King of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  “Hold fast, Evangeline,” Aurora instructed as she followed Shayla’s lead and plummeted from the sky in a stomach-turning maneuver. Clinging to the child’s tiny frame, Evangeline couldn’t help but long for the feel of Lachlan’s arms around her, holding her securely in place on his steed.

  As though the mere thought of Lachlan drew him to her, he brought his steed alongside Bowen. At the sight of his battle-hardened warrior’s body beneath his parted cloak, she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to scramble onto his lap. But knowing how dangerous a place that could be, she cast a spell instead, gluing herself to Bowen’s back. If only she’d thought to do so earlier she never would’ve known what she was missing. Never would have experienced the comfort of his touch or the desire for his kiss.

  The wind whistled in her ears and she strained to hear what he tried to tell her. He leaned into her. “Doona fash yerself, Evie. I wouldna let ye fall.”

  She nodded, grimacing as they swooped past the snow-covered mountains with their jagged peaks knifing through the moisture-laden clouds. Buffeted by the winds as they traversed the pass, she was grateful for his offer and the spell that held her in place. If she fell from Bowen now, she would not die, but it would take several long, pain-racked months to heal, just as it had when she was a child.

  Her gaze shot to Lachlan. He was only half-Fae. When he’d been tortured in the Mortal realm, he’d taken forever to heal. The memory of his savaged body too difficult to bear, she banished the image from her mind, but she couldn’t banish her fear at the thought of him plummeting to the razor-sharp rocks below.

  Furtively, she wiggled her finger in his direction, casting a spell that would bind him to his mount. The pass too narrow for them to ride side by side, Lachlan motioned for them to go ahead of him and follow behind Shayla. Shrouded in a suffocating blanket of dusky gray light, they rode in the dark depths of the cavern, past the sheer rock face. Mountains soared above them, and below, it looked as though a monster opened the never-ending hole of its mouth, ready to devour them should they fall.

  Only the sound of their steeds’ wings broke the weighted silence. No one spoke for fear the timbre of their voices would unleash the torrent of snow and ice that hung precariously above them. Very little truly frightened Evangeline, but she admitted, if only to herself, she would be much relieved when they came out the other side.

  She glanced back to see how Lachlan fared and took some comfort in the manner in which he scanned the peaks. He bore no resemblance to the man she’d always thought him to be. Gone was the lazy carefree manner in which he’d always conducted himself. His bearing confident, almost to the point of arrogance, controlled, he was ... majestic. Her cheeks heated when she realized he’d caught her staring at him.

  Hmph, he hasn’t changed that much, she thought when he rewarded her perusal with a smug grin. He attempted to shift his position on his mount, then frowned. Evangeline quickly averted her gaze. His low growl clearly audible, her relief at seeing the glimmer of light just ahead of them diminished.

  As they winged their way out of the cavern, Lachlan came up beside them. “Undo yer spell,” he demanded in a tightly controlled voice.

  Aurora cast an uneasy glance from Lachlan to Evangeline.

  Evangeline was taken aback. The icy rage that glittered in his eyes seemed out of proportion for what she’d done. She attempted to explain. “I only meant to protect you. I didn’t—”

  “Take it off me now. And doona ever cast a spell on me again.”

  “But you could have—”

  “Remove it. Now,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

  She much preferred his typical display of temper to this cold fury emanating from him. With a flick of her wrist, she removed the spell.

  “King Lachlan’s very angry with you, Evangeline. I don’t think you should use your magick on him anymore,” Aurora said when he rode away.

  “I won’t,” Evangeline muttered. The ingrate could fall to his death for all she cared.

  Aurora gasped.

  Evangeline frowned. She didn’t think she’d made the comment out loud. She followed the little girl’s wide-eyed gaze to the snow-frosted valley. Magnus’s crystal palace glistened in the distance, and there to greet them was an army twice their size. The men on their winged steeds below them raised their swords, bellowing a challenge. A thunderous clamor so loud it ricocheted off the granite walls. The mountains trembled as if frightened by the sound, triggering a wall of snow to barrel down from the ice-capped ledges. Bowen lurched forward, taking them out of reach of the vacuum of air that threatened to suck them back into the cavern.

  “Fallyn!” Shayla screamed.

  Evangeline’s gaze shot back to the pass and the trapped warriors on their terrified steeds. “Bring Bowen around,” she yelled to make herself heard above the deafening roar.

  She drew on her magick as Aurora urged the steed into position. Her body warmed, growing hotter until the heat exploded inside her. She sent shafts of vibrating light at the cascading snow and ice. Instantly, the avalanche halted, suspended in midair. Digging deeper, Evangeline raised her arms in the direction she wanted the frosted cloud to flow. It followed her command to perch once more on top of the mountains. As the warriors cleared the pass, interred in snow, it took a moment for her to recognize Fallyn.

  Once she did, she sagged against Aurora, exhausted. Controlling the weather earlier had depleted much of her strength, and now with this latest effort it felt as though she’d drained the last of her powers. Her stomach churned at the thought. Overwhelmed by a sense of impotence, she didn’t dare test her magick. The confirmation of her helplessness would be too much to bear. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she’d be back to full strength within a few hours. But in truth, she couldn’t be certain, as she’d never used this amount of magick in one day.

  Shaking off the snow from her cloak, Fallyn brought her steed alongside Bowen and leaned over to embrace Evangeline. “Thank you.” Fallyn pulled back and winced. “You’ve depleted your magick. You should have asked for help.”

  “No, I haven’t. I’m perfectly fine.” Evangeline would admit her weakness to no one, and Fallyn should know she’d never ask for help. It was too dangerous to depend on anyone but herself.

  She didn’t need anything or anyone, just her magick.

  A magick she was sadly lacking at the moment.

  Chapter 8

  Lachlan took stock of the enemy as they gathered in the valley. He’d known they’d wait, forcing him to come to them. After his warriors had a chance to recover, he’d gathered them on the extended ledge below the mountain’s peak to set out the plan of attack, all the while keeping an eye on Evangeline, who sat on the frozen ground with her back to the rock face. He noted the slight tremor in her hand as she pushed her glossy black mane over her shoulder. Exhaustion pinched her delicate features. She could barely keep her eyes open. In passing, Fallyn had mentioned Evangeline’s magick was depleted, but he knew she’d be too stubborn to admit it.

  He hadn’t spoken to her since she’d cast her spell on him, not even to thank her for rescuing half of his warriors from certain injury. It didn’t speak well of him, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t been that incensed since his captivity at Glastonbury. She’d made him feel powerless—stripped him of his freedom, his control. Instinctively he’d known she’d done it to protect him, but he couldn’t thank her for it, nor would he apologize for his anger. No one wanted their weaknesses exposed, even if only to oneself.

  His plan laid out, he made his way through the throng of warriors to go to her. She watched his approach through the cover of her lashes. He crouched at her side. “We’ll be leavin’ momentarily. I want ye to remain here with Aurora.”

  With a stubborn jut of her chin, she shook her head. “No. You cannot expect me to sit idly by while you and the others risk your lives. You need my protection.”

  “Ye’re exhausted and yer magick is depleted.” He held up his hand
to stop her protest. “Doona try and deny it.”

  She snorted in disgust. “Even if that were true, I’d still have more magick in my baby finger than all of them put together.” She waved a dismissive hand at the warriors crowded around the campfire.

  He quirked a brow, unable to keep from smiling. “Humility is no’ yer strong suit, is it, Evie?” He admired her pride, respected it even, but not when it put her at risk. Syrena would never forgive him if anything happened to her.

  “And it’s yours?”

  “I’m a mon, and a king, we’re no’ meant to be humble. And ye, my loyal subject, will do as I command. Nay, I’ll no’ waste time arguin’ with ye.” He placed two fingers to her parted lips, instantly regretting it when the urge to replace them with his mouth overcame him. Bringing his hand to his thigh, he said, “Do as I ask, Evie. I canna fight and worry over ye and Aurora at the same time.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t want you to,” she said, a mulish expression on her beautiful face.

  He wished he didn’t, but it appeared his need to protect her was not about to vanish as easily as she could. “I need ye well rested so that when the time comes ye can go in and retrieve Uscias.” After witnessing the magnitude of her power earlier, he’d known she was their best hope of freeing Uscias without incident.

  “Oh, I ... I thought you only brought me to protect Aurora.”

  “Aye, until we’ve created the opportunity fer ye to get inside Magnus’s palace. Once we have, Fallyn and her sisters will guard the bairn.”

  “Or Broderick and Gabriel could do so.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Doona push it.”

  She searched his face. “You really do trust me, don’t you?”

  At the bewildered look in her bonny eyes, his chest tightened. He brought his hand to her face, stroking her satiny smooth cheek with his thumb. “Aye. And anyone who doesna is a fool.”

  Her skin warmed beneath his fingers and a slight smile touched her lips. “Then the Fae realm is overrun with fools.”

  “Aye, ’tis.” He let his hand drop before the urge to banish every cursed word the Fae ever said to her overrode his vow to keep his distance. He came to his feet. “I’ll send Fallyn fer ye when ’tis time fer ye to play yer part.”

  “Be careful,” she said in that husky voice of hers. A voice that made a man think of sin and seduction.

  “Aye.” He shook off the thought then turned to walk away. At the sudden heaviness in his legs and the uncomfortable weight bearing down on his shoulders and chest, he frowned. He took a step, heard the clink of metal against metal. Looking down, he opened his ankle-length cape—thick plates of hinged steel shielded his body. Bloody hell, she’d coated him in armor!

  He pivoted on his heel, glaring down at her. “Evangeline.” A helmet clunked onto his head. “What part of doona use magick on me did ye no’ understand?”

  “You said do not put a spell on you, and I didn’t.”

  At the aggrieved look he shot her, her defiance faded. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. You can’t fault me in that.”

  Seeing her disheartened expression, he cleared the frustration from his. If he was truthful, he’d admit her need to protect him, although annoying, was well-intentioned. And ... and it ... Nay, he was not about to acknowledge the emotion her solicitude garnered in him. “I appreciate your concern, Evie, but I canna move in the armor. ’Tis more a hindrance than a help.”

  With a resigned sigh, she removed the metal plates.

  “Ye doona need to worry aboot me. My blade and prowess on the battlefield more than make up fer my lack of magick.” As he walked away from where she was sheltered amongst the boulders, he noted the air had cooled substantially and turned back to her. “Mayhap ye should add an extra layer of clothin’. Ye doona want to catch a chill.”

  Lachlan bore down on the warrior he faced, frustrated when for the second time the man vanished before he could touch him with his blade. The warrior reappeared, a broad grin splitting his face. Lachlan cursed. The last five men he’d fought had done the same. In the end, he’d bested them, but not without depleting his strength. If anyone had told him that one day he’d desire the magickal abilities of the Fae, he would’ve quickly disabused them of the notion. But at that moment, there was nothing he desired more.

  “Ye’re no’ much of a warrior if ye have to depend on yer magick to fight me,” Lachlan taunted.

  “I’d heard rumors the mighty king of the Enchanted Isles was a half-blood, now I see it’s true. If not for your sword, you’d be dead.” With a scornful laugh, his opponent lunged.

  “Bloody Faery,” Lachlan spat out contemptuously. He’d show him just how little magick he required to take him down. His blade vibrated. Roaring his clan’s battle cry, he fought with renewed vigor. Their swords clashed again and again and he knew he had to go in for the kill before the warrior once again used his magick to disappear.

  Aware it took little more than a nick of his blade to steal their immortality, his enemy stayed well beyond the reach of his sword. Lachlan was surprised there were those willing to fight him considering the cost, but he imagined the thought of getting hold of his sword offset the danger and the odds. He had no choice but to drop his guard to lure the warrior closer. He did. As soon as his opponent struck, Lachlan shifted, then brought his blade up to slash the man’s sword arm. Blood spurted from the deep gash, splattering over the snow-covered ground.

  The warrior dropped to his knees, clutching his crimson-soaked arm to his chest. Raising his malevolent gaze to Lachlan, he growled, “Savor your victory, half-blood. Your wizard won’t hold out much longer. Soon the Fae of the Far North will hold the secret of your mighty sword and we’ll destroy you all.” His eyes spit fury even as the death gurgle rattled in his throat. On the warrior’s last breath, his body turned to ashes. The wind picked up, burying the bone-gray remains beneath the snow.

  Glaring at Magnus’s crystal palace in the distance, Lachlan battled his fear that Uscias faced certain death if they didn’t reach him soon. Nay, he promised himself, they’d retrieve his mentor, and Magnus would rue the day he went up against Lachlan. He threw himself into the heart of the battle—heedless of his vulnerability, heedless of anything but the need to reach Uscias.

  The cluster of boulders straddling the mountain’s ledge hid Evangeline from the enemy’s sight. But from where she lay atop the granite slab, she had a clear view of the battlefield, and her temper grew.

  Hiding. She, the most powerful wizard of the Fae realm, was hiding because that fool of a highlander, who was fighting with a complete disregard for his own safety, demanded she do so. And since when did she heed another’s advice or command when she knew better?

  “Aurora.” She waved the little girl to her side. “I must go to the king’s aid. If I don’t, I’m certain he shall be killed.”

  Aurora climbed up the rock to lie at Evangeline’s side, peering down over the battlefield. “He doesn’t look like he’s in danger.” Nose wrinkled, she glanced at Evangeline. “I don’t think he’ll be happy if you disobey him.”

  Evangeline waved a dismissive hand. “It matters not. I have vowed to protect him, and so I shall. You must promise me you’ll remain here.”

  She felt a small pang of guilt at leaving the child on her own, but it couldn’t be helped. Lachlan had no magick and the little seer did. She noticed the tremble in Aurora’s bottom lip. Awkwardly patting the child’s shoulder, Evangeline helped her down from the boulder then crouched beside her. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave Bowen and place you in a protective shield,” she said, tucking the furs around Aurora. Rising to her feet, Evangeline wove her spell.

  From within the filmy bubble, the little girl warbled, “What about Bowen?”

  “He wouldn’t like being confined. He might hurt you without meaning to do so. I promise, he’ll be fine,” she reassured her with a smile.

  Confident in her decision, Evangeline flashed to Lachlan’s side. Recalling ho
w Fallyn and her sisters carried a sword into battle, she conjured one for herself. The weight of the weapon felt awkward in her hand and she conjured another, and then another. Giving up with a frustrated sigh, she adjusted her grip on the hilt then looked to Lachlan’s stance for guidance.

  Concentrating on his opponent, he’d yet to note her presence, but his enemy did. “So, you need a woman to fight your battles, half-blood? I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  The instant Lachlan’s gaze shot to her, Magnus’s man took advantage of his inattention. The warrior’s blade ripped through the fabric of Lachlan’s tunic, slicing his sun-bronzed skin from shoulder to elbow. “I swear, if ye doona get me killed, Evangeline, ye’ll rue yer decision to disobey me,” he growled, parrying the man’s next blow to regain control of the fight.

  She reluctantly curled her fingers into her palm, knowing he’d be even angrier if she brought his opponent down using magick. The muscles rippled across his broad back as he fought with lethal grace. She had to admit he did indeed know how to use his sword. But seeing the blood staining the sleeve of his white tunic, she couldn’t bring herself to leave, afraid he would soon weaken and require her assistance.

  “Only a half-blood couldn’t control his bitch. But rest assured, when I’m done with you, I’ll control her,” his opponent chortled, lunging at Lachlan. The warrior’s laugh ended on a gasp. Lachlan’s blade protruding from his belly, he turned to ashes before he hit the ground.

  Lachlan, his chiseled profile as cold as the Far North, wiped the blood from his blade in the snow. His manner carefully controlled, he slowly turned to level her with a furious glare. She took a wary step back, her eyes darting from his bleeding arm to the hard set of his features. “I was just trying to help.”

  “Aye, and that worked out well, didna it? I was doin’ fine until ye showed up.” He prowled toward her. Slapping her blade with his, he almost knocked it from her hand. “Ye’re no’ even holdin’ it properly. Ye’ll get yerself killed. Ye’re in more danger than me.”