King of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  “Why, the children, of course.”

  Evangeline groaned, earning a disapproving look from her friend.

  As they left the hall, Evangeline looked down at her loose robes and decided she, too, would prepare for the journey.

  Remembering the heated look in her husband’s eyes when he’d dressed her in the form-fitting violet gown, she thought it might be just the distraction he needed when she greeted him upon their arrival at Armadale.

  The midmorning sun burnt the last fingers of fog from the loch and Lachlan scanned the hills and shoreline of Loch Ness for some sign evil lurked there. But the picturesque setting did not easily give up its secrets. Their search of the lands and villages between Dunvegan and Armadale had proved as futile as it had long, adding an extra two days to the journey.

  Lachlan brought his steed alongside his brother’s. “I’m goin’ to take the trail into the hills. I’ll meet ye back at Armadale in a couple of hours.”

  “Fergus and I will join ye.”

  “While the three of ye do that, Rory and I will question my men and the tenants,” Alasdair said, raising a silver brow at his son-by-marriage’s pained groan. “Is somethin’ the matter with ye, lad?”

  “Nay.” Rory scowled at Aidan before he headed off in the direction of the glistening white castle perched at the top of the rolling hill that led down to the loch.

  “There’s no sign of them,” Lachlan finally conceded after combing the rocky shoreline and hills for several hours.

  “Them, or the monster,” Fergus muttered, sucking on the finger he’d scratched on a thorny bush. Fergus served more as a father figure than a man-at-arms to Rory and Iain, but his skills on the battlefield were second to none and Lachlan was glad to have him at his back.

  “We might as well return to Armadale and see if Rory and Alasdair have learned anythin’,” Lachlan said.

  “Aye, Rory, we’ll be needin’ a reprieve aboot now,” his brother said with a smirk.

  Lachlan frowned at the high-pitched squeals emitting from behind the curtain wall as they drew closer to Armadale. “Is it just me, or does that sound like wee Jamie and Alex?”

  “’Tis the demons all right,” his brother said, looking none too pleased.

  “If the lads are here, ye can be sure there mother is as well, and if her father and husband doona tan her arse fer comin’ to Armadale in her condition, I’ll be sorely tempted to do so,” Fergus grumbled.

  “Even if they left Dunvegan immediately after we did, they shouldna have arrived before us. No’ cartin’ along the bairns as they were.” Aidan shifted on his horse to scowl at Lachlan. “’Tis yer wife’s doin’. She must have transported the whole lot of them.”

  “It appears so,” Lachlan said, jerking his chin to where Rory sprinted across the courtyard trying to grab hold of Ava and Olivia.

  Upon seeing her father, Ava squealed and changed direction, stumbling toward them. Aidan caught her before she toppled over. Rory captured Olivia and swung her beneath his arm. Both men advanced on Lachlan.

  “Do ye have no control over yer wife?” His brother’s querulous question was muffled by Ava’s gown as she attempted to climb to the top of his head.

  “Aboot as much as ye have over yer daughter,” Lachlan countered. Since Syrena, who like Lachlan could not transport herself, had obviously not been behind the family’s arrival at Armadale, it made sense their censure would fall upon Evangeline. But it didn’t mean Lachlan appreciated it or would allow her to take the brunt of the blame. “And just so we’re straight on this, yer wives are as stubborn as mine. The only reason Evangeline would’ve brought them is because they demanded she do so.” He imagined Syrena and Aileanna had to do some cajoling to get Evangeline to agree to bring the bairns.

  His cousin and brother exchanged a look. “Aye, ye’re probably right. ’Tis the transportin’ of the bairns that concerned me is all,” his brother said.

  “Evie may no’ be particularly fond of the wee ones, but she’d no’ put them at risk.”

  “Uncle Lachlan!” Alex and Jamie raced to his side, panting. “Uncle Lachlan, can ye make Auntie Evie put us in a bubble again?”

  “A bubble?” Lachlan frowned.

  “Aye.” They nodded. “She put us in bubbles and we floated way up high and all around the hall. We had a grand time.”

  “Ye musta been dreamin’, Jamie, Evie would no’—”

  “Nay, we were no’ dreamin’. The babies were drivin’ her mad with their cryin’ and Ava and Olivia threw porridge at her.”

  With a clear picture of his wife amidst the chaos Jamie described, Lachlan laughed, then covered his amusement with a cough when he noted the furious expressions on Aidan’s and Rory’s faces.

  “Lachlan!” his cousin and brother yelled after him as he sprinted across the courtyard. Forget Lamont and Ursula, he’d have to protect his wife from his family. When he entered Armadale, a manservant approached him. “Sir Lachlan?”

  “Aye.”

  “This arrived fer ye aboot an hour ago.” He handed him a sealed parchment.

  Lachlan recognized the seal—it was Lamont’s. He jerked his gaze to the man. “Did ye see who delivered it?” His fingers were unsteady as he tore open the missive.

  “Nay, ’twas delivered to the kitchens.”

  Lachlan scanned the missive. If you wish to see your son alive, meet me on the hill directly across from Armadale at sunset. Come alone or he dies. “Thank ye.” Keeping his expression devoid of the anger and fear simmering inside him, he dismissed the man.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Lachlan spied his wife. She cast a furtive look from left to right, then darted across the hall. Catching sight of him, she skidded to a halt. He surreptitiously brought his hand behind him. Folding the parchment between his fingers, he tucked it in the back of his trews.

  She walked toward him, a stubborn jut to her chin, looking so beautiful it made his chest ache.

  “I can explain,” she began.

  “I’m sure ye can. I’m just no’ sure Rory and my brother will listen.” He kept his tone light, wanting nothing more than to tell her about the missive. But he wouldn’t endanger her, nor would he endanger his son.

  Chapter 28

  Evangeline paced in front of the fire in the well-appointed room Aileanna’s aunt Fiona had placed her and Lachlan in, certain she’d worn a path in the oval rug. Lachlan had sent her up to their chambers hours ago with the whispered promise he would join her shortly. She refused to seek him out in case Syrena or Aileanna waylaid her with a request to help with their children.

  Her head still ached from their riotous chatter at meal time. If not for Rory and Aidan’s sour looks, she would have enacted the bubble spell as Jamie and Alex requested. Even Lachlan had supported the idea. Despite her displeasure he had yet to join her in their chambers, she smiled when she recalled how he’d come to her defense earlier in the day. No matter that he was not happy she’d gone against his wishes, he hadn’t allowed his cousin or brother to say a word against her.

  The dampness of the night air seeped through the stone walls and she suppressed a shiver, stoking the flames higher in the hearth with her magick. She glanced down at the delicate white nightshift she’d conjured, slightly embarrassed she’d chosen the barely there confection with the sole purpose of igniting her husband’s desire. If he didn’t come to her soon, she vowed to garb herself in a very plain, very thick nightdress.

  Her fit of pique evaporated at the sound of heavy footfalls in the hallway outside their room. She chided herself at the unseemly excitement quivering low in her belly and lowered herself onto the chair by the fire. Not wishing to appear anxious for his return, she retrieved the book she’d attempted to read earlier from the table beside her. When he entered their chambers, she pretended to be engrossed in this literary pursuit. She suppressed a sigh; her reading material was upside down. She furtively righted the book, but she needn’t have bothered with her pretense as Lachlan barely spared her a glance.


  He crossed to the bed. His hair, damp and slicked back, brushed the collar of the tunic that clung to him like a second skin.

  “Have you been out of doors?” It was obvious he had been, but his stony silence was disconcerting and she asked the first thing that came to her mind.

  “Aye.” His back to her, he muted his sword and placed it on the trunk at the foot of the bed.

  Noting the jerky movements with which he removed his dirk from his boot, she returned the book to the table and came to her feet. “What is it?”

  Head bowed, he released a ragged breath and her earlier disquiet came back. He slowly turned. The haunted look in his eyes stopped her cold.

  “Tell me.” She was surprised she could get the words past the stranglehold fear had on her throat. She walked toward him.

  “’Tis my son, Evie. Ursula and Lamont have my son.” His expression tortured, a lethal fury radiated from him.

  “How can you be sure?”

  He didn’t answer her right away, wouldn’t look at her as he strode past her to the hearth—gripping the mantel as though he meant to rip it from the wall. “Lachlan, please,” she begged. Her legs went weak and she leaned against the bed for support.

  “I was only a little older than the bairn when I sat for the portrait that hangs in the gallery at Lewes. He looks just like me.” His mouth twisted with bitterness. “To this day I can recall the row Aidan had with Alexander over it. My brother refused to sit fer the portrait if I was no’ included.” He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory.

  She wanted to go to him, to offer him comfort, but his uncompromising stance warned her away. “I didn’t think you, Aidan, and Rory intended to continue the search until morning.”

  “They were no’ with me. I received a missive from Lamont tellin’ me to meet them in the hills above the Loch—”

  “You went alone ... without telling me. How could you keep something like that from me?” She couldn’t hold back her anger or her hurt. They were supposed to be in this together. How was she to protect him if he kept information such as this from her?

  He whirled to face her, his eyes ablaze with fury. Shocked, she jerked back. “Because they threatened my son’s life if I did.” With a vehement curse, he sank into the chair she’d been sitting in.

  At his obvious distress, she set aside her anger. He was suffering enough without her adding to it. “What happened?” she asked quietly.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’d made it to the top of the cliff without bein’ seen. I was hopin’ to catch them unawares. A woman and child stood at the edge of the precipice. There was enough light that I could see it was Ursula and my ... my son. I doona ken, but in my shock at seein’ the lad, I must’ve made a sound. Ursula grabbed the bairn by his arm and held him over the Loch. She had a dagger in her hand.”

  A distressed cry escaped from her before she could contain it. She took a step toward him, but there was something in his eyes that held her back. It was more than just the horror of what he’d witnessed, it was as if he was somewhere else.

  “Lachlan?”

  He looked up at her, his gaze unfocused. He rubbed his hand along the side of his face. “The bairn was crying. All I could see was the terror on his wee face, and like a fool I ran toward them. Lamont jumped me and took me to the ground. The bastard had a blade to my throat before I knew what hit me.”

  Now more than ever she wished he had shared the contents of the missive with her. He shouldn’t have gone to confront them on his own. She could only imagine how difficult it had been for him to face the two people who’d tortured him. To learn if it truly was his son they held. But now was not the time to dwell on the consequences of his actions. She could only be grateful he’d come back to her unharmed.

  “Are they demanding coin for his return?”

  He lifted his stricken gaze to hers. “Nay, they want ... ye.”

  A wave of heat rushed over her and her vision dimmed. She grabbed hold of the bedpost before her legs gave way beneath her. Lowering herself to the bed, she shook her head. No, this can’t be happening. “I won’t do it! I can’t!”

  Without taking his eyes from her, he rose from the chair and took a step toward her. “Listen to me, Evie.”

  She sensed his determination, could see it in his eyes, in the firm set of his jaw. He actually meant for her to do this. To offer herself in exchange for his child, to put herself in the hands of two people who conspired to release the dark lords as her mother once had. “I won’t do it. I can’t believe you would ask it of me.”

  “Please, Evie, ye doona understand. They will kill him if ye doona.”

  His betrayal cut her to the quick and she held up her hands to keep him at bay. “Don’t. Don’t come near me.” She hardened her heart at the look of anguish in his eyes.

  “Evie, I promise ye, I’d never let them hurt ye.”

  “That’s not a promise you can keep.” Her body quaked and she wrapped her arms around herself. “You can’t truly believe she would harm her own child. They were—”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Aye, I do. Ye didna see her. She’d kill her son as easily as Alexander woulda killed me if no’ fer my brother.” He turned away from her, but not before she witnessed the pain the long-ago memory caused him.

  He stared into the flames. “She’d dressed him in nothing more than a nightshift. She didna care that she was nearly tearing his wee arm from its socket. You were no’ there, you didna hear his cries nor see the fear on his face.”

  No matter her angry hurt at what he asked of her, she couldn’t bear to think of what he had suffered, what he suffered now knowing the depravity of the ones who held his son. “How old were you when Alexander tried to kill you?”

  “Eight.”

  “How did—”

  “Nay!” He spun around to face her. “This is no’ aboot me, this is aboot my son. Ye’re the only one who can save him. Christ, Evie, ye’re so bloody powerful they doona stand a chance against ye and yer magick. I canna believe ye can be so hard-hearted.” His harsh breathing cut through the weighted silence in the room.

  “Do you truly believe I don’t want to help you? I would do everything in my power to protect you and your child, but I’m afraid. Afraid to be within ten feet of that door, afraid history will repeat itself, and ...” She couldn’t go on.

  He sat down heavily in the chair, raking his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I should’ve taken yer fears into account. ’Twas no’ fair of me to ask it of ye. But, Evie, ye must listen to me in this, ye’re no’ evil. Ye’re no’ yer mother.”

  “It’s there, I’ve seen it. They’ll use my powers to ...” Her voice trailed off as an idea came to her. There was a way. She blinked back tears at the knowledge of what she’d sacrifice and stiffened her resolve. If she gave her magick to Lachlan they wouldn’t be able to use it against her. She choked back a grief-stricken sob at the thought her power would be lost to her forever, reminding herself it was for the greater good. Neither Lachlan nor his child deserved to suffer. And both Mortal and Fae needed to be protected from the likes of Ursula and Lamont. With or without her, they wouldn’t give up on their quest to open the door to the underworld.

  Her gaze went to her husband’s bent head, the firelight playing in his golden hair. How she longed to comfort him. The images of their time together over the last weeks flashed before her. She found herself smiling at the memories.

  At one time her magick had been the only constant in her life. The one thing she could depend upon, the one thing that brought her comfort, but that was no longer true. Nothing was more important to her than Lachlan, nothing had brought her more joy than he did. He filled the empty place inside her that her magick had never been able to reach. She could survive without her powers, but not without him.

  He led the people she’d sworn to protect and now he would lead them with the benefit of her magick. He had much to learn. She was powerful not
only because of her magick, but because of her knowledge. It would take time for her to teach Lachlan all he needed to know, but she wasn’t worried—after all, theirs was an equal partnership. Together they were more than able to protect the Fae.

  Elbows resting on his knees, Lachlan held his head in his hands. Christ, he’d been so worried about his son, so caught up in reliving his own nightmare he’d failed to realize he’d asked Evie to do the same. He couldn’t think straight when he’d come into the room. It had been as though Ursula and Lamont had borne witness to his nightmares, reenacting the night Alexander tried to kill him.

  The memories had assaulted him when he’d seen Ursula holding his son over the loch. For a moment he couldn’t differentiate the past from the present. He’d felt Alexander’s powerful hand crushing his, dragging him over the rain-slicked turf to the cliffs, his wet nightshift clinging to his stick-thin frame. The roar of the sea crashing against the rocks below had filled his head, the salty tang of the air his nostrils. He cursed, shoving the memories aside. Somehow he and Evie would find a way to get through this—one that kept her out of Lamont’s and Ursula’s hands.

  He lifted his head, hoping by explaining what had come over him he could make amends.

  She reached for his dagger.

  In an instant he knew what she meant to do. “Nay,” he bellowed, lunging for her.

  She drew the blade across her creamy flesh and blood welled in the open wound, dripping on the delicate white lace of her chemise. He wrenched the blade from her trembling fingers and flung it to the trunk. “Why?” He shook her, horrified at what she’d done.

  Preparing for the onslaught of hunger at the intoxicating sight of her blood, the desire for her magick, he held her away from him. There was no way in bloody hell he’d accept her sacrifice. The image of her lying bloodied on the forest floor had yet to fade, he didn’t think it ever would. He’d vowed then never to leave her vulnerable again, and nothing, not even his son’s rescue would allow him to do so. They would find another way.