by Donna Grant
PRINCE OF DESIRE
By
Donna Grant
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
PRINCE OF DESIRE
Copyright© 2013 Donna Grant
Cover Artist: Croco Designs
ISBN: 978-0988208490 (ebook)
Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only at Smashwords.com. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
www.DonnaGrant.com
Chapter One
Summer, 1268
Somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland
After years of searching, he had finally found her.
After weeks of watching, he would now have her.
Lucian Sinclair inhaled the cool, crisp air of the Highlands. He had waited for this day for as long as he could remember. Ever since his father, King Urises, had told his sons they must find their mates before the fifth moon of the Harvest year, Lucian had prepared.
Drahcir, his homeland, was deep in the heart of the Ben Nevis Mountains. A land so secret that no one knew of its existence, and it was essential to its survival that it continue that way.
Centuries ago, a scorned Fae princess cursed their small kingdom. Since that black day, the princes and princesses of the royal house had been forced to seek their eternal mates and convince them to return to the kingdom, or the city and its occupants would cease to exist.
Already Lucian had spent nearly two years searching for his mate, but now that he had found her, he wanted to make sure he trod slowly in approaching her. Thankfully, time moved slower in his hidden city, allowing him the time needed to accomplish his mission.
He watched as she finished cleaning the tables in the small tavern, her glorious brown hair hanging down her back in a thick braid. Her laughter drifted to him through the open window as she and the owner's wife talked and put the last chair atop the table. It hit him square in the chest and settled into his skin.
She said something and turned her head so that her face was in profile giving him a view of her slender neck and easy smile. She was small, her body holding all the womanly curves he could want. Her aura, which had led him to her, glowed bright and solid despite her meager living and tired body.
Soon he would take her away from all this. Very soon.
His hand flexed on the hilt of his sword as she opened the door to the tavern, casting her in the warm glow from within. Her face was heart-shaped, her forehead high, her chin stubborn. Dark brows arched over her wide, midnight blue eyes. Her lips were wide and full, a wicked temptation for a man such as Lucian.
He held his desire in check and watched as she waved good-bye to the owners and walked from the tavern. She came within inches of him as he hid in the shadows. He reached out and touched the end of her braid that hung to her hip as she walked past. Lucian waited until she ventured down the road that led to her tiny cottage before he whistled for his stallion. His horse came immediately.
It was everything Lucian could do not to snatch her up and carry her away with him to Drahcir as he hurried to mount his horse. She must enter the gates of the kingdom willingly or all would be lost. Many times he cursed the rule the Fae had put into place, but his family was bound to it just as they were bound to the hidden city.
He kept a firm hand on the reins as Elad pranced beneath him, eager for a run. Lucian counted to ten then loosened the reins to give the stallion his head. He loved the night and everything about it, both the velvety darkness and the brightness of the moon, both the sounds and the peace.
He traveled almost halfway to his mate's cottage when he heard the male laughter…and then the ear-piercing, soul-shredding scream.
Without a doubt, the yell belonged to his mate. With a growl, he unsheathed his sword and nudged the stallion into a run.
The wind whipped at his hair and cloak as the ground raced beneath Lucian. His blood froze in his veins as he realized because he had been so careful to give his mate time, he might have sent her to her death.
What Lucian saw when he came upon the group made him explode into an ice-cold fury. Four burly, filthy men surrounded his mate. Three held her while another unlaced his trousers.
The need for retribution consumed, overcome Lucian. He leaned low over his mount and charged them, narrowly missing his mate, but he wasn’t a famed horseman for nothing.
It was just the surprise he needed to scatter the men. He wheeled Elad around by using his knees and waited, rage settling his body into cold, biting calculation. He, like his three brothers, was known to have a temper. But Lucian didn’t explode in his wrath. He was like the snow and ice that hid his kingdom – chilly in his regard, remote in his dealings, and lethal in his intent.
He narrowed his gaze on the attackers, his heart pounding a dull thud, thud as they looked around until they located him. Sitting atop the black stallion with his black cloak, he blended into the darkness, becoming one with the night.
Lucian would use it to his advantage. He’d never feared the night. Instead, he’d embraced it, welcomed it…learned it. As if, somehow, fate had known it would come down to this day, this very night when he would need it for his mate.
He spared a glance at his woman. She had scrambled against a tree, molded to the trunk as if she could blend into it. Her eyes were wide, her chest heaving, but his mate wasn’t given to hysterics. To his delight, there was murder in her gaze as she stared at the men who had dared to do her harm.
Her gaze shifted, searching for him. Lucian wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but he didn’t want to give away his position quite yet. He’d comfort her when it was over. For now, he had men that needed to be shown a lesson.
Elad pawed the ground with one hoof, sensing Lucian’s need for retaliation. “No’ yet,” he leaned low over the horse’s neck and whispered.
“Where is the bastard?” one of the attackers demanded of his comrades.
One came out of the trees not far from Lucian’s mate. “All I saw was the damned horse.”
“There was a man,” the third said as he got to his feet from his prone position on the ground.
“Aye, lads. One man. Against us four.”
This last of the brigands was obviously the leader of the small ramshackle group. Easy enough to take down, Lucian thought. He could prolong the men’s pain, exacting his judgment on them. Or he could end it quickly and get to his mate.
It wasn’t a difficult decision to make.
Lucian smiled when all four men noticed him. He gave a little bow of his head, mocking them. The leader motioned one of his men to attack. Lucian didn’t even move Elad. Instead, he kicked out his right leg, landing the toe of his boot square against the man's nose, smashing bone instantly.
The man howled and fell to the ground with his hands over his face. The smell of blood permeated the air. Lucian stared at the other three, waiting for their next move. He didn’t have to wait long as all three attacked at once. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his mate still standing sentry by the tree.
* * * *
Isabelle knew she should run and never look back, but she couldn't take her eyes off the huge man on horseback. Even in the darkness with only the full moon for light, he was intimidating and powerfu
l, ominous and lethal. Yet, the fools who tried to rape her continued to assault him.
She stared, spellbound and more than a little awestruck, as he used his feet, sword, shield, and horse to defeat the remaining three men. A smile pulled at her lips as she looked at the four men writhing on the ground moaning in pain. He hadn’t killed them. Mercy from such a daunting male? She wasn’t so sure she could’ve been so forgiving. True, they hadn’t actually raped her, but that was only because her savior had reached her in time.
And just who was the dark man on the horse?
Her attention was diverted by one of the men being helped to his feet by his friends.
“Serves them right,” she whispered.
And then her rescuer turned toward her.
Isabelle drew in a slow, deep breath to calm her heart, which still felt like it would beat out of her chest. She knew these woods, and she could lose him in them if necessary. She’d spent hours in the forest as a child. Every nook and cranny was locked in her memory.
She should be afraid, yet the man on horseback didn’t make a move. That was the only thing that kept her still. She wanted to thank him for what he’d done. But she also wanted to know the face that went with such a fascinating body. The dark and his cloak hid most of him, but only a man with finely honed muscles could move as quick and fluidly as he had.
His cloak was thrown over one shoulder, and with the moonlight, she saw it was cloth of fine quality. Even if she hadn't seen his clothing, she would know by his mount that he wasn't a peasant. Besides, peasants couldn't fight as he had.
“Thank you,” she said, after swallowing twice to wet her mouth.
He bowed his dark head before dismounting. The four men were attempting to leave, but he stepped in front of them and wiped the blood from his sword on one of their tunics. Once it was sheathed, he walked around them, seemingly forgetting them, and looked at her. “Are you injured? Did they harm you?”
The deep treble of his voice surrounded her, enchanted her. Soothed her. She slowly shook her head, unable to find her voice with the emotions he caused swirling around her. The attack was almost forgotten as he filled her senses, drowning her in his masculinity and strength.
Even without seeing his face, she was charmed, utterly fascinated.
“I am not here to harm you,” he said leisurely, as if speaking to a child or a frightened animal.
In truth, Isabelle was terrified. More than she cared to admit. She had lived in the small village all her life and never once came upon any ruffians who would do her harm until tonight. And though she should be glad someone was there to aid her, he was a stranger.
Through all of that and her unusual reaction to him, she realized his speech was that of not just a noble, but also very high ranking noble. The deep, seductive timbres of his voice held the Scottish brogue, but there was more to it.
“Who are you?” she asked softly.
He smiled and bowed his head as if he were introducing himself to a queen. “I am Lucian Sinclair.”
As soon as he had said his name, she felt a tremor run through her, though it wasn't from terror. It was almost like…recognition. Impossible. Or was it? Her heart still pounded, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from…Lucian.
Good manners or not, after her attack, she wasn't eager to trust anyone. “A stranger to our small village? Where do you hail from?”
“A land far from here.”
“I hear your brogue. You’re Scottish.”
A sliver of moonlight caught his grin. “Oh, aye.”
There was nothing left to ask him other than to leave, but she knew he wasn't about to do that. She had no weapon. Her only defense was the forest, and though he was on foot now, he could mount his great horse and catch her before she was able to sufficiently use the forest to her advantage.
“Let me take you home,” he said and took a step toward her, his hand outstretched.
Isabelle didn't move. She had seen firsthand how quick and deadly he was with his sword and body. He was a dangerous man, a stranger, and if she wasn't careful, she might find that she had stepped from a group of attackers to one man who could do more damage than the four before him.
Though she could see part of his face from the light of the moon, the smile did not deter the power emanating from him. Was he her savior or her demise? Her decision could well cost her her life.
In response to her silence, he reached down and pulled a dagger from his boot. “Here,” he said as he handed it to her hilt first. “Take this. If I do anything that you doona agree with, use it.”
Only a fool would refuse a weapon, and Isabelle wasn't a fool. She reached out and grasped the dagger. The blade wouldn't do much damage, but it was a weapon and could very well give her the chance she needed if she had to escape.
“Good. Now, since you have had such a horrible night, why not allow me to escort you home? You may ride Elad, and I shall walk,” he said before she could issue a retort.
Isabelle looked around her. The men were slowly scurrying away, but who was to say they wouldn't return with reinforcements. She wanted to be away from there and in the shelter of her home. Safety was something she had always taken for granted in her small village. Never again would she assume she was safe. It was just another reason she hated living alone.
As always, whenever she thought of being alone, she thought of her grandparents and how much she missed them. She was tired of the loneliness, but even she knew that was all she had to look forward to for the rest of her life. The village was small, too small sometimes, for the few men to notice someone like her.
Though she knew she shouldn't trust the dark stranger, he pulled at her with invisible fingers. It was as if her body knew what her brain did not.
To her surprise she found herself saying, “All right.” She moved away from the safety of the tree to the horse and stared up at its great height.
“Let me help,” Lucian said just before his hands grasped her waist.
Isabelle barely had time to gasp before she was perched on top of the horse that had the gall to turn and look at her as if she were a nasty fly bothering him.
She was given no time to do anything but hold on as Lucian grabbed the horse's bridle and began to walk. Tension had her muscles wound tight. She waited for him to speak, and when he didn't, she became even more on edge. Who was this mysterious Lucian Sinclair? And why had he been in the village?
The sounds of the night echoed around them as the moon followed their path. She couldn’t take her eyes from him. His clothes were as dark as the night, and his silence intrigued her. Lucian didn't seem to mind the darkness or the sounds as he leisurely walked down the path after she directed him which way to go.
Once more she decided to question his origins. “Where exactly do you hail from?”
“Deep in the Highlands.”
Isabelle snorted, very unladylike, but some things called for a snort. Like vague answers. “Which clan do you hail from?”
For a moment, he didn't answer. He stopped and turned toward her. “I doona belong to a clan.”
She studied him silently. It was apparent by his fine clothing and speech that he was of noble birth. His brogue wasn't as deep as many Scotsmen, but it was there. How she longed to see his face. “Everyone in the Highlands belongs to a clan.”
He shrugged and gave her another smile before he patted Elad's great neck and resumed walking. By the way he evaded her question, she realized he wasn't likely to tell her anything more, which made her wonder at her sanity in allowing him to accompany her home.
But every time she thought of sliding to the ground and running away, she couldn’t do it. Something about Lucian held her tightly, as if urging her to be patient. Patience wasn’t a virtue, yet she couldn’t seem to leave him.
They continued in silence, the clopping of the horse's hooves on the dirt road adding to the night's sounds. By the time they reached Isabelle's cottage, she was anxious to be rid of him and the fear he instilled
.
Fear and thrilling excitement.
She hadn’t thought her life dull until she’d met him. In just a few minutes time he brought into focus how gloomy her life was. He was like a full moon on a cloudless night, lighting up everything in the gray.
Shut up, she silently told herself. Just because she lived a boring life didn't mean she wanted Lucian's kind of excitement.
How do you know? You might like it.
Isabelle seriously doubted her sanity. Was it a sign that she had lived too long alone that she talked to herself? And argued with herself?
In all her years of working at the tavern, she had never feared living alone. In one night, that had changed. It would always be in the back of her mind that someone could lay in wait for her, and it would give Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald more reason to push her to move into town.
At least if she lived over the tavern she would have the MacDonalds to talk to, which just might save her sanity. But, in truth, she didn't wish to live over the tavern. She liked her home. Mostly because it was the only home she had ever known, but also because she had known love within its walls.
Her grandparents had given her all they had and worried endlessly of what would become of her once they were gone. Isabelle had never fretted much, thinking she had plenty of time before she had such a decision to make. And then the fever struck and taken her grandparents within days of each other.
They reached her cottage, and as always, she felt a pang at finding no candle burning in the window waiting for her as her grandmother had used to do. Darkness, stillness awaited her. A tremor of something profound and intense ran through her as she found Lucian staring at her.
Before she could dismount, he was there to help her. He set her on her feet and his hands lingered a heartbeat before he took a step back. Isabelle drew in a shaky breath at his nearness. She tried to see more of his face, but, with his back to the moon, only shadows met her gaze.
By the way he patiently waited, she knew he wanted something. “Would you like to water your horse?”
