“But my father, the angels, they gave me the weapon to aid in my quest. I am to bring my brother home.”
“I know, and you shall, but for that you do not need the sword.”
“But I do. You don’t understand, Uscias. He makes me strong, powerful. Without him, I don’t think I’m up to the task.” Her cheeks heated at the admission.
“Nonsense.” He placed her hand over her heart and tapped it. “It comes from here and here, your head and your heart. It’s always been there. Look for it.” He tapped her head. “You already have everything you require inside you. It simply awaits your discovery.”
“But my brother, how will I find him without my sword?”
“Your father told you where he is. You will find him and he will know you when you do.”
“How? We’ve never met. I didn’t know he existed until today.”
“Think, Syrena. Do you not remember the child who talked to you in your mind all those years ago?”
Her gaze flew to his, shocked by his revelation. How did Uscias know? She’d only ever told Evangeline about the little boy. He’s a wizard, Syrena, she chided herself.
The memory of the child’s voice echoed in her mind. She’d spent many a sleepless night worrying about him when he’d stopped communicating with her. Even after all these years, she’d been unable to forget him. Now that she knew the little boy she’d come to love was her brother, she’d let nothing stop her from finding him.
“You have a long, difficult road to travel before your quest is complete.”
“It would not be as difficult if I had my sword,” she said, unable to keep the querulous tone from her voice.
“Yes, it would, in more ways than you know. The responsibility of wielding a weapon of destruction is not to be taken lightly.” Uscias waved off her protest. “Please, your highness, it is for the best. Trust me.” He held out his hand for the sword.
She trusted him, but she didn’t want to give up the sword or the power it imbued her with. “Wait. What shall I tell Morgana? She will be furious with me for giving him up.”
He gave her a long, considering look. “I see. Morgana has convinced you that you should rule together, has she?”
“Yes. Do you think I should have refused?”
“Not necessarily. Time will tell. You haven’t told her of your quest, have you?”
“No.”
“I suggest you don’t. I will be at the tribute for your father this evening, sanctifying the arrangement you and Morgana have come to. At that time I will inform the Queen and the Fae that the sword is in need of repair. It is all they need to know. As the sword was my gift to the Fae, to the heir to the throne, no one will dispute my claim. When you have returned from the Mortal realm, we will begin your training.” Uscias gestured for the blade.
When Syrena handed over the sword, she felt empty inside, as though a part of her was missing, a strong powerful piece that hadn’t existed until today. “Good-bye, Nuie,” she murmured.
“Soon,” a voice whispered near her ear. She blinked and her gaze shot to Uscias, but he was busy wrapping her sword in a thick black cloth. She pressed her fingers to her temples. It must be the ache in her head causing her to hear things.
Uscias looked at her over his shoulder. “Did you call the sword Nuie?”
She flushed. “Yes, Aurora named him for me.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Uscias, she gave me a warning earlier. I can’t explain how, but it was given in the voice of an older woman, and her eyes swirled with different colors. I think it had to do with my quest to the Mortal realm. She said something about darkness and light.”
“The child is special, princess. Heed her warning. I will see you at the tribute.” With a wave of his hand, he disappeared into a brilliant shower of colorful light.
“Princess, wake up.”
Evangeline’s insistent tone drew her from her sleep. Syrena lifted heavy lids to glance out the window. The rising sun painted the sky a delicate pink with thin ribbons of mauve, and she shuddered. Whatever had possessed Evangeline to awaken her at such an hour?
Pulling the blankets over her head, she groused, “Why must I leave so early?”
Evangeline tugged the covers down and rolled her eyes. “Because, my lady, like you, most of the Fae hate to rise before midday. If you leave now, no one will know you travel to the Mortal realm. Did you not wish to keep your quest a secret?”
“Yes . . . yes,” Syrena grumbled, throwing off the blankets. The book of the Mortal realm she had studied before she went to sleep fell to the floor with a heavy thud. She leaned over and picked it up, flipping to the page she wanted to show Evangeline. She pointed to an illustration. “As I must blend in with the Mortals, I suppose I will need a gown such as this.”
Her handmaiden grimaced.
“I know, everything about them is strange. The more I read, the more determined I am to retrieve my brother from that horrible place. Speaking of Lachlan, I meant to ask you last night if you had ever heard mention of his mother?” The servants were privy to the kingdoms goings-on, more so than the nobility, and Evangeline had been a font of information through the years.
Two bright pink spots appeared on her handmaiden’s cheeks.
“Tell me.”
“I cannot be certain it is your brother’s mother they spoke of, but they say there was once a Mortal woman who entranced your father to the point of distraction. I think she captured the Fae’s imagination because at first she refused him, not something that happened to King Arwan. She was said to be very beautiful and your father, unwilling to be denied what he wanted, took her. He didn’t care that she was married or Mortal.” Anger reverberated in Evangeline’s voice.
Syrena swallowed. “Against her will?”
“He enchanted her. His magick was stronger than her will.” Her lips thinned, her low opinion of King Arwan’s behavior obvious.
“But that’s against Fae law.”
“He was the king, princess. Who would punish him?” Evangeline said it as though she wished she could have.
“Maybe someone found a way,” Syrena murmured, thinking of the ashes on the pillow.
Evangeline’s gaze jerked to hers. “What do you mean?”
Syrena waved off her question. “Nothing.” She’d told no one her father had been murdered, and she didn’t plan to, not even Evangeline. If the murderer knew their treachery had been discovered, neither Syrena nor her handmaiden would be safe. “And you’ve heard no mention of my brother?”
“No, not ever, and your secret is safe with me. You know that, don’t you?”
She smiled. “I do. Now we have no time to waste.” Her brother needed her.
Evangeline joined her by the foot of the bed and murmured the incantation.
The tightly fitted emerald silk gown her handmaiden clothed her in caused Syrena to stumble and suck in a pained breath.
“I can’t breathe, Evangeline, loosen the ties,” she pleaded, tugging frantically at the bodice that plumped her breasts. Why couldn’t the women of the Mortal realm wear the loose robes the Fae favored?
“Princess, if I do that, the gown will not fit as it is meant to.”
With an exasperated sigh, Syrena yanked one last time on the gown and said, “Fine, I’m ready.” Not really, but maybe if she pretended she was, she would be.
Evangeline transported her to a clearing not far from Syrena’s hideaway. Standing within a cluster of stones, her handmaiden said, “Now remember, princess, you must use the standing stones to transport you between worlds. And be careful, the Mortals must never know you are Fae or they will try and steal your magick.”
Syrena arched a brow. “Then I will not be in much danger.”
The standing stones spat Syrena into the Mortal realm with such force, she landed with a hard thunk on her bottom. Sitting within the circle of granite monoliths, she swiped her hair from her eyes and glared at the gray rock towering over her. She came to her feet and rubbed
her behind while she took in the barren land that seemed to go on forever. A black, angry sea crashed below the hill on which she stood, a stark contrast to the placid, azure pools of the Enchanted Isles.
Syrena wrinkled her nose. The Mortal realm was ugly and unwelcoming. And cold, she thought, when a brisk wind whipped her gown about her ankles. She lifted the hem of her skirts and wiggled her shoeless feet. Muttering beneath her breath, she searched through the long, razor-sharp blades of grass for her slippers.
Her toe connected with a rock, sending a jolt of pain up her foot.
Grumbling, she retrieved one shoe from the base of the standing stone, and slipped it over her throbbing toe. Among a clump of yellow flowers, she caught a glint of gold and gingerly tugged her other slipper free.
“Ouch!” She sucked a pinprick of blood from her finger and glared at the thorny bush. She was tempted to return home until she thought of her brother alone in this Fae-forsaken place.
Hands on her hips, Syrena surveyed the dreary landscape. Then with a determined stride, she set off in the direction she’d mapped out earlier. Maps were not her forte so she could only hope she hadn’t turned herself around.
Several hours later, she’d tromped through so many clumps of purple she grew tired of the color. She examined her mud-soaked slippers, wishing Bowen could’ve come with her. The bitter winds cut through her silk gown, and her feet ached. Beyond weary, but determined to find Lachlan as quickly as possible, she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm and continued on.
When she came to a stand of trees, she took comfort in the somewhat familiar landscape. Birds, smaller and less colorful than the ones from the Enchanted Isles, flitted through the branches overhead. Their sweet song was music to her ears, and for the first time that day, she smiled. Perhaps all would be well.
Something swooshed past, lifting her hair to strike the tree at her back. She swallowed, and glanced over her shoulder.
An arrow.
She froze in place, her heart drumming in her ears. Had someone seen her come through the stones and now hunted her?
An animal, she recognized as a deer from her perusal of the book of Mortals, darted out from behind the tree. Her fear turned to anger. They didn’t hunt her, they hunted this poor defenseless creature! The deer looked to be on its own and Syrena was searching for its family when another arrow whizzed past her head.
“This way,” she called. The doe turned terrified brown eyes upon her. Something crashed through the trees and she ran back to pat the animal’s flank. “Come, I’ll protect you.” Sensing she’d gained the doe’s trust, Syrena sprinted deeper into the woods where the trees were thick and the foliage full.
“Over—” Syrena turned to cajole the deer just as another arrow whistled past. Its legs buckled and it crumpled in a heap on the ground.
“No,” she cried and rushed to the animal’s side. An arrow protruded from the thick muscle of its hindquarters, blood leeching from the wound. She stroked the soft, reddish-brown coat and attempted a calming spell. As she uttered the last word of the incantation, she wrapped her hands around the shaft and tugged.
The animal bucked and its hoof slammed into her knee. Pain exploded inside her leg and she gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t her magick work, just once, she fumed. She glared at the arrow and flung it to the ground, outraged someone would seek to harm the helpless creature. Her hand shook as she tore the hem of her gown then wadded the fabric against the wound.
Branches crackled beneath heavy footfalls as someone approached from the woods behind her. She flung herself on top of the animal, intent on protecting it from the beast out to deprive it of its life.
“Bloody hell,” a deep voice cursed.
She refused to be afraid. She was power . . . well . . . she had her magick. Oh, Hades! Then she remembered, he was merely a Mortal. What harm could he do her?
“Lass, are ye hurt?”
She peeked through the thick curtain of her hair. A pair of very large, dirt-encrusted black boots filled her vision.
He crouched at her side, and a big hand as gentle as his voice brushed the hair from her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat. Silvery-gray eyes framed with long, black lashes locked on to hers. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his, ensnared not only by their brilliance, but by the concern she saw there. Men did not look at her in that way. In their eyes she’d seen lust, anger, and frustration, but never concern.
The idea he worried over her well-being caused a flutter in her belly, a warmth that chased the chill from her limbs. She barely resisted the urge to bury her face in his palm and let his masculine scent of wind, leather, and sunshine comfort her.
“I saw ye blink so I ken ye’re no’ dead. Mayhap ye’d give me an answer now.” He looked at her from beneath hooded eyes as he scanned her length.
She heard the hint of amusement in the low rumble of his voice and her gaze dropped to his mouth. His full lips curved to reveal straight, white teeth and a tiny indent in his cheek.
He patted her face. “Come on, my wee beauty, snap out of it.”
The admiration in his gaze was unmistakable. She’d misread his concern. He was no different than the Fae. Her eyes darted to the animal squirming beneath her, and she shook off the man’s mesmerizing effect. He was a beast. He’d shot a defenseless creature.
Rolling onto her back, she spread her arms wide. No matter what the consequences were, she would protect her deer.
The man stood to tower over her and Syrena’s eyes widened. He was huge. She did not expect Mortals to be as big as the Fae. His shoulders were as broad as Lord Bana’s. And the fabric of his white shirt did little to conceal the powerful muscles beneath. A heated flush rose to her face at the form-fitting material that encased his narrow hips, his thick thighs and . . . She snapped her eyes shut.
He snorted a laugh and a warm hand enveloped hers. “Up ye come. I’ve mouths to feed and that deer ye’re lyin’ on is our dinner.”
She gasped, and her eyes shot open. “Eat her? You mean to eat her?” Outraged, she struggled to free herself. “You most certainly will not. She’s mine.”
Brow arched, he tugged her to her feet.
Her weight landed on the leg the deer had kicked and she groaned. Being Fae, by morning there would be no sign of the injury, but it did nothing to alleviate her pain at the moment.
He frowned. “Ye’re injured. Why didna ye say so when I asked?” He pulled her closer as though to offer support.
She placed a palm on his broad chest to keep some distance between them, but it didn’t have the desired effect. Not when she could feel the heat of his skin beneath her fingers, the hard, well-honed muscles. His heartbeat was strong and steady, unlike the rapid, staccato beat of hers. His warm breath caressed her cheek, and she jerked away, overcome by a strange, tingly sensation.
She met his gaze full on and her step faltered. Her mouth went dry. The man was beautiful. Not the classic, refined beauty of the Fae, his was rugged and intimidating. Hair the color of a moonless night fell in loose waves to his shoulders, and a dark shadow lined his firm jaw. A dent in his chin matched the one in his cheek. Sun-bronzed skin stretched over high, chiseled cheekbones, and a slightly crooked nose.
“I’m not hurt. I’m fine,” she croaked. What was wrong with her that this Mortal had such an effect on her?
At the rustle of leaves, she turned to see the deer struggling to get up. The man moved away and Syrena looked back at him. Her mouth dropped as he removed an arrow from his quiver.
“No,” she cried, throwing herself at him.
He stumbled and shot her an irritated look. “Are ye daft, lass? What do ye think ye’re doin’?”
She rubbed her forehead where she’d knocked it against his shoulder and scowled at him. “I will not allow you to harm her.”
“I’m puttin’ her out of her misery is what I’m doin’,” he growled, raising his bow.
She reached out and snagged the string. Yanking the bow from his grasp,
she flung it to the ground and stomped on it for good measure. “She’s not miserable. Now go away and leave us be,” she commanded, dropping down beside the deer.
“I’m no’ leavin’ without our dinner.”
She folded her arms across her chest and tipped her chin. “Yes, you are, because I will not let you have her.”
Hands on his hips, he narrowed his stormy gaze on her. “And how do ye plan on stoppin’ me?”
If she had Nuie, she would know how, but she didn’t, so Syrena did the only thing she could think of. She wrapped her arms around the animal’s neck, and said, “Go away.”
“Ye’re daft, do ye ken that? Makin’ a pet of a wee beastie,” he grumbled, a note of disgust in his tone. He threw up his hands and turned to walk away, muttering something about her stealing food from children.
Her eyes widened, astonished by his response. A Fae man would take what he wanted, and the woman who stood up to him would pay the price. She fought back a surge of admiration for the Mortal, watching as he strode toward the big, black steed that appeared when he whistled.
Good, he’s leaving.
Her pet would be safe, and so would she.
Although he had not harmed her, he’d stirred something unfamiliar within her. And it was not something she wanted stirred. The feelings he aroused were dangerous. They had to be. What other than danger would cause her knees to go weak, or the wild fluttering in her belly when he looked at her, touched her?
“Aidan.” A man’s voice called from the edge of the woods. “MacLeod, where did ye get to?”
She started at the name.
“Oh, no,” she groaned. The beast is related to my brother. She had to call him back.
Chapter 3
Of all the fool things Aidan had ever witnessed, this day trumped them all. Imagine, a wee lass protecting a beastie and him being the idiot who allowed it.
He shook his head in disgust. “I’m comin’,” he shouted over his shoulder as he swiped his battered bow from the forest floor, refusing to give in to the temptation to look at her.
Warrior of the Isles Page 4