Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  “Easy, love,” he murmured. The desire to savor her, taste every inch of her perfect wee body, overwhelmed him. No other woman compared to her. He realized, no matter that she was Fae, he wanted her beyond reason, as much as she seemed to want him. Whatever defenses he’d built against her had crumbled at her admission she’d wished to return to them. He wanted to claim her as his, her body as his. They may not be able to have anything else, but this they could have.

  She stroked the flat plane of his belly, the muscles rippling at the exquisite torture of her touch. He lifted his mouth from her breast and dragged his shirt over his head. His laughter rumbled deep in his chest at her frustrated moan. “Patience, my greedy little angel,” he said as he formed a pillow with his tunic and eased it beneath her head.

  Her amber gaze devoured him, and his cock swelled at the admiration he saw there. He took her hand and placed it over his straining erection. Her startled gasp made him smile, but his amusement faded when she fondled him through his doeskin trews.

  He gently manacled her wrist. “Careful, angel.” He captured her other hand and brought them together over her head, restraining her with one of his own. Fear flashed in her luminous gaze, and she twisted in his grasp. He groaned, the jiggling of her breasts firing his desire to painful heights. “Nay, Syrena, I would never hurt ye. Ye ken that, doona ye?” Sweet Christ, say ye do. He slid his lips over hers, slowly, back and forth, exultant when she responded tentatively at first then with an impassioned insistence that had his senses reeling.

  He leaned over her, and the friction of her breasts rubbing against his chest destroyed his resolve to take it slow. He tugged her gown to her waist, his mouth following the path of his hand, licking, suckling every inch of delectable flesh he exposed. She arched her hips, and greedily he shoved the gown and her silken drawers to her thighs, past her knees, to the delicate curve of her ankles. He stroked the downy softness of her curls at the juncture between her shapely legs, and she writhed, releasing a needy whimper. Hungry to touch her, all of her, he let go of her wrists to coax her legs apart. He stroked her there, widening her with his thick fingers. Then he flicked his tongue over the throbbing nub.

  She let out a shocked cry and struggled to sit up, trying to push him away. “Stop, Aidan . . . I . . . stop.”

  “Bloody hell, Syrena, ye’ll bring the entire household down upon us.” He rested his palm between the hollow of her breasts. “Lie back, angel.”

  “But I don’t want . . ” Her voice trailed off, her cheeks stained scarlet.

  “Has no one ever loved ye that way?” He stroked the silky curls, inordinately pleased when she nibbled on her kissswollen lips and shook her head. “I promise, ye’ll no’ want me to stop, just let me show ye,” he murmured, sliding a finger inside her hot, wet sheath. Christ, she was tight.

  “I don’t think . . ” Her protest died on her parted lips. Her thighs, as though in invitation, spread a little wider. She strained against his lips as her initial apprehension faded. He’d been surprised by her earlier reaction. From the stories his father and the old crone had told, the Fae were supposed to be sensual by nature, indiscriminate in their number of bed partners. Syrena didn’t appear to be.

  Feeling her inner muscles tighten around his two fingers, he suckled the pulsating bud until she shattered against his mouth. The expression of utter contentment, of pleasure upon her face, brought a smile to his lips.

  Unable to put off his needs any longer, he freed his rock-hard erection from the tight confines of his trews. His masculine pride was rewarded by her widening gaze and startled gasp, pleased he measured up to the Fae men.

  Lowering himself upon her, he nudged her hot, slick opening with the head of his cock. Entering her slowly, he savored the sensation of being inside her. He slid a hand beneath her, kneading her firm behind as he raised her hips and surged inside her, only to meet a barrier. Her eyes flew open, and she gave a strangled cry.

  He groaned and dropped his forehead to hers. “Syrena,” he muttered thickly, “ye should have told me ye were innocent. I thought . . ” He bit back the words. He couldn’t tell her what he thought without hurting her. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. The muscles in his arms strained as he attempted to hold back when all he wanted to do was pound his cock into her, to make her fully and completely his.

  “I didn’t think it mattered,” she said, tucking her face into the curve of his arm.

  It mattered, more than she would ever know, more than he was willing to tell her. “Aye, it does.” He smoothed the tangled strands of her hair from her cheek and gently kissed her as he eased his cock from her heated embrace.

  “No, don’t.” She wrapped her legs around him and, angling her hips, drove him back inside her, burying him to the hilt. He groaned his relief at being inside her and silenced her quiet whimpers with a kiss, luxuriating in the feel of her hot sheath enveloping him, the strength of her legs holding him to her. He held himself still until she grew accustomed to him, then slowly, carefully, moved inside her. As the rhythm of his thrusts intensified, her distressed whimpers were replaced by lusty moans of want and desire that stoked the fire in his blood.

  “Aye, love, aye,” he encouraged her as she kept time with him in their dance of passion. Unable to hold back any longer, he slid his hand between them, determined to give her as much pleasure as she’d given him. He watched the emotions play across her exquisite features, her soft sounds of pleasure his undoing and he shuddered his release.

  Breathing heavily, he lay on top of her, savoring the feel of her warm, soft, bountiful curves.

  “Aidan.” She struggled beneath him, pushing frantically at his chest.

  “Sorry.” He grinned lazily, raising himself an inch or two above her, unwilling to pull away completely.

  “Get off me.” She wriggled, trying to get out from under him.

  “I ken ye doona have much experience, Syrena, but trust me, ye doona have to be in such a hurry to—” She pushed him again and his cock slid from her slippery heat onto the cold unyielding slab. He winced.

  “Christ,” he cursed when with another push he landed bare-arse on a pile of leaves and pointy sticks. Scrambling from the rock, she grabbed her clothing. Aidan’s frustrated protest died in his throat, in awe of her naked body, luminescent in the fading sunlight against the backdrop of evergreens. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

  She shot him an exasperated look and shook her head. “Get dressed! You might not care if they see us like this, but I do.”

  He frowned in confusion until he heard the bairns calling for her. Cursing, he stood up. “They may have the look of wee angels, but I swear those two are the devil’s own.”

  She snorted. “Just like their uncle. Now come help me since it seems I’m the only one of us to be completely naked.” Her cheeks pinked as she tried to wriggle into her undergarments.

  He grinned and tugged her toward him, brushing away her hands to help her dress. “Stop fussin’ and let me do it.” He smoothed the gown over her shoulder and nuzzled her neck while he tied the laces. “So, ye think I look like an angel, do ye?”

  She batted his hands away, ignoring his question. “Thank you. Now go! Hurry!” she said, waving her fingers in the direction of the keep.

  “Ye’re verra bossy.” He considered teasing her further, but relented at her embarrassed expression. “All right, doona get yerself in a dither, I’m goin’.” But unable to resist one last taste, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “We’ll finish this later,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “I thought we were.”

  “Nay, we’re far from finished.” With one last look at her, he strode toward the clearing, shrugging his tunic over his head.

  Chapter 18

  Before Aidan put ten feet between them, his cousin stepped from the shadows of the towering pines. Rory’s observant, emerald gaze swept over Syrena and his lips flattened. Though she couldn’t hear what he said when Aidan reached him, it was obv
ious he was displeased. She pressed her palms to her heated cheeks, mortified that Rory knew what they’d been doing.

  At the cousins’ angry exchange, heaviness settled low in her belly. The last thing she wanted to do was cause tension between the two men. But it seemed it was too late for that. With his attention focused on his cousin, Aidan didn’t spare her a second look. They bellowed for the twins simultaneously, and Alex and Jamie’s excited chatter faded into the distance.

  She considered remaining in the woods, afraid to face the men’s censure. In the Enchanted Isles, a woman’s virginity was valued, those of easy virtue judged harshly. However, under Morgana’s rule—a woman whose reputation in the bedchambers rivaled Syrena’s father’s—the lines of morality had blurred.

  But despite what the men might think of her, Syrena didn’t regret making love with Aidan. He’d made her feel beautiful, desirable, loved. No, Syrena, just because he made love to you doesn’t mean he loves you, she chided herself. How often had she listened to a Fae woman cry, devastated when she learned she’d given her body, her heart, to a man who wanted nothing more than a night of pleasure? She wouldn’t make the same mistake. She’d be content with the memories of what they’d shared, and not expect more from Aidan than what he offered. Even though it seemed he offered more than a passionate interlude, she didn’t have enough experience to know the difference.

  Within the circle of the pines, the shadows deepened as the sun dipped low in the sky. Syrena shivered. The celebration for Rory would soon begin. Unwilling to disappoint Jamie and Alex, she had no choice but to attend. In her short time at Dunvegan, they’d welcomed her as family, a very different family from the one she was accustomed to. She thought of her own, of the Fae, and felt a niggling of guilt. She’d given little consideration to those dependent upon her, but with Lan’s disappearance, her mind had been elsewhere. Her only consolation was that Fallyn and her sisters could easily step in and fill the breach.

  She ran her palm over the smooth surface of the stone then stood. Shaking the dirt and crumpled leaves from the bottom of her gown, she walked toward the clearing.

  Upon reaching the castle’s entrance, she took a calming breath and pushed open the heavy doors. She ducked inside, relieved to find no one about. A quiet hum of activity filtered out from the grand hall. Several feet from Rory’s study, she noted the door was ajar. She could see Fergus, about to leave, look over his shoulder. A chair scraped across the slate floor and Fergus grunted. She lifted her skirts and rushed toward the stairs before he could see her. His deep voice followed her ascent.

  “We told you yer plan to seduce the lass into confessin’ was unconscionable. And to think ye went ahead with it over our objections ’tis somethin’ I never would have expected. I’m sorely disappointed in you, Aidan.”

  Aidan exited from Rory’s study. “There’s no getttin’ through to the two of ye. I doona care what Rory’s led ye to believe. Nothin’ happened! I’d already decided . . .” Aidan followed Fergus’s gaze to Syrena’s retreating back.

  “Syrena,” Aidan called as she fled up the stairs. She ignored him and he turned to blast Fergus. “Now look what ye’ve done!”

  “Me? Nay, lad, that would be all yer doin’.” Fergus shook his head, a look of disgust upon his face. “Leave her be.”

  Aidan ignored the man’s misguided advice. He couldn’t leave her be. He wouldn’t have her thinking what happened between them was nothing more than an attempt on his part to get the truth from her. Aye, in his fear for Lachlan, he’d considered the idea. But the more time he’d spent with her, watching her with the bairns and his family, the more he realized he’d acted the fool. Now he just had to convince her. He shoved aside the thought that her feelings meant more to him than they should. The last thing he wanted was to cause her pain. When she spoke of her life with the Fae, he sensed she’d had her share of heartache.

  Standing outside her chamber door, he rattled the latch. When it wouldn’t open, he rapped his knuckles sharply on the oak planks. “Syrena, let me in.”

  “I doona ken what it is about ye MacLeod lads.” Alasdair MacDonald’s gravelly voice came from behind him. “But I’m thinkin’ I should give ye a lesson on how to deal with the lasses. Lord kens ye and that son-of-mine-by-marriage could use one. Now tell me what ye’ve gone and done to upset yer betrothed.”

  Aidan sent his eyes to the timbered ceiling. God help him if Alasdair put it in his head to adopt Syrena as he once had Aileanna. “’Tis nothin’, but thank ye fer yer concern.”

  “Nothin’? I doona ken about that. I’m warnin’ ye, lad, seein’ as the wee lass has no one to look to her interests, I have offered my services.” The MacDonald shouldered Aidan aside and knocked. “Syrena, are ye all right, lass?”

  The door opened a fraction of an inch, and Syrena smiled softly at the old man. “I’m fine, Lord MacDonald.” She wouldn’t look at Aidan, but he thought she’d been crying and he cursed his and Fergus’s stupidity.

  With his finger, Alasdair tipped her chin. “Ye’re no’ fine. What did the fool do to upset ye?”

  “’Twas a simple misunderstandin’ is all. One I mean to rectify if ye’d but leave us be, MacDonald,” Aidan said.

  Alasdair shook his head. “I’ll say it again, I doona ken what ye lasses see in these lads. Are ye certain ye wish to marry him, pet? My offer still stands. As I told ye earlier, I ken many a fine mon who would leap at the chance to wed ye.”

  A fierce wave of jealously swamped him and he reacted without thinking. “The only mon she’ll be marryin’ is me, Alasdair. And I’d thank ye to remember that.”

  Syrena’s astonished gaze met his.

  Bloody hell, he had to get rid of the meddlin’ old goat. “’Tis no’ my business, Alasdair, but ye may wish to have a word with Rory. He’s threatenin’ to lock Aileanna in her chambers fer disobeyin’ him.”

  Alasdair’s brows shot up. “MacLeod!” he bellowed as he strode away. As Aidan intended, his daughter’s plight took precedence over Syrena’s.

  At the sound of her soft giggle, he returned his attention to her.

  “That wasn’t very nice. Now Rory’s in trouble with Lord MacDonald, and I’m certain he doesn’t deserve to be.”

  He shrugged with a self-satisfied smile, then wedged his foot between the door and the frame in case she remembered her anger before he had a chance to explain. “Syrena, we need to talk.”

  Her eyes shadowed, and the smile faded from her lips. “I heard everything I needed to.” He barely managed to tear his foot free before she slammed the door in his face.

  “Bloody hell, Syrena, that hurt.” Putting his shoulder to the door, he got it open before she set the latch. Ignoring her outraged expression, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Remembering Alasdair, he bolted it.

  Arms crossed, she glared at him. “Be quick about it, I have to get ready for the celebration.”

  “Ye look fine to me.” She looked more than fine. The fire of her temper glowed in her pink-tinged cheeks and sparked a flame in her topaz eyes.

  “What I look like is a woman who’s been bedded.”

  His barely banked desire sprang to life, and he dragged her protesting into his arms. “Aye, ye do.” He tangled his fingers in the thick tumble of her curls, tugging gently to force her gaze to his. “A woman well loved.”

  For the love of God, she was drivin’ him mad. Making him say things he shouldn’t say, making him feel things he shouldn’t feel.

  “Well used.” Her wee fists beat at his chest as she struggled to free herself. “Let me go!”

  “Nay, Syrena.” He tightened his hold until, defeated, she stilled and held herself stiffly in his arms.

  He smoothed the hair from her face. “Look at me.” When she finally returned her gaze to his, he explained, “I ken ye heard what Fergus said, but ’twas no’ what happened. I wanted ye, Syrena, I still do.” He slid his hand to the curve of her behind and pressed her against the bulge in his trews. “And it had
nothin’ to do with gettin’ the truth from ye. I’d decided beforehand ye had naught to do with Lan’s disappearance.” Even though he spoke the truth, a part of him wished he’d held back. Afraid what she’d do with the knowledge of his desire for her.

  “But now they know. Fergus and Rory know we were . . ” Her fingers fluttered between them, the flush on her cheeks deepening.

  He took her hand and kissed her palm. “Nay, they only think they ken.” Aidan had been about to ask her what did it matter, certain that if all he heard was true, the Fae would not judge her. But he began to think it was nothing more than tall tales the old ones passed down with little relevance to the truth, especially where Syrena was concerned.

  “That’s easy for you to say, Aidan. Men are expected to . . . to, but women are not.”

  She looked adorable, sweetly flustered and innocent. “Stop, Syrena, ye’re gettin’ yerself worked up fer nothin’. Rory and Fergus will think no less of ye. Besides, thanks to Aileanna, we’re betrothed and many couples have relations before they’re wed.” He grinned. “Just ask Rory and Aileanna.”

  “But their betrothal was real, while ours is—”

  An insistent pounding on the chamber door interrupted her, and a raspy voice demanded entrance. Aidan never thought he’d be happy to hear Alasdair MacDonald bellowing his name, but he was. He knew what Syrena had been about to say, and for the life of him, he didn’t know how to respond. He’d be damned either way.

  “Aidan MacLeod, get yer arse out of the lass’s chamber. Now!”

  Syrena stared wistfully at the iced cakes Alieanna had moments ago placed in front of Alex and Jamie. Mrs. Mac had time to make only three, one for Rory, the other two for the boys. “Doona worry, I’m certain they’ll share with ye.” Aidan grinned from where he sat beside her, his eyes glinting with amusement.