by Britt Bury
“… Alistair just checked in.”
Kelvin’s eyes shot to Ian. “What did you say?”
“I said, Alistair called. He’s fine.”
“How can that be? Thompson himself told me they had him. Right before he threw sleeping dust on me like the little bitch that he is!” His rage redoubled. Yes, he was glad his cousin was free from the Campbells, but the mere thought of Andrew Thompson made Kelvin’s blood boil.
“Aye, they did have him. Seems the skirt that got him caught is the same one who freed him.”
Ah, Alistair, always the ladies’ man. “So where is he now?”
“He did no’ give me specifics. Only that he will be gone for a couple of weeks,” Ian grinned, as if replaying the phone call in his head. “He’s out seeking retribution from the female who imprisoned him.”
Kelvin just waved his hand. Great, the Wolf was fine, but frankly, he was too busy wallowing in grief and devising a plan to get Izel back to care about Alistair’s affairs. Ian seemed to pick up on his mood, because he changed the subject. “I need some answers, Kel.”
His pace quickened. If he could only talk to Izel, just for a moment.
“Thompson threw the dust and that’s when they took the human?”
Christ, was Ian still talking? Kelvin stretched his neck side to side and twisted his shoulders. Just the mention of “the human” built his fury.
“Did she at least tell you any more about her prophecy? Like when she would come into those powers? Her worth and skill are said ta be—”
“Her worth and skill are none of your concern,” he snarled.
“Jesus, Kel! What the hell is the matter with you? You’re acting as if—” Ian’s eyes went wide, and Kelvin knew realization had hit home.
He ceased his strides and looked his brother, his chief, dead in the eye. “She is my female.”
Ian stood, stare locked on him, but Kelvin continued. “And our dispute with the Campbell clan is put on hold. I can no’ and will no’ take up arms against my female or her people.”
Except for maybe Andrew Thompson.
Ian’s mouth hung open, and he was silent.
Kelvin jutted his chin in the air. He was not ashamed. His woman was strong and beautiful and he felt nothing but pride to call her his. To deny her is to deny my lungs of breath, he thought, and it was true.
At any moment, he expected Ian would start in. Scolding, yelling about his sense of honor, and reminding him of his duty to the clan—of vengeance against the Campbell Fionns. Every molecule of his being was about to be called into question by his brother. The last thousand years he had lived for honor, glory, and war, but now everything he’d previously deemed purposeful he happily tossed out the window.
I will live as a dishonored outcast, shaming my clan, my father’s memory, and my brother… if it means I get ta hold my female.
Ian’s jaw clenched. Here it came, the ass-chewing of a lifetime.
“Okay, Kelvin.” Was his voice actually sincere? He looked at Ian, confused as hell. “Believe it or not, I understand. One can no’ act against their mate. No matter the circumstances.” Shaking his head, he looked at Kelvin. “ ’Tis no’ in our nature. We simply canna deny them.”
Jesus Christ, Ian’s tone held legitimate empathy! Kelvin didn’t know whether to question him, or just let the miracle of his understanding play to his advantage and take the win. Ian’s remark had lifted a weight Kelvin hadn’t realized he was carrying. Had his brother said anything different, forced his hand and made him choose, he would have chosen Izel. And always would.
When he had awakened in the grass with the sun on his face, the first thing to flash through his wasted mind was Izel’s bright, emerald eyes. And it was then he realized that it wasn’t oxygen he needed but her scent. She was everything he craved, everything he hungered for. Her body was his personal fixation. Her skin and lips were drugs he had to taste in order to survive. Desperation coursed through him and would continue to do so until he was back with her… inside of her.
“I assume you messed up pretty badly,” Ian said, snapping Kelvin from his self-loathing. He shot his brother a menacing look. “Ya need ta be smart about this. All final orders would have ta come from her.” He clasped his hands behind his back, brows drawn with thought. “Do you think she’d wage a battle against us? A surprise attack?”
“No,” Kelvin answered honestly.
“A woman’s scorn is something ta fear, brother.” Did Ian just shudder?
“Na,” he said, a small bit of confidence radiating. “I awoke with my head upon my shoulders.” A smile threatened his lips. Andrew Thompson would have undoubtedly killed him. At the very least taken him prisoner. Izel was obviously the one who had spared his life, so she must still care about him.
“Maybe she just does no’ ever want ta see you again. Just because the lass didn’t have the heart ta kill ya while you lay unconscious, does no’ mean much.” Ian seemed to read his mind and unknowingly crushed Kelvin’s one tiny glimmer of hope.
He stabbed fingers through his hair. “Mayhap. But the lass does no’ have a choice. She is mine, and she will be seeing o’ lot of me.” He looked at Ian. “I’m going ta get her.”
Ian’s jaw jutted out. “What was that? Brother, you must have hit your head while taking your little nap, because you’re talking nonsense.”
“It’s no’ that hard ta understand. I’m going to get my female.”
“Kelvin, she’s probably inside the Campbell walls by now. Surrounded by a fleet of guards, no’ ta mention Thompson.”
“Do not mention that sod! Izel is mine, not his! I do no’ give a fuck about the Fionn or the betrothal.”
“Look.” Ian held his palms out again, obviously trying to calm him. “All I’m saying is, think. You can no’ just walk up and ring the bell. And it was you who expressed unwillingness ta battle her people. I do no’ see how you’ll—”
“I’ll turn myself over.” Perfect! Why had it taken him this long to think of it?
“No way.” Ian’s tone was stern. “You can no’ turn yourself over ta the enemy clan. Where is your mind?”
Running a hand over his mouth, he tuned Ian out once more, mentally mapping the distance between her castle and his. I could be there by nightfall.
“Kelvin!” Ian snapped fingers in front of his face. “You may no’ be so lucky this time. She spared you once. What’s ta say her generosity will sustain?” He shook his head. “At best, you’ll be imprisoned, most likely tortured.”
His gaze met Ian’s. “ ’Tis nothing short of what I deserve. As long as I donna die, it will no’ effect her.”
Kelvin heard Ian stifle a sputter. His brother was trying to convince him what a bad idea this was, but it didn’t matter. He was going to get his woman back.
“Kel, the Fionns are of concern, yes, but there are greater matters at hand. The Court of Contention is right around the corner. Demons are already walking our realm, and I…” He palmed the back of his neck. “I need ya, brother. I can no’ afford ta lose you. If the human does come into these rumored ‘realm-defying’ powers, more than one faction will undoubtedly be coming after her. No’ ta mention, she could use this power against us.”
Shite. Kelvin hadn’t thought of that. Thank God for Ian’s rational mind. Okay, he needed to go get her, but he also needed to stay alive so he could protect her.
“She’s cursed, brother. She’s got some kind of prophecy set by the Dryads. I know you feel strongly for her, but—”
“I do no’ ‘feel strongly’ for her. She is my mate, Ian. Whatever she harbors, whatever’s been bestowed upon her, does no’ matter. She comes above all else.”
Ian exhaled loudly and threw his hands up. “Well… you can no’ just go in there, temper flaring.” Kelvin smiled at his brother. He was behind him. “Gather your thoughts, do some research, and take care of business before you go. You have a whole army here that depends on ya, and if you’re insistent about traipsing off ta th
e Campbell dungeon, then at least have the courtesy ta right your affairs.”
Research. Kelvin’s eyes shot to the pack at the end of his bed. The journal was still within. Perhaps he could find some answers.
Ian strode to the door, looking over his shoulder. “For once, Kelvin, think this through before running in, blades drawn. A few days of preparation will serve ya far better and gain ya an edge.” He caught Kelvin’s stare. “And brother, you’re gonna need an edge.”
Chapter 23
Hours turned into days, and Izel remained inside her room, alone. Maybe she was a coward, but she wasn’t ready to face anyone yet. Worse than that, she was forcing herself to feel the one thing she had vowed never to feel again… nothing.
Only now, she knew what she would be missing.
She lay in bed, replaying the only minutes that didn’t make tears well behind her eyes—those few moments picking apples, her Pookah awaiting her return. Then, she had been hopeful.
She tossed in the plum-colored sheets. Various maids and butlers had knocked at the door. Quiet voices offering food, but Izel turned them all away. The previous week wouldn’t leave her mind, a whirlpool churning within her skull. Every single second had been a lie. She’d even extracted an oath from him! He’d sworn not to physically hurt her. Her foolishness redoubled at the thought.
I should have been more specific.
She had easily taken at least ten showers in the past few days, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, she could still scent the Pookah on her skin. Feel him inside her.
A loud knock sounded at the door.
“I’m not hungry!” she yelled.
The large wooden door of her room boomed open, revealing a very tall, very striking Fionn Warrior. “Sorry, lass, I do no’ bring food.”
She sat up immediately, pulling the blanket to her neck. Although she was dressed in a simple tee and hideous-looking sweat pants, she still felt the need to cover herself.
“What are you doing? Who are you? You can’t just barge in here.”
His brows drew together, glancing between the open doorway door and her on the bed. “Sure I can. Did you no’ just see?”
Oh, so he’s a funny one, huh?
With a few long-legged strides, he closed the distance between them. She was about to tell him to get out when he plopped down on the bed next to her, setting two glasses on the nightstand. “Excuse me, but you can’t—”
“Ya know,” he interrupted, untwisting the top to what appeared to be a bottle of some kind of alcohol. “Wallowing does no’ suit you.”
She stared in disbelief. Who the hell did he think he was? She didn’t know this man. Yet here he was, talking to her like he had some kind of clue what she was going through.
“Don’t get me wrong.” He poured the liquor into a glass. “I love a pity party as much as anyone, but it’s always better if you invite someone else.”
“I, ah… w-who are you?” she stuttered.
Both glasses were filled to just below the rim. He held them up to eye level. “I”—he handed her a glass—“am your new best friend.” Glass in hand, he saluted her, and threw down the liquid in one swallow. “Ahh.” He looked at her, at her still full glass.
She looked at him for a moment. He’s come to trump on my misery. Or distract me.
“Did Andrew put you up to this?”
“He did. I’m supposed ta bring ya round and make ya see reason.”
Interesting. Oddly enough, Izel wasn’t insulted. This Warrior held no hesitation in his words. No hidden agenda. She liked that.
“Fair enough,” she said. With a tight smile, she copied his movements and drank down the contents of her glass in one mouthful. It burned her throat. She coughed and her eyes watered.
“Good, yeah?” he said, refilling both glasses.
Hand to her chest, she gave one final wheeze, nodding her head.
“Now, you see there.” He smiled, handing her back a newly filled glass. “There’s that heart o’ the Warrior I’ve heard so much about.”
Heart of the warrior? Funny, she’d never felt weaker in her life. But the burn in her belly was hopefully the liquor killing off the last of her humiliation. Or at least numbing it.
“Ramsey?” After a few glasses of what Izel soon found out was absinthe, she was chatting with her new friend, head somewhere beyond the clouds. Although she hadn’t really noticed before, Ramsey had been one of the Fionns with Andrew when she’d been retrieved at the tower.
“Aye?” He sipped his drink.
“How come you have an accent but none of the other Warrior Fionns do?”
“Oh, they do. They just hide it.”
“Why?” Her belly was burning.
He shrugged. “Sounds more professional or some such shite. Personally, I do no’ care.” He held out his long arms. “What ya see is what ya get.”
She liked Ramsey. He was funny, laid-back, and he took her mind off Kelvin, which was a blessing. The Warrior harbored a sarcastic edge that Izel quietly appreciated. He seemed to carry a weight upon him that only severe pain or loss could bring. He obviously compensated with humor and satire. Izel knew this because she had watched her best friend, Ava, behave the same way.
“So what was Andrew’s plan in sending you here?”
Ramsey shrugged. “Cheer ya up.”
“Really?”
“No. I think he just wants to get past the whole”—glass in hand, he motioned at Izel—“Pookah incident as quickly as possible, and nothing scares Thompson like a blubberin’ lass.”
Izel gasped. “I haven’t… well… he can just shut up.”
Ramsey chuckled. “Aye. You’re a strong one, no doubt. Should be; ya come from good stock.”
“Did you know my parents?” That question had plagued her since she’d arrived here, but she hadn’t felt right asking anyone. Ramsey was the first Fionn she felt moderately comfortable with, and since he brought it up…
He nodded. “Aye. James, your father, was a fierce Warrior. But…” He ran a palm along his jaw. “When your mother died, it was a time of war. Jimmy took ta the battlefield.” He shook his head, eyes going distant for a moment. “I told that stubborn ass ta no’ fight blind, but he was crazed at the loss of his mate.”
“So… he—”
“Died on the battlefield,” he said quickly.
“And my mother?”
Ramsey didn’t look at her when he whispered, “There were complications… with your birth. She was full human, and…”
She nodded, not wanting to hear any more. Not only did she get her mortal genes from her mother, but Izel had killed her just by being born.
“Let me get this straight,” Ramsey piped up, obviously attempting a subject change. Sitting in the middle of the bed, he crossed his legs, facing her. “You were a lanky blonde with zero feelings?”
“You make me sound like an emotionally void rock.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh, exceedingly grateful she had a belly full of alcohol to ward off the sting of the information she’d just received.
He raised his brows.
“Shut up!” she smiled again. “But yeah. I seriously couldn’t harbor a single emotion.” She heard a clicking sound as he nodded and took another swig of alcohol. “What’s that?”
He grinned and stuck out his tongue, a silver barbell stuck in the center.
“How long have you had that?” She preferred to talk about Ramsey rather than herself. Especially since most of her stories featured her as a pathetic loser.
He clicked his piercing against the back of his teeth. “Got it on my sixteenth birthday.”
“Those rebel teens.”
He shook his head. “No, it was no’ that. All us Warriors got ’em.”
Huh? Fionn Warriors all had pierced tongues? She was oddly surprised by that. “Some kind of boys’ club or something?” Wow, she heard her words slur that time. This liquor was some heady stuff.
“It’s our symbol.” He rolled the sleeves of hi
s shirt up. “See.” He held out his exposed forearms, palms up. On the right wrist was a large Celtic “W” that was inked so intricately, it looked to come alive under the pulsing veins. His left arm had a woven triangle, resting just below the crease of his elbow, with three diamonds at each point. Inside the elaborate shape was the rendering of a lion. “We all have ’em somewhere,” he shrugged.
Izel thought about Kelvin’s tattoo. The proud mark of his clan winding around his hip. She had traced each thread with her tongue.
Stop.
She wouldn’t think of that. Would push the tears back and swallow down the hurt.
“Hey…” Ramsey whispered. He must have seen the sadness in her expression, because he leaned in and patted her shoulder, completely misunderstanding her tears. “Don’t fret, lass”—pat, pat—“we’ll get ya inked in no time.”
She smiled and scoffed.
“Maybe a nice growling lion on your arse.”
She nearly choked as her depression turned into full-blown laughter.
Ramsey was such a blessing. Had she ever wanted an older brother, he would be it. He sensed when her despair was surfacing and swooped in with a joke to take her mind from the pain. She appreciated this more than she could ever admit. Underneath his humor and mellow persona, she knew why they clicked so well. She was certain that Ramsey knew exactly how she felt.
Had the Warrior been through a similar heartbreak? God, she hoped not, but his attitude and the way his eyes roamed around the room every time the word “betrayal” came up were sure signs that the Fionn had lost someone. Although she didn’t know details, she felt bad for her new friend. For the soul-wrenching pain that coursed through her, she’d never wish upon even her worst enemy.
“So, you ready ta talk about it?” Ramsey’s tone turned serious.
“Talk about what?” she asked, although certain she knew what he queried.
“About the Pookah that left ya in pieces.” His dark eyes examined her. She clutched her glass, hands slightly shaking.