Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  She patted his cheek. “You do that. And, Aidan, you might want to remember the woman you love is a warrior, just like you. Together there is nothing the two of you can’t overcome.”

  Aidan stood at the bow of the boat, the wind pushing the hair from his face, Aileanna’s words ramming past his defenses. Gavin came to stand beside him and together they watched the stone walls of Lewes come into view—cold and austere. It hadn’t always been that way. While his mother lived, the castle had been warm and inviting, the same as when Syrena had been there.

  Thanks to Rohan’s revelation, his memories of his mother were no longer tainted with bitterness and blame. His fury that night with Syrena had been uncalled for. Her uncle was right. He knew her too well to think she’d kept it from him on purpose. It wasn’t her fault her father was a bastard, just as it wasn’t his that Alexander had allowed drink to control his life and his actions.

  “Are ye goin’ after her?”

  The closest thing to family Aidan had on Lewes, he had confided everything to Donald and Gavin. “Aye.” He couldn’t go on any longer without her in his life. And it didn’t sit well with him that his wee wife showed more courage than he did. With his decision made, the resentment and anger that had consumed him for all those long years fell away.

  Gavin clapped him on the back. “Good, now, do ye ken if she has some friends she’d like to bring back with her?”

  Aidan snorted. “Ye may no’ want to get ahead of yerself. I doona even ken if she’ll return with me.”

  “Just be yer charmin’ . . . Aye, ye’re right, she may no’.”

  “Thanks fer yer confidence.”

  “Ye ken I’m playin’ with ye. She loves ye, at least she did.”

  Aye, and now he had to convince her how badly he wanted her, needed her. And then there was her uncle. Aidan had an uneasy feeling King Rohan might be the hardest of all to convince.

  Aidan slammed his sword against the Callanish Stones. He’d tried knocking on the bloody things, he’d tried whispering to them, and then yelling, feeling like a daft fool for doing so, but it was the only way he knew of reaching Syrena.

  “You need to learn patience, Lord MacLeod,” a craggy voice tsked from behind him.

  “Uscias?” Aidan searched the circle.

  “Yes, I wondered how long it would take for you to come.” The old man stepped around a towering gray stone.

  “So, ye’re no’ surprised to see me?”

  “Why should I be? Our princess is the fairest of them all, is she not?”

  “Aye, she is. Will ye take me to her?”

  “Yes, but be prepared—circumstances in the Enchanted Isles are changing as we speak. And you will have to deal with the biggest change of all, Lord MacLeod.”

  Aidan grabbed the wizard’s arm. “Has somethin’ happened to Syrena?”

  “It is not your wife to whom I refer.” He held up his hand when Aidan attempted to question him further. “All in good time, my lord, all in good time.”

  Syrena took her rightful place at the head of the table on the dais. She was now Queen of the Isles. Lachlan, whose wounds had slowly healed, took the chair to her right, while her stepmother, who’d finally agreed to the terms set out by her uncle, settled herself at Syrena’s left. King Rohan, recently arrived, took a seat, making an appearance in honor of Syrena’s coronation.

  A little over a month had passed since the nightmare of Glastonbury. By tacit agreement, she and Lachlan did not mention Aidan. It was too painful for them both. She didn’t tell her brother about Aidan’s decision to wipe out the last several years of his life. Nor did she tell him about the circumstances of his birth. Lachlan had more than enough to deal with for now.

  She squeezed his hand. “It’s good to have you with us.” It was the first night her brother had joined them in the hall, and Syrena was happy he’d picked this night to do so. It meant so very much to her.

  It had taken time before she was able to experience any emotion other than sorrow. But with help from Fallyn and her sisters, Syrena had thrown herself into ruling the Enchanted Isles. Finding some balance between the rights of both men and women hadn’t been easy. There was still room for improvement, but she thought circumstances for both had changed for the better.

  Syrena formed one council for the women, and one for the men. When they reached a consensus within their group, they brought their issues to her. With Morgana at the helm of the women’s council, the demands never ceased, but her stepmother seemed content with the arrangement.

  “You must be feeling better,” Syrena said to her brother, noting he no longer suffered from the sickly pallor he once had.

  “He must be. He pleasures more women than yer father did on a daily basis.” Morgana didn’t bother to lower her voice. The men at the table snorted their amusement. Lord Bana and Lord Erwn were obviously pleased to hear of the king’s son’s prowess with the ladies. The women pretended disdain at Lachlan’s behavior, all the while eyeing her beautiful brother with desire. Syrena wasn’t blind to his dissolute conduct. Fallyn kept her informed whereas others would have shielded her from the information.

  Lan sprawled on the gilded chair, raised a brow, then shrugged. He lifted the gold-encrusted chalice to his lips and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  Syrena laughed. “Here, take mine. I don’t like it as sweet.”

  He snorted. “Since when?” His eyes shadowed at his reference to those long-ago days on Lewes.

  “Oh, about a week ago.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

  Syrena brought his goblet to her lips and wrinkled her nose as well. It was sweet.

  “No,” Morgana shrieked, “it’s poisoned.” She knocked the goblet from Syrena’s hand. Crimson juice splattered the white linen tablecloth, and a circle of red bloomed in the center of Syrena’s white robes.

  Guards rushed to the table, but Lan already stood in front of Morgana with the tip of Nuie’s blade at her throat. “A verra stupid move on yer part, Morgana.”

  “No, Lachlan, lower the sword.”

  He did as Syrena asked, setting Nuie at the side of her chair. She couldn’t help but notice there was no glow of color when Lachlan held her sword. An icy chill skittered along her spine. She met Uscias’s gaze across the long length of the table. He stroked his beard. “Time,” he mouthed. He’d seen Nuie’s lack of response.

  Her uncle came to her side to examine the stain and the residue in her cup, sniffing its contents. “Rowan berries,” he spat, pinning Morgana with a malevolent glare.

  “It was not me. I saved her life.” Her gaze shot to where the servants ringed the wall. She jumped to her feet and her chair skittered to the white marble floor. Pointing to the silver-haired woman attempting to escape the hall, she cried, “It was Nessa.”

  “Take them both to the throne room. We’ll get to the bottom of this, now.” Rohan cast an apologetic smile at Syrena. “I’m sorry, your highness. I overstepped my authority.”

  “No, you haven’t,” she said, placing her napkin at the side of the gold-rimmed porcelain plate. She rose to her feet. “Lan, are you coming?”

  “Ye mean we’re no’ goin’ to eat first?”

  She rolled her eyes. His appetite for food, drink, and women was becoming legendary. “Lan, Nessa tried to kill you. Do you not wish to know why, or see her punished?”

  He lifted world-weary eyes to her. “No’ particularly.”

  “Lachlan, as the king’s son, your presence is required,” her uncle rebuked Lachlan, tempering his obvious anger.

  “But no’ necessary. My sister has it under control.”

  Their uncle blew out an aggravated breath. Syrena intervened before Rohan exploded. “Lan, please, I’d like you to be there.”

  Grunting, he threw down his napkin and came to his feet. “All right, but make it quick. I’m starvin’.”

  Rohan offered his arm to Syrena then glanced down at her gown. His brow furrowed. “Perhaps you’d like to change your robes, niece.”r />
  Fallyn, overhearing her uncle’s remark, met Syrena’s gaze and lifted a finger. Syrena shook her head. Since Glastonbury, she’d made a promise that the time for pretending was over. She would be true to herself. It had just taken her a little longer to come to the same place where her magick was concerned.

  Syrena closed her eyes, murmured the incantation, and flicked her finger. She cracked an eye open and looked into the horrified faces of her entourage.

  Oh, Hades.

  Holding her breath, she glanced down. She’d clothed herself in a bronze gown that bared her arms and shoulders. The neckline was cut low to reveal the full swell of her breasts, a pleated sash wrapped at her waist.

  She raised her gaze to Fallyn, who smothered a laugh with her hand.

  “Lovely, my lady,” Shayla said. “We wore gowns of a similar style at Dmitri’s court, much more practical for our climate than these.” She held out her heavy robe. With a flick of her wrist, she clothed herself in an amethyst gown like the one Syrena wore.

  Fallyn did the same, as did Riana.

  Syrena smiled at the three women. She didn’t know what she’d do without them. With Evangeline busy at Rohan’s court, and unwilling to come to the Isles with Morgana and Lachlan in residence, they rarely saw each other.

  She understood Evangeline’s issues with Morgana, but had yet to determine what was behind her friend’s contempt of Lachlan. Surely his attempt at kissing her could not be the reason, but no matter how hard Syrena pressed the issue, Evangeline would not relent.

  With a loud harrumph, her uncle guided her into the throne room. The Fae had already gathered, jostling for position. They were pressed tight against the white, gold-veined marble walls. Syrena made her way up the three steps to the curved dais and took her place on her golden throne. Lan prowled in behind her and sank into the matching throne at her left.

  The guards held fast to Morgana and Nessa, who hurled angry accusations at one another. Uscias stood at the back of the room. He tipped his chin at Syrena, letting her know he’d cast a spell so that neither woman could use their magick to transport themselves from the room.

  Syrena demanded silence and called the court to order. The charges were attempted murder of Lachlan, and accessory to the attempt. If the women were found guilty, the sentence for both charges was death.

  “He has no right to sit on the throne. He’s only half-Fae,” Nessa spat out.

  “As King Arwan’s son, Lachlan has every right to hold the throne,” Syrena said, worried now that she had pressed Lan to attend the proceedings. She knew how it felt to be made to feel unworthy and didn’t want him to suffer for it. She stopped the thought—she had prevailed, and so would he.

  “And that is what you want? You want one such as Arwan to lead the Fae? He was an abusive, lecherous murderer and his son will be no different!” Nessa twisted in the guards’ grasp, her movements becoming more frenzied by the moment.

  “Our father had his faults, but he brought prosperity to the Isles, and Nessa, outside of battle, he was no murderer.”

  The silver-haired woman’s hysterical laugh raised the hairs on the back of Syrena’s neck. “Yes, he did! He murdered your mother! No one would have believed me if I came forward, and if he knew what I’d seen, he would have killed me. But it’s true, I saw him do it, and when he thought to name someone other than my lady as his successor, men as contemptible as he, I killed him,” she shrieked triumphantly. “Great, powerful King Arwan, brought to his knees by a berry.”

  Pandemonium broke out in the room. The Fae shouted for the women’s deaths, shaking their fists as they surged forward. The guards formed a defensive ring around the two women. The room wavered in front of Syrena, a gush of prickly heat flooding her body.

  Lachlan took her hand in his. “If ye want me to, Syrena, I’ll take over.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “I’ll be fine, it’s just a shock. All this time I thought my mother had faded.” I thought she’d abandoned me, didn’t love me enough to stay, that I’d done something wrong. Swallowing past the thick lump that constricted her throat, she asked her uncle, who now stood by her side, “Did you know?”

  “No. If I had, I would have killed him myself. I . . .” Her uncle’s amber eyes glistened, and his hand tightened on her shoulder.

  She gathered her strength around her like a cloak. She was Queen. She needed her questions answered, a verdict rendered. “Why, Nessa? If my father no longer loved my mother, he simply would have cast her aside. He had no reason to kill her.”

  Eyes blazing with hatred, Nessa spat out, “Yes, he did. She was going to leave him. I tried to talk her out of it, but she said she could no longer stand by and let him treat you as he did.” Pinning Syrena with a malevolent stare, she yelled, “You have no right to pass judgment over me, sitting up there as though you rule the Isles. You have no right to the throne. Helyna had an affair with King Rohan. He’s your father, not Arwan.”

  Her uncle’s hand slipped limply from Syrena’s shoulder.

  “I don’t believe you. You’ve always hated me, Nessa. If what you say is true, why wouldn’t you have said something before?”

  “You’re right, I do hate you. Because of you, Helyna died, but I loved her and made her a promise never to tell. But if you mean to condemn me, I condemn you with the knowledge she died because of you! You and Rohan!”

  Lachlan came to his feet. “By yer own words, Nessa, you have sealed yer fate. The court finds ye guilty of murder and attempted murder. Yer sentence is death and will be carried out at sunrise on the morrow. Guards, take her away.”

  “Mark my words, Lachlan MacLeod, I’ll haunt you from beyond,” she shouted over her shoulder as the guards dragged her from the room.

  “Ye’re welcome to try.”

  In a daze, Syrena watched her brother take control of the proceedings. Her mind reeled with the thought she was to blame for her mother’s death, and that the man standing silently beside her, a man she’d secretly wished was her father, truly was.

  “Morgana, ye’re charged with accessory to the attempted murder of myself and, as the evidence seems irrefutable, as an accessory to my father’s murder. What say ye?” Lan said in a deep rumbling monotone.

  “I am guilty of neither crime,” she said defiantly.

  Lachlan arched a brow. “Ye’re sayin’ ye didna ken my mead held poison?”

  “Yes, but, I . . . I saved the Queen,” she sputtered.

  “And King Arwan?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, I only learned once the deed was done that Nessa had murdered him.”

  “Would ye have stopped her if ye kent what she planned to do?”

  Morgana held Syrena’s gaze. “No.”

  Syrena fought through her grief to come to her feet, placing a hand on Lachlan’s arm. Morgana was not an evil woman. They’d had their differences, but her stepmother had suffered more than most at her father’s hand. And over the years, she had done her best to protect Syrena.

  “Morgana, would you have stopped Lachlan from drinking the mead?” she asked.

  Her stepmother bowed her head. “I don’t know.”

  “In good conscience, Morgana, I find I cannot condemn you to death. But neither can I allow you to remain in the Enchanted Isles. From this day forth, you are banished. I will see you escorted to wherever it is you wish to go.”

  Her stepmother nodded, a look of relief in her emerald eyes. “Thank you, your highness,” she said before she was led away.

  “Guards, clear the room,” Lachlan ordered, leading Syrena to the throne. “Sit.” He glanced at her . . . her father. “King Rohan, you might want to take a seat as well.”

  Rohan nodded and sat wearily on the throne. “She died because of me.”

  “No, she died because she tried to protect me.”

  “Don’t, Syrena. I will not allow you to blame yourself for her death. The blame lies with my brother; leave it at that.”

  King Rohan was right. If Syrena had
a child, she would’ve done the same as her mother. But the knowledge didn’t make it any less painful. “Then you must do the same.”

  “I loved her, Syrena. We loved each other, but it was only that one night. Arwan, as you know, was not easy to live with and she came to me seeking comfort and . . .” He spread his hands. “I never knew you were my daughter. Helyna kept it from me. Most likely she was afraid I would force her to leave my brother and marry me. I would have, and she wouldn’t have wanted to be the reason for a war.”

  Syrena leaned against the padded red velvet.

  Rohan reached for her hand. “Promise me you won’t blame your mother. Blame me, not her.”

  “I don’t blame either of you.”

  He touched her cheek. “You’re like her, you know. I’ve always thought of you more as a daughter than a niece. It will not be difficult getting used to the idea. I hope it will not be difficult for you either, Syrena.”

  “No, I always wished you were.” She returned his smile.

  Lachlan sighed. “If the two of ye are goin’ to start greetin’, I’m leavin’.”

  “I do not greet, nephew.”

  Syrena smothered a laugh then addressed Lan. “Thank you for taking over the proceedings. You handled yourself well.”

  He waved off her compliment. “’Twas nothin’. Ye would’ve dragged it on too long, and I am near to faintin’ from hunger.”

  “You understand, Lachlan, that Syrena can no longer rule as Queen of the Isles. You must take your rightful place as king.”

  Syrena hadn’t thought that far ahead, but her father was right. A few months ago, it would’ve been difficult for her to hear. But no more. She knew who she was and no longer required anyone’s approval, or her position as Queen, to validate her worth.

  “Lachlan, I know it must seem a little overwhelming right now, but if I can do anything to make it easier for you, I will. And Uscias will continue to act as your mentor and . . .”

  She stood and reached for Nuie. “Good-bye, my friend,” she whispered, shards of blue glinting through her fingers. Her heart hurt. She hadn’t been prepared for this, but Nuie now belonged to Lachlan. “Take care of him,” she said as she brought the jeweled hilt to her lips. “He needs you as much as I once did, maybe more.”