King of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  As though he read her thoughts, he covered her hand with his. “Nay, ye doona have to worry. I willna take too much. Just a sip, a small taste of ye is all I need.” He brought his hand to her face, trailing his fingers along the curve of her cheek, along her jaw, and down her neck. Replacing his fingers with his lips, he murmured into her neck, “Here.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. Unable to resist him, she smoothed her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. Her lust-addled brain cleared enough that she managed to conjure a dagger. She pressed it into his hand.

  He stiffened. Rising up on his elbow, he searched her face, then bowed his head with a groan. “Nay, I canna do it.”

  She took the blade from his clenched fist. He released a shuddered breath then touched his forehead to hers, reaching for her hand. “Nay, I willna let ye do it.”

  She managed to make a small nick in the hollow of her neck before he wrenched the blade from her. He jerked his shocked gaze to her throat. “Christ, I told ye, I canna do this.”

  Ridding herself of the dagger, she placed her palm on his beard-shadowed jaw. “Yes, you can. I want you to.” I need you to.

  “Ye shouldna have done it, Evie.” His warm breath caressed her face as he touched his lips to her eyes, to her cheek, to the corner of her mouth then feathered kisses along her jaw and down her neck. As he swirled his tongue over the cut, her moan of pleasure joined his. Spearing his fingers through her hair, he drew her head back, exposing her neck to his hot, hungry mouth. He suckled deeply, sending a heated jolt of desire so deep inside her it was as though his lips touched every part of her—her breasts, her belly, her womanhood. She writhed beneath him, her nails digging into his broad shoulders.

  “Ye’re so sweet, so beautiful. I canna get enough of ye.”

  Through the erotic haze that blanketed her senses, a niggling of fear that he’d forgotten his promise managed to slip through.

  “Nay.” With one last lingering sip, he lifted his heavy-lidded gaze to hers. “I would never hurt ye, Evie,” he said, then took her mouth in a mind-numbing kiss.

  She tunneled her fingers through the thick waves of his hair, holding him in place. Parting her lips on a moan, she allowed his practiced tongue entry. His lips were firm, demanding, possessive. She squirmed, trying to get closer—her body on fire for him. He skimmed his hand along the curve of her waist to her hip, then cupped her behind to mold her to him. Moving in rhythm with his tongue, he rocked his straining erection where she was hot and needy ... and it ... terrified her.

  Not like his father had once done. No, this had nothing to do with Arwan. Lachlan was nothing like his father. This was about her. She was nearly frantic with desire for him and it scared her half to death. He swallowed her desperate whimper, rolling to his side with her in his arms. His kiss gentled and he drew his hand from her behind to rub her back, his fingers kneading the tension from her neck.

  From beyond the thick walls of the cave, men called out to one another, penetrating the rough rasp of their breathing. Lachlan broke their kiss, pulling back to look into her eyes. “I think ’tis a good thing I am healed, Evie. Because if we did this again, I’m no’ sure I could stop. I’m no’ sure I would want to, and we both ken ’twould never work out between us.”

  She did. And what was wrong with her that at that moment she didn’t care?

  Standing on the snow-covered ledge, Lachlan was like a stag in heat; he couldn’t keep his eyes off Evangeline. Frustrated, he dragged his hand through his hair. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t let things go too far, so why did he feel like he had? Why did he feel like he’d already taken that last step to fall spiraling out of control over the mountaintop?

  He shot a furious glare to where she stood talking to Fallyn. Evangeline’s glorious mane of raven-black hair tumbled down the back of her white fur cape. Her exquisite face was animated, her lips delectably kiss-swollen, her ... bloody hell, there was something in her blood that was making him feel this way. It was the only explanation. The only reason all the emotions—emotions that had nearly driven him mad after his rescue from Glastonbury—he’d worked so hard to shut down, vowed never to feel again, were bubbling up inside him. It was bloody annoying is what it was, and he was not about to let one woman tear down the walls he’d painstakingly raised. Destroy the comforting peace he’d finally found in the emptiness.

  From the moment he’d assumed his title, she’d nagged him to care—care for those he ruled. Now she’d gone and succeeded. She’d made him care all right, made him care about her. And it had nothing to do with him admiring her, respecting her and her passionate zeal to protect the Fae, no matter how misguided. No, it all came down to her blood. He was intoxicated by it, craved it.

  Well, no more.

  As though she felt the intensity of his perusal, she met his gaze through the falling snow. It was as though only the two of them existed. The raucous chatter of the warriors preparing for battle faded to a low hum on the wind. He scowled at her, but he no longer held her attention—his sword did. A winsome smile curved her lips and he promised that once this was over, he’d learn what she found so bloody interestin’ aboot his blade changin’ colors. Nay, he wouldna. Once this was over, he’d avoid her like the plague. He’d ban her from the Enchanted Isles. Aye, that’s what he would do.

  Feeling someone’s gaze upon him, he looked back to see Broderick and Gabriel regarding him oddly. “What?”

  “We’ve been trying to gain your attention for several moments now. Are you certain you are well enough to lead the assault?” Gabriel asked, concern furrowing his brow.

  “Aye, never better.” It was the truth. Never had he felt so strong and powerful. And now, with his course of action in dealing with Evangeline decided, no one could defeat him. “Let’s put an end to this, shall we? I mean to be in the Enchanted Isles before nightfall.”

  As they prepared to mount their steeds, Lachlan thought to ask Broderick, “How did ye fare with Fallyn last eve?”

  Gabriel snorted a laugh. “He spent half of it unconscious. The rocks had a most interesting way of falling on his head. If it wasn’t so hard, I’m sure he’d still be out cold.”

  “Perhaps if you would’ve been more helpful I would have made some progress, but you were too busy wooing Shayla,” Broderick retorted testily.

  “I was not wooing the woman. I conversed with her was all. It speaks much to your failure with Fallyn that you think having a simple conversation constitutes wooing, Broderick.”

  The Welsh king grunted and stalked off to speak to his men.

  “No,” Gabriel said firmly when he noted Lachlan’s considering perusal. “I have no intention of taking Shayla and her sisters off your hands.”

  Lachlan turned to regard the subject of their conversation. “She’s verra bonny and ...” He tried to think of another attribute to entice the king of England’s Fae when Evangeline came into his line of sight, obviously giving the sisters last-minute instruction. He rolled his eyes. He’d never met anyone as opinionated or controlling as the blasted woman. If she knew what was good for her, she’d best heed his command to stay far from the battlefield until someone came to retrieve her.

  “Yes, as beautiful as Evangeline, who you seem to be undeniably aware of, of late, yet I don’t see you offering for her.”

  “Are ye daft? Why the bloody hell would I do that? I have nothin’ to gain from weddin’ the lass but a pain in my arse.”

  “Precisely my point.” Gabriel grinned. “Although you must admit you have gained much from Evangeline, as your recent display of strength has proven.”

  Mayhap he shouldn’t have been showing off his newfound powers earlier. “Hardly worth the aggravation, nor did I have to wed her to obtain it.”

  “Again, you’ve proven my point.”

  Lachlan grunted. “So, ye willna wed Shayla?”

  “No, my friend, I do not see that happening even to save your sanity. It seems you’re stuck with them.”

 
; “I’ve been thinkin’ my uncle needs a wife. Mayhap he’d stop meddlin’ in my affairs if he was otherwise occupied.”

  “Good luck with that.” Gabriel laughed as they took to the sky.

  “They havena noted our presence as yet,” Lachlan said, making himself heard over the rhythmic swoosh of the horses’ wings and the blowing snow. Through a curtain of heavy flakes, he discerned Magnus’s scouts astride the bears patrolling the perimeter. To his left, one of the beasts roared the alert. “It seems I spoke too soon.” He motioned for his army to follow him then swooped down on their enemy.

  Less than an hour later, Lachlan surveyed the ash-coated snow with satisfaction. Power and pride surged within him. No matter the number of warriors he’d faced, not once had his strength flagged. Even now the blood surged through his veins, his body humming in readiness for the next battle.

  With the first line of Magnus’s defenses close to surrender, the king of the Far North would have no choice but to face him. Knowing it would not be long before Evangeline would play her role, he sought out Fallyn. His gaze landed on Broderick instead. So intent was his friend on the warrior and beast he battled, he was unaware the enemy approached from behind.

  “Broderick, watch yer back!” Lachlan shouted, but the Welsh king displayed no evidence he’d heard him. Cursing, Lachlan started out at a run. He waved his sword, trying to gain the attention of one of his warriors who fought not far from Broderick. No luck. Just this once Lachlan wished he was full-blooded and could transport to his friend’s side. No sooner had the thought entered his head then a fuzzy sensation came over him.

  He shook off the feeling only to realize he now stood beside a dumbfounded Broderick. With no time to think on what happened, Lachlan pivoted, thrusting his blade in the belly of the warrior whose sword was raised to smash into the back of Broderick’s head. Yanking his blade free, Lachlan turned his attention to the warrior and beast his friend had been fighting, but they’d fled.

  Shaking off his disbelief, Broderick asked, “How did you do that?”

  “I doona ken, but ’tis lucky fer ye that I did.” A triumphant laugh burst from Lachlan. He couldn’t bloody believe it, he had magick. Everything would be different now. Never again would the bastards call him a half-blood. Nor would his right to lead be questioned, not with both the Sword of Nuada and his newfound powers. He could not be defeated. No one would ever have him at their mercy again.

  “It must be her blood. Evangeline’s.”

  “Aye, I kent that.” Deep down he had known his powers were on account of her blood. He just hadn’t wanted to think about it.

  Broderick clapped him on the shoulder. “Lucky for us it hasn’t faded yet.” He jerked his chin to the line of warrior’s flooding from Magnus’s palace. “Here they come. I—”

  Lachlan grabbed his arm. “What do ye mean, hasn’t faded yet?”

  “It won’t last, Lachlan. The essence of her power will soon fade.”

  “Then we have no’ a moment to lose. Let’s show these bastards what a half-blood can do,” Lachlan jested in an attempt to cover his bitter disappointment, disheartened that he would soon lose the addictive freedom her power granted him.

  Fallyn and her steed winged onto the battlefield. Catching Lachlan’s eye, she nodded. Evangeline was ready to transport into the palace. He frowned, halting midstride. “Are ye tellin’ me the power I’m imbued with is what Evangeline possesses?”

  “Yes, but only a portion of it.”

  “No wonder the woman’s so bloody arrogant.”

  Broderick chuckled. “Frightening, isn’t it?”

  “Bloody terrifyin’.”

  Bellowing his clan’s battle cry, Lachlan with Broderick at his side charged into the melee outside the palace gates. Fighting back to back, they took on four warriors at a time. In the midst of battle, Lachlan searched for some sign Evangeline had retrieved Uscias. He caught Fallyn’s eye and she shook her head. Concerned too much time had passed, he was about to signal for Fallyn to go in when Magnus appeared in an explosion of light on the castle wall. The king of the Far North scanned the crowd beneath him.

  When Magnus’s gaze landed on Lachlan, a triumphant smile creased his handsome visage. “I now hold two hostages, MacLeod. I think it’s time we negotiate, don’t you?”

  Chapter 12

  The ice-covered peaks warbled, fading in and out as Evangeline attempted to transport from the mountain’s ledge to Magnus’s palace. Something was wrong. She ignored the panicked gallop of her heart and dug deeper, only to find herself slammed against the thick, glittering white exterior wall of Magnus’s palace. Disoriented, she staggered to her feet, trying to understand what had gone wrong. She was certain it was not due to wards. Magnus did not have magick powerful enough to weave the spell, nor did he have a wizard to do so. And she was certain Uscias, knowing they would need to enter unnoticed, would not have aided his captor.

  She groaned as the only viable explanation came to mind. Lachlan had stolen her magick. Perhaps not intentionally, but the result was the same. A sickening sense of dread welled inside her. He’d left her vulnerable. Uscias’s rescue was now at risk because she couldn’t resist the power of his seduction, the heat of his kiss, his tenderness. She’d lost the only thing that truly mattered to her—her magick, her ability to protect the Fae. Battling against despair, Evangeline pressed her fingers to her temples. Think.

  “All right, better,” she murmured as she thought through her options. All she had to do was get to Uscias without being found out. Lachlan had not drained her completely of her powers as he had the last time. Other than transportation, minor spells should not be a problem. Once she released Uscias, he could flash them both from the palace. She only hoped his injuries, if he’d sustained any, would not impact his powers.

  From the front of the palace, Magnus’s warriors bellowed their battle cry and she put her worry over Uscias out of her mind, determined to take advantage of the opportunity. Pressing her back against the wall, she eased toward the edge of the building. Warriors flooded from the opened doors, charging the front gate. With a flick of her wrist, she outfitted herself in the same attire Magnus’s warriors wore—a long coat of matted brown fur with matching hat and boots.

  Thankful that at least the low levels of her magick still worked, she stuffed her hair under the hat, feeling somewhat more confident. Tugging the cap lower to conceal her features, she bowed her head then swaggered around the corner to approach the front door.

  Losing herself amongst the crowd, she managed to slip past the burly guard at the door.

  Entering the palace, Evangeline tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, which was not difficult since those scurrying about the gleaming hall were too busy preparing for battle to notice her. A battle she tried not to think about as much as she tried not to worry about Lachlan. The thought brought her up short. She didn’t need to worry about him. He had her magick.

  Certain they would hold Uscias in one of the four towers, she took the white marble staircase to the upper floor. Sprinting along the deserted corridors, she searched for stairs leading to the towers. As no guard stood before the first set she came to, she tried to find one which was fortified. With Lachlan and his army now past his first line of defense, she was confident Magnus would take no chances in guarding Uscias.

  By the time she reached the fourth and last tower, she began to doubt herself. It was not a pleasant feeling. Therefore she was more than a little relieved when two warriors descended from the narrow enclosed stairwell.

  She strode toward them. “The king requires your presence on the battlefield. I’m to replace you,” she said, almost choking with the effort to lower her voice.

  The two men didn’t move. The taller of the pair narrowed his gaze on her. “He wouldn’t send a lad to replace us. Who—”

  Knowing she had to act fast before their suspicions increased, she said, “Not worried about losing your heads, I see.” With a negligent shrug, she pivoted
on her heel. “I’ll inform him of your—”

  “No, we’ll go,” the taller man’s companion conceded, obviously not happy he had to leave the relative safety of the palace to face their enemies.

  Evangeline took their place. Her stance was cocky as she leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest and legs at her ankles for added effect. As soon as they were out of sight, she sprinted up the narrow staircase. At the landing, she faced a rough-hewn door, surprised to find it unlocked. She squared her shoulders, preparing to remain stoic no matter the condition she found Uscias in. Pushing the door open, she strode into the room.

  Two guards sat to her left playing cards at a wooden table. The one closest to her twisted in his chair to regard her from beneath bushy auburn brows. “What are you doing up here? Where are Ivor and Eirik?”

  She kept her gaze turned away from where Uscias—chained in irons—sat slumped in a chair to her right. “The king ordered them to the battlefield. You’re to replace them down below. Only one man is needed to guard the wizard,” she said, adding a swagger to her deepened voice.

  Eyeing her suspiciously, the guard came to his feet. He loomed over her. “You’re unfamiliar to me.” He held a dagger and nudged her chin up with the blade. “Who—”

  Jerking her head back, she brought her hand between them then aimed a shaft of magick at his chest. He staggered backward, collapsing on the floor. His companion shot to his feet and fired a bolt at her. She jumped aside, aiming another in his direction. He heaved the solid oak table on its end, deflecting her magick and then threw the table at her. Her cumbersome disguise hampered her movement and the table clipped her shoulder before she could get out of the way as it sailed past to hit the stone wall at her back. She rid herself of the heavy furs with a wave of her hand.

  “They sent a woman, Olaf.” He laughed contemptuously, directing his comment to his companion who remained on the floor shaking off the effects of her magick.

  “Imagine that, a helpless female,” she jeered, sidestepping the jagged bolt he fired at her. Pulling on her powers for all she was worth, she raised both hands, leveling the two of them with a steady stream of white light. The warrior, who’d been struggling to sit up, fell back. His companion joined him on the wood-planked floor. Wisps of smoke rose from the charred remains of their brown leather jerkins.