Minutes later, he opened the last of the seals. “Tobias,” he yelled as he pounded down the spiral staircase, leaning over the oak rail to seek out the boy. Frustrated when his assistant failed to make an appearance, he slammed down the rest of the steps, bellowing as he went, “Tobias!”
“Yes ... yes, I’m here, Your Imperialness.” His assistant scurried from between the floor-to-ceiling bookcases lining the back wall. Noting his heavy-lidded gaze, the imprint of a hand on his gaunt cheek, Morfessa was certain his assistant had been sleeping. But now was not the time to berate him. Striding toward him, he grabbed Tobias by the front of his navy robes and hauled him up the stairs after him.
“I confess! I confess! I was sleeping,” the boy shrieked.
“Quiet!” he shouted, in no mood to listen to his assistant’s inane jabbering.
As soon as they stepped from the stones into the Mortal realm, Morfessa lifted his gaze to the clear blue skies for some sign of her. He prayed he was not too late. His vision impaired from years of using the caustic potions in his experiments, he launched from the stone circle, dragging Tobias along with him to fly toward the barrier.
In a frenzied panic the boy wrapped his gangly arms and legs around him. “Master, we’re not angels, we cannot fly. Set us down!”
“Calm yourself!” Morfessa tried to shake free of Tobias’s strangling hold while searching the skies beneath the barrier. If he didn’t need his assistant as a witness, he would shoot him with a bolt of his magick. When he could find no sign of her, his anger knew no bounds and he did exactly that.
Tobias, a flurry of arms and legs, rocketed toward the ground. Morfessa scowled when the boy’s terrified screams ended. His broken body splayed at the base of the stones. The fool didn’t even have the sense to use his magick. With a disgusted sigh, Morfessa once more scanned the skies beneath the barrier, then flashed to the stones. He took hold of the boy’s arms and dragged him through the portals, leaving him on the ground in the Fae realm. Someone would find him. And when his assistant recovered, Morfessa would dismiss him. The incompetent fool had delayed him.
Consumed with rage at his inability to find evidence of her perfidy, he stalked toward his apartments in the building that housed the library of spells. He stopped short. What was he thinking? He could not let her actions go unpunished. Proof or no proof, he must confront her. There were ways to make her confess.
The two liveried guardsmen who stood in stony silence at either side of the massive gilded doors didn’t bother to acknowledge Evangeline as she entered the Seelie Court.
At one time the council had met in the forest, but Rohan had moved the council to his palace for reasons of safety. Creatures of habit, the Fae demanded the ambience of the woods, and Rohan had ceded to their wishes. Evangeline had to admit the branches of white ash trees encircling the room while water spurted from iridescent blue fountains that fed the waterways lining the outer edges of the chambers had a calming effect. King Rohan, seated on his ornately carved wooden throne at the head of the table, stopped midsentence, arching a brow in her direction.
She dipped her head in acknowledgment of her tardiness. Gliding to his side in a rustle of silk, she averted her gaze from the curious glances of the four men seated with Rohan—the three kings and the wizard Uscias. She tamped down her disappointment that the full council was not in attendance to bear witness to the highlander’s set-down.
“You’re late, my dear. Is something amiss?” Rohan glanced over his shoulder to where she’d taken her place to stand behind him.
Heat suffused her cheeks and she damned the telltale flush. “No. I simply forgot the time, Your Highness.” Pleased that unlike her face her speech did not reveal her discomfiture.
Her gaze collided with Lachlan MacLeod’s, who sat sprawled in the chair to Rohan’s right. She attempted a nonchalant smile, but couldn’t quite pull it off under the intensity of his golden gaze. Her upper lip curled, and a lazy grin quirked his full sensual mouth. Her hands balled at her sides. How she longed to wipe that supercilious smile from his too-handsome face. When she remembered the reason the council was meeting, a genuine smile curved her lips. The inept king was about to receive his comeuppance. If she had anything to say in the matter, he would have no choice but to acquiesce to his uncle’s demands.
Lachlan blinked, then narrowed his gaze on her. She suppressed the urge to stick her tongue out at him as she’d seen his cousin Rory’s sons, Jamie and Alex, do.
“She’s here now, Rohan, so can we get on with it?” King Broderick of the Welsh Fae demanded testily. Reminding her why she’d never been overly fond of the taciturn king.
“Certainly. I’ve received a missive from King Magnus,” Rohan began with a pointed look in his nephew’s direction.
A nephew who paid no attention to him.
Her nails dug into her palms. The fool was too busy contemplating the mead in his gold-encrusted cup to be aware of his uncle’s censure. Uscias, wizard to the Enchanted Isles and Lachlan’s mentor, jabbed an elbow in his king’s side.
Lachlan grunted, skewering the wizard with a disgruntled glare. “Bloody hell, what was that fer?” he demanded in his deep, rumbling voice.
Uscias jerked his silver-bearded chin to Rohan. “Your uncle requires your attention.”
The highlander raked his hand through his thick tawny head of hair and raised his gaze. “I was distracted. What were ye sayin’?”
“What else is new,” she muttered under her breath. Obviously not as quietly as she’d thought since Gabriel, king of England’s Fae, snorted a laugh and Lachlan shot her a censorious look.
“King Magnus thought I would be interested to know that you refused the offer of his sister’s hand in marriage,” Rohan said, drawing Lachlan’s narrow-eyed attention from Evangeline.
“Why should he think ye’d be interested? The matter is no concern of yers, Uncle.”
Her temper simmered. The man truly is a fool. Did he not realize how precarious their relationship with the Fae of the Far North was and what his outright refusal could mean to his subjects? Magnus was powerful and until recently had aligned himself with Dimtri, king of the European Fae. Dimtri no longer answered to the Seelie Council. He looked for a way to overthrow Rohan. Keeping Magnus content would ensure his loyalty to the council and go a long way toward protecting the Isle Fae.
About ready to tear her hair from her scalp at Lachlan’s inability to see the danger he put his people in, she snapped, “If you didn’t spend all your time womanizing, your pea-sized brain would comprehend the peril you put your loyal subjects in.”
If not for the tightening of his beard-shadowed jaw, the slight twitch of a muscle there, she wouldn’t have thought her remark had penetrated his thick skull. His lack of emotion grated on her nerves. If he couldn’t bring himself to care about the Fae, they would never be safe.
Out of habit, she glanced at the Sword of Nuada—the magickal weapon awarded the king of the Enchanted Isles—resting against a thickly muscled thigh encased in form-fitting trews. The golden sword magnified its bearer’s emotions. Not once in the two years since the highlander had been presented the weapon did it indicate the man was anything more than an empty shell. Knowing what he’d suffered in the past, a part of Evangeline understood why he’d shut down his emotions, but it only served to validate her belief that he was unfit to protect the Fae.
A faint glow of red radiated from the blade. Her eyes widened, a glimmer of hope stirring to life inside her. But that hope faded as quickly as the emotion faded from the blade when she jerked her gaze to Lachlan’s ruggedly handsome face. With an arrogant smirk, he said, “Pea-sized, is it?”
Evangeline curled her fingers around the back of the throne before she gave in to the temptation to render him mute.
Rohan reached over his shoulder and patted her hand in an attempt to calm her. “I’m sure Evangeline meant no disrespect by the remark, Lachlan, but she does have a point. Your outright refusal could spark a confrontati
on with Magnus, encouraging him to take up with Dimtri again. Now, Evangeline and I have spent some time going over the matter.” Rohan glanced back at her. “Perhaps you should give my nephew your opinion of his options.”
Evangeline smiled. Nothing would give her more pleasure.
She wouldn’t need her magick to render him mute.
Chapter 2
Oh, aye, Lachlan was certain the bloody woman had an opinion on what he should do. When had she not? Evangeline was a pain in his royal arse. But, he thought, as he met her flashing violet eyes and temper flushed her cheeks a becoming pink, she was easy on the eyes. And if he was honest, the pointed barbs the sultry beauty aimed in his direction were a welcome change from the bowing and scraping to which he’d grown accustomed.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Mayhap he’d tweak her temper a bit further. “Aye, Uncle, I’m quite accustomed to her makin’ her opinion known where I’m concerned. Why ye’d think I’d be interested in hearin’ it is what I’m wonderin’.”
It was no secret his uncle set great store in what the lass had to say. Lachlan supposed it was because of her much-vaunted powers. He’d heard she was not to be trifled with. Even Uscias, as powerful a wizard as he was, seemed in awe of her abilities. But it didn’t mean Lachlan was. He was a king, after all—king of the Fae.
He snorted at the idea. He’d held the title for over two years now and to this day found it difficult to believe he’d accepted the role. He’d grown up despising the Fae—the man who he’d thought was his father had seen to that—and hiding his Fae heritage. But Lachlan’s secret had been discovered by a cadre of devil-worshipping aristocrats. They’d held him hostage, tortured him, draining him of his blood in hopes of using his magick to release the dark lords of the underworld.
Magick, he thought contemptuously. The only magick he possessed came from his sword. Reflexively, his hand closed over the jewel-encrusted hilt.
His uncle cleared his throat. “Evangeline, perhaps you should tell my nephew what it is you’ve learned.”
“Lord Bana and his brother Erwn seek to overthrow you,” she said in that melodious voice of hers. It was bloody annoying that her voice seemed to mesmerize him even when what came out of her mouth was meant to torment or belittle him.
Lachlan glanced at Uscias, who merely shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Nay, ye’re mistaken, they ...” He stopped, thinking better of telling her his late father’s trusted advisors were his constant companions. They consumed round after round of ale together while playing cards and enjoying the bountiful charms of the willing women who abounded in his palace. She already thought him a lecherous lout who did nothing but see to his own pleasure. He wasn’t about to add another arrow to her quiver.
In her typical supercilious manner, she raised a perfectly arched black brow.
“Ye’re mistaken,” he repeated. “Besides, how would ye ken? Ye doona come to the Enchanted Isles.” He praised the Lord for small mercies. It was bad enough he had to put up with her during council meetings and at Lewes for family gatherings. No matter how often he asked her not to, Syrena, his sister-by-marriage, never failed to include Evangeline in the festivities. It was his misfortune the two women were best friends.
“I’ve heard rumors,” she said by way of explanation, avoiding his gaze when she did so. He knew then that she lied. But before he could question her, she said, “Has Syrena not told you of the difficulties she had with them?”
His brother’s wife, who at one time Lachlan had thought to be his half sister but later turned out to be his cousin, had once ruled the Enchanted Isles. “Nay, but even if she did, I doona understand what Bana and Erwn have to do with me marryin’ Magnus’s sister.”
She sighed in a manner that suggested she thought she dealt with a slow-witted child. “They question your ability to rule without magick. You need someone with magickal abilities to stand by your side. Magnus’s sister would be a good choice. Another benefit to the union is that the king of the Far North would no longer feel compelled to join Dimtri in his bid to gain access to the Seelie Hallows.”
Dimtri and Magnus were jealous of the powerful Hallows the Isle Fae held—Lachlan’s sword, the stone, the cauldron, and spear—asserting they had as much right to them as the Isle Fae did. Dimtri even went so far as to claim they’d been stolen from the European Fae.
“I have my sword. ’Tis all the magick I require. And I’ll no’ let Magnus force my hand. If I decide to wed, ’twill be me who chooses my bride.”
Lachlan was certain he could hear Evangeline grinding her teeth before she opened her mouth to give him another of her opinions. “It’s not enough. You are responsible for the safety of your subjects. You leave yourself as well as them vulnerable without magick.”
Gabriel tipped his goblet in Lachlan’s direction. “I’ve fought with him a time or two, Evangeline, and I can assure you your worries are for naught.”
Lachlan smiled his thanks. He hadn’t spent much time in Gabriel’s company, but he was an affable sort despite his startling good looks. Gabriel had been there the night Syrena and his brother Aidan had rescued Lachlan from Glastonbury. The pity he’d glimpsed in the other man’s eyes had made Lachlan uncomfortable, but over the last year they’d developed a friendship of sorts.
“I agree. As always, you overstate the danger, Evangeline,” Broderick said. The dark-haired king was more reserved than Gabriel, but Lachlan had grown accustomed to his brusque manner and had come to respect his opinion. Now more than ever, he thought, grinning at Evangeline’s baleful expression.
“I have to disagree, Broderick. I think her concerns hold merit. Lachlan, I have asked Evangeline to put together a list of prospective brides for your perusal.”
“She’ll be wastin’ her time. I—”
Rohan held up a hand to stem his heated protest. “You are half-Fae, nephew. The best way to dissuade those who seek to overthrow you is to take a full-blooded Fae to wife. As for Magnus, I shall send a missive advising him you’ve had a change of heart and his sister Jorunn is among the women you are considering. That will give us time to find another way to retain his loyalty should you not choose his sister.”
“Ye canna force me, Rohan,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. He didn’t wish to marry, and he’d be damned if he’d let any one tell him to do so. The last thing he needed was a woman demanding his attention, his affection.
“As High King, I most certainly can.”
A smile played upon Evangeline’s lips, her fine-boned features glowing with pleasure. Lachlan was tempted to strangle the meddlesome wench. Her gaze shifted to his sword and her smile widened. He glanced down at the blade glowing red and frowned. What the bloody hell was so interesting about his sword? Whenever he journeyed to the Mortal realm, Syrena did the same thing, then he’d catch a look of sorrow in her eyes before she turned away.
Daft, that’s what the two of them are.
“Rohan, is it a requirement that the prospective bride be of royal blood?” Uscias asked. A thoughtful expression on his weathered face, he stroked his knee-length silver beard and looked from Lachlan to Evangeline.
Lachlan’s blood ran cold. Marrying was bad enough. Marrying Evangeline was out of the question. The woman would never give him a moment’s peace. If he ever wed, it would be a marriage of convenience. And there’d be nothing convenient about marrying Evangeline.
Before Lachlan could disabuse his mentor of the notion, the wizard Morfessa burst into the chambers. Black robes swirling about him, he stalked to the table pointing an accusatory finger at his daughter. “Guards, arrest her. Now!” he yelled when the two men who followed behind him hesitated, their uncertain gazes seeking out Rohan.
Lachlan watched in amazement as the indomitable Evangeline cowered in the face of her father’s fury. Color drained from her pinched features and what appeared to be fear darkened her violet eyes. He’d heard rumors that her father despised her, but until now had doubted their v
eracity.
“Morfessa, what is the meaning of this?” Rohan demanded, waving the guards back to their position along the wall.
“Do not protect her, my liege! Ask what she was doing in the woods this day. Ask her!”
Rohan shifted in his throne. “Evangeline?”
“I practiced my magick, Your Highness. That is all.”
Lachlan noted the white-knuckled grip her slender fingers had on the back of Rohan’s throne, the slight quiver of her full bottom lip belying her pretense of calm.
“Liar! You’re a lying evil bitch like your mother.” Morfessa had worked himself into a frenzy, his body vibrating with rage.
A haunted look shadowed Evangeline’s eyes. She seemed fragile, vulnerable, so different from the woman Lachlan had come to know. The muscles low in his belly twisted. The urge to take her in his arms and comfort her overwhelmed him. He knew all too well what it was like to have a father who hated you. Alexander MacLeod, the man Lachlan had grown up believing was his father, had hated him. Despised him for his Fae blood, despised him enough to try to kill him. If not for his brother Aidan, Lachlan would’ve died that rainy night on the cliffs. But instead, it was Alexander who plunged to his death. Lachlan shoved the memory away along with the emotions that went with it.
Morfessa snarled, his hands bunching into fists. Intent on protecting Evangeline, Lachlan leapt from his chair. The wizard hurled himself at her at the same time, colliding with Lachlan before he had a chance to prepare for the blow. The force of Morfessa’s momentum threw Lachlan off balance. While he regained his footing, Morfessa lunged past him, grabbing a fistful of Evangeline’s robes. He dragged her from behind Rohan’s throne before Lachlan’s uncle could stop him.
Inserting himself between the two powerful wizards—Lachlan knew a moment’s gratitude that the hall was warded against magick—he wrenched Morfessa’s hand from Evangeline’s neck and shoved him away from her.
King of the Isles Page 2
