Authors: Debbie Mazzuca
King of the Isles (24 page)
“You wouldn’t be so cocky if your wife hadn’t given you her blood. Considering your prowess with the ladies, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you managed to convince her to once again share her magick with you. But truly, you must be even more persuasive than I gave you credit for,” Broderick said with a bemused shake of his head.
Lachlan’s pleasure at the power surging through him faded somewhat at the memory of the insatiable hunger that had all but consumed him at the sight and taste of Evangeline’s blood. The paralyzing fear he’d felt when she lay limp in his arms came back to torment him along with the guilt that had overtaken him when he’d witnessed her pallor, her weakness of this morn.
Both emotions fought a losing battle. The knowledge no one could defeat him nor have him at their mercy when imbued with Evangeline’s magick was too seductive to overcome. Until it faded once more, he reminded himself. There was a part of him that hoped that this time would be different and he’d retain at least a portion of her magick. He shook off the thought, disgusted he’d even allowed himself to think it.
“Persuasion had little to do with it,” he admitted, recalling how he’d manipulated her and played on her fears. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Only the knowledge the magick he now held would alleviate some of the Faes’ fears served to allay his guilt.
Broderick cocked a brow, eyeing him with interest. “Here I was hoping you’d enlighten me and I’d use the technique on Fallyn.”
“Ye looked like ye were makin’ progress when I left the hall last eve.”
“Perhaps because you left before she dumped her wine on my head.”
Lachlan sighed. “What did ye do now?”
“I—”
Aurora’s appearance in a burst of twinkling light halted Broderick’s protest.
Lachlan stiffened at the terrified look in the child’s blue eyes as she stumbled toward him. He reached for her. “What is it, lass?”
“Evangeline ... woods ... Bana is going to kill her.”
“Nay, stay with Broderick,” he ordered when she attempted to follow him. He could barely hear his own command over the pounding of his heart. Shaking free of her hold, he raced to the edge of the meadow before he remembered he could transport himself. He focused his thoughts on Evangeline, not allowing himself to think of the danger she was in. The red and white flowers dotting the long grasses melded into a pink wash of color and he reappeared in the musky shadows of the woods.
His gaze jerked to the forest floor. Evangeline lay there with Bowen beside her on the ground. The steed’s head rested on his wife’s belly, a spreading stain darkening her crimson gown.
The sight nearly took him to his knees. Nothing he’d suffered in the past prepared him for the onslaught of emotions that ravaged him now. A glint of light caught his eye. Bana, sword raised over his head was set to deliver the killing blow.
Lachlan’s anguish, his fear that he’d lost Evangeline, reverberated in the battle cry of his clan. He descended on Bana with all the fury of a berserker.
Chapter 22
Bana’s eyes rounded in horror, his mouth opening and closing around the gurgle rising in his throat before he collapsed at Lachlan’s feet. Lachlan wrenched his blade from the dead man’s chest. Bana’s sword clattered to the ground, settling amongst the pile of ashes—all that was left of the bastard.
Lachlan dropped to his knees beside Evangeline, desperately searching for the wound that stained her gown. Carefully, he raised Bowen’s head while he eased an arm around Evangeline’s slender shoulders to draw her from beneath the steed. The gentle rise and fall of her chest awarded him a small measure of comfort, but she was too still, too pale for his fear to be alleviated.
“Christ, Evie, why could ye no’ obey me?”
Her long lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. Though her violet stare was glazed, she managed to level him with an all too familiar look. “You didn’t save me only to kill me with your sword, did you?” She winced, attempting to raise her hip.
He looked down with a grimace, then gently lifted her while drawing the tip of his blade from beneath her. At the sight of her blood coating his palm, a mind-numbing anguish overtook him. “Where ... where are ye hurt, Evie?”
“No.” With a weak shake of her head, she limply pointed to the horse. “Not me, Bowen. Help him.”
A heady sense of relief washed over him at the knowledge it wasn’t her blood but the steed’s. He wasn’t going to lose her.
“Lachlan,” she said in an exasperated, albeit weak, tone. “Bowen.”
“Aye,” he said, grinning like a half-wit while he leaned over to examine the steed. No wonder she’d been covered in blood—a deep laceration slit open the animal’s chest. Lachlan ripped off his tunic, pressing it to the wound. Evangeline struggled to sit up in an effort to help him.
He shot her a frustrated look. “Bloody hell, would ye lie still.”
Three bursts of light crackled behind him and he heaved a sigh of relief. Broderick, Uscias, and Aurora appeared at his side. He noted his mentor’s concern when he took in Evangeline’s condition. Uscias’s brow furrowed as he bent to retrieve Bana’s sword. “It appears Bana thought his blade contained magick. Lucky for you and Bowen it did not, Evangeline.”
Broderick nudged him out of the way to take his place, and Lachlan came to his feet. Aurora held the steed’s head in her lap, whispering words of comfort to the animal, which began to stir.
Lachlan reached for the sword, then hefted the blade in his hand. “What makes ye say that?”
“Besides the fact he intended to kill Evangeline, which he could only do with a magickal weapon like the Sword of Nuada, he used gold in an attempt to encapsulate the magick.”
Evangeline pushed herself upright, the effort costing her as her pallor intensified. “Bana couldn’t actually believe he had the capability to craft such a weapon?”
Studying the blade, Uscias said, “He was arrogant enough to think so, but I believe—”
“We can continue this in my chambers,” Lachlan said, cutting his mentor off. He found it difficult to listen to them nonchalantly discussing Bana’s attempt to murder his wife.
Edging Uscias out of the way, he crouched down and scooped her into his arms, quieting her feeble protests with another exasperated look. “Broderick, do ye think ye can manage Bowen on yer own?”
His friend glanced at him over his shoulder and nodded. “Aurora seems to have the matter well in hand.”
Lachlan’s gaze shifted to the little seer. Her small hand glowed as she placed it above the animal’s wound. The torn flesh melded before his eyes. Uscias shrugged in response to the question in Lachlan, Broderick, and Evangeline’s eyes. “Her abilities continue to surprise even me. After our return from the Far North she was most anxious to learn the art of healing. It seems she has,” his mentor said with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.
Since Lachlan knew none of the other Fae had the ability to heal anyone other than themselves, he wondered what it was that made this child so special. But the many mysteries surrounding his mentor’s young student would have to wait. He needed to get his wife to the safety of the palace. If Bana hadn’t acted alone, she could still be in danger. Without further delay, he transported them to his palace.
Moments later, Uscias appeared at his side, his gaze shifting from Lachlan to Evangeline. A silver brow raised, his mouth turned down in a disapproving frown. “Since you have the ability to transport yourself, Your Highness, I can only assume you have once more taken your wife’s blood.”
Lachlan winced at the charge as he pushed open the palace doors. “’Tis no’ how ye make it sound. I—”
“I offered him my magick, Uscias, as a means to protect him. It was my decision to make.”
Lachlan held her gaze. His hunger for her magick and power had nearly cost her her life, yet still she sought to protect him. No one, not even his brother stood up for him as she did. Somehow he had to show her how much it meant to him. How much
she
meant to him. The thought caused him to stumble as he strode to the stairs leading to his chambers. “Sorry,” he murmured at her startled gasp, then tightened his hold on her.
she
meant to him. The thought caused him to stumble as he strode to the stairs leading to his chambers. “Sorry,” he murmured at her startled gasp, then tightened his hold on her.
The image of Evangeline lying on the forest floor haunted him. He reluctantly admitted, if only to himself, his response to her was far more than a hunger for her power and magick. She had managed to work her way into his heart, and the knowledge was almost as terrifying as the thought of how close he’d come to losing her.
In a flurry of sapphire robes, Uscias bustled after him. “It may be your decision, Evangeline, but I am not entirely certain you are fully aware of the consequences,” he said as he followed them into Lachlan’s chambers. “Given the state of your magick, even without a magickal blade, Bana could have killed you.”
“Since I could not protect myself, I think I’m well aware of the consequences,” she informed Uscias as Lachlan laid her on the bed. “But I survived and will be myself on the morrow.”
With a resigned sigh, Uscias stepped to the side of the bed. “I hope for your sake that is the case, but there is a distinct possibility you will not regain your powers.”
What little color had returned to Evangeline’s face drained away. “No, that can’t be true. I’ve given Lachlan my blood before, and my power returned.”
“I don’t mean to frighten you, but you have to be aware of the possibility your magick will not return. And if it does, I suggest you think long and hard before you give your blood again. Because the next time, I guarantee, it won’t.” With a sympathetic pat to the hand Evangeline twisted in the gold satin coverlet, Uscias said, “Rest now.”
Lachlan followed his mentor to the door. “There must be somethin’ I can do,” he said quietly, looking over his shoulder at his wife who stared vacantly out the window.
His hand on the latch, Uscias hesitated before saying, “You could return her blood to her.”
Lachlan blanched at the suggestion, his mind returning to the dungeons of Glastonbury and the torture he’d endured at Ursula and Lamont’s hands. The old scars came to life. Every inch of his body where they’d ripped apart his flesh, cutting him open to drain him of his blood, burned—the pain as intense as if they did so now. His stomach roiled. A torrent of heat rushed through him as though the blood drained from his body. He gritted his teeth, fighting back the familiar reaction to his nightmare. He’d thought he’d conquered it, but it seemed he was wrong.
The pity in his mentor’s eyes shamed him. Uscias knew he couldn’t do it.
“Her magick will return as it did before. I’m sure of it,” he said as much to reassure himself as Uscias.
“For both your sakes, I hope it does.”
As the door closed quietly behind his mentor, Lachlan turned to his wife. The sight of her surreptitiously wiping the tears from her cheeks caused the blade of guilt to twist deep in his belly. He walked to the bed then stretched out beside her, folding her in his arms. “It’ll be all right, Evie, yer magick will return,” he murmured the words into her hair.
Her willowy frame trembled in his arms. He shuddered at the thought he’d almost lost her and all because the bloody Fae feared her powers. Christ, mayhap it was better if he retained her magick. Mayhap she was safer without it. Mayhap they both were. If he held her powers, no one would ever challenge him again and the Fae would be protected just as she wanted.
Sniffling, she nodded into his chest. He leaned back to look down at her, nudging her chin up with his fingers. Her violet eyes glistened behind a watery film and he groaned. “Nay, doona cry.” He wished she would rage at him, flay him with her temper. That he could handle. He could withstand anything but her tears. They would be his downfall.
Seeing her heartache at the thought she’d lose her magick for good, he didn’t dare suggest it was for the best. He put the idea from his head. She’d never agree to it. He ignored the weight of disappointment lying heavy in his belly, not sure what bothered him more—the thought she’d never be truly safe in the Fae realm or the thought he couldn’t claim her magick as his own.
“I promise ye, I’ll make sure ye get yer magick back.” He would, but he prayed to God he wouldn’t have to, afraid the cutting of his flesh, the sight of Evangeline drinking his blood would hurl him into the black pit he’d fought so hard to claw his way out of. And this time, he didn’t know if he’d be able to find his way back.
Uscias’s pronouncement shook Evangeline to the very center of her being. Without her magick she would be powerless, she would be ... nothing. Never before had she felt so lost, so empty. When Lachlan lay down beside her, she’d wanted to rail at him for stealing her magick. For making her care so deeply for him that leaving herself vulnerable and helpless had mattered less to her than his safety did. She hadn’t realized how much he’d come to mean to her until that very moment. And it was as terrifying as the thought of losing her magick.
Gathered in his embrace, she clung to his murmured assurance her magick would return. When he forced her gaze to his, she’d tried to pull away. She didn’t want him to see her weakness, afraid he would turn away from her if he did. But he didn’t. Instead he made her a promise that she knew was the most difficult promise he’d ever had to make. She knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t go back on his word. She admired him for that, and despite the price he’d pay by returning her powers to her, she knew in her heart she would insist he do so. She couldn’t live without her magick, no matter what it cost him to give it back to her.
“Do ye trust me, Evie?”
“Yes.” She did, more than she trusted anyone.
“Good. Then ye can trust me when I tell ye everythin’ will be all right. Ye doona have to cry anymore.”
“I’m not crying,” she protested, wiping her face against his tunic.
“Nay, of course ye’re no’.” He smiled gently, then eased her from his arms. “Come, ye’ll feel better once ye’ve bathed.”
She was about to protest, then noticed the bits of twigs and leaves sticking out of her hair, the uncomfortable dampness of her blood-soaked gown clinging to her skin. Out of habit, she lifted her hand to conjure a bath. Catching the look of pity in Lachlan’s eyes, she let it fall to her side. “You’ll have to do it.”
“I have a better idea.” He lifted her into his arms and strode across the room to a set of double doors on the opposite side.
As soon as Lachlan opened them, they were enveloped in a wall of steam. The heady scent of roses clinging to the warm, moist air. Sunshine spilled through the glass dome ceiling and danced on the sparkling waters. With its wood-planked walls and the rock-rimmed pool, it was as though they’d been transported to the forest.
He set her down on the smooth oak floor, inches from the granite steps leading into the azure water.
“I didn’t know this room existed.”
He shrugged, crouching to skim his hand over the water. “When I first arrived, Uscias created the pool. He thought it would be helpful with my healin’.”
Evangeline wasn’t surprised to see his expression shutter at the mention of his injuries. When they’d found him chained to the altar in the chapel at Glastonbury, she’d had to turn away from the sight of his tortured body lest she be ill. But the silvery scars he now bore as testament to his suffering did little to mar the perfection of his body.
“I come here often, especially at night.”
“I’m sure you do,” she said, unable to keep the censure from her tone. With the stars twinkling down from the heavens, the heated pool would provide the perfect setting for seduction.
He grinned as though he read her thoughts. “Nay, I keep this for my own private use. Until now.”
“Hmm, well, I ...” The water looked inviting, but she wasn’t certain if he meant for her to get in the pool naked. Her cheeks heated at the thought. Even though he’d seen her body last eve, this was different. Her passion had overcome her self-consciousness, as did the knowledge only the subtle glow of candles had lit their chambers.
He stood up, cupping her face with his big hands, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “We’re wed, Evie, ye doona have to be shy.”
“I’m not shy,” she scoffed then latched on to the only excuse she could think of to avoid disrobing in front of him. “But I would rather not have anyone flying overhead see me.” She took a step back, pointing to the glass ceiling.
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