Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  She sensed there was an underlying tension between them now, and wanted to believe it was nothing more than battle nerves.

  “Are ye certain ye’re comfortable with the plan? Ye doona have any doubts or—”

  “No, it’s a good plan, Aidan.”

  “I’m glad ye approve.” He smiled, and brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Watch fer my signal,” he said before he rode down the backside of the hill.

  Moisture gathered behind her eyes. The knot in her chest tightened. And her throat ached as she fought to keep the turbulent emotions at bay. She didn’t realize Aidan had ridden back to her until he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her temple.

  “Doona worry, Syrena. We’ll make it through this. All will be well in the end.” He stroked her hair.

  It had to be. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

  He leaned back and wiped a tear from her cheek. Framing her face with his big hands, he gave her a hard kiss. “Ye’ll have me reconsiderin’ my decision to leave ye in charge if ye doona stop yer cryin’.”

  His words had the desired effect—her tears dried up. He glanced at Nuie, who glowed red and grinned. “There’s my lass.”

  Hidden on the side of a hill, not far from the castle, Syrena and those that remained huddled around a pitiful fire. The chill from the night air settled deep in her bones. She wrapped her arms around herself and scanned the shadows for Connor and the three others she’d set on the first watch. Syrena, John Henry, David, and his companion, Dirk, would take the next shift.

  The full moon began its slow ascent over the peaks of the castle. David, on the opposite side of the fire, spoke with his companion. Every so often Syrena felt his gaze upon her. But she set aside her discomfort, certain her unease had more to do with the fact he’d followed Ursula’s directives than with the man himself. After all, a servant was not given much choice in who they served—not with a family to feed.

  All fell silent. Only the crackle and pop of the flames and the chirps and whistles of night creatures broke the quiet. Tension weighted her shoulders. This was the most difficult time of battle. The waiting—too much time to consider the outcome.

  John Henry sat beside Syrena on a log. He snapped a twig and tossed it into the flames, and then another, and another.

  Crack. Crack. Crack.

  Syrena’s nerves were scraped raw, and she wanted to yell at him to stop, but she understood his fears and sympathized.

  He shot to his feet. “I canna take it anymore. How much longer?” he asked Syrena. The light from the campfire softened the harsh lines of worry in his handsome face.

  “Not long, Lord Hamilton. The moon has almost reached its apex.” Across the dancing flame, David nudged his companion and nodded. Were they as relieved as the others that the long wait would soon be over, or was there another reason for his reaction?

  “Doona worry about yer lady wife, my laird, she’s a strong one. They willna break her,” Bess said, as she attempted to reassure him.

  John Henry stopped his pacing and pushed a sandy lock of hair from his face, his gaze seeking out the castle. “Aye, she is. If only I had told her I loved her, mayhap she wouldna . . ” His voice trailed off. His face pinched with sorrow, he strode in the direction of the horses.

  “Poor mon,” Bess murmured.

  Distracted, Syrena watched David and Dirk follow after John Henry, and murmured an agreement to Bess’s statement. She pitied the man his knowledge that the woman he loved might die without ever learning how he felt about her. Syrena decided she would not put herself in the same position. This night she would tell Aidan she loved him.

  David ran out from the cover of the trees, his eyes wide and wild. “My lady, come quick, something has happened to Lord Hamilton!”

  Syrena scrambled from the log and raced after him with a hundred scenarios running through her mind. As she pushed past the horses, the two men backed away to reveal John Henry, lying on the ground, gasping for air. She dropped to his side and set Nuie on the ground. “Lord Hamilton, can—”

  His red-rimmed eyes were glazed and bulging. Struggling to speak, he fisted his hands into her shirt and pulled her down to him. “Poi . . . poison.” His voice was little more than a whisper.

  Bess shrieked, “My lady, behind ye!”

  Syrena whipped her head around. In the filtered light of the moon, David’s face glowered with menace, and he raised Nuie over his head. “Prepare to die,” he sneered.

  On her knees, she twisted and lunged. Wrapping her arms around David’s legs, she jerked them out from under him. Midway through his fall, he flung Nuie over his shoulder.

  “Dirk! Take it . . .” David slammed into the ground, lying flat on his back.

  Before she managed to untangle herself from his limbs, his companion had grabbed hold of Nuie and ran to the waiting black steed. He leapt onto the horse and galloped into the shadows of the night.

  Connor rushed toward them, panting, unaware of what had transpired. “Lady Syrena, the signal.”

  Before she had a chance to respond, David struggled to sit up. A flash of silver glinted between his fingers. “You can’t stop him. You can’t stop any of it.”

  “My lady,” Bess yelled and tossed her John Henry’s sword.

  Drawing the blade in a wide arc, Syrena slit his throat.

  With a wet gurgle, he slumped over. Blood splattered his white shirt and the sword. She wiped the blade on the grass and met Connor’s startled gaze. “Consider your friends’ deaths avenged.”

  Mouth open, Connor gave her a jerky nod. “The . . . the signal . . .”

  Everything was happening too fast, and the magnitude of Syrena’s responsibilities threatened to overwhelm her. Aidan had entrusted her with the protection of his people, while the Fae had entrusted Nuie, their greatest treasure, to her care. She had failed on both counts.

  Breathe. You are a warrior. You know what to do.

  But how could she be a warrior without her sword? Without Nuie, she was simply Syrena, a Fae princess without magick, without power and strength.

  As though he were with her now, Uscias’s words echoed in her mind. “It comes from here, Syrena, your head and your heart. It’s always been there. Look for it.” An image of Aidan appeared before her, his beautiful smiling face when he told her Nuie mirrored her emotions, who she was, and not the other way around.

  She took strength in their words and motioned for the two men who’d stood watch with Connor. “Go after Dirk. He’s headed for the castle. He’ll take the long way around.”

  She knelt beside John Henry. His weakened fingers encircled her wrist. “Tell Aidan . . . tell him there is a passage.” He paused, gasping for air. “A passage from the crypt . . . from the crypt to the chapel.”

  “I’ll tell him. Save your strength, John Henry,” Syrena said as he struggled to speak, yet knowing he didn’t have much time left.

  “Leave me . . . save . . . save my wife. Tell her . . . tell her . . . I love her.”

  She held his gaze. “We’ll save her, you have my word.”

  Syrena led what was left of her small party across the moors to the woods. In Nuie’s stead, she carried John Henry’s sword. She knew what the loss of her sword would cost her. Princess or no princess, she’d be brought before the Seelie court. Her defense, concern for a fallen Mortal, for her brother’s life, would carry little weight. It would only serve to draw the Fae’s derision. Having suffered their contempt in the past, she didn’t care. It was only her promise to Nuie that mattered—her promise to protect him.

  And there was only one way she knew how to do so. Uscias. He would know she failed to fulfill her oath, be obligated to report her to the court, but none of that mattered.

  They crossed the flat terrain that led to the copse of trees where they would rendezvous with Aidan. Syrena slowed her breathing and searched for the quiet in her mind. She had only ever communicated with Lachlan in this manner and hoped she would be able to do so with the wizard
.

  “Uscias,” she called to him.

  A low buzz vibrated inside her head. “Princess Syrena?”

  Relief at reaching him rushed through her. “Yes, it’s me. Uscias, I need your help. Nuie’s been taken.”

  An ominous silence rang in her ears before he said, “I’ll come, but first I must go to the Seelie court. Much has happened since you disappeared. Magnus and Dmitri attacked.”

  Syrena stifled a shocked cry with her hand. She hadn’t been there to fight alongside them. Guilt and fear roiled inside her. How could she ever face the Fae? She’d failed them when they needed her most.

  “We were victorious, princess. You trained your army well. Fallyn and her sisters are unharmed, but I’m afraid you . . .”

  She knew what he was about to say. Even if she hadn’t lost Nuie, she would have to face the Seelie court. “I know. It doesn’t matter. Uscias, the Mortals have the Grimoire of Honorius.”

  Her mentor’s curse startled Syrena. If she hadn’t known how dire the situation was before, she did now.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, we were told by a woman that they had the Grimoire in their possession.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Glastonbury. They are attempting to release the dark lord. Uscias, they have my brother, and I’m certain the Fae that went missing.”

  “I’ve arrived at your uncle’s palace, princess, I must break contact. The fate of both Mortal and Fae realms rests with you, Syrena. The Grimoire must be destroyed. It will sense your magick, your goodness, and try to destroy you by driving you mad. Fill yourself with light, and pray, pray to the angels for their protection. This has been your quest all along, my child. The angels chose you.”

  She heard Uscias grunt and in a quarrelsome voice say, “She needed to know. You cannot expect her to do this entirely on her own.”

  “Who are you speaking to?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I must go. I will come as soon as I’m able. May the angels walk with you, Syrena.” The connection sputtered and silence filled her mind.

  Angels. The angels had known all along where her father’s quest would lead her. Once again, Syrena felt crushed under the weight of responsibility, the expectations of others.

  “My lady, are ye all right?” Connor asked, holding up a bough for her to ride beneath.

  “No . . . no, I’m not, but I have to be,” she answered honestly.

  “Doona worry, we’ll get the laird’s brother and Lady Davina back.”

  Connor was right. Nothing else mattered but saving Lachlan and Davina, and now, destroying the Grimoire.

  A movement ahead captured her attention. Under the light of the moon, ghostly apparitions wove among the trees. Syrena held up her hand, and the others came to a halt. Connor whistled. Seconds later, a corresponding whistle came back in response.

  “’Tis Laird MacLeod.”

  The shadows moved silently toward them, familiar faces coming into view as they drew near. Aidan stepped forward. His gaze scanned the riders then locked on to hers. “What happened?” he asked as he raised his arms to help her from her horse.

  Syrena inhaled his warm, woodsy scent, allowing herself a moment in the comfort of his embrace before she stepped away. “Your cousin was poisoned.”

  Connor led the white steed toward them. They’d tied John Henry to his horse, and he lay slumped over the saddle.

  “I’m sorry, Aidan, he’s dead.”

  Connor asked if he wished him to remove the body and Aidan nodded, gesturing for Callum to help.

  He didn’t take his gaze from his cousin’s body; a muscle pulsated in the hard set of his beard-stubbled jaw. “Who?”

  “David and his companion, Dirk.”

  Aidan dragged his hand through the thick waves of his dark hair. “I should’ve listened to ye.”

  “No, I should’ve listened to myself. They were my responsibility. I should’ve been more vigilant. I promised him, Aidan. I promised John Henry that we would save Davina.”

  “Aye, and we will.” He looked down at her and frowned. “Where’s yer sword?”

  “Dirk has it. I’m certain he means to give it to Jarius to be used in the ceremony. I sent two men after him, but he had a head start. He will alert them, Aidan. The element of surprise is lost.”

  “Nay, Jarius and Lamont ken well enough we’d come. The two of them are arrogant fools. We’ll use it against them.”

  “Who . . . who . . . is . . . Uscias?”

  Syrena started. Lachlan. “My mentor. Lan, we’re here. We’re coming. Where are you?”

  “Dungeon . . . Coming to move, now . . . Where’s Aidan?”

  “He’s here, with me.”

  “Tell him, sorry . . . sorry for everythin’.”

  Aidan watched her. “Lan?” he mouthed.

  She nodded, and he drew her into his arms. Lachlan was saying good-bye, and she couldn’t bear to hear it, didn’t think her heart could take much more. “You tell him, when we see you.”

  “Syrena . . . thank ye . . . fer when I was a bairn. Ye . . .”

  “No . . . no more, conserve your strength, we’re . . .” The crackle of energy faded. Her head ached as much as her heart. She drew away from Aidan. “We have to go. They’re moving him now.” She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself not to cry. “Aidan, he wanted me to tell you he was sorry.”

  He lifted his sword, drawing the men’s attention. “Move in.”

  She didn’t think he’d heard until he looked down at her, a telling sheen in his eyes. “If he comes to ye again, tell him . . . tell him he has nothin’ to apologize fer. And tell him I’ll kill every last one of the bastards.”

  Chapter 25

  Even dying, his brother felt the need to apologize to him. Aidan cursed, his anger magnified with each bone-jarring step he took. He was no better than his father. With his bitter resentment, he’d pushed Lan away. It was as though Aidan himself had placed him in Jarius’s hands.

  If he hadn’t blamed Lan for the debacle with the Lamonts, for every bloody thing that had gone wrong in their lives, Ursula wouldn’t have been able to lure him to London with the threat of exposure. Aidan didn’t need Lan to tell him he’d gone because of him.

  He felt Syrena’s presence behind him, running to keep up with him as his strides ate the ground beneath his feet. Christ, he’d done to her what he’d done to his brother—holding a part of himself back, blaming her for something she had no control over. And now, although he left it unspoken, he forced her to make a choice—him or the Fae. She’d willingly played the part, pretending to be something she wasn’t. But he’d seen her face when she’d slip and mention her people, her home. The fear she’d make him angry, lose his love, simply because she was Fae.

  Aye, he loved her, but he was no longer certain it was enough, at least not for her. Look what damage his hatred of the Fae had done to Lachlan.

  “Aidan, I have to speak to you. Please, hold up, it’s important,” she panted.

  He slowed his pace. “Is it Lan?”

  “No.” She took a deep breath before she said, “I . . . I contacted the Fae. I know how you feel about my people, Aidan, but I had to inform them I lost Nuie. They had to be made aware of Jarius’s intentions and that he has the Grimoire.” She searched his face as though waiting for him to explode. “Aidan, both Mortal and Fae are in danger.”

  It seemed Syrena had made her choice.

  “Do ye think they will come?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know if it will be in time. Aidan, the Grimoire must be destroyed.”

  His brow furrowed. “Was that what ye sensed when we arrived at the town house?”

  She nodded. “And now without Nuie, I’ll have to fight its magick on my own.”

  “Nay.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the soft skin of her palm. He’d protect her with his life, even if it meant protecting her from him. “We’ll fight it together. Come, Callum and Connor took out the two men
manning the guardhouse. The chapel is on the ground floor.”

  She groaned. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “Aidan, I’m sorry, I forgot, but when Lan—”

  “What is it?”

  “John Henry said there’s a passageway from the crypt to the chapel.”

  “Doona worry about it. We still have time to use the information to our advantage.” He whistled for his men. Within minutes they were headed for the low, whitewashed building at the back of the castle. The change of plans laid out, he welcomed the heated rush of blood through his limbs, the opportunity to make the bastards pay for what they’d done.

  The closer they got to the crypt, the more Syrena stumbled. Aidan tightened his hold on her. “Ye’re feelin’ its magick, aren’t ye?”

  Her face a sickly white, she nodded.

  Aidan cursed. He couldn’t stand by and watch her suffer. “Go back, Syrena, and wait with Bess,” he pleaded.

  “No, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. You need me, Aidan, and so does Lan.” Her words were strained as though it was a fight just to get them out.

  “Aye, but he wouldna want ye to suffer because of it and neither do I.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. Her mouth worked silently.

  “Are ye doin’ magick?” he asked, surprised to find he hoped she was.

  She grimaced. “No, but if I was certain of its success, I would. I’m praying.”

  Aidan didn’t think she looked very happy about it. “Prayin’ is a good thing,” he murmured as he shoved open the door to the crypt. The dank air enveloped them in its chilly embrace.

  He motioned for the men to follow, cautioning them to silence. Syrena whimpered as they went farther into the room. Her fingers pressed to her temples. The last vestiges of his restraint all but stripped away from helplessly watching the agony she endured. His determination to kill Jarius intensified with each strangled breath she took.

  Four well-fed rats scurried across the stone floor, taking refuge behind the elaborately carved wooden coffins. Cobwebs hung from curved stone arches, and he batted the sticky gossamer threads away before guiding her beneath them. “Fight it, angel, ye can do it,” he said in an urgent whisper.