by C. A. Szarek
Chapter Twenty-three
Alana always cried. No matter how long she spent with her husband and son, leaving always gutted her, as Alex would say.
Angus changed before her eyes, always bigger, always older. So beautiful, her lad; like his father in miniature. Her fear that he wouldn’t know her was never realized.
Thank the Goddess.
He always opened his arms and yelled for her. Rushed into her embrace from the first time he was able, and hugged her just as tightly as she did him.
Angus was getting so big, and except for stolen days, Alana missed everything.
The passing years were trying on them all, but she still didn’t see the end. Didn’t know when she could finally be with them.
She’d been able to use the excuse to Xander of Angus coming into his magic to stay longer occasionally, so they could train. Her cousin agreed she needed to teach him control, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until she could flee her realm and live at Dunvegan as was her right.
As soon as Seamus was brought to justice.
Her husband always told her his bed would be cold until she could join him in it, and even though he’d never meant to hurt her, things like that made her ache.
Keeping the secret, protecting her family was never more important. Alana kept constant watch on Seamus, ensuring he didn’t make a move against her, or her father. He’d been plotting with Tamhas, but they hadn’t made a move, yet.
They hadn’t been able to prove there were other working with them, but that could’ve been the reason they hadn’t acted—as much as Seamus’ fear that she and Xander knew what he was up to.
Alana and her cousin stalked quietly, investigated, and shared what they’d discovered with no one. The prince continued to grow closer to her father, spending more and more time at the Scottish Court.
In recent years, he’d rarely gone home to Ireland, and his father only came for celebrations. Now he was acting as Ireland’s ambassador officially, replacing the Irish noble who’d held the post. With his appointment, the prince had permanent residence in her father’s palace, so he really wasn’t going away.
Alana had hidden her son and husband all these years, and Seamus assumed she’d given Alex up, as she’d told him only days after he’d told her she was carrying her lad.
She’d sulked appropriately when she’d been around him, and the sadness was real, so she didn’t have to fake her emotions.
The prince wouldn’t forgive another indiscretion, so she had to hold tight to her secrets so he wouldn’t find out she’d married the laird and given birth to Angus.
She and Alex had been careful after their son; they couldn’t have another child until she could join them permanently, but she did want more children. When she could keep them, raise them. Wipe and kiss away minor hurts, spend more than a day at a time with them and their father.
Alana wouldn’t survive another pregnancy where she had to walk away without the babe she’d carried.
Her husband and his family were raising her lad well, but nothing cured the hole in her heart for all Angus’ firsts she’d missed.
She sighed and let the earthly scent of the tunnels envelope her. She didn’t expect to run into anyone in the secret passageway, but couldn’t afford anyone seeing her upset, no matter where she encountered.
Alana hadn’t had alone time with Alex, and they hadn’t made love in what felt like months, instead the fortnight or so it was, so she had another jaunt planned to meet him at night.
She shivered. Kissing her husband was rarely enough. She wanted him, seared for him. She needed his hands on her, needed him inside her.
Xander, I’m back, she called to her cousin mentally.
Alana hoped he’d meet her in her rooms. He always asked her a bevy of questions about her son, and she was eager to share what Angus had accomplished during their lesson today. They’d spent time together over the years, and the lad idolized Xander, but her cousin hadn’t seen Angus in a while.
Like her, he had the ability to blink, but she was teaching him to control it, focus on where he was jumping to, and how to get there. They were using static points on the beach for now, and his skill was impressive for a lad of nine. He didn’t seem to struggle to access his magic like many Fae in the Human Realm, but perhaps that was due to him being half from his father’s world, and half from hers.
Angus’ blue eyes and happy smile dominated her thoughts as she rounded the natural corridor. She only had about twenty feet until her last turn; the spiral staircase that lead to her sleeping room would be visible.
Heavy boot-steps had her pausing, but she couldn’t see whoever it was just yet.
“Xander?” Perhaps her cousin had decided to meet her.
“Guess again, sweet princess.”
Ice slid down her spine and Alana started to pant. She couldn’t move.
What was he doing here? How did he even know about the tunnels?
Worse, she had no plausible explanation for being down here, so what would she tell him when he questioned her?
Seamus sauntered into view, dressed pristinely in green as always. “I suspected you were up to something—” The snide smirk fell off his mouth and melted into something dark. He didn’t come closer, but his fury hit her empathic magic with so much force she winced.
Her hands rose of their accord to stave him off, although the prince made no move to strike her.
“Who is Angus, and why does he look shockingly like a human you ended your indiscretions with years ago?” he demanded.
Panic slithered around her limbs and torso like the snake of a prince in front of her, constricting her breathing. Her mind-shields had been lowered, weak, and she’d pictured her beautiful son—the exact moment she’d heard footfalls on the earthen floor.
Oh Goddess, no.
Seamus had plucked Angus’ face from thoughts, as well as his name.
He knew.
It’s my fault.
Her heart shot to her toes in a cold flush. She reengaged her mental defenses, but it was too late. Alana swallowed and tried to brace herself for whatever he was about to say.
Or do.
They were alone.
The sense of danger—real terror for her wellbeing—joined her panic and grief, swirling around her.
“You lied to me,” Seamus barked. “Lied for years. Years.” He stalked to her, towered over her, and all she could do was stare into the rage in his expression. His face was crimson and spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth.
“Seamus—”
“Nay. You do not get to speak. How did you manage it? You hid a filthy half-blooded child?” His voice dropped. Deeper. Deadly. “A filthy halfling who did not deserve to be born!”
Fear froze her in place and all Alana could do was stare.
Xander! I need you. I…I’m in trouble. He knows everything. Cornered me in the tunnels. She could only pray her cousin heard her mental shout.
Seamus was angry enough to harm her.
Kill her?
His damn magic-proof medallion glared from his neck, as if taunting her to try to defend herself. It jerked and danced with his livid gestures.
“You will answer for this.”
“Wh-what will you do?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but she already knew the answer.
Seamus would go to her father.
Without delay.
Would her suspicions of his plot save her life? Her husband and son’s?
Alana fought the urge to crush her eyes shut or double over and sob. She couldn’t afford to take her eyes off her nemesis.
The prince had just gained the upper hand again, in the most dangerous way possible.
* * * *
The clanking sounds of metal on metal, like armor, then rushing boots made Alex scan his surroundings. He was up on the ridge, where he was supposed to meet Alana.
Their lad had an uncanny ability to just know when his mother was coming, so he’d had to wait unt
il Angus had gone to bed, lest he have to deal with his son’s upset that this trip was just for Alex and his princess. He’d feared he’d be late, but it seemed his wife was the tardy one.
They hadn’t made love in what felt like forever, and he was aching to get his hands on her, hold her close, taste her mouth again, hear her scream his name while she came around him.
He should be able to see anything coming at him from his vantage point, but the sounds were as if being made by ghosts. He shuddered for reasons other than the desire riding beneath the surface of his skin.
What he heard but couldn’t see didn’t make sense.
The beach before him was lit by a full moon. Alex heard and saw the waves crashing against the shore, but the sounds of the rushing feet didn’t manifest in his line of sight.
He tensed anyway and drew his sword.
As if from nowhere, a group of men appeared around him on the ridge. They hadn’t ascended from the beach; he would’ve seen their climb.
What the hell?
Bán, who grazed behind him, tossed his head back and whinnied. He didn’t run off, for which Alex was grateful, but his stallion was showing the surprise he was eager to not reveal to his new companions.
The dozen men assembled around him and his mount, who was now hoofing the ground and snorting.
Perfect. No escape.
“Easy, lad,” he murmured, but he wouldn’t mind if Bán chose to charge. Maybe knock a few of them over, and open up a path for him to retreat through.
His horse nickered at the sound of his voice, but kept hoofing the dirt.
Alex gripped and re-gripped his sword, darting his gaze around the men. They were all tall, broad. Looked as if they knew how to use the weapons they brandished. He couldn’t see their faces, since they all wore helms, but he imagined hard expressions.
They all had chest-plates, like Xander’s, but they were gold instead.
Fae Warriors?
Like his wife’s cousin, no wings were visible, but his gut told him he was looking at two full wings—what the Fae called each unit—of elite soldiers.
Awareness shot down his spine and he forgot to breathe. After all this time, had they been discovered?
Where was Alana? Were these men the reason his wife was late to their assignation?
Is she all right?
His heart slid to his feet, but he couldn’t be foolish. Needed to pay attention to what was before him. Alex straightened when two soldiers parted to allow someone within the circle.
The man had dark wavy hair dancing over his shoulders in the evening breeze. He was dressed in green armor, but it was elaborate, with gold leafing all over it that glinted in the moonlight. He had a sword in his hand to match Alex’s in size, but it wasn’t raised to defend, it was along his side—at least at the moment.
He had a torch in the other hand, but the fire dancing atop it couldn’t be natural. It was multi-colored; reds, blues, purples, and even yellows, skirting around each other, and a sweet aroma tickled Alex’s nose.
He raised his claymore when the man approached. Instinct whispered he needed to be on his guard around this man.
“Alex MacLeod, I presume?”
The Irish inflection made him narrow his eyes. It was refined, like the man’s never-been-marked-upon armor.
“Seamus,” Alex spat.
The bastard who was keeping his wife under his thumb smiled, slow and wide, as if to welcome him. “Ah, I’m so glad my reputation precedes me.”
“Where’s Alana?” he demanded.
“Oh, don’t you worry your wee head over our princess.”
Our princess?
“What’ve ye done with my wife?” Alex growled.
The prince’s smile fell off, replaced with a scowl. “I should kill you right now.”
“Try it.” He rushed forward, leading with his sword.
Seamus tossed the torch and lifted his large weapon in what seemed the same motion, readying himself for Alex’s strike at an unnatural speed.
Magic?
No matter, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—give it second thought.
He had an Irish prince to kill.
Their swords came together with a clash that resounded in his ears—and his arms. The bastard was surprisingly strong, and pushed Alex back with deceiving ease.
Bán reared up on his back legs, and screamed. The men nearest obviously didn’t want to be victim to kicking feet and pounding hooves, so they parted and released his stallion from the circle.
Alex cursed and rushed Seamus again. His ride had fled, but perhaps arriving back home without him would raise the alarm. He’d told Duncan of his plans to see Alana this night. Hopefully his brother wouldn’t laugh at the horse’s appearance, and assume the stallion had abandoned him for being ignored.
He willed his twin to know something was very wrong, wishing he could call to him mentally like Alana could.
“You’re no match for me, human filth.” The prince circled him, but put his palm out, beckoning.
“Dinna be so sure, ye bastard,” Alex growled and gave him what he asked for, darting to him and slashing his sword.
They parried each other, moving forward and back like a dance.
Alex was taller, but they were well-matched and he couldn’t deny the scoundrel had skill. He stalked around him, regrouping before he lifted his sword again and charged his prey.
Seamus evaded, but not fast enough. The tip of Alex’s weapon sank into the gap of his armor, at his shoulder.
A murmur went through the watching Warriors, but the prince raised his other arm to stop any defensive action from them. He didn’t cry out in pain, or curse, but Alex had cut him. Blood glinted on his breastplate.
He widened his stance, ready for another strike, and Seamus stared him down with narrowed eyes the same color as his armor.
The prince extended his palm high and flat and muttered something, but he couldn’t make it out.
Alex took a step back.
His opponent frowned, but started speaking louder. It was some kind of chant.
A bright blue ball of light appeared from nowhere and flew at Alex. He didn’t have time to dodge; it hit him square in the chest, knocking him over.
Agony exploded between his pectoral muscles, then jolted his limbs straight and burned its way downward, until he couldn’t move. His muscles wouldn’t respond to any command. Nor could he feel the ground beneath him, but the little points of light in the sky told him he was looking up, into the starry night.
The wretched cheat!
Seamus couldn’t beat him fair and square with a sword, he’d used whatever his powers were?
Alex’s brain processed he’d been hit with magic of some kind, but his mind was slowing, his eyes growing heavy. “Coward,” he spat, but instead of the shout he’d intended, his voice hadn’t been much louder than a whisper.
Then, the world went black.
Chapter Twenty-four
A crowd was gathering in the throne room, as if every resident of at Court had been summoned, but they were all gossipmongers, so it didn’t take much to gain their attention.
The negative murmur made her cheeks heat, but Alana didn’t bother looking around. She wouldn’t give them any satisfaction of confirming her embarrassment. Not because of Alex, or getting caught, but because Seamus wanted to hold her accountable so publicly.
Xander hadn’t come to her rescue in the tunnels, and when the prince had called for his men to seize her, she’d ordered her cousin to stay away.
She hadn’t heard from him since, but wouldn’t put it past him to be watching from the shadows until he could act to free her.
A part of her prayed that was true.
Seamus had captured her husband as well, and two Irish Fae Warriors had him bound between them. Two more held her next to them, but they hadn’t tied her up.
From the first moment she’d seen Alex, she’d panicked that the prince had been true to his word and had killed all the MacLeo
ds, but her husband’s headshake told her he was the only victim. Their son and the rest of the clan were safe. For now.
Seamus had barked at her father’s steward to fetch him. They awaited his arrival, and Alana tried to talk herself out of being a tremoring mess.
The king could order her death, Alex’s death, in moments. She had leverage against Seamus that might save their lives, but her betrayal was greater than Seamus’—she’d acted; he had not. She recalled how Princess Sima had been wiped from royal records and fought the urge to close her eyes.
Alana looked at her husband, and tried to mirror his straight shoulders and squared jaw, despite his bound hands. If he could be strong when they were very much in trouble, so should she.
“What is the meaning of this?” King Fillan boomed. He marched across the hall and up onto his dais, but he didn’t take a seat on his throne. He posted in front of it, his captain on his heels.
Her father had on the thick fur-line mantel he only wore when accepting audiences, and she sensed he’d hastily dressed, despite his impeccable appearance. His jeweled crown glinted in the magic lights hanging all over the vast room.
Alana shook in the Irish Fae Warrior’s grip at her father’s tone. He was angry.
More so than she’d seen him in a long time.
The accompanying Fae Warriors from her Court exchanged looks, obviously confused that their Irish counterparts were restraining her, but they glanced at the king, and her uncle, Captain Daegus, before making any moves. Xander’s father stood coolly assessing the situation from her father’s side in front of his throne.
Of course, no soldier would dare order their princess free without approval.
The two that had Alex by the arms shoved him to his knees before her father.
I’m sorry, my love, she told him mentally.
Alana whimpered and their eyes locked, but her husband held his chin high and gave her an almost imperceptible nod, silently telling her to be strong.
The pain in her chest eased, but didn’t disappear.
This was all her fault.