King of the Isles by Debbie Mazzuca Page A

Rohan’s court—the stark pallor of her face and the fear shadowing her violet gaze. Her vulnerability had struck a chord in him and, despite his quarrel with her earlier, his need to protect her had not abated.
    His brother watched him. “’Tis obvious yer mind’s made up where the women are concerned, but I wish ye’d reconsider.”
    “Why? Ye feel the same as I do aboot women in battle.”
    “Aye, I do. But this is different. Ye doona have magick, Lan, and ye have no’ commanded yer army long enough to ken who ye can trust and who ye canna. I’d feel better kenning the ones that had yer back.”
    Lachlan snorted. “Guard my back? They’re just as likely to put a blade in it. Ye doona ken them, Aidan. They’ll question my every command and they’ll no’ care who hears them do so.”
    “Nay, ye ken as well as I they’d protect ye. Ye’re Syrena’s brother-by-marriage. As to them underminin’ yer authority, ye’ll—”
    Delighted squeals interrupted Aidan. At the top of the stairs, Ava bounced excitedly in Aurora’s arms.
    “Aurora.” Lachlan urgently waved his arms at the little seer. “Take her back to her chambers. Now.”
    “Lan ... Lan,” Ava shrieked, putting out her arms to him, clapping her wee hands.
    He cursed when the door to Syrena’s solar opened. “Lachlan MacLeod, get your sorry self up here this instant.”
    Turning on his laughing brother, he said, “Ye see what I’m sayin’. Fallyn and her sisters are as bad as Syrena. She shouldna be bossin’ me around anymore. I’m a bloody king, fer Chrissakes.”
    “Good luck with that. I’ll see—”
    “Nay.” He hauled Aidan after him. “If I have to go, so do ye. I doona have time to spare, so ye’d best help me make my excuses to yer wife.”
    Evangeline couldn’t believe Lachlan had taken time from his preparations to come to the Mortal realm. He truly had no sense. Without Uscias to guide him, he was obviously at a loss and she felt she had no choice but to offer her counsel. A heated flush worked its way from her chest to her cheeks at the memory of their earlier altercation. She waved a cooling hand in front of her face. She would not allow him to see her discomfiture. An image of her dragging herself from the pool to the sound of the Faes’ derisive laughter taunted her until she remembered why she’d fallen into the water in the first place.
    She closed her eyes at the memory of the tortured pain in Lachlan’s eyes. If she hadn’t allowed her temper to get the better of her, she never would’ve shot the bolt into his hand. She knew what had been done to him, she’d seen his scars.
    She shook off her guilt. The damage had been done and, she reminded herself, she had apologized. Evangeline never apologized—to anyone, ever.
    Lachlan entered Syrena’s solar with his niece in his arms. His brother followed behind with Aurora’s hand in his. It never ceased to amaze Evangeline how comfortable Lachlan was with Ava. Fae men had little patience with children. Then again, the king of the Enchanted Isles was only half-Fae, or perhaps she admitted, her relationship with Morfessa tainted her observations.
    “Syrena.” He leaned down to kiss her best friend’s cheek in greeting, avoiding Fallyn and her two sisters’ pointed stares. “Ah, mayhap ye should sit down.” He glanced uncomfortably at Syrena’s swollen belly.
    Her friend wrinkled her turned-up nose. “You sound just like your brother.” She reached up to peel her daughter’s arms from Lachlan’s neck, ignoring Ava’s whiny protest. “Oh, don’t fuss. You’ll see your uncle later.”
    Keeping a firm grip on Ava’s hand, Syrena leaned over to retrieve several of the delicate pastries from the tray and wrap them in a napkin. “Off you go now,” she said, handing Aurora the cakes. The little seer happily took Ava and the cakes and left the room.
    Aidan cast an amused smile at his wife. “Are ye certain ye’re well, my love? ’Tis no’ often