King of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  “What the bloody hell were ye doin’?” a familiar voice asked. For once she was happy to hear Lachlan’s deep brogue, even if his question was asked in a decidedly aggrieved tone.

  Realizing she alone sat in the comfort of his embrace, she shoved her hair from her face then leaned backward over his arm to search for the little girl. “Where’s Aurora?”

  His arm tightened at her back and he gave her an exasperated look. Jerking his chin to the left of them, he pulled her upright. “No thanks to ye, she’s safe. Bowen went after her, snatched her up with his teeth, then tossed her onto his back,” Lachlan said with an admiring shake of his head.

  “Good ... that’s good.”

  “Aye, ’tis. Now, do ye want to explain to me what happened, because from what I can see the bairn has no problem retainin’ her seat, whereas ye ...”

  From the way Aurora weaved the steed in and out of the other riders, it was obvious Evangeline couldn’t blame the child for the mishap. She searched her mind for a plausible excuse, only to blurt out, “I’m unused to wearing attire such as this. The trews are ... well ... they’re slippery, and I simply slid off the horse.” Discomfited as she was, she tried to ignore the thickly muscled leg beneath her bottom and the powerful arms that held her.

  “Unlike yer robes,” he said dryly. “And here I thought ye were annoyin’ the beast and he decided to toss ye.”

  She frowned. “How could I annoy a horse?”

  “I doona ken, but ye’re verra good at bein’ annoyin’, so it wouldna have surprised me.”

  “If that were the case, your steed would be trying to toss you.”

  “He couldna, I’m too good a rider. That’s it, isna it?” He angled his head and studied her face. “Ye have no experience and ye’re afraid.” His tone gentled.

  “I am not afraid,” she protested a little too vehemently, striving for calm before continuing, “I have never had reason to ride before is all, and I’d much prefer to transport myself to the Far North.”

  At that moment, Aurora whizzed by, performing a series of intricate maneuvers that had Evangeline’s belly lurching, and the thought of getting back on Bowen, even if she glued herself to the steed, held little appeal. She lifted her hand, determined to do as she said.

  “Nay, ye doona.” He took hold of her fingers. “Ye’re no’ goin’ in on yer own.”

  “I’m not getting back on Bowen.”

  “Nay, ’twill be safer fer all of us if ye ride with me.”

  Evangeline was tempted to refuse but knew she had to choose her battles carefully. He was a king, after all, and she had to admit, the confident and commanding manner in which he handled his steed calmed her jangled nerves and queasy stomach. She just had to find a way to ignore the feel of his hard warrior’s body pressed to hers, the comfort of his protective embrace, his ... Evangeline groaned, uncertain which was more dangerous, remaining with Lachlan or returning to Bowen.

  Aurora chose that moment to gallop alongside them. With an impish grin and a wave of her hand, she guided Bowen into a stomach-turning dive. A panicked cry escaped Evangeline before she could contain it.

  Lachlan’s warm breath caressed her cheek. “Doona worry, she’s just showin’ off.”

  A heated shiver of awareness raced through her. For the love of Fae, it would be less dangerous facing down Magnus and a hundred of his warriors.

  Chapter 6

  Safe. He thought it safe to hold the raven-haired temptress in his arms? Of all the fool things that had ever come out of Lachlan’s mouth, that had to have been the most absurd. After the way his body had responded to seeing her in trews hugging her curvaceous hips, the tunic caressing the lush ripeness of her breasts, you’d think he would’ve thought twice about his offer. But no, his need to protect her overrode his need for self-preservation. Her father had seen to that.

  The madness in the vindictive bastard’s eyes as he spoke of his daughter had reminded Lachlan of the look he’d seen in Alexander’s the night he’d tried to kill him. Morfessa’s barely contained bloodlust when he pleaded with Lachlan to do what must be done to rid the Fae realm of her evil had ignited in Lachlan a rage of such blinding force, he was surprised he hadn’t killed the bastard right then and there. It had taken a moment for him to regain enough control to be able to speak. Once he had, he’d warned Morfessa his daughter was under his protection. Warned him if any further threats were made against her, Lachlan would see them as a threat against his Crown.

  Considering how Evangeline felt about him, Lachlan was certain she’d resent his interference. She might think her magick alone would protect her, but he knew better. Too many of the Fae hated and feared her, and too few would offer their support and protection if the need arose. Not that she would thank him for it, but she now had his.

  It was why he now held the woman, who’d done nothing but frustrate and torment him, in his arms.

  She shifted in his lap and he blew out a frustrated breath. Her palm pressed to his chest, her full breasts jiggled beneath her tunic as she attempted to swing her long legs over to straddle his horse.

  “What are ye doin’?” he ground out when, as she wriggled into position, her firm arse rubbed his cock.

  “I need to be able to keep an eye on Aurora,” she informed him with a quick glance over her shoulder, as if she didn’t understand the reason for the surly manner in which he questioned her.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to ignore the ache in his loins. It was his own bloody fault. Of late he’d grown tired of the avaricious women who clamored for a place in his bed. He was now paying the price for not taking them up on their offers.

  He’d kept a careful watch on the little seer in part to keep his roving eyes off Evangeline and her bountiful charms, which threatened to spill out of her tunic. “She’s fine. Now fer Chrissakes, would ye stay still!”

  “What is the matter with you? I’m just ...”

  “Ye’re no’ an innocent, Evangeline. Ye bloody well ken what ye’re doin’.” He pressed his straining erection against her to make his point, calling himself an idiot when the feel of his cock nestled against her arse only served to inflame him further. “Unless ’twas what ye intended all along.”

  With an outraged gasp, she wriggled farther up the saddle to put some distance between them. Lachlan curved an arm around her waist. Flattening his palm on her belly, he tugged her against him. “Ye’ll fall off if ye’re no’ careful.”

  He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her tunic, the muscles tensing beneath his fingers. Thinking with nothing more than his cock, he bent his head and inhaled her seductive scent. She stiffened in his arms. “’Twill take some time to reach the Far North, and I can think of a most pleasurable way in which to pass it.” He nipped the tip of her earlobe, swirling his tongue in the delicate whorls.

  She jerked back, her skull connecting with his forehead in a jarring thwack. “Sweet Christ,” he said, rubbing his throbbing brow. “Ye’ve got a hard head.”

  Shifting in the saddle, she attempted to slay him with her violet eyes. “Have you been drinking?” She sniffed his breath. “No, perhaps a spell then.”

  “What the bloody hell are ye goin’ on aboot?”

  She gripped his chin between her fingers, searching his eyes. “Someone must have drugged you or put a love spell on you. It’s the only explanation.”

  He jerked his chin from her hold. “No one’s given me potions or put a spell on me, and it had naught to do with love. ’Twas nothin’ but lust. Ye’re no’ a maid, Evangeline. Ye should ken the difference.”

  She sucked in a shocked breath, her cheeks flushed. “How dare you!”

  “Ye can stop with yer pretense of outrage. I’ve lived at the palace fer over two years now and I’m well acquainted with the Faes’ lascivious nature. Ye canna expect me to believe ye’re an innocent. Ye’re older than Syrena. Ye’re older than me, fer Chrissakes.”

  “Do not presume to judge me on the basis of
the company you keep, Lachlan MacLeod. And what for the love of Fae does my age have to do with anything, or for that matter my innocence or lack thereof?”

  “If ye’ve never experienced lust, never been with a man, Evie, I’m beginnin’ to understand why ye’re so bad tempered. I canna say I blame ye.”

  She elbowed him in the belly. Recovering from the blow, he almost missed her finger coming up. He encircled her wrist with his hand. “Oh, no, ye doona. Ye’re no turnin’ me into a toad.”

  “Hah, a toad is too good for the likes of you. I was going to turn you into a pig—a big fat pig ripe for slaughter.”

  Lachlan grinned, enjoying the furious sparkle in her eyes. Being with Evangeline was never boring. “And how were you plannin’ on explainin’ that to Syrena and Aidan, not to mention Aurora, who’s lookin’ our way?”

  “Let me go,” she gritted out, trying to pull her hand from his.

  “Do ye promise to behave?”

  “Only if you promise not to—”

  “No’ to what? No’ to do this.” He angled his head, trailing his lips along the delicate line of her jaw, down the elegant column of her neck. He only meant to tease her, but at the taste of her, his cock hardened further. He groaned. Bloody hell, what was wrong with him?

  “I ... I despise you, Lachlan MacLeod,” she choked out, but the tremor shuddering through her body when his lips touched her soft skin belied her words.

  “Ye say one thing, but yer body tells me another.” Just like mine, he thought. His gaze drawn to the fractured rise and fall of her breasts, the hard points of her nipples straining against the fabric of her tunic, he couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat.

  “Stop. You must stop.”

  He jerked back at the underlying panic in her voice. Sweet Christ, mayhap she was right. Mayhap someone had drugged him, bewitched him. He forced a teasing lightness to his tone, responding in the manner she’d expect him to. “My offer still stands, Evie. If ever ye wish to assuage yer lustful urgings, ye have only to ask.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, glancing at him through the cover of her long lashes. “I realize you are accustomed to women falling at your feet, surrendering to your flirtations, but I’m not one of them.”

  Aye, and he was certain ’twas the reason for his attraction to her. Sweet Christ, he hoped it was.

  “And stop calling me Evie.”

  “As soon as ye start callin’ me King Lachlan and showin’ me the respect I deserve, I’ll stop callin’ ye Evie.”

  “Respect. Respect for what? You spend all of your time wenching, drinking, and gambling.”

  “Doona ferget trainin’ fer battle. I’m verra good with my sword.” He grinned.

  “You are the most frustrating man I’ve ever met.”

  “See, I kent ye were frustrated and I’m only too willin’ to help ye with that. I’ve never had an older woman before, so ’twould be an interestin’ experience.” No matter that their wee chat was playing havoc on his restraint; the urge to tease her was too enjoyable to resist. “Just how old are ye?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He snorted a laugh. “Everyone kens their day of birth, Evie. Tell me and I promise no’ to tease ye again this day.”

  “I told you, I don’t know. Besides, it’s only a silly sentiment practiced by the Mortals.”

  Something inside him stilled. “Ye truly doona ken yer day of birth, do ye?”

  She shook her head. “No, but since my mother destroyed the Fae of the Enchanted Isles twenty-six years ago, I must be somewhere around that age,” she said flatly.

  All he could think to say was, “I’m sorry, Evangeline.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Aye, it does,” he said quietly, gently rubbing her arm. He knew how much it mattered. For the first eight years of his life, Lachlan’s day of birth had been a day he feared. Alexander would get deep in his cups trying to drown out the circumstance of Lachlan’s birth. Arwan, king of the Isle Fae, had seduced his mother. Only recently had Lachlan learned it had not been a love affair, Arwan had enchanted his mother. He’d been born of rape, not love. Alexander had taken out his bitterness on the child he’d once been. On his eighth birthday, a drunken Alexander had dragged Lachlan into the cold rainy night with the intention of throwing him off a cliff.

  He drew Evangeline against him, resting his chin on the top of her head. They were more alike than he’d realized, and the knowledge unsettled him.

  Evangeline resisted the urge to seek comfort in Lachlan’s embrace. Even now her body responded to his, to the memory of his warm lips upon her flesh. He’d asked if she’d experienced lust before. She had—the lust of his father. It had been a brutal, terrifying experience, but she’d had no choice. For the greater good she’d sacrificed her innocence to a man she abhorred. She’d made a promise to herself then that no man would ever have her at his mercy again. Before this day, before now, she had never experienced desire ... lust. How was it possible Lachlan could awaken those feelings in her? She scoffed at the question. She knew the answer. He was a practiced seducer.

  She shivered at the memory of his firm lips emblazoning a trail down her neck, his warm breath, his tongue teasing ... Stop! She commanded her brain. She had to stop this, it was madness. She didn’t want a man in her life, especially this man.

  “Are ye cold?”

  The deep rumble of his voice jolted her from her heated musings. She jerked, hitting the back of her head on his chin. “Ouch,” she cried, rubbing the tender spot.

  “I’m the one who should be complainin’. ’Tis the second time ye’ve bumped me with yer head.”

  Drawing away from him, she was surprised to find how much cooler it had become. “We’re getting closer,” she mused.

  “Aye.” A puff of frosted air accompanied his response. “I’ve never been this far north, but I was no’ expectin’ the weather to be any different than ’tis in the Enchanted Isles.”

  “At one time it wasn’t, but Gabriel’s wife changed that.”

  “I didna ken Gabriel had a wife.”

  “She died a very long time ago. Her name was Gwendolyn. She was mortal. It is said he would do anything for her. He loved her very much.” Her gaze was drawn to Gabriel, who was deep in conversation with Broderick. “He gave her the moon and the stars.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  “When Gabriel brought his wife to the Fae realm, it was not like it is now. Unlike the Mortal realm we did not have night, only day. It is said Gwendolyn missed looking up at the stars at night. Gabriel pleaded his case before the Seelie Council, who petitioned the angels to remove the shield. Permission was eventually granted and Gwendolyn got her wish, only to die the next day. Not long afterward, the entire Fae realm requested they, too, be granted night and day. It led Magnus to petition for the secondary shield to be lifted over the Fae North, so now his weather reflects that of the Mortal realm beneath him.”

  “Why did Arwan and Rohan no’ do the same?”

  “The Fae of the Far North like their cold weather and snow. We, on the other hand, are not particularly fond of the weather in Scotland and Ireland. It rains too much.”

  “So, if I petitioned the council ’tis possible to have the shield lifted?”

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t advise it.” Not relishing the thought of a change in their temperate weather, Evangeline turned to give him her opinion on the matter. Her eyes widened. Tiny icicles clung to his hair and the tip of his aristocratic nose. His full sensuous lips were tinged a deathly shade of blue. “Why didn’t you say something?” she grumbled. With a flick of her fingers, she dressed him in a long cloak of brown fur.

  “’Twas no’ necessary.”

  “Oh, it was necessary all right, you just couldn’t stand the thought of asking for my help.” Realizing she could use a cloak as well, she raised her hand.

  “Nay.” He clasped her fingers with his. “We’ll no’ be able t
o fit on the horse if ye’re bundled up as well.” He held out the edge of his cloak. “I’ll wrap the furs around us both.”

  He was right, but for some reason it felt more intimate than having only his arm wrapped around her. Reluctantly, she did as he suggested. If she didn’t, she’d only draw his attention to her discomfiture, and she didn’t want him to know he had an effect on her.

  Clutching the edge of the cloak, she looked back at the party they led, searching for Aurora.

  “She’s ridin’ with Shayla and Riana. They’re keepin’ watch over her.”

  Finding the women amongst the pack, Evangeline noted they, too, were cloaked in furs. She frowned at the fur piece some of the others wore on their heads. Narrowing her gaze, she studied it carefully, then with a flick of her fingers, put one on Lachlan.

  He brought his hand to his head and patted it. Scowling, he took it off and plunked it on hers. “I’m no’ wearin’ that.” His mouth quirked when he looked down at her.

  She added a hood to his cloak and, reaching over, stretched up to tug it on his head. “Don’t argue. Your nose looks as if it’s about to fall off.” Thinking his hands and feet must be cold, she changed his boots to fur and added fur coverings to his hands.

  Lachlan rolled his eyes. “I canna feel the reins through these,” he said. Pulling them off one at a time, he pressed them into her hands. “I can think of a better way to keep them warm. Ye wear the mittens.” Gripping the reins with one hand, he brought her closer, then wrapped her tight in the warm thick furs. He slid his hand underneath, curving it around her waist.

  His big palm splayed her belly and she gasped. Not because of the cold radiating from his hand through the thin fabric of her tunic, but because of the heat it caused to unfurl in her belly.

  Tipping her head back to look up at him, she said, “You cannot help yourself, can you?”

  A wicked smile spread over his face, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Nay, I canna.”

  His long, powerful fingers kneaded her belly. There was something oddly comforting and gentle in the way he touched her. Like a man attempting to calm a skittish animal. No one had ever touched her in that manner, and Evangeline found herself responding despite herself. When a soft moan of pleasure threatened to escape her lips, she desperately sought a way to break the connection. “Do you think Magnus will try to intercept us before we reach the Far North?”