King of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  Fallyn burst from the barn. Catching sight of the queen, she broke away from her sisters. “You ... you ...” She stood there sputtering.

  He held his breath. Perhaps someone would make her pay. The Sword of Nuada’s precious stones winked in the sun. “Take the sword. Strike her down,” he muttered under his breath.

  The Welsh king sauntered toward the woman warrior, rolling his eyes at the derisive remarks her sisters directed at him. “Now, darling, Evangeline only wished to give us time to work out our differences.” He bent to nuzzle her neck. “And you must admit, for at least a few hours we were able to do so. And most enjoyably, I might add.”

  “Oh ... oh, you.” With a disgusted shake of her auburn tresses, the woman stomped away with her sisters at her heels.

  King Broderick winked at the highlander, then chased after his ex-betrothed. “Don’t be like that, darling. Come back.”

  Obviously the Welsh king would not press charges and the menace was free to do as she pleased. King Lachlan wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and together they entered the palace. She’d managed to ensnare the highlander quicker than Morfessa had thought possible. He’d dismissed the tales the warriors had brought with them from the Far North, certain she would never give up any of her powers to anyone—not even for a short time. But considering what he’d witnessed, he’d say the rumors rang true. It went a long way in explaining the king’s unnatural bond with her.

  As the crowd dispersed, Morfessa’s gaze settled on Lords Erwn and Bana. The brothers looked as disgusted by the turn of events as he was. He’d heard something about the two men recently. He rubbed his temple, keeping an eye on the brothers as he attempted to remember what it was that had been said. Ah, yes, it was rumored they plotted the highlander’s downfall. He wasn’t surprised. They’d always believed Arwan’s throne belonged to them—first cousins of the late king and full-blood—and not his half-blood son.

  Perhaps the day had not been a total waste after all. Of the two, Bana, with his arrogance, would be most vulnerable to Morfessa’s manipulation. The brothers parted ways at the far side of the courtyard. Staying within the shadows, Morfessa kept Lord Bana in his sights until he was certain of his destination. They must not be seen together for his plan to work. No suspicion cast in his direction.

  He flashed to Bana’s home at the base of the mountain. With the mansion warded against intruders, Morfessa had no choice but to hunker out of sight behind a rosebush, waiting impatiently for Bana to make the long journey down the steps carved into the granite cliff. Bana’s vanity, like that of so many of the Fae men, would work in his favor.

  The sun beat down upon him and he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. At the sound of approaching footfalls, he pushed the shrubbery aside. Bana had finally arrived. With a quick look down the cobblestone street to be certain no one else was about, Morfessa called out, “Lord Bana, a moment of your time if you will.”

  Bana, hand on the gold-plated door, frowned as Morfessa stepped from the side of the house. “Wizard? What do you want?”

  With one last look down the deserted road, Morfessa shook his head. “What I have to say to you cannot be overheard.”

  Bana quirked a golden brow. “Inside, then.”

  Morfessa hesitated before he crossed the threshold. “Servants?” he hissed.

  “No. I don’t wish my personal affairs to be bandied about at court.”

  Though Morfessa paid little attention to the goings on in the Fae courts, unless it pertained to the she-devil’s spawn, Bana’s exploits over the years had reached his ears. Yes, he thought, I’ve chosen well indeed.

  Bana waved him into a room decorated with a decadence Morfessa had never seen before. He averted his disgusted gaze from a painting depicting couplings of every imaginable and unimaginable position.

  A knowing grin slashed Bana’s aristocratic features. “My taste in art offends you?”

  “It is of little import, Lord Bana, especially considering the urgent matter I must speak to you about.”

  Pouring green Faery juice into a golden chalice, Bana glanced at him, lifting a second goblet. Morfessa shook his head at the invitation. “Out with it, then,” Bana said.

  “I thought you should be aware, my lord, that your plan to overthrow King Lachlan has become common knowledge.”

  A shadow darkened Bana’s amber eyes. “Who makes such a charge?”

  “The woman who currently reigns as queen of the Isles.” Bana set the chalice on the ornately carved side table and raised his gaze to Morfessa. “Why, then, have I not been brought before the king, if, as you say, the charge has been publically made?”

  “From what I can gather, he didn’t believe it at first.”

  “And now?”

  “As you must have witnessed, the queen has enthralled him. I believe within a matter of days she will manage to convince him to lay charges of sedition against you. At the very least your property will be seized and you will be banished from the Enchanted Isles.”

  The man sunk into the high-backed brocaded chair. “Why do you tell me this?”

  “You are Arwan’s cousin and a full-blood with magick. I believe you should hold the throne. Not some fool of a highlander who allows himself to be bewitched. You must stop her, Bana. She has too much power as queen, she must be ... eliminated.”

  Bana’s stunned gaze shot to him. “You do it.”

  Morfessa could not tell Bana he feared reprisal from Rohan if he did the deed himself. He bowed his head, so as not to reveal his disgust at the lie he must tell. “No matter that she is evil, I cannot kill my own child.” His stomach roiled. “But you can legitimately challenge the king for the throne. Without her to go to his aid, you can bring him down.”

  Scrubbing his hands over his face, Bana shook his head. “We all witnessed her magick today. I have no hope of defeating her.”

  A self-satisfied smile twisted Morfessa’s lips. “I will provide you with a weapon to match the Sword of Nuada, and I can guarantee her powers will be little more than those of a newborn servant.”

  Bana’s brow furrowed. “You are prohibited from creating such a weapon. But more importantly, how can you mute her powers?”

  “As to the sword, sometimes the end justifies the means. You can claim you found it at the ruins of Mesa.” Every so often the earth around the cliffs of Mesa regurgitated relics from the battle between the dark lords. “As to her power, it is simple. Once you challenge the highlander, he will seek her blood to aid him in the fight. She will not deny him.”

  “You’re mad! She would never give him her blood.”

  “She has already done so. When they were in the Far North the king was gravely wounded and would’ve died without her blood. I’m surprised you were not aware of this.”

  “I was ... I have been otherwise occupied of late.” The way Bana’s gaze lifted to the paintings, the reason for his absence from court was not difficult to deduce. “How can you be certain he’ll ask for her blood?”

  “What half-mortal could resist the addictive properties of Fae blood, especially when it contains the power hers does?” And the evil. “He will use any excuse he can to get her magick. He will find it in your challenge. She won’t deny him.”

  “It’s my life on the line. I need guarantees.”

  “I will use a compulsion on him. Addicted to her magick as I’m certain he already is, and without magick of his own, he will be susceptible to the spell. He will not be able to resist the pull. I’ve heard he is a very persuasive man with the women. Seeing the way she looked at him, she will not refuse him. Despite those precautions, if I see no sign of her weakness, we’ll call it off.”

  “When do we do this?”

  “As soon as possible. I have heard they celebrate their union this eve. Issue your challenge then. Set the time for the next day, midmorn.”

  Morfessa rose from the chair opposite Bana. “I will leave you now. On the morrow, after I ascertain she is powerless, I will leave
the weapon in the shrubbery at the side of your house. That will be the sign that the plan is in motion.” Morfessa started for the door, then turned back to the man sitting stone-faced and pale. “Remember, tell no one of this, not even your brother.”

  Staring at his painting, Bana nodded.

  Inching the door open, Morfessa checked the street before he left the house then flashed to his apartments. But not to create the weapon as Bana believed. Uscias shared his formula with no one, and it was nowhere to be found in the ancient texts. Even if it was, Morfessa would not have used it. Bana wouldn’t need a magickal weapon to kill Evangeline, not with her powers drained. And once she was dead, Bana’s usefulness to him would be over. Morfessa could not afford to let Bana live.

  For the greater good, sacrifices had to be made.

  Chapter 20

  Over the heads of the gathered assemblage, Lachlan spied his wife, standing alone in a corner at the back of the grand hall. With a murmured excuse to the lords and ladies who attempted to ingratiate themselves into his good graces, he wove his way through the heated crush to her side.

  Propping a shoulder against the marble wall, he frowned down at her. “Why are ye no’ with Fallyn and her sisters?” It bothered him to see her on her own. He berated himself for not keeping a closer eye on her. Unaccustomed to looking out for anyone, and with so many of his subjects vying for his attention, it hadn’t taken much for him to lose track of her. He should have realized it would take more than her new position as his queen to endear her to the Fae.

  She arched a brow in answer to his question.

  “Ah, still fashed with ye, are they?”

  She shrugged as though it didn’t bother her, but Lachlan had spent enough time with his wife of late to recognize the strain on her beautiful face. He brought his hand to rest on the shoulder she’d raised, his fingers sliding over the gossamer silk of her exquisite gown. “Ye look verra bonny this night, Evie.” To say she was bonny didn’t do her justice. During the evening meal he’d had a difficult time concentrating on the elaborate feast set out before them. The golden candelabras lining the center of the banquet table had cast Evangeline in an ethereal glow, the candlelight reflecting off her waist-length hair and the crimson gown cut low to reveal the tantalizing swell of her breasts. She’d overshadowed the simpering women of his court with her vivacious, sultry beauty.

  A rosy flush swept up her elegant neck to color the high arch of her cheekbones, her fingers plucking self-consciously at the revealing neckline of her gown. Drawing his attention once more to the ripe mounds his fingers itched to caress.

  “Thank you. I was not certain what to wear,” she murmured. Her gaze flicked to the elegantly clad couples who twirled by.

  Lachlan ignored a woman who cast him an overtly provocative glance as she whirled by with her husband, and focused on Evangeline. His wife’s obvious effort to fit in set off a visceral response in him. He shot a contemptuous look to where Fallyn and her sisters stood at the edge of the dance floor, fending off their ardent admirers. Could they not have put aside their anger at her for one night?

  Or mayhap it was only he who could see beneath the haughty facade she presented to the Fae, her mask as carefully crafted as his own. Unwilling to stand by and watch her being hurt time and time again, he silently vowed if it was the last thing he did, he’d change the Faes’ opinion of her.

  He took her hand. “Shall we join the others in a dance?”

  She attempted to free her fingers. “I would rather not, but by all means go ahead. There are several of your subjects eager to partner with you,” she said with a pointed look at another woman who attempted to gain his attention. Until that moment, Lachlan hadn’t realized how bored he’d grown with their blatant invitations. At least now he had a legitimate excuse to deny them. “Nay, I’d prefer to dance with my wife.”

  Her look of surprise contained a hint of pleasure, but she shook her head. “I can’t dance.”

  “I doona believe ye. The Fae love to dance.” He could’ve kicked himself when her expression shuttered. Considering how the Fae felt about her, he doubted she’d ever been invited to take part in their festivities. He should’ve kept his bloody mouth shut. “It doesna matter. I will teach ye.”

  “But I—”

  He pulled her into his arms and her protest died on her lips. The tension eased from her willowy frame and he savored the feel of her warm womanly curves pressed against him. With her innate elegance and grace, Evangeline fell effortlessly into step with him. “I was right. Ye can dance,” he said when they took a second turn around the dance floor.

  He spun her away from him, then pulled her back into his arms. Her eyes sparkled as a breathless laugh escaped her parted lips. She looked young and carefree, her luminous skin flushed with pleasure. He couldn’t help but think it was what she’d look like when he had her in his bed. He decided then that they’d continue their dance in the privacy of his chambers.

  He stumbled, tripping over her feet. “Evangeline, the mon is to lead, no’ the woman.”

  She looked down at their feet. “I thought you were.”

  “Aye, so did I,” he grumbled, certain it was a sign of things to come.

  The strains of the melody stopped abruptly. Lachlan frowned at the musicians. He’d not called a halt to the festivities. Half-turned to gain their attention, he followed the direction of their gazes. A charged silence fell over the room as the dancers parted.

  Lord Bana, nostrils flaring, his aristocratic features pinched, strode toward Lachlan with his sword drawn.

  Lachlan kept his gaze on Bana while he set Evangeline away from him. Her fingers tightened on his arm and he gave them a reassuring squeeze. He waved off the four guards who were about to rush Bana. “What is the meanin’ of this?”

  “I’m challenging you for the throne,” Bana grated out, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

  A low growl was all the warning Lachlan had before Evangeline launched herself at Bana. Lachlan managed to grab hold of her arm before she reached the man and shoved her behind him. Bana took a wary step back, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. Erwn, obviously unaware of his brother’s intention, gaped at him. “Brother, what are you doing?”

  Bana ignored him.

  “And the reason fer yer challenge?” Confident in his ability to best the man, Lachlan thought he deserved at least one chance to withdraw.

  “Because he—”

  “Evangeline,” Lachlan muttered, attempting to quiet her with a look over his shoulder, but she was too busy glaring at Bana to take notice. He relaxed somewhat when Broderick slipped into place behind her. Fallyn and her sisters, warrior faces pinned into place, positioned themselves on either side of her. The last thing he needed was for Evangeline to use her magick on Bana. No matter the provocation, it would do more harm to her reputation than good.

  “You’re a half-blood. You have no magick. By allowing Uscias to be kidnapped, you have proven you are unworthy of the throne. But even more damning is your decision to take her as your queen.”

  He would allow the slur against his reputation, but the bastard would pay for the one he made against Evangeline. “It will be my pleasure to kill ye, Bana.” He allowed a slow menacing smile to curve his lips. “I’ll meet ye at first light.”

  “No!” Bana shot a panicked look through the crowd. “Mid—midday at the lists.”

  “Ye need yer beauty sleep, do ye? I’ll meet ye at midday and I’d suggest ye get yer affairs in order. Guards.” He motioned for his men. “Get him out of here.”

  Lachlan turned his back on Bana to show how little a threat he perceived him to be, then signaled for the musicians to resume playing. “Shall we finish our dance, Evie?”

  “No.” Her face pale, she bit her bottom lip and he noticed the telltale sheen in her eyes before she blinked it away. Lachlan cursed under his breath. She blamed herself for Bana’s challenge. “Evie, look at me.” When she didn’t do as he asked, he tipped her chin with his fing
ers. “It has naught to do with ye.”

  “It’s true, Evangeline. The two of them have been looking for an opportunity to gain the throne since Arwan’s death.”

  No matter that Fallyn had been as big a pain in his arse as Evangeline had once been, Lachlan appreciated her attempt to reassure his wife. Not that it appeared to have worked. He took Evangeline’s hand in his and stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “My wife seems to doubt my ability to thrust and parry. I think mayhap a private demonstration is in order.”

  The women groaned their disgust at his remark while Broderick laughed. “I’d thought to return home on the morrow, but perhaps I shall remain in case you have need of me.”

  “If ye’re sure yer brother can handle another day of yer absence, I’d appreciate it, Broderick.” Once Lachlan had taken care of Bana, he would have to deal with Erwn, and he was not entirely sure if Bana’s charge would spur others to take up his challenge as well. A friend at his back would be welcome.

  “Rand will be fine, and Fallyn and I have yet to complete our negotiations.”

  “I told you I am—” Fallyn started to protest before Broderick cut her off by sweeping her into his arms to join those who had returned to the dance floor.

  Lachlan led Evangeline, who muttered something about highlanders with no sense under her breath, through the subdued throng. He acknowledged their offers of support but did not break his stride. If his wife was gearing up to give him a piece of her mind, she would have no qualms saying her piece in public. He found himself looking forward to her tirade. He’d much prefer her to vent her temper and fears at him than direct them at herself.