Authors: Debbie Mazzuca
King of the Isles (31 page)
“We have until midnight to come up with a plan, Evie. Ye doona have to do this.” His words were muffled in the plush pillow of her curves—her fragrance warm and intoxicating.
“Please, I need you to do this for me. I can’t risk having even a small amount of magick left in my blood.”
He searched her face and saw her desperation, her fear. Christ, what was he supposed to do? Would she really be safer if she didn’t have her magick? “Evie, I canna do it, love. We have time, we’ll think of somethin’.”
She gave a fierce shake of her head. “No, this is the only way.”
He forced himself to comply with her wishes, no matter how much it pained him to do so, humbled she was willing to give up her magick to help him save his son. Once they vanquished their enemy and retrieved the child, he would make it up to her. Her blood no longer enthralled him, but she did. He wanted to bury himself inside the warmth of her tight sheath and rid himself of the fear he could lose her.
He laid her on the bed, following her down. She moved sinuously beneath him, as if she could not get close enough, her need as great as his. He didn’t want to deny them both the comfort they’d find in making love, nor did he wish to weaken her. “Mayhap we should wait until we return. Wait until this is over.”
“I don’t want to wait. We might not ...” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and turned her head on the pillow, averting her gaze from his, but not before he’d seen the moisture gather in her eyes.
“Nay. I’ll allow no one to harm ye, my bonny wife, no’ ever,” he said, stringing kisses along the delicate line of her jaw. Determined to take away her fear and show her with his touch, with his body, how much she meant to him.
Chapter 29
Evangeline waited until Lachlan’s back was turned to drag herself from the bed. She didn’t want him to see how weak she was. She could barely lift her arms or her boneless legs. It was worse than the last time he’d drained her of her blood. Instinctively she knew Uscias had been right, her magick would not return.
Determined not to wallow in sorrow at the loss, she sought out her husband, now dressed in trews and tunic, his foot propped on the chair as he concealed his dagger in his boot, his head bent over his task. The firelight cast him in an ethereal glow as if to remind her his safety was all that mattered. Her sacrifice had been worthwhile. Lachlan would be well protected, and Lamont and Ursula would be unable to use her to open the door to the underworld.
Inching her way along the edge of the bed, she wrapped her fingers around the thick oak post and heaved herself up. Her legs gave way and she uttered a startled cry, crumpling in a heap on the floor.
With a vicious curse, Lachlan strode to her side. Helping her to her feet, he sat her on the bed. He cupped her cheek and studied her face. “I wish we had time fer ye to regain some of your strength, but we doona.”
He flicked his wrist and clothed her in trews and a tunic, reminding her once more of what she’d lost. But it was nothing in comparison to what her life would be like if she lost Lachlan. Before she had a chance to thank him, he’d replaced her outfit with robes, very heavy and thick robes. She appreciated their warmth but not their weight and was about to tell him so when he took her mouth in a breath-stealing kiss. She sensed in the tenderness with which he held her that he apologized for taking her magick.
He eased away from her, resting his forehead against hers. “When we get back to the Isles, ye’re goin’ to remain in yer bed fer a month.”
“Alone?” She smiled. Her body still hummed from the pleasure he’d given her earlier. She’d been desperate for his touch, the reassurance she found in his strength. Her mind had been in turmoil and her fears had gotten the better of her. She’d been surprised that despite losing her magick, she’d gained more than comfort from his all-consuming passion. He’d managed to banish her fears. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone else.
“Nay, ye’ll never be alone again, Evie.”
“And neither will you.” They had each other now.
He reached for his sword. She laid her hand over his to stop him. “I think it best if you leave your sword here. We can’t risk Ursula or Lamont getting hold of it.”
He raised a brow. “I’ll no’ let that happen.” Rubbing his fingers along the hilt, he relented. “Aye, ye’re right. Of late my blade’s been displayin’ its colors like it did fer Syrena. I doona mind, but ’tis no’ helpful when ye’re tryin’ to catch someone unawares at night.”
Angling his head, he traced her lips with the pad of his thumb. “I’ve seen ye smile when it does. Why is that?”
“The sword amplifies your emotions. Only recently has it shown any sign ...” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to remind him of the reason he’d shut down his feelings.
He seemed to consider her answer. “I see,” he said. Wrapping one hand around the jeweled hilt, he drew her to him with the other. He lightly brushed his lips over hers, then devoured her mouth in a soul-searing kiss. She was breathless by the time he released her.
Holding his sword up for her inspection, he said, “What does this mean?”
She ran her finger over the blade’s golden glow. “It means you’re happy.”
“Nay, if it truly reflects my emotions, ’twould no’ be happiness but love. I love ye, Evie. If anythin’ should happen, I need ye to ken just how verra much I do.”
Her heart swelled along with her temper. “What do you mean whatever happens? You have more power in your little finger than all the Fae put together.”
He laughed. “Ye’re right, I do.”
“And do you not think a better time to tell me you loved me might have been when you were making love to me?”
“Nay, if ye remember, my mouth had more important things to take care of.”
His mouth had indeed been busy. She blushed at the erotic memories.
He grinned down at her, caressing her heated cheek. “Besides, if I told ye then, ye might have thought I was referrin’ to yer body or the act itself. It’s what’s in here,” he touched her head, “and in here,” he touched her chest, “that makes me love ye as I do.”
Blinking back tears, she framed his face with her hands. “I love you, Lachlan MacLeod, more than I can say, more than you’ll ever know.”
A sliver of moonlight slanted through the window and their eyes met and held. It was time. “Let’s get this over with so ye can tell me all the reasons ye love me. I’m sure there are many, and we doona have the time fer it now.”
Lachlan laughed at the irritated expression on his wife’s face, surprised he could be amused when he considered what they were about to face. But the knowledge that Evangeline had imbued him with her magick, her love and trust, lightened his spirits and made him believe together they could conquer anything. Holding firm to the thought, he transported them to the hills over Loch Ness a ways from where they were to meet Lamont and Ursula.
“Put me down,” she demanded in an urgent whisper.
He hesitated. It would be best if Ursula and Lamont didn’t suspect her weakness, but he had a difficult time getting past the pallor of her face and the tremors he felt quaking her limbs.
“Christ, Evie,” he yelped when she pinched his arm.
Releasing an exasperated sigh, she said, “I needed to gain your attention. Besides, it wasn’t that hard.”
“Words are always a good choice,” he grumbled, setting her carefully on her feet.
“I tried, but you ignored me,” she said, scanning the silver birch that circled them on the high braes. Steadying herself with a palm pressed to his chest, she looked up at him. “Remember, you’re not to worry about me. As soon as you retrieve your son, take him to Armadale and then come back for me.”
“ ’Tis my decision to make, no’ yers. If I can get ye away at the same time as the bairn, I will. Nay,” he said when she opened her mouth to protest, “the less time ye spend in their hands, the better.” He had no intention of leaving her, but he wasn’t about to argue with her now.
Guided by the light of the full moon, they slowly made their way up the steep incline. At the sound of her labored breathing, he knew he had no choice but to change the plan. He transported them to the meeting place.
She nudged him with a perturbed look upon her face. “We were supposed to sneak up on them,” she said in a rusty whisper.
He kissed her furrowed brow. Noting the chill of her skin and increased pallor, he knew he’d made the right decision. “Doona worry aboot it.” The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he heeded the warning, reaching for the sword he’d replaced Nuie with.
“Ah, ah, ah, no weapons,” Lamont commanded.
At Evangeline’s pained gasp, Lachlan jerked his attention behind her. Lamont, his face concealed by a black leather mask, held the tip of his blade to her back. Fury hazed Lachlan’s vision and he fought to regain control before he did something he’d regret. His son would pay the price if he did. Even though he recognized that, it was difficult for him to release the sword. He forced himself to loosen his hold on the hilt, then flung it into the trees ringing the clearing.
“Move away from her,” Lamont ordered.
“Take yer sword from her back and I’ll think aboot it.”
Ursula stepped from the shadows with his son. Lachlan’s skin crawled at the sight of a woman most would think beautiful with her voluptuous curves and long, dark hair. But after being on the receiving end of her madness, all he saw was the maniacal gleam in her light-colored eyes and the cruel twist of her mouth.
“Do as he says, Lachlan,” Evangeline said, holding his gaze as though she thought to reassure him she would be all right. She had to be.
Reluctantly, he did as she asked, squeezing her shoulder before he set her away from him. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, her teeth clenched as she struggled to remain upright. The muscles knotted painfully in his belly as he fought the urge to grab Lamont’s blade and ram it in the man’s black heart.
Lamont motioned him away, then removed a chain from beneath his cape, flicking the iron links at Lachlan with a spiteful laugh. “Look familiar?” he jeered before wrapping the long length around Evangeline’s neck.
Only the warning shake of Evangeline’s head kept Lachlan from lunging at the man. Slanting a look in his son’s direction, she silently reminded him to hold his temper and keep to the plan. Aye, he would, but before the night was out, he’d wrap the cursed chains around the bastard’s neck.
“I’ve done as ye asked. Give me my son.”
“Ursula, did ye hear him? He wants his son.”
Lachlan was so intent on Evie, he hadn’t noticed Ursula had moved closer to the edge of the cliff. She shook the child’s hands from her gown, ignoring his terrified whimpers. Lachlan’s heart thudded in his chest and he took a step in their direction. She held his gaze, then, with a vindictive smile, grabbed hold of the bairn’s arms.
“Nay,” he shouted, racing toward her. But it was too late. She threw his son over the edge.
His pulse pounded in his head as he fought against his panic. He sprinted to the edge of the cliff. Turning back to Evie with the intention of helping her before he went after his son, he lifted his hand, hoping to get a clear shot at Lamont, but he was using Evie as a shield. Lachlan couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t even sure he would be able to conjure a bolt as Evie did.
With one last tortured look in her direction, he dove from the cliff into the dark murky waters far beneath him. The weight of his clothes dragged him deeper and deeper beneath the icy depths. He held his breath, his lungs threatening to explode as he fought his way toward the watery light above him. Breaking through the surface, he gasped for air and shook the water from his hair, shoving it from his face as he tried to get his bearings.
Moonbeams danced on the inky mirror of the loch lighting his way. Treading water, he twisted and turned, searching for his son. He scanned the shore at the point where Ursula had thrown the child off the cliff, steeling himself against the thought he’d see his son’s broken body lying amongst the rocks. He thanked God when he found no sign of him, but that small sense of relief did little to assuage his panic. The loch had yet to release the child.
If not for Evangeline’s magick, the frigid waters would’ve stolen his strength. At the thought of her, his heart lurched. He had no choice but to shut out the image of her pale face, her elegant neck wrapped in chains, and his need to go to her.
The waters around him churned, the waves rocking his body. A gust of hot air rushed past him and he slowly turned—coming face-to-face with the monster of the loch. With a strangled gasp, he kicked his feet, moving his arms in an attempt to get away, then abruptly ceased his frantic movements. He had to find his son and get to Evangeline; he couldn’t allow the creature to chase him from the loch.
“I doona want to hurt ye, so be a good beastie and go away,” he said, flicking water at the long-necked creature with its piercing yellow eyes. The monster held his gaze, then dove beneath the water. Its slick black-leathered hide disappeared in the murky depths.
Lachlan blew out a relieved breath and set out across the loch. He’d made it but a few feet when the creature reappeared several yards from him with a white bundle in its mouth. His limbs weakened with relief. It was his son. The gentle way in which the monster handled the child alleviated some of Lachlan’s fears. Not wishing to startle the creature, he cut through the water with slow, careful strokes. Craning its reptilian neck, the monster deposited Lachlan’s son on a rocky outcropping. Then, with a nod of its ancient head, its body undulated beneath a wave.
Shaking off his disbelief at what had transpired, Lachlan swam to the water’s edge. Grabbing hold of the granite ledge, he dragged himself over the slime-coated rocks to make his way to his son. The child whimpered, knuckling his eyes as he sat shivering in his white nightshift.
Tentatively, Lachlan reached out to touch the bairn’s damp curls. “Ye’re safe now, laddie. No one will hurt ye ever again.” His chest was so tight the words came out in a harsh rasp. The backs of his eyes burned and he rubbed them, straining for control. He inhaled deeply, then crouched by the little boy, searching for some sign of injury. Relieved the child appeared to be unharmed, he quickly dressed him in warm nightclothes and conjured a length of plaid. Once Lachlan had garbed himself in dry clothing, he wrapped his son in the thick wool and lifted him into his arms. The child released a shuddered breath then burrowed into the hollow of Lachlan’s neck.
A dull ache filled his chest and he tightened his hold on the bairn. He had a son and he was safe. But Evangeline wasn’t. No matter what she’d demanded of him, Lachlan wouldn’t leave her a second longer in their hands than he had to. He transported to the clearing where he’d last seen her.
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