“As though the baby was yours, as if you wanted it to be.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and her hand unconsciously slipped to her belly. Since the first time they’d made love and he’d spent his seed inside her, Aidan had been careful not to let it happen again. Knowing Syrena as well as he’d come to, he sensed it bothered her. She wanted bairns of her own, with him, but the fear he’d become like his father, a man who hated an innocent child because he was Fae, weighed heavily upon him.
“Syrena, it’s almost four years since I last saw Davina. The bairn is no’ mine. Come here,” he coaxed, needing to hold her.
She hesitated then came to him. Kneeling between his legs, she rested her head on his thigh. “The bairn may no’ even be John Henry’s. Jarius, Ursula’s brother, the man behind all this madness, forced himself upon her. She overheard Ursula speak of sacrificin’ an innocent at their ceremony, and she’s afraid they referred to her bairn. Ye must ken why I had to offer her my protection, my support.”
“I do. I’m sorry, I should have trusted you.” She raised her gaze to his, and he rubbed a smudge of soot from her cheek with his thumb. “But in truth, I have no right to expect you to be faithful, Aidan. You’ve made no commitment to me.”
Her words were like a blade twisted deep in his belly. “Fer the love of Christ, we’re married. What more of a commitment do ye want from me?” She held his gaze, the strained silence lengthening between them. He gritted his teeth and cupped her face between his hands. “I need ye. I want ye like I’ve never wanted another woman. Ye make me laugh. Ye make me smile. I can tell ye things I can tell no one else. Ye’re my wife, Syrena, in every sense of the word,” he ground out, furious at how vulnerable she’d made him feel. His feelings were laid bare to her, to him.
A soft smile played on her lips. She took his hand and pressed her lips tenderly to his palm, then shifted on her knees to face him and set about tugging off his other boot. Undoing his trews, her long, delicate fingers brushed over his cock. “Your bath is getting cold,” she said as if it explained the slow torture she was putting him through.
He choked back a groan. “Are ye playin’ at bein’ a good wife, Syrena, now that ye ken our marriage is fer real?”
“You’re hurt, Aidan, you can’t do this by yourself,” she said, urging him to his feet to tug his trews slowly over his thighs, to his knees. Sliding her hand down his leg, she lifted first one foot then the other, her pale pink lips tantalizingly close to his cock.
“I should have the maids bring you more hot water.” With every word she spoke, her heated breath encircled his straining erection, tightening the painful noose of desire. Yet she acted as though nothing were amiss, as though his cock weren’t brushing against her silky hair. Fer the love of God, she acted as though he was a bloody bairn needin’ a bath!
“Nay,” he rasped, wanting her mouth on him.
Instead, she rose to her feet and led him to the tub by the fire. He sank beneath the lukewarm water. It didn’t matter—he was certain the heat of his desire would soon bring it to a boil.
She knelt beside the wooden rim, lifting her arms to wind her long thick hair into a loose knot. Her breasts strained against the thin fabric. Blissfully unaware of what she did to him, she gave him an innocent smile.
He gritted his teeth, fisting his hand beneath the water as he fought the temptation to drag her into the tub, to rip her delicate night rail from her lush curves and thrust into her.
Closing his eyes, he reminded himself that she wanted nothing more than to help him bathe. The last thing she needed was him foisting his attentions upon her. She’d been through enough this night.
Soft hands glided over his shoulders and down his arms, and he stifled a groan. The silky strands of her hair tickled his nose, and he inhaled her sweet scent. The intoxicating fragrance of the lavender soap she lathered his body with. “Am I hurting you?” she asked, her voice low and husky.
“Nay,” he said between clenched teeth. He thought he heard her chuckle, and cracked one eye open, but she simply smiled and said, “Bend yer knees, Aidan, and slide a little lower so I can wash your hair.”
“Mind the back of my head, it still pains me,” he groused. He couldn’t help it. He was frustrated beyond distraction, the ache in his head competing with the one in his cock. Bloody hell, she was drivin’ him mad and didna even ken it.
“Poor baby,” she crooned as though he were a bairn. The heavy weight of her breasts rested on his cheek as she bent over to gently wash his hair.
Bloody hell!
“Syrena, are ye almost done?” His lips brushed against her pebbled nipple.
“I’m sorry. It won’t be much longer,” she choked out her response.
Sweet Christ, he’d made her cry. “Nay. I’m sorry, angel, doona mind me.”
Turning her back to him, she leaned over to wash his feet. Her hair came loose and the thick golden curtain shielded her face from him, but he saw the tremble of her slender shoulders.
Keep yer mouth shut, MacLeod, she’s suffered enough fer one night.
Her hands stroked the insides of his thighs. He squeezed his lids shut and swallowed a frustrated oath.
Her fingers encircled his cock, and she glided them slowly over his shaft. His eyes shot open, and he saw the amusement in her gaze as she watched him. “Witch, ye kent all along what ye were doin’.” Words failed him the moment she lowered her lips to his pulsating erection. He fisted his hand in her hair, guiding his cock into the heat of her mouth with the other.
With her mouth she brought him to the brink, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He hauled her into the tub with him, water sloshing over the side.
Dragging her night rail over her hips, she straddled him. Aidan fisted his hands in the drenched fabric and tore it in half. “I canna wait, angel.” His face was buried between her breasts, muffling his voice.
She slid up and down his shaft. “I don’t want you to.” Raising her hips, she positioned the head of his cock at her tight opening. Aidan jerked his hips and thrust deep inside her, losing himself in her welcoming heat and letting go of his fear for his brother, of what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter 24
Through the thick fog of sleep, Syrena heard the muffled sounds of angry male voices. It’s only a dream, she reassured herself, snuggling into the warmth of Aidan’s embrace. The heavy weight of the blankets shifted to cover her bare shoulder.
“Get the hell out of my room, John Henry, ye’re disturbin’ my wife.” Aidan’s deep voice rumbled against her cheek.
With a concerted effort, she pried her heavy lids open. Three blurred figures stood at the side of the bed. “Aidan, what—”
“Go back to sleep, angel.” He kissed the top of her head while he stroked her arm beneath the covers.
As she rubbed her eyes, the three men came into sharp relief. A tall thin man held a blade to Aidan’s throat. “Oh,” she gasped, her heart slamming into her chest.
Aidan held her firmly in place. “Doona move.”
A lock of sandy hair fell over the man’s forehead. A look of confusion creased his light blue eyes, and he lowered the blade. “I didna ken ye were wed.”
“Aye, and I doona think this would be the time to be introducin’ ye to my wife. Leave me to get dressed and then—”
“I want to ken where my wife is!”
Syrena slanted her gaze to Aidan’s. He nodded at the silent question in her eyes. After they’d made love, they had talked into the small hours of the morning. He’d told her about his cousin and Davina, and because she knew he was hiding something, in the end he told her how Lachlan was being bled for his Fae blood.
Davina’s husband averted his gaze from Syrena, but a pained expression drew his handsome features taut with worry. Davina was wrong, she thought. Her husband did love her.
“Yer stepmother and her brother have taken her to Glastonbury.”
John Henry lowered his lean frame onto the foot of the bed and waved the other
men off. When the door clicked quietly behind them, he said, “So she’s left me.”
“Nay, ye bloody fool, they’ve taken her against her will, them and Lamont.”
Syrena recognized the moment Aidan’s words penetrated John Henry’s initial relief. “What the hell is goin’ on, Aidan? I come from Whitehall to find my home torched and my wife missin’. And who is this Lamont ye speak of?”
Aidan sighed wearily. “John Henry, as soon as Syrena and I have dressed, we leave fer Glastonbury. ’Tis where the bastard holds Lachlan, and now yer wife. Ye’ll learn all ye need to ken then.” Syrena didn’t envy Aidan the task of telling his cousin what awaited them in Glastonbury. She felt a pang of pity for John Henry.
If not for what they would soon face, Syrena would have enjoyed the ride through the picturesque countryside. But even the late afternoon sun shining down upon them and the sweet musky fragrance of fall could not diminish her dread.
She glanced over her shoulder and Aidan offered her a reassuring smile. His cousin rode beside him in shocked silence. She could only imagine how difficult it was for him to absorb how so much had gone on without his knowledge. His guilt was palpable, but Syrena didn’t think he could’ve stopped Jarius. If he’d tried, she felt certain he’d be dead.
And not that it made a difference now, but they’d learned how Lachlan had come to be in London. John Henry said his father knew he was dying and frantically searched for a cure. In his ramblings he’d spoken of Lachlan, how his brother by marriage, Alexander MacLeod, told him Lan was Fae. Lord Hamilton clung to the hope his nephew could somehow heal him.
John Henry, convinced it was only the ravings of an old man in the last throes of death, dismissed his pleas to contact his cousin. Ursula had not. But Syrena and Aidan both knew the reason for the woman’s interest, and it had nothing to do with curing her dying husband.
Aidan believed Ursula had lured Lan to London with the threat of exposure. It had been a difficult conversation for Syrena to endure, learning her brother suffered because he was Fae. But it had been worse for Aidan—he held himself responsible.
As for Lamont, Aidan surmised once he’d healed from his injuries, he’d sat back and waited for an opportunity to get Lan on his own. Damaged in both body and soul, hell-bent on revenge, Ursula and her brother would have recognized Lamont’s value to their sick plan.
Connor and Callum drew their mounts alongside her. She was glad of the distraction. “A precaution is all, my lady. We’re several leagues from Glastonbury yet,” Callum said.
She nodded, eyeing Connor, who held himself stiffly erect. They had journeyed all day, and the lad had yet to speak to her.
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Connor, I’m sorry you are angry with me, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Ye could’ve said somethin’ instead of knockin’ me on the head.”
“I didn’t knock you on the head. I just . . .” She reached over to demonstrate.
He slapped a hand to his neck. “Nay! Are ye mad?”
At Aidan’s deep chuckle, Syrena shifted in the saddle. “What are ye doin’ to the lad to make him shriek like a lass?”
Connor’s head bobbed up and down. “Aye, why doona ye show the laird? See how he likes it when ye squeeze the life out of him.”
Callum rolled his eyes. “Connor, lad, Lady Syrena saved yer fool life, now get over it.”
“So ye say.”
“If ye doona mind, I need to speak to my wife. Syrena.” Aidan jerked his chin and galloped ahead.
Syrena had wondered if Aidan meant to share the plan of attack with her. She’d watched with growing frustration as he took small groups aside, knowing from the intent look upon his beautiful face, and the gestures of his big hands, he had set out a plan to the exclusion of her. Her husband had made his opinion of women in battle well known. But if he thought to keep her from this one, she would soon set him straight.
Guiding the black steed to the top of the hill, she reined in beside Aidan. His gaze focused on the emerald green valley below, and it took a moment for him to acknowledge her presence.
“Look there, Syrena,” he said, pointing into the distance. “Do ye see the tower to yer left?”
Shielding her eyes, she spotted the tall spire and nodded.
“’Tis where they hold Lachlan and Davina.”
She fisted her hands in the reins. The temptation not to wait until nightfall, to ride in and rescue Lan right then, overwhelmed her.
Aidan reached over and squeezed her hand. “I ken how ye feel, angel, I ken. But this night we’ll have him back with us, and then we can put this nightmare behind us.”
A suffocating ache built in her chest. She told herself it was fear for Lachlan’s well-being, the success of their mission, but she knew better. She was simply afraid to delve too deep.
Her love for Aidan had never been in question. She’d loved him from the beginning. But once they rescued Lachlan, her life would never be the same.
She would have to give up a part of who she was to remain in the Mortal realm, and today the reality of her situation struck home.
Aidan angled his head and studied her with concern. “Ye’re quiet, are ye feelin’ unwell?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” She forced a smile. “Now, would you like to share the plan with me since you have obviously shared it with everyone else?”
He grinned, the crescent moon deepening in his cheek. “I’m no’ a fool. There’s no one I trust more to have by my side in battle then ye.”
Her throat swelled, aching with the attempt to contain the emotions his words drew from her.
“But I’d no’ be honest if I didna tell ye ’tis the last place I want ye to be.”
“Aidan, you can’t—”
Pressing a finger to her lips, he stopped her protest. “I ken. I need ye and yer sword. None of us ken what we ride into. David gave us an idea of the numbers loyal to Jarius, those that would follow him here. And John Henry has a fair idea of those employed at the castle, but I’m no’ certain we can depend upon them to come to our aid.”
She scanned the small contingent that rode with them. David, the servant who had tried to force the drugged mead upon her, averted his gaze. He turned his attention to his companion, another of the men who’d served in the grand hall that night.
“Aidan, I’m not certain we should trust David. He makes me uneasy. I’ve caught him watching me and—”
Her husband quirked a brow. “What man doesna’ watch ye? And ye’re no helpin’ matters insistin’ on wearin’ a pair of Connor’s trews.”
She allowed herself a moment of pleasure, enjoying the fact Aidan didn’t like the idea other men found her attractive. But instinct told her David had no interest in her in that way. “See how you like wearing a gown to sit astride a horse. Breeches are much more practical.”
“Fer sittin’ on a horse, aye, I’ll give ye that. But they are verra hard on yer husband’s concentration.”
Syrena laughed. “I’ll have to wear them more often.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “If ye keep it up, nightfall will be upon us before I lay the plan out fer ye.”
“I promise to behave, now tell—”
He leaned over and silenced her with his mouth, seducing her with the slow slide of his lips over hers. He twined his fingers through her hair and deepened the kiss. And in that moment, she felt the love neither of them had the courage to admit out loud.
“I’ll be sorely disappointed if ye behave all the time, angel,” he murmured against her lips. “Last night ye—”
She gave an embarrassed squeak and covered his mouth with her palm. “Shhh, someone will hear you!”
Aidan laughed. “Doona pretend ye’re angry. If ye were, yer sword would be glowing red.”
She glanced at the yellow glow emitting through her fingers and frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Yer sword, it mirrors your emotions. When ye’re angry, it glows red, and when ye’re happ
y, ’tis yellow. What color is it when yer sad?”
“Blue,” she murmured absently. Could Aidan be right? Did Nuie transmit her emotions and not the other way around?
No, it couldn’t be.
“Doona look so troubled. At least ye’ll no’ be able to hide yer feelin’s from me. I’ll have ye carryin’ yer sword all—”
“I won’t have him much longer. Only the one who leads the Fae of the Enchanted Isles is entitled to carry the Sword of Nuada.” The thought of giving up Nuie was more than she could deal with at the moment. In the last year he’d been her constant companion. Without Nuie, she never would have become the warrior she was now.
“It makes ye sad to think of losin’ him?” The note of disquiet in Aidan’s voice jolted Syrena from her thoughts. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she didn’t wish to remain with him in the Mortal realm.
“No, I . . .” A blue light shone through her fingers, and she bowed her head. Aidan couldn’t be right. Nuie found the thought of their separation as painful as she did; that was all it was. “I’ll be fine.”
For a long moment he held her gaze then nodded, but the teasing light in his eyes had dimmed. “We’d best go over the plan.” He shifted in his saddle, gesturing to the castle. “Within twenty feet of the guardhouse there is a small copse of trees. John Henry says they check the area often.
“Callum, Samuel, and ten others will ride with me. We’ll hide out in the woods until the time is right then pick the guards off one at a time. As soon as they’ve been taken care of, I’ll signal ye and ye can bring the rest in. But considerin’ how ye feel about David and his companion, mayhap I—”
“No, I shouldn’t have said anything.” He’d given her his trust, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. She wouldn’t have him question his faith in her simply because David and his companion unsettled her.
When they finished going over the plan, Aidan went over the layout of the castle. John Henry was certain they held Lachlan in the dungeon, and given their contempt for the Church, would hold their ceremony in the chapel. Syrena hoped he was right. Otherwise they’d waste precious time and lose the element of surprise.
Warrior of the Isles Page 29