Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  He met Samuel’s worried gaze over her head and nudged Syrena through the doorway. “Doona fight me on this, angel. There’s no time. We have to stop the flames before they take hold up here.” He wasn’t about to let the fire put innocent lives at risk.

  Looking back down the corridor, he remembered Davina and cursed. “Samuel, get Davina. Bess, ye and Syrena go on ahead.”

  Syrena watched him closely. Her voice thick with emotion, she said, “She isn’t there. Lamont and his men have her. They’re taking her to Glastonbury. Aidan, it’s where they hold Lachlan.”

  He searched her face, wondering how much she knew. How much he should tell her. Remembering Davina’s fear for her child’s life, Aidan clenched his hands into fists. How many lives were to be lost because of the ravings of a lunatic?

  Before he had a chance to question Syrena as to how she’d come by her knowledge—why the bloody hell she wasn’t safe in her room—the acrid smell of smoke banished all thought but the encroaching flame.

  “Go on, get out of here.” Expecting Syrena to fight him, he was baffled when, without a backward glance, she disappeared into the shadows of the gallery with Bess and Samuel. He should have been grateful, but something didn’t feel right, and it was more than just her fear for their brother.

  Shaking off his concern, he ran toward the upper landing, ignoring the dull ache in his head. Black smoke billowed from below, and the toxic heat seared his lungs. He ripped off his tunic.

  “Callum, Connor,” he yelled at the two men who attempted to smother a pocket of flame between them. Sweat streaked their soot-blackened faces. “Take off your tunics and wrap them like so,” Aidan commanded, tying the ends at the back of his head.

  He’d battled a blaze at Lewes. They’d been lucky to escape without injury, but he knew it was the smoke that would get them before the flames.

  “I doona ken if we can hold it back, my laird,” Callum shouted, stamping on a flame that flared to life inches from his foot.

  Pulling his tunic over his head, Connor stumbled, and his sleeve dragged over the smoldering banister, igniting the fabric. With a startled yelp, the lad flung the burning ball and it landed on the woolen runner behind them. Connor gasped. “Sorry, my laird.”

  Aidan grabbed the edge of the carpet and flipped it over to contain the fire. He stamped on an errant spark and put it out before it touched the paneled walls of the gallery. If the wood ignited, their battle would be for naught. An ominous groan rippled through the air, followed by a muted crash as a lower chunk of the banister fell to the floor below them.

  Between the three of them they put out one fiery eruption after another. Aidan didn’t know how much longer they could keep at it before exhaustion and fumes overcame them.

  The clamor of male voices drew his attention. He wiped the soot and sweat from his eyes, squinting to search past the smoke to the floor below. Directly beneath them, a handful of men in varying states of undress waved frantically for Samuel and several others who rushed in carrying buckets of water.

  He searched for Syrena, but couldn’t see her. The knowledge Samuel would make certain that she and Bess were safe before battling the blaze alleviated some of his concern. He heard the gush and sizzle of water as it hit the flames, and stepped back before he was engulfed in steam. He fought with renewed determination. They had a chance now.

  Four panting servants ran up from behind them, water sloshing over the rims of the buckets they carried. Aidan recognized two of the men from earlier in the evening in the grand hall. Disgust roiled in his belly. Unlike Samuel and Bess, these two had appeared to take pleasure in doing Ursula’s bidding.

  Before he had a chance to react, Callum grabbed hold of the dark-haired servant. Quicker than Aidan thought a man of his size could move, he’d hauled the servant over an untouched segment of banister to dangle him upside down by his legs.

  “Stop . . . stop!” the man screamed.

  “Bloody hell, Callum, what are ye—”

  “’Twas him, Laird MacLeod. ’Twas him I saw comin’ from the stables. He killed the lads while they were sleepin’. Didna ye, ye snivelin’ bastard? Well, now ye’re goin’ to pay fer it.”

  “Nay . . . nay. ’Twas Lamont’s men. They were the ones. Please, I have a wife and young ’uns. Please don’t kill me,” he begged.

  An image of the three lads, full of life, laughing and joking with one another in front of the campfire, haunted Aidan. If not for him, they’d be alive. He’d dragged them into this hellhole. He should’ve come for Lan on his own.

  The man’s denial broke Aidan free of his self-flagellation and he grabbed hold of one of the servant’s stick-thin legs.

  “Callum, he says he didna do it. Save yer anger fer the one who did. Ye doona want the blood of an innocent man on yer hands, do ye?” They had no proof, and if there was a chance the servant was innocent, Aidan would not see a family deprived of their father.

  Callum grunted. Pulling the man over the railing, he shoved him aside. The servant’s legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, scrambling away from them. His companion lifted him to his feet, shooting an uneasy glance at Callum.

  The landing grew crowded as others came to replace the four men. With the fire under control, Aidan motioned for Callum and Connor to follow him.

  They walked in silence through the grand hall toward the back stairs. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the eerie quiet of the shadowed hall. Candles sputtered, burned down to the quick in the silver branches atop a black marble altar in front of the cavernous room.

  Aidan forced himself to keep walking. He hadn’t noticed the idolatrous piece of furnishing earlier. The room had been too crowded. He wondered if it would have made a difference if he had. He thought back to Syrena’s comment when they’d first arrived, her belief that evil resided in the house on the Strand. He wondered if she knew how bad it really was. Christ, could it only have been hours ago? It felt like a lifetime.

  “I’m sorry about the lads. The ones responsible will be punished. I can promise ye that much,” he said in a dry rasp, his throat raw from inhaling the smoke.

  They both offered him a jerky nod.

  Aidan stood on the narrow landing at the top of the stairs. “After what ye’ve seen, I can understand if ye wish to return to Dunvegan. I willna hold it against ye if ye do.”

  “Nay, I willna rest until I see the ones responsible brought to justice.” Callum’s white teeth glinted in his blackened face, and he glanced at Connor. “Besides, ye need me. Yer wife is deadly with her sword and ties a fine knot, but there’s too many of them fer even the two of ye.”

  Connor, the tips of his ears pink, glared at Callum then said, “I’ll be comin’ with ye as well, Laird MacLeod.”

  Aidan glanced from one to the other. “Am I missin’ somethin’?”

  “Callum here thinks ’tis amusin’ that yer wife knocked me unconscious and left me hog-tied in her bed,” Connor muttered.

  What the bloody hell had she been up to? Instinct warned Aidan he wouldn’t like the answer. “Do ye have any idea why she did so?”

  The lad shrugged his shoulders, looking none too pleased. “All I ken is she was verra anxious to speak with ye.”

  Callum clapped Connor on the back. “Ye should be grateful, lad. In all likelihood, Lady Syrena saved yer life. Lamont’s men went to her chambers to get her. If ye would’ve been guardin’ her door instead of lyin’ abed unconscious, ye would be dead.”

  The question of why she wanted to find him was pushed aside by the thought Lamont had been after Syrena as well.

  “How do ye ken they meant to take her?”

  “I heard them. We both did. Lady Syrena was searchin’ fer yer brother when she came upon ye.” Callum’s gaze skittered past Aidan. “Ye doona wish to ken what they meant to do to ye and yer wife, or yer brother.”

  “Lachlan lives?”

  “Aye, I—” Callum clamped his mouth shut. Several of the servants, their buckets empty, walked toward the
m.

  “We’re wastin’ time,” Aidan said and gestured to the stairs. He needed to find Syrena, to see for himself that no harm had come to her.

  “I ken ye’re anxious to reach yer brother, my laird, but if we doona rest before we head to Glastonbury, we’ll be of no use to him.”

  Callum spoke the truth. Weakened from battling the fire and the blow to his head, Aidan could barely remain upright. If he thought he would put Lachlan in further danger by not setting out sooner, he’d damn the consequences, but Davina had said the ceremony would not take place until nightfall. And he wouldn’t risk his brother’s life by going to his rescue unprepared. “We’ll set out at dawn’s first light.”

  They met up with Samuel in the entryway. “Good job, lads, ye saved the place. The neighbors are mighty relieved. Lady Stanton took in yer wee wife, Laird MacLeod. ’Twas no’ an easy task to convince her, but she was dead on her feet. I agreed to the Stantons’ offer of lodgin’ on yer behalf. I hope that’s all right?”

  “Aye, thank ye, Samuel. Do the Stantons have room fer Callum, Connor, Bess, and ye?”

  “Aye, we’ve been given rooms in the servants’ quarters.”

  “Good, we’ll be leavin’ at first light on the morrow. Do ye ken of any men who would ride with us?”

  “Aye, there are a good many God-fearin’ folks who didna condone the goin’s-on in the house. They’ll ride with ye as will Bess and I.”

  “Be sure they ken what we ride into, Samuel. ’Twill be dangerous.”

  “I ken that well enough. Doona fret, Laird MacLeod, we’ll get yer brother and the Lady Davina back. The others can roast in hell fer all I care, and I’d like to be the one to send them there.”

  As would Aidan.

  Bess walked beside Aidan along the corridor of the Stantons’ town house to his chambers. “Poor wee thing,” she said, quietly opening the heavy door. “She fell asleep by the fire and I didna have the heart to wake her.”

  Curled on top of a blanket by the hearth lay his wife with her sword clutched to her chest. Aidan was overcome with emotion. He would do whatever it took to protect her.

  Bathed in firelight, her beauty was ethereal. She looked like an angel, but his desire for her at the moment was far from pure. The voluminous white night rail did little to conceal the heavy weight of her breasts, the dusky shadow of her nipples, and the sweet curve of her behind. He wanted to bury himself inside her, rid himself of the stench of death, the pervasive sense of evil that weighed him down.

  Bess gave him a knowing smile and patted his arm. “I’ll have some water sent up fer yer bath, my laird. I’ll see to it that whoever comes is quiet so as not to disturb yer wife.”

  Although it did not speak well of him, Aidan planned on disturbin’ his wee wife as soon as the door closed behind Bess.

  “Thank ye, but I doona wish to trouble the household.”

  “As far as the Stantons are concerned, ye and the lads are heroes. Ye could ask fer whatever yer heart desired and they’d give it to ye.” She winked. “But I’m thinkin’ ye already have yer heart’s desire, my laird.”

  His gaze strayed to Syrena. “Ye’re a wise woman, Bess,” he murmured.

  “I’ll tell my Samuel ye said so,” she chuckled, the door clicking closed behind her.

  Aidan crouched beside his sleeping beauty, her clean floral scent a fragrant balm to his senses. He reached out to touch her cheek. Noting his blackened fingers, he hastily pulled them away. He sat back on his heels and leisurely perused every glorious inch of her.

  His gaze came to rest on her sword, glowing golden in the flame. Tentatively he touched the simmering jewels at its hilt. The blade heated and glowed red, a blazing hot, angry red. Bloody hell, ’twas like the thing was alive. And if it was, Aidan had the distinct impression it didna like him verra much.

  Syrena shifted and, yawning, rubbed her eyes. “Aidan?”

  “Aye, angel, were ye expectin’ someone else?”

  She sat up, her troubled eyes skimming over him as though she searched for some sign of injury. “That’s not funny considering everything that’s happened. Are you all right? No one else was hurt?”

  “Nay, we managed to contain the blaze. None were injured.”

  A sigh of relief escaped her parted pink lips, and she leaned wearily against the embroidered chair at her back. The amber glow of the fire illuminated her body beneath the sheer night rail.

  His fingers itched to cup the full globes in his hands, to press his lips to her nipples and suckle them through the delicate white fabric. To draw back and watch them push against the wet circle his mouth would leave. His gaze traveled to the hollow of her belly, and the soft shadow at the apex of her thighs.

  “Aidan, what . . . oh,” she gasped when he raised his gaze to hers.

  A quiet rap on the door forced him to break the hypnotic heat that flared between them. “Give me a moment,” he called, his cock as hot and hard as her sword. “And ye, get into bed.”

  She frowned. “Why? I like it by the fire.”

  “Aye, and if Bess sent lads up with my bathwater, I’m sure they’d like seein’ ye sittin’ there as well. But I’ll no’ have them lookin’ at my wife who might as well be naked fer all that gown covers,” he said, pulling her to her feet.

  “Honestly, Aidan, you’re being foolish, you can’t . . .” She pulled her hand from his and looked down. “Well, I’ll just cover myself with—”

  He grabbed the blanket before she could. “Nay, I’ll be needin’ that.”

  “Look what you’ve done.” She brushed at the black handprint on her snowy white night rail, making it worse.

  “If ye doona get into bed, Syrena, ye’re goin’ to have one on yer bonny arse.”

  She muttered something under her breath, but did as he asked.

  “Lord MacLeod, your water grows cold,” a feminine voice called from the other side of the door.

  “Come in,” he said once he’d positioned himself in the chair. He tossed the blanket over his lap, bunching it in place to disguise his straining erection.

  Syrena, with the covers drawn up to her neck, glowered at his lap pointedly. “I doubt they would even notice,” she said as three maids, weighed down with steaming pails of water, sashayed into the room.

  He angled his head and looked at his wife, all the while smiling in response to the lasses’ beguiling greetings. “Shall I find out?”

  “No,” she grumbled. Arms crossed, she stared down the maids, who made certain to bend extra low while depositing the water in the tub they’d dragged closer to the fire and him. Making sure he got an eyeful of their bountiful charms.

  He could have sworn Syrena growled when the pretty redhaired maid offered to bathe him. He bit back a grin. “Nay, my wife will see to my bath, but thank ye fer the offer.”

  As soon as the door closed behind the tittering maids, Aidan tossed the blanket aside and came to his feet. He watched Syrena as he tugged the tunic over his head. “Are ye no’ goin’ to help me? I’m afraid if I bend over to remove my boots, I’ll land on my head.” Not a complete untruth.

  She scrambled from the bed. Her eyes full of remorse, she gently touched his arm and nudged him into the chair. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you seemed so . . . so . . . You didn’t appear to be in pain is what I mean to say.”

  Kneeling by his feet, she tugged on his doeskin boot. He was in pain, but not from the injury to his head. He would have shown her where he hurt, drawn her hand to his throbbing erection, if not for the glimmer of moisture in her eyes. She dipped her head, and he could’ve kicked himself for teasing her.

  “Nay, look at me. Tell me what’s wrong.” With his fingers beneath her chin, he raised her gaze to his, and cursed inwardly. Why had he not noticed the tinge of blue beneath her eyes and the strained lines about her sweet mouth? She looked drawn and fragile, and he’d made it worse. ’Twas how he dealt with his anger and his fears, shutting them out, locking them away until he could release them in battle, but h
e should have known Syrena would need to talk. Even though it was the last thing he wished to do, he would do it for her.

  “What isn’t wrong? Lachlan is being held by a man who seeks to unleash the dark lords. And if that is not bad enough, a man who hates you and Lachlan above all else conspires with him. I . . . I thought you were dead, Aidan.”

  “It would take more than a blow to the head to kill me, angel. Davina told me the ceremony is on the morrow, close to the midnight hour. They’ll keep Lachlan alive until then. We’ll reach him in time, Syrena.” A shadow had darkened her eyes at his mention of Davina. He could see she fought to keep her tears at bay. “What is it? Why are ye cryin’?”

  She rubbed her cheek on the sleeve of her gown. “I’m not. Lachlan spoke to me tonight. His voice was little more than a whisper. He’s given up, Aidan. He doesn’t want us to come. He warned of the danger and said it was too late.”

  She laid her head in his lap. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of what Lan suffered. The memory of what Davina said they did to him. He couldn’t tell Syrena, not now. It was bad enough she’d been alone when Lan contacted her. “Doona worry, angel, we’ll no’ be too late. Is that why ye knocked Connor out and tied him up, so ye could come lookin’ fer me?”

  She nodded into his lap, and he flexed his hand, stroking her hair to calm his rising frustration at the danger she’d put herself in. “Christ, Syrena, when I think what could have happened to ye searchin’ on yer own. Ye should have—”

  She raised her tear-swollen gaze to his. “I did. I came to the grand hall, but you were too busy with Davina to notice.”

  She rose to her feet, brushing away his hand when he tried to stop her. “I didn’t think you’d wish to be disturbed when you followed her into her chambers.”

  “She was scared, Syrena, fer her and her bairn. I listened is all, and ’twas then I learned what their plans were. I never—”

  “You were holding her. You touched her belly, the baby, as though . . ”

  “As though what?” He pushed to his feet, wanting to comfort her, but she waved him off, and reluctantly he sat back down.