Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (64 page)

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Authors: Debbie Mazzuca

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She cleared her throat. “The only magick I performed, Your Highness, is that which protects the Fae. I would never practice magick that would put them at risk.”
Lachlan considered her response.
She’s good
, he thought,
no admission, yet no denial
. He wondered how far his uncle would push her.
“If you have no proof, Morfessa, this matter is to be dropped. You owe Evangeline an apology.”
Surprised he did not press her further, Lachlan shifted to study his uncle. Was there more to Rohan’s relationship with Evangeline than he knew? He frowned at the tension tightening his belly. Surely the reaction had nothing to do with the thought his uncle might have bedded her. He scowled when as if in answer, his tension ratcheted up a notch—relieved when Morfessa shot from his chair to distract him.
The wizard shoved back from the table, his chair clattering to the floor. “Why can you not see her for what she is, Rohan?” he implored. Then, with a defeated shake of his head, he jerked his hand through his shoulder-length black hair. “No, don’t bother to answer. I know why. She’s bewitched you just as her mother bewitched me.”
“I protect her because you never did, Morfessa. You’ve let your hatred of her mother blind you to who—”
“No, you’re wrong! And one day you will see I was right, only it will be too late. She will destroy us as her mother once did.” With one last scathing look at his daughter, Morfessa stalked from the hall.
Gabriel and Broderick stared into their goblets, their expressions giving nothing away. The same could not be said for the guards and servants who remained in the hall. It was obvious from the surreptitious black looks they cast in her direction that they believed Morfessa’s charge against her. As she was Andora’s daughter, the majority of the Fae hated her. Holding her to blame for her mother’s actions, they treated her abysmally. Since King Arwan, Lachlan’s father, was reputed to have been a murderous bastard, it seemed unfair they judged her so harshly yet him not at all. But she didn’t help her cause. She was cold, aloof, and arrogant, as though she held herself above them all. And now it would only get worse for her.
He didn’t know how she withstood their contempt day in and day out and found himself softening toward her. He quickly shook off the disturbing sentiment by reminding himself she’d been a thorn in his side from the moment he met her.
“If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, I shall return to my quarters to prepare a list of suitable brides for your nephew.”
At her pronouncement, whatever sympathy Lachlan had felt for her fled as quickly as she fled from the council chambers. Gaze narrowed on the sway of her curvaceous behind, he thought of the knowledge he’d filed away only moments ago. He had no doubt she’d broken through the barrier. And now there was a distinct possibility he’d be holding the information over her head sooner than he’d anticipated.
Seated at a desk in the cramped quarters of her chambers in the palace’s tower, Evangeline crumpled a piece of parchment then tossed it on the floor. She blew out a frustrated breath upon seeing how high the pile beside her desk had become. With a flick of her finger, the evidence of her failure vanished. Now if she could only make her thoughts of Lachlan disappear as easily. Images of the too-handsome highlander had invaded her mind for the past two days.
Since only Rohan and his daughter Syrena had ever defended Evangeline, she found it disconcerting that the man she’d regarded with such contempt had done so. He’d turned her preconceived notions of him on their ear. Absently, she rubbed her shoulder where he’d rested his hand. At the memory of his comforting touch, the muscles low in her belly contracted.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she chided, “letting a simple gesture of kindness affect you so.” Perhaps because so few were kind to her, she reasoned, it explained her reaction. Accustomed as she was to the Faes’ contempt, was it any wonder she responded to him? And now, after Morfessa’s inflammatory charge, she’d be vilified further.
As much as Rohan’s support meant to her, it would do little to sway the Fae. She damned Morfessa for putting her in the unenviable position of lying to Rohan, a man who’d been more a father to her than Morfessa had ever been. But it couldn’t be helped. She’d needed to test the limits of her power, to know that if the stones were tampered with, there was another means of escape. Besides, it was not as if she’d use her magick against the Fae.
Her stomach churned as she remembered the black tendrils snaking through the pure light of her magick, the voice inciting her to strike out against the Fae. She pushed the memory from her head—an aberration, that’s all it had been, no matter what Morfessa would have her believe about herself—and got back to the matter at hand.
Tapping her pursed lips with the quill, she once more tried to think of a suitable bride for Rohan’s nephew.
Princess Tiana of the Welsh Fae, Broderick’s niece
, she wrote. Then she scratched it out, certain Lachlan would find the young woman’s incessant chatter as annoying as Evangeline did. She frowned at the thought he might also find Tiana’s voluptuous figure and beautiful face outweighed the teeth-grinding screech of the girl’s voice and her inane prattle.
“Men,” she grumbled as she once more wrote Tiana’s name. She came up with four others and added them to her list. But for each one she found a reason for their unsuitability—too young, vain, foolish, not enough magick—and, along with Tiana’s, rubbed them out. Her task was proving more difficult than she’d first imagined. When she’d suggested the idea to Rohan, she’d been only too happy to saddle the highlander with one of the women she’d just erased. But since his defense of her at the Seelie Court, she found it difficult to do so.
Disgusted with herself, she tossed the writing utensil on her desk and rubbed the dull ache throbbing in her temples. Perhaps she’d been too hasty. After all, she’d witnessed the red glow of his sword. Surely if a man who held his emotions so tightly in control could feel anger, he could eventually be made to feel something for his subjects. As for his lack of magick, well, she could always offer her services.
Evangeline groaned. What had come over her? Lachlan MacLeod represented everything she despised in a man. He was a philanderer—a man who did little but appease his lusty appetites, a man who’d spent the better part of his life hating the Fae. And worst of all, he looked like his father King Arwan. No, she wouldn’t allow her mind to go there. Just as she’d done all those years ago, she firmly closed the door on the revolting memories.
Glancing down at the ink-smudged holes where there’d once been names, she crumpled the parchment. She needed a breath of fresh air to clear her head. She’d spent the last two days in her room attempting to complete her task, although she admitted, avoiding the Faes’ derision had just as much to do with her self-imposed confinement. Perhaps a visit with Uscias was in order. After all, no one knew the king of the Enchanted Isles as well as his mentor. Her spirits rose at the thought of spending time with Uscias. Assuring herself it had nothing to do with the possibility of seeing Lachlan again, she left her chambers.
Moments later, she stood deep within the forest of the Enchanted Isles. Her gaze was drawn to Lachlan’s palace—sparkling in the noonday sun—perched high atop the mountain that cast the valley in shadows. Perhaps she should go there first. After all, it was most likely where Uscias would be. And if she happened to run into Lachlan, she could thank him properly for coming to her rescue. Absently she smoothed her hair, then realized what she did. For Fae sakes, she was primping! Huffing an exasperated breath, she set off with a determined stride for Uscias’s cottage. As she walked through the forest, she found it oddly quiet, the leaves crackling beneath her slippers overly loud. A prickle of unease skittered along her spine and she picked up her pace.
Turning onto the cobblestoned path, she came to an abrupt halt. The door to Uscias’s cottage had been ripped from its hinges and lay splintered on the forest floor.
Her heart jammed in her throat. “Uscias,” she cried, tripping over the planked door. She regained her footing and rushed inside. Her horrified gaze took in the destruction. Uscias’s belongings were tossed about the small room, furniture viciously smashed and strewn throughout the cottage. She shoved aside a broken chair with a growing sense of alarm.
From behind an overturned settee in the corner of the room, she spotted a pink satin slipper. Aurora. So concerned was she for Uscias, she’d forgotten the little seer he trained. She tried to calm her staccato breath. Steeling herself against what she might find, she knelt down and peered beneath the settee. Anger intermingled with fear at the sight of the little girl lying so still and bound in irons. With a blast of her magick, Evangeline sent the blue settee flying across the room.
Careful to avoid the thick links of chain—iron drained the Fae of their magick—she placed her cheek next to Aurora’s colorless lips. The child’s warm breath caressed her face, and Evangeline’s shoulders sagged in relief. She quickly identified the sickly sweet smell that caused her nostrils to twitch. Aurora had been drugged with a sleeping draught. Ridding the child of the chains that drained her of her powers was Evangeline’s first concern. She focused on a spell to remove them.
Inches above Aurora’s diminutive form, she held her hands palms down. Her magick hummed but didn’t produce the desired results. Whoever had chained the little seer had placed several wards around her. She wondered if Uscias, thinking to keep the child from following him or antagonizing those who’d taken him, had created the wards. If so, that would mean he’d also created a protective barrier between Aurora and the iron, the reason Evangeline could not immediately break through the wards. Taking that into consideration, she drew on her powers once more, sending a steady stream of white light into the chains. The thick rings of iron snapped and, with a wave of her hand, vanished.
Conjuring a goblet, she filled it with a potion to counter the sleeping draught and knelt beside Aurora, pressing the rim to her lips. “Wake up,” she urged, brushing the silky white-blond curls from the child’s angelic face. “That’s it,” she said as the little girl’s blue-veined lids fluttered open.
Licking her pale lips, Aurora squinted as though trying to bring her vision into focus. Evangeline carefully tilted the goblet. The child drank greedily, pushing it away once she’d drained the potion. Raising sky-blue eyes to Evangeline, her voice came out a dry croak. “Did you rescue Uscias?”
Evangeline bit her lip. Knowing how much the child cared for her mentor, she wished she could spare her the truth. But she needed whatever information Aurora could give her. She shook her head. “Can you tell me who took him?”
Aurora nodded, swallowing hard. “They were from the Far North, King Magnus and his men.”
Evangeline struggled to contain her temper. She’d known all along that fool MacLeod would put the Fae in danger. He’d refused Magnus with no thought to the consequences, and now look what had happened. She wanted to strangle the big oaf, or at the very least shake some sense into him.
“Don’t worry, Aurora, I’ll get him back.” She placed an arm behind the child’s back and helped her sit up. Noting the tremors shaking her tiny frame, Evangeline said, “Rest for a moment and then we’ll go to the palace.”
They’d go to the palace, all right, and the inept king would learn firsthand what his reckless decision had cost them. She scrubbed her hands over her face. How could he be so incompetent as to have his wizard stolen right out from under him? Where were the guards? Why were the perimeters of the forest not warded, alarmed? Caught up in her inner ranting, she’d been unaware Aurora now knelt before her, the child’s small hands coming to rest on either side of Evangeline’s face. Knowing no secret was safe from the budding prophetess, panic kicked up inside her. She tried to pull away, but there was no pulling back from the mesmerizing effect of the swirling colors in the little seer’s eyes.
In the ragged voice of an old woman, Aurora proclaimed, “Deep within you a battle rages. Good versus evil, light over darkness. Overcome your fears, or evil shall prevail and both Mortal and Fae shall pay the price.”
A chill iced Evangeline’s limbs, freezing her to the wood-planked floor. The child had seen the evil within her, giving voice to Evangeline’s greatest fear. Her father had been right all along. Closing her eyes, she battled against the heavy weight of despair that threatened to paralyze her. She didn’t have time for this, not now. She’d be of no use to Uscias if she succumbed to her fear.

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