she does,” Syrena muttered under her breath. “I’m afraid I must decline.” She waved him off, frustrated when he stood his ground.
His onyx eyes flashed and his thin lips flattened. “And I’m afraid I must insist or I’ll be forced to have you removed.”
She’d like to see him try. No one was making her leave until she found Aidan. Allowing her mantle to slip, she gave him a good look at Nuie.
He blinked and took a step backward. “I . . . I’ll just go.”
“I thought you might.”
While she tracked his hasty retreat, a young woman bumped into her. “Sorry,” the pretty blond twittered, stumbling toward the doors. The tall man in front of Syrena nudged his companion and jerked his head in the direction of the girl. His heavyset friend turned, the upper part of his face covered in a black half-mask, a lascivious grin creased his thick lips, and he nodded to his companion. They quickly followed after the blonde. Syrena was torn between finding Aidan and protecting the girl.
She sighed and headed after them, certain she could dispatch the lecherous louts easily enough. Before the doors to the grand hall closed behind her, a narrow shaft of light illuminated the far wall of the gallery. With her head thrown back, an expression of bliss upon her face, the girl held the backs of both men’s heads, pressing their faces to her bared breasts.
Disgusted, Syrena stepped back into the hall. Now it seemed in every corner she looked couples indulged their lustful cravings with no care as to who saw them. A sidelong glance revealed the servant who’d tried to force the drink upon her, speaking to the woman in the claret gown. He tipped his head in Syrena’s direction. Almost certain it was Lady Ursula he spoke to, Syrena anxiously searched the crowd. Every instinct warned her to stay as far away from the woman as she could.
Drawing her hood over her hair, she wove her way through a small cluster of people. Stretching up on the tips of her toes, she looked over the shoulder of the man in front of her to see the opposite end of the hall. Near the far wall, set apart from the crowd, stood a man with his back to her, speaking to a beautiful redhead. The familiar stance, the breadth of his shoulders, caused Syrena to expel a sigh of relief.
Aidan.
She excused herself, nudging the man out of her way. Without him blocking her view, Syrena could see Aidan and the woman were deep in conversation, oblivious to those around them. There was something about their interaction that made her uncomfortable, and she hesitated before walking toward them. From where she stood, Syrena watched as the woman took Aidan’s hand and placed it on her swollen belly. She appeared to plead with him. He didn’t withdraw his hand, his chiseled profile softening as he seemed to offer her comfort. It was a look Syrena was familiar with, a look she’d come to love, and she tried to ignore a pinch of jealousy. There was no help for it, her interruption might not be welcomed, but Aidan needed to hear what she’d learned.
“Not very subtle, is she?” a sultry voice said.
Syrena turned. The woman in the claret gown stood beside her, a dark brow raised as she watched Aidan and his companion. “Pardon me?”
A sympathetic smile curved her reddened lips as she turned her attention to Syrena. “Judging by your reaction, I assume you’re Lord MacLeod’s wife, am I correct?”
Syrena shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t like what the woman seemed to imply. “I, yes, I’m Syrena MacLeod. And you are?”
“Lady Hamilton, Ursula to you, my dear.” She folded her arms beneath her bountiful chest, and tilted her head. “I’m afraid Davina is regretting her choice in husbands of late. I can’t say as I blame her. My stepson pays little to no attention to her. And then this evening, in walks the gorgeous Highlander she let get away. She has horrific taste if you ask me, breaking off her betrothal to Lord MacLeod to marry John Henry.”
“Davina . . . Davina and Aidan were betrothed.” The words were scraped from Syrena’s throat.
“Oh, yes, several years ago. She broke his heart, from what I hear.”
Syrena’s troubled gaze sought Aidan. Davina said something to him and he nodded. Removing his hand from the curve of her belly, he wrapped his arm around her. Davina clung to him, her head resting against his broad shoulder. Together they left through a side door.
A dull ache blossomed in Syrena’s chest.
Lady Hamilton patted her arm. “Don’t upset yourself. Even if he does renew his relationship with Davina, for however briefly, it’s you who holds the power, my dear. Nothing more can come of it. You’re his wife, and in the end, that’s all that matters.” Ursula frowned. “You must be newly wed to have it bother you as much as it appears to.”
How could he ... how could Aidan do this to her? Syrena tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry, and she could barely get the words out. “If you don’t mind, Ursula, I’d like to return to my room. I’ve had a long journey.”
“You have, haven’t you? I spoke to your husband earlier. I understand he’s come in search of his brother.” Lady Hamilton watched Syrena as a cat watches a faery.
Lachlan. She had to concentrate on her brother, not Aidan, not his obvious affection for the beautiful redhe
ad. A woman who’d broken his heart, a woman he’d once wanted to bear his children. Like the one Davina now carried. A woman who’d left the hall in his arms.
Syrena’s heart felt as though it was breaking. She couldn’t do this, not now. Pushing the tortuous thoughts and images aside, she said, “Yes, Lachlan has been missing for several weeks now. Were you able to tell Aidan anything?”
Ursula tugged her gathered sleeve over her wrist. “No, as I told Lord MacLeod, my husband passed away only a month before Lachlan’s arrival. The house was in mourning. We barely saw him, although he did attend a small gathering of my friends—nothing formal, you understand, given the circumstances.”
Ursula’s pretense of a woman in mourning rang false. Syrena didn’t know how the Mortals mourned their dead, but she had her suspicions the soiree in the grand hall this evening would not be acceptable. Whether the woman grieved her husband’s passing or not had little to do with Syrena. But Ursula had drawn her interest with the fact Lan had attended one of her functions.
“Do you know if he mentioned his plans to anyone?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but I did point out several of the guests who had attended to your husband. I know Lachlan had spoken to a fair number of them, the women especially. They fell all over themselves to speak to him.” She gave Syrena an arch look. “Your husband is a very handsome man, a very commanding presence. Not unlike his brother, yet they are so dissimilar in coloring. Lachlan’s more like a sleeping lion, with his golden hair and gaze, and the strength in his arms . . .” Ursula shivered, fairly purring over Lan’s attributes.
She looked at Syrena then, as if seeing her for the first time, she reached over and pushed the hood from Syrena’s head. “Has anyone ever told you how much you look like your brother by marriage?” Before she could answer, Ursula brushed the tips of her fingers over Syrena’s cheek. “So beautiful, so innocent,” she murmured. Her eyes glazed with a faraway look, and she slid the tip of her tongue over her painted lips. “I must introduce you to my brother. He will be very interested in meeting you.”
Warning bells clanged in Syrena’s head. Nuie warmed beneath her fingers. He felt it, too.
“I . . . I think—”
Ursula cut her off before she could make her excuses. “Perhaps my brother will have more information than I do about Lachlan.” She dangled the tantalizing inducement before Syrena. By the triumphant gleam in Ursula’s blue eyes, Syrena understood the woman was certain she’d acquiesce.
Show no fear.
You are a warrior, she reminded herself. Lachlan needs you.
Syrena shut out the small voice that said she needed Aidan. She had Nuie; she didn’t need anyone else. Following Ursula through the masked revelers, she tightened her fingers around her sword’s hilt and absorbed his power. As they approached the front of the hall, where she’d first seen Ursula, a door set within the dark paneling opened.
Without warning, the wall of darkness slammed into her. Her stomach heaved and she slowed her breathing, trying not to inhale the noxious fumes emitting from the room. Pinpricks of light dotted her vision. The darkness was suffocating, the pain in her head debilitating.
A man in black, his entire face masked, wavered in front of her in a blurry haze. He stepped from the room and closed the door. The darkness faded, and she sucked in harsh gulps of air, steadying herself. At that moment everything came into focus. What perhaps had started as an amusement for these people had turned deadly. Somehow they’d unleashed a potent magick, dark magick, and it resided in that room. Magick, yes, but it couldn’t be the dark lord’s, she reassured herself. They wouldn’t have the resources required to open the doors of the underworld. The Mortals wouldn’t even know where the doors were located. Unless . . . unless somehow they’d discovered one of the Grimoires.
No, she wouldn’t even consider the thought. She had to stay focused, not court more trouble than she could deal with. Whatever was in that room was connected to Lan, and she had to admit now, the Fae that had gone missing from London. Once she found her brother, she would know exactly what she was dealing with and how to fix it.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Ursula inquired, reaching out to steady Syrena.
“Yes, I’m . . . I’m fine,” she managed. She had to be.
“Good, for a moment you looked as though you might swoon. Colin, this is Lady MacLeod. Don’t you think Jarius would like to meet her?” With a suggestive smile, Ursula trailed her fingers through Syrena’s hair.
“Aye, I’m certain he would,” the man rasped as though his throat was damaged. His eyes glittered through the slits in his black mask as he perused Syrena, then he turned his attention to Ursula. “But he can see no one now.”
“I see,” Lady Hamilton murmured. “Did he agree that you should . . ” As though she only then remembered Syrena’s presence, her lips compressed.
“Aye, he did.” There was a sinister tone in his scratchy voice.
Syrena shifted uneasily. “I’m sorry, Ursula, but I must return to my rooms. I have yet to recover from my journey.” If only that were all it was.
The man watched her from beneath his mask. “I shall escort ye to yer rooms, Lady MacLeod.”
“No . . . no, thank you.” She had no intention of going anywhere with him. And she had no intention of going to her rooms. Lachlan had made contact with her here, and since the dark magick was in this room, it only made sense that it was where her search must begin. She’d scour the town house from top to bottom and wouldn’t stop until she found her brother.
“So be it, but have a care. One never knows what lurks behind closed doors. Beware the shadows of the night.” His ghoulish laugh followed Syrena from the grand hall.
Chapter 22
Davina trembled, and Aidan tightened his hold on her, certain it was no act. His tension eased once they entered the corridor, putting some distance between them and the dissolute rabble gathered in the grand hall.
He shook his head, disgusted with what he had seen. A pack of aristocrats with nothing better to do than relieve their boredom playing at magick and making a mockery of the Kirk. And if that wasn’t bad enough, they drowned their inhibitions in drugged mead, acting out their carnal fantasies with no care as to who watched—and plenty had.
Considering the sexual play, he was glad Syrena had not been there to witness their antics. He glanced down. And mayhap witness his reunion with Davina who was now snuggled against his chest. He’d spent the majority of his time avoiding the woman he once thought to marry, questioning anyone who, according to Ursula, had met his brother on the night he disappeared.
Frustrated with the futility of his task, sickened by the goings-on, he’d been about to leave when Davina cornered him. He’d been tempted to brush her off until he realized she was truly afraid. In good conscience, he couldn’t ignore her panicked plea for help.
Her bewitching face and bonny red hair had little effect on him now. The memory of how badly she’d once wounded him had seen to that. But it was the look of fear in her wide green eyes that brought him to a standstill—fear for her unborn child.
Davina’s long fingers stroked him through his tunic, caressing the ridge of muscles low in his belly. Aidan muttered a curse. He may no’ be attracted to the woman, but he was no’ a bloody monk. Extracting himself from her hold, he set her firmly aside, and nudged her along the corridor. “Where are yer rooms, Davina?”
She jerked her gaze to his. Tears pooled in her eyes, and her mouth trembled. “I’m sorry, I didna mean to make ye angry, Aidan. Please, doona be fashed with me.” Her fingers fisted in his tunic. “Doona leave me alone.”
“I’ll see ye to yer chambers. If ye’re truly afraid, I’ll have one of my men stand watch over ye. But is John Henry no’ due back this eve?”
Her face crumpled. “I doona ken. He’s never here. I should no’ have married him. I wish . . . I wish I would have married ye. Why did ye no’ fight fer me?” Though she whispered the question, he heard her we
ll enough.
Considering her emotional state, he didn’t think now was the time to tell her she hadn’t been worth it. She was a woman who would choose another man over the one she professed to love simply because his prospects were better. John Henry had offered her more coin, and all the power and influence she craved to set her up in society.
The sound of men’s laughter echoed along the torch-lit corridor, bouncing off the stone walls. “’Tis no’ the time nor the place fer this, Davina. Where are yer bedchambers?”
She glanced over her shoulder then nodded, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. “Third door on the right.”
When they stood before the door to her chambers, Aidan reached for the latch, but she stopped him, placing a fine-boned hand over his. “Won’t ye come in?” she asked, her voice husky.
“Nay, I’m married, Davina, and I’m thinkin’ my wife would no’ appreciate me bein’ in yer rooms.” In truth, he wondered what Syrena’s reaction would be. He suspected she would not be pleased and smiled at an image of her bonny eyes flashing with anger.
A marriage that had begun as a charade now seemed very real to him. He was almost certain Syrena loved him though she had yet to tell him so. There were matters they needed to resolve. Most, he acknowledged, were his own, but there would be time for that later.
“I doona care what she thinks. I’m askin’ ye.” The harshness of her tone didn’t surprise him. It was more in keeping with the woman he remembered.
“I do.” He removed her hand from his and opened the door.
“Do ye love her?”
Warrior of the Isles Page 26
