by C. A. Szarek
A warrior.
The lass was petite; the man towered probably a foot over her. They were speaking in hushed tones now, apparently oblivious that he was only a few feet from them.
Bán nickered behind Alex, and the man’s head shot up. He shoved the lass behind him, but she didn’t stay put. She hurried around him, slipping from his grasp and looked in Alex’s direction.
Their eyes locked.
The lass froze, and her hip-length flaxen locks were the only thing that remained in motion, swaying around her like an aura. She wore in a short brown mantle that stopped mid-thigh, but instead of skirts or a gown, she wore trews—purple trews.
However, it was her ethereal face and unusual eyes that held his attention—and wonder. He’d never seen a more beautiful creature.
She recovered first, and inclined her head. “Good day.” Her voice—no longer the angry snap it had been—was sultry, just like it should sound, and washed over him.
Alex shivered, and it had naught to do with the wind. He blinked. Cleared his throat so he’d be able to speak. He gave her a nod like she had him, and gripped Bán’s reins with white knuckles. Somehow he needed his stallion beside him. “Good day.” He winced. The greeting had been barely a croak.
Out of the corner of his eye, there was movement, and he tensed.
The large man rushed in front of her again, his hand on the hilt of a sword, but it was still in its scabbard. His breastplate was odd—hunter green in color, and Alex had never seen colored armor before. His hair was the same white-blond as the lass’, but it was in a thick plait, dancing as he adjusted his stance. He leveled Alex with a narrowed glare.
“I mean ye no harm.” Alex dropped the reins and threw his palms out—keeping his hand away from his claymore.
The lass peered around her protector—as best she could, since she was so diminutive behind him. “‘Tis all right, Xander,” she whispered.
The warrior didn’t move, nor look at his charge. “Nay. ‘Tis not.” His voice was the same hard tone Alex had overheard before he could see them.
Their accents were Scottish, but had a refined edge that was different from his own brogue. They weren’t from the Highlands.
“Are ye lost?” He forced a breath. “These are my lands. I’m tha Laird MacLeod.”
The gorgeous lass perched two delicate hands on her guard’s thick arm, but couldn’t seem to budge him this time. She flashed a smile from around him instead. “Nay. What’re you called?”
The tall man glared harder. “Your Hi—” He pushed words out through gritted teeth, his jaw was hard, and his eyes deadly slits.
She threw him a frown, and he stopped talking.
“Alex.” He inclined his head again, and wanted to take a step forward, but wasn’t fond of the idea of that big sword being pulled—or being run through.
The lass managed to slide around her protector, despite his growl and obvious disapproval. “I’m Alana.” She put her hand out and Alex hid his amusement, lest he offend her.
‘Twas a man’s greeting.
“Alana.” Her name was clearly all warning, but she ignored the tall blond man.
Alex’s eyes darted to him, then back to the lass. He put his hand against her much smaller one, and a bolt of energy shot up his arm, into his bicep. He fought shudders and swallowed, and fell into her alluring gaze. Her eyes were—violet? They were definitely more purple than blue. He sucked back a gulp.
Surprise lit her pretty face, and she looked at their joined hands before meeting his eyes again. Her mouth fell open—just a touch, and a little pink tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip.
He swallowed a groan as the need to taste her rolled over him.
What?
The uncomfortable shifting of her protector broke whatever spell held him captive, and when Alana tugged, he released her hand, but Alex could feel her reluctance.
Her fair brow was drawn tight, as if she thought her guard’s presence was an intrusion—like he did. She swallowed and he wanted to kiss her throat.
Alex looked from one to the other, spotting a resemblance. Not only the hair, but the two people before him had the same color eyes. “I mean ye no harm,” he repeated, but her guard’s shoulders didn’t loosen.
Are they siblings?
They could be. Looked enough alike to be so.
Relief flooded him. If she was…with the man…or married…it would bother him.
Where’s that coming from?
He had no right to be jealous of a man concerning a lass, when he knew neither party.
“Alana, let us go,” the man barked.
“Nay, Xander.” She glared up at him, then looked back at Alex. “Forgive my cousin, my laird. He’s rude.”
Ah, her cousin. Good.
He didn’t like just how pleased he was with the information.
Xander harrumphed, but finally released the hold on his sword, only to cross his arms over his broad chest.
Alex squared his shoulders and exhaled, but didn’t want to reveal his nerves. Nor did he want either of them to notice his…intrigue…with the lass. Although, no doubt by the way she’d looked at him; she’d felt something, too.
Why does that please you?
“Nay, ‘tis no bother.” He forced polite words out. He looked the cousins up and down. Other than the usual armor, their clothing wasn’t odd—except perhaps the hue of the lass’ trews. The fabrics did look made of the finest materials, though.
Who were these people?
It’d be rude to demand that knowledge, even if they were on MacLeod lands unannounced.
Alana was studying him as much as he studied them, and Alex heard her guard make a noise in his throat.
“Are ye lost?” he repeated his earlier question.
She looked at Xander before answering. “Nay. We’re…visiting.”
“Visitin’? From where?” He scanned the waters. “I dinna see a ship. An’ ye’ve no mounts. Is all well?”
Silence descended as the cousins again exchanged a look.
He narrowed his eyes. “Where’re ye from?”
Alana fidgeted in the sand.
Xander stepped forward and muttered a word that sounded Gaelic, but it was off somehow.
Alex didn’t understand it. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His limbs suddenly weighed four stone a piece and he wavered on his feet. His vision narrowed and he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
Then the world went black.
Chapter Three
“Xander!” Alana rushed forward to the handsome dark-haired laird and knelt at his side without a backward glance at her cousin. She’d not even waited for a response to her shout.
Alex was in a heap in the pebble-ridden sand, but his chest rose and fell in an even rhythm.
He was just asleep.
Relief washed over her, and she had to suppress the odd urge to caress his beardless cheek. He had high cheekbones, and sculpted features that added to his appeal. His eyes were closed, but they were sapphire, and ‘twas a shame she couldn’t get a better look, since she was closer now. She’d remember their deep hue for all her days. His gaze had captivated her, as if the MacLeod laird had cast a spell. But he couldn’t have. He was only human, after all.
She glared over her shoulder at her overprotective hovering bodyguard. “Why did you do that?”
Xander growled. “You have to ask?”
“He was just making conversation! Showing concern for our wellbeing.”
“Nay.” The word was hard, and her cousin’s eyes narrowed. “He was asking questions we cannot answer.”
“He meant us no harm.” Alana repeated the handsome laird’s words and frowned. “If he had, he would’ve drawn his sword.”
Xander harrumphed, and stayed a few feet away. “Let us go, Your Highness.”
“Do not call me that here,” she snapped. “And I won’t leave him like this. Something bad could happen to him.”
He cast his eyes sky
ward and said a very rude word in Fae that should never be uttered in the presence of a lady, let alone his princess.
She arched an eyebrow but didn’t respond; the unconscious laird demanded all her attention.
Alex wore an ivory long-sleeved leine with ties at the neckline, tucked into the plaid belted around him. The rich pattern consisted of greens and blues, along with a yellow and red stripe, and currently flapped in the wind, revealing part of a powerful thigh, and Alana couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Dark hair lightly smattered the flesh of his knees and down his calf, as well as that tempting expanse of tanned skin above, and intrigued her even more. Fae had no body hair, and the difference in front of her made her want to see what it would feel like beneath her fingertips.
The ties of his shirt had come loose, and the vee hung open, hinting at the supple skin of his neck and collarbone. He looked peaceful in his repose; despite the fact sleep had been forced by magic.
“What spellword did you use? You didn’t wish him harm, did you?” Alana whipped her head around and pushed accusation into her tone.
Intent was everything in magic. If her cousin had wished him to never wake when he’d done the spell, Alex would not.
Then again, Xander’s magic was diminished in the Human Realm. When they’d arrived, her cousin’s wings had not, and he’d been disoriented for moments that had felt like hours.
She’d panicked and tried hard not to show it, half-surprised he didn’t demand for her to reopen the Faery Stones and go right back home. She hadn’t expected him to be wingless. Then again, they would’ve have been able to explain wings to any human. Maybe it was a kind of protection for Fae Warriors.
Alana didn’t feel any different, magically speaking, and her powers were much greater than his. She’d thrown a few spells around in the cave that housed the Faery Stones in this realm—everything had worked, as did her empathic powers, because she’d still felt Xander’s unease, which had only worsened without the ability to fly.
His wings weren’t his source of power, but her cousin was like most Fae Warriors, and relied on the iridescent flesh for strength and prestige. Fae tended to be proud, and in that her cousin was the same—as far as his Warrior accomplishments were concerned. Otherwise, her protector didn’t have a haughty bone in his body. He was a good—no, a great—man.
“Nay. He should wake shortly. An aching head at most. I meant him no harm.” Amusement wrapped the last of his words, but then his expression fell and he frowned. “Evidently, I don’t have true power…here.”
“Xander—”
“I didn’t kill him and I could have. I’m sworn to protect you.” This was harder, with a touch of bitterness.
“He wasn’t trying to harm me,” she repeated.
“Alana, I shall not argue with you.” He averted his violet gaze and sighed. “Get away from him. Let us go from here.”
She ignored him and stared at Alex MacLeod again. He looked young, yet he’d said he was the laird. It was hard to judge human age—Fae lived two to three times longer and aged slower—so if she was home, she’d say he appeared to be of an age with her five and fifty, but it was likely he was much younger.
Unlike the Fae, humans lived in clans, so he was the leader of his? Perhaps he wasn’t that young after all?
Alana shuddered, and it wasn’t from the blustery day. Why was she so fascinated with this sleeping man? Was he more lad than man?
She wanted to touch him. Explore his body. His legs and thighs were full of muscle, and even though his leine was loose—also rustling in moving air—she could sense his chest and arms were the same. It was a shame the fabric didn’t cling like her cousin’s armor.
Alex’s shoulders were broad, and his waist trim. She was more attracted to him than she’d ever been to any Fae man she’d dabbled with.
Attracted? To a human?
Aye.
She wanted to kiss him. Cuddle close and feel his body hair against her skin. A startled awareness tingled down her spine—like when he’d touched her. Alana had experienced the jolt of energy from a being with no magic, but she had.
Sometimes, in her realm, a reaction like that was indication of fated mates. She jumped, her heart hammering.
Nonsense.
A human—handsome or not—couldn’t be meant for the Fae Princess of Scotland. Her father would kill him on sight.
The big white horse nickered as he grazed, but didn’t come closer.
Alana let her eyes sweep the hilly area behind the stallion, then looked back at the sleeping laird. “Alex…MacLeod he said. So, I guess we’re on Skye.”
“Of course you know what this place is called, and who lives here.” Xander’s words were dry, his fair eyebrow arched.
She shrugged. “I studied the human lands and their clans, as well as Fae geography. There’s nothing wrong with being educated.”
He snorted. “Nay, but your fascination with the Human Realm leads to things like this.” Her cousin gestured to Alex’s unmoving form.
She chose not to answer his accusation, even if it was the truth. “Are you going to help me with him or not?”
“Not.”
“Xander! You did this to him.”
He scoffed. “I put him to sleep for his own good. If he’s of a strong constitution, he’ll be fine. Mayhap his head won’t ache when he wakes. We need to leave.”
Alana climbed to her feet and whirled on her guard. “Nay.”
“I do not like your thoughts about him.”
Heat slapped the back of her neck and inched into her cheeks. The wind made it worse, and even her ears burned. “Then stay out of my head,” she snapped.
Xander sighed.
She muttered a spellword. “There. Now you can’t hear my thoughts.”
“You were thinking loudly, and—”
“I do not need you to regale me with my own…thoughts.” She swallowed and shifted in her boots. She’d been about to say ‘desires’. She couldn’t admit that to her cousin. Alana threw Alex MacLeod a glance over her shoulder.
There was no doubt about it.
She desired things about this man—doing things with the human laird—a lady of worth would never want from someone she didn’t know. Someone she’d just met.
Alana turned to look back over his sleeping form.
I want him.
She shouldn’t. Couldn’t.
“We can’t just…leave him like this.” She cleared her throat when her statement wavered and heartbeat kicked up. Thank the Goddess she’d said her thought-suppression spell. Her cousin didn’t need to know her recent ideas—at all.
“We can, and we will.”
Before she could answer, Xander swung her up over his shoulder and said a spellword to bind her there.
“Xander!” She punched at his back, but his chest-plate protected him from so much as an “oomph.”
He shifted her higher, wrapping his arms around her legs—presumably so she couldn’t kick him. Her sworn bodyguard ignored all her protests and carried her back toward the cave that held the Faery Stones.
* * * *
Something was…nibbling at him?
What was the chomping sound in his ear?
Alex grimaced and tried to shift away, but the grinding of heavy teeth just got louder, then a soft muzzle bumped his cheek, as if insistent. “Bán?”
Had he fallen asleep in the stables?
His stallion nickered and nudged him again, this time his neck and shoulder. There was a wet sweep of a huge tongue against Alex’s skin.
Fresh sea air rolled over his senses and his eyes flew open. He scrambled to sit up, ignoring the poke of sharp pebbles biting into his palms. He looked around as the encounter on the beach hit his memory full force. He gasped. “Alana?”
Where were the lass and her guard?
All he could see were waves crashing against the rocks, more violently than before.
“What the hell happened?” He groaned as he gained his fe
et, and his temples throbbed. Alex slid his arms around Bán and leaned into his beloved mount. He rested his forehead against the stallion’s warm white coat and inhaled, concentrating to take breath deep into his lungs.
He was dizzy. His temples throbbed, like a preview of a bad headache.
Why?
The happenstance with the big blond man and the gorgeous lass ran on a loop in his mind, leaving him with more confusion.
Who are they?
“Where are they now?”
When he’d gathered his wits, Alex mounted his horse and ran his hand through his hair. He startled when his fingertips ran out of locks, then he remembered his sister had cut it before he’d left Dunvegan.
He rode up and down the beach in search of Alana and her guard, but failed to locate them. He repeated his path over and over until the chill in the air indicated evening wasn’t far and promised to be cold.
Alex had always been a fair tracker—though his cousin Cormac was better—but there were no clues left as to where his new acquaintances could’ve gone.
No footprints, and the water wasn’t so high that they wouldn’t have left any. He could see the imprints of Bán’s hooves everywhere they’d traveled.
“Dinna make sense,” he whispered. “They couldna have just disappeared…” He rubbed his chin and felt rough stubble.
How long had he been out?
How long had it been since he’d left his clan’s stronghold?
He’d half a mind to retrieve his cousin and bring him back to the beach, but he couldn’t. Cormac had gone with his twin to collect the rents.
Alex sighed again and shook his head. He turned his stallion and let Bán lead the way back to Dunvegan. It was time he returned home anyway.
Supper was being served when he sauntered through the great hall. He’d been gone all day, so there was no wonder his stomach was a knot, belching angry growls with its demand for sustenance.
He didn’t care. Wasn’t hungry.
Instead, violet eyes and flaxen locks haunted his mind’s eye.