Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  Rivulets of water streamed down the thick gray walls from the low ceiling, splashing onto the stone steps. He scooped her into his arms. She was in no condition to make the steep climb on her own.

  Halfway up the stairs, the riotous whispers of the men behind him drew his attention. “Someone’s comin’.”

  Aidan balanced Syrena on his thigh. Tucking her between him and the wall, he lifted his sword.

  Through the muted light he saw Dirk round the corner, his eyes widening in fear as he took in the deadly intent of the men that surrounded him. A big hand muffled his terrified squeal. Beaten down by a flurry of fists, he disappeared from Aidan’s line of sight. Moments later, Connor triumphantly pushed through the crush with Syrena’s sword in hand. “I guess the bastard heard about the secret passageway.” The lad grinned.

  “What about the two men that were sent after him?”

  Amusement faded from Connor’s expression, and he glanced at the blood coating Syrena’s sword. He wiped it clean on his trews and shook his head. “No sign of them.”

  Aidan cursed beneath his breath then dragged Syrena’s hand from her head and wrapped it around her sword. Almost immediately, her breathing eased. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she pressed the golden blade to her chest. “Thank you.”

  “Nay, ’twould be Connor’s doin’, and I’m thinkin’ whoever ye were prayin’ to.”

  She smiled weakly at the lad when he said, “We’re even.”

  “You can put me down, Aidan. I’ll be all right.”

  Reluctantly, he did as she asked. He didn’t think she was as well as she pretended to be, but he could not carry her and wield a sword at the same time. She touched the gleaming stones on the hilt with shaking fingers. Murmuring something to the sword, she raised it over her head. The blade sizzled, vibrating in the heavy, musty air. It turned a fiery red, illuminating Syrena in its heated glow. From the steps below, he heard the men’s exclamations of awe.

  “Ye’re a wee bit fashed, are ye?” Aidan said as he allowed her to take the lead.

  His concern for her well-being grew as he watched her struggle to climb the rest of the way. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps the closer they came to the top. He grabbed hold of her arm when she tripped and felt her violent trembling beneath his fingers. “Bloody hell, Syrena, I’ll not put ye through this.”

  She placed a finger to his lips then climbed the last step to the narrow landing.

  From behind the planked door came a low moan and a guttural grunt. “Ride him, Ursula, ride him hard. When he spills his seed in you, I’ll slit his throat and you’ll absorb his—”

  Aidan lifted his foot at the same time as Syrena. Together they kicked down the door. The wooden planks splintered and crashed to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust. The air cleared, revealing his brother, naked, chained spread-eagle to a stone altar. Ursula, black satin gown hiked to her waist, straddled him. Her pendulous breasts spilled over the top of her gown, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Lan bucked, then moaned, spending himself inside her.

  With his back to them, a man in coarse brown robes chanted. He raised his arm. Moonlight filtering through the stained glass window glinted off the lethal-looking blade he held.

  Aidan swung his sword, severing the hand at its wrist. Blood sprayed in a wide arc over Lan and Ursula. The blade clattered to the floor still gripped within a closed fist. Ursula’s blue eyes, glazed by drugs and lust, widened.

  Aidan’s men swarmed in from behind him and he lost sight of Syrena in the crush. The black-robed congregation frozen in place by the bloody tableau quickly roused themselves, and the din in the cavernous room rose to a frenzied pitch.

  Lan slowly turned his head and fixed Aidan with a languid stare. “About . . . time,” he slurred.

  Aidan had no chance to respond. Jarius, his bloody stump cradled to his chest, raised his wild-eyed gaze to his. Letting out a bloodcurdling howl, the madman grabbed the tall, iron branch of candles at the foot of the stone altar and, ignoring the splash of hot wax, jabbed it at Aidan. Jerking back, Aidan positioned himself protectively in front of Lan. From behind him, Ursula shrieked then wrapped her arms around Aidan’s neck, choking the breath from him. With a maniacal smile, her brother came at him again. With one hand Aidan tried to break her hold on his throat while defending himself against Jarius with his sword.

  Aidan leaned against the altar and brought his foot up to kick away the flaming candles before Jarius could smash them into his chest. There was a flash of movement then Syrena was at his side. Reaching for Ursula, she broke the woman’s death grip on him and dragged her from the altar. Jarius swung the iron branch at him, Aidan ducked and drove his blade up and into Jarius’s heart. A wet gurgle rattled in his lungs. His eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor.

  “Jarius!” Ursula screamed, breaking free of Syrena to rush to her brother’s side. She swiveled her head and snarled at Aidan. “I’ll kill you for this.” As she attempted to lunge for him, Syrena grabbed hold of her.

  “Allow me to do the honors, Ursula,” a man rasped from behind him.

  Aidan whirled to face the man he knew was Lamont, raising his sword just in time to parry the first blow. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Syrena shove Ursula aside and take up her position in front of Lan. Lamont fought like a man possessed, and Aidan knew he would need to stay focused if he hoped to best him. He’d have to trust Syrena to protect herself and Lachlan.

  Their swords locked and Lamont sneered. “I’d hoped to make ye watch yer wife and brother die in front of ye, but it seems like I’ll have to kill ye first.”

  Aidan forced down his fury at the taunt, focusing instead on backing Lamont to the edge of the dais. Grunting and groaning, they struggled for supremacy, then Aidan broke his sword free and went after him with everything he had.

  When they were less than a foot from the stairs, Aidan gripped his hilt with two hands and swung his blade at Lamont. The force of the blow was enough to weaken the other man’s hold on his blade and Aidan lunged, throwing Lamont off balance. Lamont’s arms windmilled as he tripped backward off the top step of the dais. His sword clattered to the floor and he landed on his back at the base of the platform.

  Scrambling quickly to his feet, he backed away. Aidan prowled after him. Ripping off his black cape, Lamont swirled it in Aidan’s face then grabbed a man from the crowd and shoved him in front of Aidan to make good his escape. Bloody hell. He pushed the man aside, about to go after Lamont when he heard Syrena’s panicked cry.

  “Aidan!”

  He turned. One of Lamont’s men closed in on her while she fought another. Having battled her himself, Aidan could see her strength was waning from fighting the magick. A wry man in black robes jumped in front of him before he could reach her. Cursing, Aidan blocked the smaller man’s blade then drew back and slammed his fist into his face. Before the man had even crumpled at his feet, Aidan raced across the dais to the warrior that approached Syrena with murderous intent.

  Knowing Syrena was too weak for him to waste time in a fight, Aidan stayed out of the man’s line of sight and came up behind him. Wrapping his arm around the warrior’s throat, he grabbed him forcibly by the chin and snapped his neck, shoving the dead warrior aside to reach Syrena. The man she fought caught sight of Aidan and took two steps back then turned and ran.

  Syrena swayed and Aidan reached out for her, drawing her to him. “Are ye hurt?”

  “No . . . it’s the Grimoire,” she said weakly, freeing herself from his embrace. “I have to destroy it.”

  “I’ll help ye.”

  “No, you can’t. Look after Lan.” She took a steadying breath, her face pale as she took a wobbly step away from him.

  Aidan hesitated, torn between seeing to his brother and protecting Syrena. As he tracked her unsteady progress toward the back of the dais, his decision was made.

  “Callum.” He motioned to the big man. The fight with the black-robed congregation was over, and he was rounding up pri
soners. “I need ye to keep an eye on Lan.”

  With a quick nod, Callum signaled for Connor to relieve him of the two men he held by the scruff of their necks.

  Aidan turned to follow Syrena then watched in horror as she flew through the air, landing on her back with a bone-jarring thud, cracking her head on the corner of a chair.

  He ran to her. “Syrena!”

  She raised dazed eyes to his. Blood streamed from a deep gash on her forehead. “Bloody hell, I’m no’ lettin’ ye do this.”

  “There’s no other way.” She leaned against him, then using his arm to hang on to, she rose slowly to her feet.

  “Wait,” he said, fighting the urge to drag her from the dais. He took her chin in his hand to examine her wound, gently dabbing the blood from her face with the edge of his tunic.

  She took hold of his wrist to stop him. “Aidan, I have to do this now. Stay back.”

  “Ye think I can just stand by and watch while—”

  She pressed a trembling finger to his lips. “Please. I will heal, you won’t. I can’t worry about you and battle the magick at the same time.”

  Everything inside him warred at the idea of releasing her. Never in his life had he done anything as difficult as letting her go. His chest tightened as he watched her square her slender shoulders and lift her sword. She turned and took a step toward the wood table where the leather-bound tome lay.

  Within a foot of the Grimoire, she let out a pain-filled scream. Holding her head, she dropped to her knees.

  “Syrena!” His heart wrenched in his chest and he lurched toward her.

  “No!” She staggered to her feet. In a barely audible whisper she murmured words he could not make out then her voice grew stronger, more powerful. Gripping her sword with both hands, she raised it above her head. With lethal force she brought it down on the Grimoire. A blast of heat and flame threw Aidan off balance and he fought to remain upright.

  Syrena stood within a cloud of black smoke. A disembodied voice filled the chapel, speaking words in an unknown language. The smoke along with the voice faded until all that was left was Syrena, standing before the ash-covered table with her head bowed.

  Some of his panic eased. “Syrena?”

  She turned slowly, a triumphant smile curving her bluetinged lips. His own faded as he took in the singed tendrils that framed her blackened and bloodied face. The muscles low in his belly knotted painfully at the sight of her blood-spattered tunic, the fabric melted into her arms. What he could see of her flesh was seared to a fiery red, bubbling with weeping sores.

  “I did it,” she said, coming toward him.

  “Aye, ye did.” Trying to conceal his alarm, he carefully folded her in his arms, afraid to hurt her any more than she already had been. “Ye’re badly burned, angel. Let me—”

  As though she sensed his fear, she pulled back and touched his cheek. “I’ll heal.” Her gaze scanned the chapel, and she gasped.

  “Did I hurt ye?”

  “No . . . no, it’s Davina,” she said, looking in the direction of the altar.

  Aidan turned. Naked, curled on her side with her hand clutched to her belly, Davina lay at the base of the altar chained to the stone. He released Syrena and strode from the dais to one of the men Connor held. Stripping the black robe from his bony white shoulders, he returned to Davina and draped it over her. Once he had her freed from the chains, she crawled into his arms and whimpered. He stroked her back, dreading the thought of telling her John Henry was dead.

  He looked up to see Syrena watching him comfort Davina. “Callum, take her to Bess, but . . .”

  Callum nodded. He understood what could not be said aloud. He would make no mention of John Henry. Aidan would tell her himself. He disentangled from Davina and came to his feet, taking in his brother as he did so. Lachlan twitched in his drug-induced stupor, grimacing in pain.

  He went to his brother’s side and bowed his head. Aidan felt the warmth of Syrena’s hand on his back, offering him comfort. “What have I done, Syrena?”

  “You are not responsible for this, Aidan.”

  Aye, he was. He unlocked the chains that bound his brother. They fell away, clanging against the stone, but for each one Aidan released, another tightened around him. He would never be able to look at Lan again without seeing him like this, pale, emaciated, his flesh burnt, chunks of skin cut away, open sores raw and oozing. There was not an inch of his body unmarked. “How did he survive?”

  “I know how bad it looks Aidan, but he will heal.”

  “On the outside, mayhap, but what about here?” He brushed the long, thick waves of matted blond hair from his brother’s face and touched his head. “Or here?” He placed a palm over the shallow drum of Lachlan’s heart.

  Her hand fell away from his back. “I don’t know.”

  “He will come to the Isles, where he belongs, where no Mortal shall ever harm him again,” a deep voice intoned.

  Chapter 26

  Aidan reached for his sword and Syrena put out a hand to stop him. “It’s King Rohan, Aidan. He’s my uncle. They come in peace,” she explained quietly, wishing somehow she could have put this moment off.

  “My niece is right. Put your sword away, Mortal. I bring with me Uscias, the Wizard of the Enchanted Isles, Syrena’s good friend Evangeline, and King Gabriel of England’s Fae.” He gestured to each of them in turn.

  “I’m Aidan MacLeod, Lachlan’s brother.” Syrena waited for him to add “your niece’s husband,” but he didn’t and a chill settled over her. She glanced at him but he stood stiffly erect, his attention focused on her uncle.

  King Gabriel said, “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mortal. With the help of your men, we have released mine from the dungeons.”

  Aidan nodded, keeping an eye on King Rohan, who stepped onto the platform and put a finger to Syrena’s singed hair. “I see you retrieved your sword. The Grimoire?”

  “Destroyed.”

  “You did well, Syrena. For your part in helping both Fae and Mortal avoid what in all likelihood would have been a catastrophe of great magnitude, the charges brought against you have been dropped.”

  “What the hell do ye mean by charges? Why—”

  Syrena caught Aidan’s eye and shook her head. “Thank you, Uncle.”

  King Rohan’s gaze swept over her, and he arched a brow. With a flick of his wrist, he clothed her in shimmering robes of gold, her crown of precious gems coming to rest on top of her head. “There, more befitting your station, don’t you think?”

  Aidan stared at her as though seeing her for the first time. She clenched her hands, her nails biting into her palms, and forced herself to hold his gaze. Lachlan awakened and struggled to sit up. Aidan abruptly turned away from her, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He rested his hand on his brother’s chest and gently ordered him to remain still.

  “Who are ye?” Lan rasped, his heavy-lidded gaze on Syrena’s uncle.

  “King Rohan, your uncle.” With another flick of his wrist, the black robe fell from Lachlan’s broken body, to be replaced by robes the same as hers.

  “You don’t have much imagination when it comes to robes, Rohan.” King Gabriel chuckled before he addressed them, “I must take my leave. My men are anxious to be gone from this realm.”

  “Gabriel is right. Let us leave here. The stench of evil lingers.” Her uncle went to lift Lan from the stone slab, but Aidan held up a hand. “What do ye think ye’re doin’?”

  Rohan arched a brow. “I was going to carry him outside.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “As you wish.”

  Aidan gently lifted his brother into his arms, and Lan released an anguished moan. Her stomach lurched at Aidan’s tortured wince. She took a step toward him but he gave an abrupt shake of his head, warning her off.

  “Syrena.” Her uncle offered her his arm.

  “If you don’t mind, Uncle, my wounds are painful, I’ll walk down on my own.” She stepped out of the way so Aidan could go down firs
t.

  “Can ye no’ do anythin’ fer her?” he grated out angrily.

  “If it was in my power, Lord MacLeod, I would, but it is not. Do not worry, Syrena will heal quickly.”

  “And my brother?”

  “Will take time, I’m afraid.”

  Aidan grunted then walked ahead of them.

  “The Mortal cares for you, Syrena,” her uncle said.

  “I thought he did,” she murmured, not certain how he felt about her now that he was faced with exactly who she was. She swallowed the knot of emotion, assuring herself that he just needed time.

  “Is there something I should know about your relationship?”

  She bowed her head. She couldn’t keep her marriage from her uncle, not if she wanted to have a life with Aidan. “He’s my husband.” She chanced a look at King Rohan to gauge his reaction. Noting the hard set of his mouth, she quickly added, “I love him.”

  “I see,” he said as they stepped into the cool night air.

  Evangeline came toward her with a blanket. “Here, your highness.” She glanced over to where Aidan stood in the center of his men with Lachlan in his arms. “It might be less painful for your brother if he lies down.”

  “Thank you, Evangeline.” She took the blanket and walked over to Aidan who was speaking to Lachlan. The two men were deep in conversation and she hesitated, not wanting to interrupt them.

  “I heard him. They want me to return to the Fae realm with them. Do ye wish me to go?”

  “Nay, but I was almost too late this time. And I doona ken how many have learned of yer Fae bloodline,” Aidan answered Lachlan, keeping his voice low.

  “I’ll go. Mayhap if I do, ye can finally have the life ye wanted. No brother to protect. No brother to be ashamed of.”

  “Nay, ’tis never been that way,”Aidan protested, and the pain Lachlan’s words caused him was etched on his face.