Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  He hesitated. He thought he did, but hadn’t allowed himself to think about it until now. But that was not something he’d share with Davina. “Aye, I do.”

  She bowed her head then raised her eyes to meet his. “She’s verra lucky. I’m sorry, mayhap ’tis the bairn that is causin’ . . .”

  “Mayhap.” He frowned, trying to remember what had set her off in the hall. He reached for her before she stepped into the room. “Davina, what is it ye’re afraid of?”

  Her hand went to her swollen belly. “Now that we’re away from them, it seems silly. But I was afraid fer my bairn.”

  “If ye’re feelin’ unwell, I’ll send fer Bess.”

  She twisted her hands in her yellow gown. “Nay.” She glanced down the hall, and he had to admit she looked terrified. “Please, I canna speak of it here. Someone might overhear us. I promise, I will try no’ to compromise ye.” A watery smile curved her lips, reminding Aidan of what had once attracted him to her.

  “A few minutes, ’tis all I can give ye. I want to check on my wife,” he said, following her into her chambers. He frowned. Feeling as though someone watched them, he stepped back to scan the deserted corridor. He shook his head. Syrena and her talk of evil had him on edge.

  Davina walked across the woven carpet to the fire and wrapped her arms around her thickening waist, shoulders bowed.

  “Tell me what’s troublin’ ye.”

  She turned, her hand covering her mouth. “I’ve made a horrible mistake. I only thought to make John Henry jealous. He doesna’ love me, Aidan, I’m certain of it. Since we’ve come to London, he has no time fer me.”

  “Ye got what ye wanted. A man with power and coin to spare.” It sounded as though he took pleasure in her pain, but he didn’t. He simply stated the truth.

  “I ken I hurt ye, Aidan. I was foolish and verra spoiled. I regret it more than ye’ll ever ken.”

  He believed her. Mayhap Davina had finally grown up, but it was too late.

  “The man I used in my ploy, he didn’t take kindly to the deceit. When I . . . when I refused his advances, he didna listen to me. He . . . I’m no’ certain, Aidan. I’m no’ certain if the bairn is John Henry’s.”

  He closed the distance between them and took hold of her shoulders. “Are ye sayin’ the man forced ye, Davina? He raped ye?”

  She squeezed her eyes closed. “He said I was a tease. He said I didna ken what I wanted.”

  “Who, Davina? Who is it ye speak of?”

  “Ursula’s brother, Jarius. Nay, Aidan,” she cried as he headed for the door. “Nay, I canna allow John Henry to find out. Jarius is dangerous. He has some kind of hold over these people, Aidan. They listen to him.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “I listened to him. I believed all his talk against the Kirk, their control. His talk about a new order. His followers, they’ll do anythin’ fer him, even . . . kill.”

  “Do ye have evidence, Davina, evidence I can take to the authorities?”

  “Nay, but at some of the gatherin’s I’ve heard talk. The drink loosens their tongues. Two men that were part of the fold questioned Jarius’s authority in front of the others. We never saw them again.”

  He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “Lan?”

  “Nay, but I think they ken what happened to him. I heard Ursula talkin’ to John Henry the day yer missive arrived. She changed her story, Aidan. I think she lies.”

  “I appreciate yer tellin’ me, Davina. And I’ll keep yer confidence, but I suggest ye speak of this to yer husband. Ye’re guilty of nothin’ but bein’ foolish. Tell him.”

  She stared at him. “I canna, but I thank ye fer sayin’ that.” She placed a frigid hand on his arm. “Aidan, doona approach Jarius at night. ’Tis when he takes the laudanum and makes contact with . . . he calls him the lord of darkness.”

  Aidan scoffed. “Ye canna believe such talk. The man’s so far gone, he’s seein’ beasties in his mind. ’Tis all that is.”

  “Nay. There’s somethin’ to it. I’ve . . . I’ve seen things.” She shuddered and tightened her grip on her waist. “He has a book, and he carries it with him, always. He calls it a Grimoire, the Grimoire of Honorius. They say it contains spells to call upon the evil spirits, these dark lords he’s always talkin’ about.”

  Aidan dragged his hand through his hair. “Ye canna believe this tripe?” But how could he be certain that was all it was? He had a wife who was Fae, and a brother who was half-Fae.

  “Aye, I do. Ye have no’ seen him. Somethin’ is planned fer Samhain, somethin’ big.” Her hand went to her belly. “That’s why I’m worried fer my bairn. They talked of sacrifice. Sacrifice of an innocent.” Pale and trembling, she pleaded with him, “Please, Aidan, please help me.”

  “Aye.” He folded her into his arms. “Aye, I’ll help ye, Davina,” he murmured into the top of her head before he set her aside. “Lock yerself in yer room. I’m goin’ to send Callum to guard ye. He’ll let ye ken when he arrives.” Hand on the latch, he turned. “When is Samhain?” The days and weeks had rolled into one on their journey and he wasn’t even certain of the day’s date.

  “On the morrow. They’ll celebrate tomorrow eve when the moon is high. They say ’tis the night the veils between the realms thin. They plan to make a sacrifice in hopes of releasing the dark lord. ’Tis what I overheard Ursula tellin’ the followers this night. She said she’d have enough magick in her to be considered worthy of openin’ the door. But she’s addicted to the laudanum, too, so I’m no’ certain ye can trust what she says. There are times she sounds mad, talkin’ about drinkin’ the blood of faeries . . .”

  Heart pounding, he strode toward her and grabbed her by the arms. “What did ye say?”

  “Stop, Aidan, stop, ye’re hurtin’ me. I doona understand why—”

  He dropped his hands, struggling to regain control. “I’m sorry. Ye need to tell me, Davina, ’tis important. The faery blood, what did she say?”

  “Aidan, ye canna believe—”

  “Tell me!” He balled his hands into fists to stop himself from shaking the answer out of her.

  Davina backed away from him. “She . . . she said she bleeds the faeries and drinks their blood, but—”

  “Lock yer door!” Blood pulsed through his veins, rage blinding him to anything but revenge. He slammed the door behind him, holding on to the latch, waiting for Davina to throw the bolt. Evil, Syrena had said. She’d felt it, and he hadn’t listened to her. He had to go to her, be certain she was safe. And then he’d kill the bastard and his sister. Nay, first he would learn where they held his brother.

  “Fancy runnin’ into ye, Laird MacLeod,” a voice sneered from behind him. Aidan went to turn. A heavy object smashed into the back of his skull. The explosion of pain brought him to his knees. Blackness sucked him under. His last thought was of Syrena.

  Syrena bit back a frustrated oath when she realized she’d come full circle in her search and had found no evidence of her brother. She’d tried reaching him in her mind, seeking some clue, anything to help her locate him, but she was met with a chilling silence. She wondered if the state of her emotions, the pain of Aidan’s rejection, had anything to do with it.

  After she had made her escape from the hall, she’d seen him, watching from the shadows as he entered Davina’s chambers. Her mind cried out at the injustice of his betrayal, but somewhere inside, the truth stabbed her conscience, forcing her to acknowledge they’d made no commitment to each other. He’d broken no promise; he’d made none. It was not his fault that she’d come to love him more with each passing day.

  About to round the corner of the gallery, Syrena heard a heavy thud along the corridor, followed by a guttural moan. She ran partway along the hall, coming to a standstill when she saw three men bending over something on the ground. Holding her breath, she flattened herself against the stone wall. Moving silently, she ducked into a small alcove then peered around the corner. Three men tied up what appeared to be a big man lying unmoving o
n the slate.

  One of them came to his feet and she saw their victim more clearly, a head full of dark hair and a warrior’s body. Aidan! They had Aidan!

  Her heart leapt to her throat and her limbs went weak.

  A woman’s muffled scream penetrated her panic, then a sharp crack, followed by silence.

  “One of ye come here and get the whore. Take her to the coach. The master and Lady Ursula await ye there. We’ll follow ye as soon as I’ve tied up the loose ends,” a man rasped.

  Syrena recognized his voice. It was the man Ursula referred to as Colin, the man with the full-face mask.

  Heavy footfalls pounded from the other end of the corridor behind them. “She’s gone, Lord Lamont. There’s a lad tied up in the bed. He’s unconscious.”

  Connor! Thank the heavens, they’d left him unharmed. It was only after releasing a relieved breath that she realized what the other man had said.

  Lamont? Aidan had said they’d all died in the fire, unless this man, like Angus, was one of their cousins.

  “What the hell are ye tellin’ me fer? Find her! And find her fast. We’re leavin’ fer Glastonbury within the hour.”

  The name caused the fine hairs on the back of Syrena’s neck to stand on end. Glastonbury was where one of the doors to the underworld lay.

  “I thought we weren’t leaving until tomorrow morn.”

  “Change of plans. It seems Jasper’s sister made a few remarks to people she shouldna.”

  “Do ye want us to silence her?”

  “Nay, ’tis too late fer that. Just find the woman so we can get the hell out of here.”

  “What are we to do with her?”

  “Kill . . . nay, keep her alive. The master will want to have his way with her.” Lamont rolled Aidan onto his back with the toe of his boot. Her white-knuckled grip on Nuie’s hilt tightened. “And him. We’ll let Laird MacLeod listen to his brother and his wife scream like I did mine. Aye, we’ll let him watch them die in front of him the same as I did, helpless to do anything. And then I’ll rip his heart out fer killin’ my family.”

  Hearing what he planned for all of them, Syrena gritted her teeth and held herself back. He didn’t have her. That was his first mistake. And she would make him suffer for all he’d set in motion. But there were six of them, and she had to be patient. If she attacked now, they would kill Aidan. Fear no longer held her prisoner; a cold, deadly rage was all that remained within her.

  A rough hand clamped over Syrena’s mouth. She struggled, lifting Nuie, but powerful fingers secured her sword arm. “Nay. ’Tis me, Callum.”

  She nodded and the big man released her. Tugging on her hand, he pulled her silently into an empty room. He closed the door and leaned against it, his blond head bowed. The eyes he lifted to her were haunted, sorrow filled. “They killed the three lads, my lady. All three of them. Slit their throats while they slept.”

  “No,” she cried. Heartsick, she buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Callum. I’m so sorry.”

  “What madness is this, my lady? What . . . Oh, Sweet Jesu, Connor—”

  Syrena wiped her eyes, pushing aside her grief for the three innocent lives lost. She couldn’t save them, but she could and would avenge their deaths. She placed a reassuring hand on Callum’s arm. “He’s safe, for now. They’re holding Lachlan in Glastonbury and it is where they plan on taking Aidan, and the Lady Davina.”

  “Do ye ken where the place is?”

  “No, we’ll need Bess and Samuel’s help. Find them and bring them to my chambers and stand watch over Connor.”

  “Aye, but what about ye and Laird MacLeod?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get Aidan.”

  “But ye’re only—”

  She lifted Nuie, who flamed red, vibrating with blood lust. “I have my sword. I don’t need anyone else.”

  “Aye.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Aye.”

  Syrena inched the door open. Two men ran down the corridor. A third staggered behind—over his shoulder was a body wrapped in a blanket. A strand of long red hair escaped from the gray wool. Davina. She quickly weighed the odds. The risk was too great. She had to put Aidan’s safety first.

  “Remember, meet us back at my chambers. Hurry, we don’t have much time.” She squeezed his hand. “Be careful, Callum.”

  “God go with ye, my lady.”

  “And with you,” she said, watching him slip silently back the way he’d come. But on this day she would need no one but Nuie’s strength and power to guide her. This day she would give herself over completely to his power.

  She crept from the room and went back to watch from behind the stone wall.

  “He’s a heavy bastard,” a man complained. Standing, he wiped his brow.

  “Quit yer belly achin’,” his partner ordered.

  They went back to dragging Aidan along the corridor. Lamont walked behind them, stopping at each door to check inside. She had to time it right. Take out the two men moving Aidan while Lamont searched the room. Syrena kept her eyes off her husband. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t worry about his injuries. There would be time for that later.

  Dragging in a deep breath, Syrena focused her strength. The moment Lamont stepped into the second room, she lunged from her hiding place. Wide-eyed, the men dropped Aidan’s arms and legs and reached for their weapons. Nuie whistled through the air, once, twice. The two men were dead before they lifted their swords.

  She positioned herself in front of Aidan. Widening her stance, she gently nudged him against the wall with her heels.

  “Remind me no’ to make ye mad, angel.” Aidan’s groggy voice came from behind her.

  A warm gush of relief loosened her knotted muscles, and she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. He was alive. But there was no time to see to him; Lamont had stepped from the room.

  He jerked his gaze to Syrena, taking in her blood-spattered gown, the dead men at her feet. Without saying a word, he turned on his heel and ran down the corridor. She couldn’t go after him, not with Aidan unprotected.

  At the sound of pounding feet coming their way, she shifted. A door slammed from the opposite direction, the one Lamont had taken. As she marked the place in her mind, she heard glass shatter from behind the closed door. The man was a fool. He’d die if he attempted to jump.

  The footfalls drew nearer and she prepared for battle.

  “Lady Syrena!”

  Callum, Bess, and Samuel rounded the corner.

  Syrena released a relieved breath and dropped to her knees beside Aidan, who struggled to sit up. He winced, rubbing the back of his head. “Bloody hell, who hit me?”

  “Don’t try and get up, not yet.” She looked over at Callum, who dragged one of the dead bodies into an empty room. “I thought I told you to meet me in my chambers.”

  He lifted a broad shoulder. “Aye, but we heard the commotion and thought ye might be in need of our help.”

  Samuel and Bess joined her on the floor and removed the ropes that bound Aidan’s wrists and ankles. Syrena left them to it. “I’m going after Lamont.”

  Aidan’s gaze shot to hers and he pushed Samuel away. “Ye’re no’ goin’ after anyone.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “And what do ye mean, Lamont?”

  Syrena met Samuel’s gaze and tipped her chin at Aidan. He nodded his understanding and she rose to her feet.

  “What the hell is goin’ on? Sweet Christ, did they get Davina?” At the desperation in Aidan’s voice a suffocating ache filled Syrena’s chest. She turned away. He hadn’t recovered from the blow to his head, and she couldn’t tell him what the madman had in store for Lan and Davina. A woman Aidan had once loved, quite possibly still did.

  “Syrena!” Aidan yelled after her.

  “Callum, go get Connor.” Ignoring Aidan, she ran in the direction Lamont had taken.

  Samuel came up behind her, sword in hand. He shrugged. “He didna want ye to go alone.”

&
nbsp; The knowledge Aidan worried over her melted a little of the ice that had frozen her heart. She pointed her sword at the room she was certain Lamont had entered. “He’s in there.”

  Kicking the door open, she prepared for his attack. Wind whistled through the open window. The heavy green draperies snapped in the breeze.

  Not taking any chances that it was a ruse and Lamont was hiding, waiting to pounce, she cautioned Samuel, “Careful.” She released a frustrated breath when Samuel ignored her and strode to the window.

  She protected his back, swiveling from left to right, scanning the room. Once she was certain Lamont was long gone, she joined Samuel at the window. It was no coincidence Lamont had chosen that room. With the wide balcony beneath it, he could shimmy down the columns then jump the next ten feet to the thick shrubbery below.

  “The bastard got away, didna he?”

  Syrena whirled, the solid wall of Aidan’s broad chest the only thing she could see. She tipped her head back and looked into his stone cold gaze. “I thought I told you to—”

  “Fire! Fire! Lamont’s setting the staircase ablaze!” Callum bellowed from the direction of the gallery.

  Chapter 23

  A dull ache pounded in the back of Aidan’s skull. His vision wavered, but he refused to give in to the weakness. He had to get them to safety, away from the madness in the house, a madness Lamont was a part of. He didn’t understand how Colin lived, but he did, and Aidan couldn’t waste valuable time piecing everything together.

  He looked into Syrena’s pale face and touched her cheek. Wishing there were time for him to hold her. But there wasn’t. He shifted his attention from her to the man at her back. “Samuel, is there another way down?”

  “Aye, the staircase the servants use is off the grand hall and leads to the kitchens.”

  “Good, take my wife and yours. Once you’ve made it below, round up anyone ye can find,” he directed. Needing something to smother the flames with, he grabbed the dark green coverlet from the bed.

  “Aidan, no! I’m not leaving you.” Syrena’s fingers dug into his forearm while she tried to shake free of Samuel. “You can’t fight the fire. You have yet to recover.”