The Princess and the Laird

by C. A. Szarek

  Seamus strode forward, hands on hips, chest thrust out as if he’d just been crowned king. “I bring you a gift, Your Majesty.”

  “A gift?”

  “The Crown Princess is a traitor, Majesty.” Seamus glared at her before glancing back at her father. “The worst kind of traitor. She betrayed us all! She never intended to marry me. She married this human in secret, but not only that, she bore his filth, a halfling she’s hidden in the Human Realm for years.”

  Everyone in the throne room—a mixture of courtiers, lords, ladies, and even the Fae Warriors gasped and stared. Some of the noblewomen held their hands over their mouths to hide aghast expressions.

  King Fillan’s face reddened to his ears, and his massive chest rose as if he needed to breathe, or gather himself before speaking.

  Of course he won’t question Seamus.

  She would never deny Alex—why try at this point, they were captured—but for her father to believe without doubt, without asking her first burned low in her gut.

  He was the king more than he’d ever been her father.

  “Is this true, Alana?” Every word was carefully measured, but his voice got louder, more demanding. Her name was uttered like a deadly curse.

  Alana looked at Alex, even though it was dangerous.

  Her husband’s jaw was locked, and he was openly glaring at the king.

  Her father’s face went redder, filled with even more rage when she met the violet eyes that matched hers.

  She held her chin high and suppressed the urge to swallow.

  Do not show weakness.

  “Aye, Father.”

  One of the Irish Warriors shoved her, knocking her off her feet.

  Alana landed on all fours and a white-hot bolt shot up her knees and wrists at the same time. Her forearms ached, as did her thighs. She pushed herself up, but didn’t try to stand. She needed a moment, and told herself to breathe away the surprise and anger swirling in her gut.

  Alex yelled and rushed to his feet, but the Irish soldiers seized him and pushed him back down to his knees, holding him there with heavy grips on his shoulders.

  Had his hands not been bound with magic manacles, her husband might’ve had a chance to grab a sword, but there was too many powers surrounding them.

  He’d get himself killed.

  She couldn’t watch that.

  Alex, I’m fine. Don’t fight them, it will be worse, she told him, but he didn’t look convinced.

  Even from across the room she could see the worry in his sapphire eyes.

  Her uncle nodded at a few of his men, and two rushed to her side, but not to rescue her. The Irish Fae backed away and she was blocked in by two soldiers from her own Court. The same happened to her husband.

  I don’t know how, but we’ll get out of this.

  Alex didn’t look at her, but he gave a slight nod.

  “Where is your bodyguard?” King Fillan demanded.

  “I know not.”

  She’d told Xander to stay away. Her father would never believe he didn’t know about her and Alex. He had mages who could use magic to get the truth no matter what, so lying was no use. Her cousin would lose his position—if he managed not to lose his life.

  His father would not save him. To her uncle, his son was just another Fae Warrior. Xander got no favors due to their blood ties.

  “Sir Xander isn’t complicit in this, Your Majesty. The princess tricked him as well as myself and you. I suspect she used great magic.”

  It took all Alana was made of not to glance at Seamus.

  Why would he cover for her cousin? What did he have planned? He couldn’t believe his words, could he?

  Unless he was protecting himself.

  Xander was the only other person who could substantiate the prince’s plot against her father, except for any coconspirators. He wouldn’t want her father’s mages to question her cousin any more than she would. They knew the name of one, after all, and the others would come to light.

  She prayed to the Goddess her cousin was safe where he was. She’d spoken honestly when her father had asked. She’d told Xander not to disclose where he was going.

  “‘Tis a relief there was not more than one betrayal this day,” the king said. He narrowed his eyes and addressed his captain. “Take the foul human to the dungeons. Do with him what you will.”

  Alana shot to her feet, trying to tear away from the four strong hands pulling at her arms. “Father, don’t kill him! Please!”

  The king froze, then turned his glare on her. “‘Father’, you call me? No daughter of mine, let alone the Crown Princess would perform such blasphemous acts. You are no daughter to me. Not anymore. From this day forward.” He glanced at the Royal Scribe, who was already furiously writing on parchment from his pedestal.

  “Ye bastard,” Alex spat.

  The Scottish Fae who’d taken over grabbed his upper arms and yanked him to his feet.

  Her husband fought their hold to no avail.

  “Daegus,” her father barked.

  Xander’s father stepped forward, his thick ebony locks free and surrounding him like a dark aura. Unlike his Warriors, he always wore his hip-length hair free of restraint. He backhanded Alex twice.

  Alana screamed but she couldn’t look away as her husband’s head snapped to one side and blood flew from his mouth.

  Her father scowled. “Enough. I do not want the scent of his impure blood to linger here. I cannot abide the smell.”

  “Aye, Majesty.” Uncle Daegus gave a curt nod, but didn’t move away from his men, as if unsure they could contain Alex.

  Perhaps he wanted a reason to hurt him again. She’d always wondered if her uncle really liked to torture.

  “Your Majesty,” she called.

  Her father paused.

  “Please promise you won’t kill him.”

  The king threw his head back and laughed, his face lit up with black mirth. “Why, my betrayer, would I ever do that?”

  “Because, I have news of betrayal as well.”

  His expression fluttered from disbelief to curiosity. He narrowed his eyes again and she prayed he’d indulge her here, in front of the whole Court.

  In front of her betrothed.

  Desperation clawed at her from the inside out. She swallowed and ordered herself to stay calm, look him in the eye and show him her royal blood. Especially since he’d just officially disowned her.

  “Oh, very well.” King Fillan sounded bored, and he gestured with one hand. “What news have you?”

  Alana squared her shoulders and looked straight at the prince before pinning her father with her gaze. “Seamus is plotting to kill you.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Alex was tossed forward like rubbish and landed hard, with his arse smarting and his legs high in the air.

  Two cell doors slammed shut at the same time and he heard the prince’s “Oomph,” as he must’ve landed in much the same position.

  He found his feet and righted himself, brushing his rear end and wincing at the throb there. His plaid hadn’t been enough padding to save him a sore rump. His mouth hurt, too, from where he’d been hit. He sent his tongue on gentle exploration of the area, and discovered a split lip. He winced when it protested the touch and started to pulse.

  Footsteps of the oversized Fae Warriors were already receding, without so much a word.

  He blew out a breath and rammed his fingers through his hair. Alex had kept it short for a few years, but now it was growing back fast, already touching the base of his neck. Soon it would be at his shoulders, and he’d match Duncan again.

  Damn, he’d gotten into a mess this time, hadn’t he? If he and his wife were fated, how had they ended up here?

  Had getting caught been inevitable?

  The elegance and richness on blatant display in Alana’s father’s audience room had thrown off his balance. If it stood still, it’d been bejeweled, including the single throne on the dais he’d been forced to be prostrate in front of.


  Surely a man who lived like that, a family who did, couldn’t be a tyrant?

  The air of his current environment told Alex how wrong he was, even if the large dark-haired captain’s punch had already confirmed it. Like most kings, his wife’s father hadn’t even done his own dirty work.

  She’d always called her father brutal; bloodthirsty. He was grateful their son would never suffer his presence. Angus was safe with his clan. At least he didn’t have to worry about his lad, considering his circumstances.

  The stone floor of his cell was covered in rushes, but they were old, shriveled, and no longer held a fresh scent. Odors of earth, shite, decay and blood hung low in the air, wrapped in the sense of despair he didn’t have to be Fae or have magic in order to feel.

  Bile inched up from his throat and he swallowed so he wouldn’t retch.

  There was a sponge-like pallet in the corner, but it didn’t look comfortable; it was thinner than what MacLeod hounds slept on. It was also child-sized, so even if Alex curled in a ball, it would be too short to hold the entirety of his tall form.

  The cell itself wasn’t iron, or even metal at all. It appeared to be made of crystal, like the Faery Stones, and had a soft internal glow like they did, but it’d been refined, shaped into bars, like any other confinement space he’d ever seen.

  It was dark, except for the bars’ low light. His eyes were well on their way to adjusting to the dimness, and he explored each corner of his new home.

  In the very least, it appeared mostly clean, despite the dank air.

  What he assumed were curses caught his attention, so he went to the side of the cell that attached his to the one beside it. “Dinna expect this, eh?” Alex held onto crystal the bars and peered at the Irish prince.

  “Do not speak to me,” Seamus snapped.

  He smirked and watched the jilted royal pace his cell. “My lad dinna pout as much as ye are.”

  Seamus’ fine clothing was ripped, and he gnawed on his thumbnail. He paused, shooting Alex a look. “I would not hold onto those bars, were I you.”

  A shock of energy went up his fingers, into his wrists and pain zinged along his forearms into his shoulders. He jumped back, shaking his hands. He swore in Gaelic and renewed his efforts when the sting held on.

  It was the prince’s turn to smirk.

  “What did ye do?” he barked.

  Seamus shook his head. “Nothing a’tall. ‘Tis magic, daft one. Obviously Alana did not select you for your intelligence.”

  Alex growled and narrowed his eyes. The Fae man’s Irish brogue was already grating his nerves, and they’d been locked together for mere moments. He might brave the shock and reach through the bars to strangle the prince if the bastard came close enough to reach. “She dinna choose ye a’tall,” he muttered.

  His new neighbor threw him a scowl, but didn’t answer. Just resumed his pacing. “I will get out of this,” the prince repeated like a mantra as he made circles inside the small space.

  Alex sighed and planted his sore arse on the thin pallet, reminding himself not to lean on the bars. “Yer wastin’ yer energy,” he called, but Seamus ignored him.

  Alex… Goddess I wish you could answer me.

  He straightened when Alana’s voice slid into his head. He wished he could answer her, too, but at least he could hear her.

  Proof she was somewhere, in one piece, right?

  I’m locked in the tower, instead of my rooms. I haven’t seen Xander yet, but I hope he comes to me soon. I don’t know how yet, but I will get us out of this. My cousin will help, I know he will. I’m so sorry. I love you.

  Alex crushed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He loved her, too. So much it made him ache, but the problem with that, was it probably would. He had no illusions, they’d torture him. He couldn’t give them information to help with Seamus’ plot or on anything Fae.

  His gut told him none of that would matter.

  I’m well, but I worry you are not. Regret and concern wrapped around his wife’s words, and he wished he could reassure her.

  He pictured her sobbing in some unknown place, and he couldn’t hold her, or help her. He wanted to demand she not worry about him at all, but she’d have reason when her father’s men came to lay hands on him.

  Hurried heavy boots caught his attention, and Alex found his feet and went to the edge of the cell to see if he could peer into the corridor. He couldn’t see much.

  “Laird MacLeod.” The voice was urgent and familiar.

  “Xander?” he took cues from his wife’s cousin’s volume and kept his tone just above a whisper.

  When the big Warrior came closer, their gazes locked.

  “Ye are free?”

  “Aye.” His violet eyes shot to Seamus, who watched them from his cell.

  Although the prince had lied for Alana and her cousin, his ease with Alex now would confirm that he had in fact lied to the king, if Seamus had actually assumed Xander’s innocence.

  Alex didn’t care right then; was just glad to see the man his wife put so much stock into saving them. “Can ye get ta Dunvegan an’ alert my brother a’ what’s happened?”

  Regret crossed Xander’s expression. “I cannot risk it. King Fillan has doubled the guard in the Field of Light, where our Stones are located. If I try, I will be caught and he’ll realize Seamus lied to him.” He glared at the prince. “Do not think I don’t why you did it, Your Highness.” The honorific was spat like an insult. “I have no qualms about telling the king everything I know of your plans, worry not. Your days at Scotland Court are numbered.”

  Even in the absence of adequate light, Alex saw the prince swallow hard, and apprehension darted over his face as the apple of his throat bobbed.

  “That is, if he prefers banishment over execution,” Xander said, then looked back at Alex.

  “Alana said ye’ve no’ gone ta her. Can ye no’ do so?”

  “You’ve spoken to Alana?”

  He tapped his temple. “She’s spoken ta me.”

  “Ah. I will go to the tower when I feel I can safely. I must lay low. The king has not summoned me, but he will.” His mouth set into a hard line.

  “Will ye be…weel?”

  Xander’s eyes widened. “You need to worry for yourself, my laird, not me.”

  Alex blew out a breath. “They have nothin’ good planned fer me.”

  “Aye.” His nod was grim, matching his countenance. “Be strong, Alex MacLeod. I will get you out when I can.”

  “I shall hold ye ta tha’.” He cleared his throat when his voice broke. Fearing what would happen to him wouldn’t change his circumstances. He was more worried for Alana than himself anyway. He was much stronger than his petite wife, magic or not.

  She had to survive for Angus if he could not.

  “I cannot dally here; I bribed the guard to let me see you under the guise of angry words for the atrocities you dared commit. Spoiling the princess, and all.” His wife’s cousin smirked.

  He failed to see humor, given his location, but he didn’t tell Xander that. “Go ta Alana when ye can, she needs ye.”

  The Fae Warrior offered a nod, then he was gone.

  * * * *

  Alana paced, following a mostly circular path as her prison’s walls dictated. She wasn’t confined to her rooms, like normal when she’d tapped into her father’s ire.

  Of course, this situation was more serious than her normal antics, so he’d had her placed in the tower, in one of two small rooms atop it. It had much less space than her palace suite, but it was no less elegant.

  She scanned her surroundings and shook her head. “So much for being disowned.” It was hard to feel punished, because the place was just as opulent as her own, and the engraved four-poster bed just as large. The bedposts gleamed with inset jewels.

  A magic crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. It was crusted with fine other fine gems that enhanced the light it gave off.

  The wooden wardrobe was just as dark and shiny,
and the hearth was like the one in her rooms, complete winking sapphires, diamonds, rubies and emeralds.

  It was as if each and every last fine stone was chastising her as evidence of what she’d done foolishly, if she was to believe her father and Seamus.

  The wealth was statement of what she’d lost—what she was gladly losing when she escaped, and she would do so.

  But it was nothing like where her husband was being kept…in the dungeon.

  Her heart ached and she fended off tears.

  Her father had ordered Seamus seized with her revelation of the assassination plot, but Alana knew no more than that. Not if he believed her, if he’d ask her more questions, so she could turn Tamhas in, or even where the prince had been stashed.

  Now that Seamus’ plot had been made public, the culpable Fae Warrior would’ve likely fled, unless he was convinced the prince wouldn’t turn on him. Or if he’d underestimated her knowing his name. If there were others, they would run, too.

  Was the prince with Alex in the dungeons, or did he take up residence in the other room here in the tower?

  Frustration made her ball her fists at her sides.

  They had to get out of the Fae Realm.

  Couldn’t afford to wait for her father’s verdict on her betrothed. Even if he put Seamus to death, it wouldn’t undue her crimes.

  The king had officially severed their blood tie, after all, and had had her de-crowned. Even if she’d wanted it, she’d never be the Queen of the Scottish Fae now. Ironic, since her favorite tiara had been among her things, and she’d donned it when she’d been sealed inside the tower room. It resided atop her head, where it’d belonged since she was a wee lassie.

  But Alana was like Princess Sima now, and would likely be struck from Royal Records.

  Xander hadn’t come to her yet, but her gut said he would. Perhaps with her evening meal? If her father had planned on feeding her, that was.

  Please, Goddess, let Xander have a plan.

  When the Fae Warriors had dumped her in the tower room and slammed the door, she’d run around the place looking for a way out. There was no secret passageway entry that she could find or sense, but she could perform magic within the room.