Encased in a block of ice, the limb had been preserved, the pentagram clearly visible, inked on the inside of the forearm. King Arwan and his men had laughed, throwing the arm among themselves. Its gnarled, blackened fingers pointed to the assemblage, who drew back in horror. Syrena and her mother, who stood trembling at her side, were just as affected by the dark magick that seeped from the ravaged appendage. Syrena had battled the urge to expel the contents of her belly, struggling to breathe as the icy fingers strangled her, just as they did now.
The look of frustration in Aidan’s eyes softened to concern. He waved Callum and Connor past with their belongings, nudging Syrena out of the way. “What is it, angel? Yer bonny eyes are about to swallow yer wee face.”
He folded her in his arms, and she greedily inhaled his familiar scent. The warmth of his embrace dispelled the bone-numbing terror that iced her limbs. Protected and strengthened by his powerful presence, she once more turned her mind to that day long ago. She’d forgotten until Aidan wrapped her in his arms that her uncle, King Rohan, had been with them.
While her father and his men, unaffected by the dark magick, disregarded those who were, her uncle had not. He’d held Syrena and her mother, quieting their fears, staying with them until their trembling ceased, as Aidan did now, with her.
He kneaded her shoulders. “Tell me.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “There’s something here, Aidan, something evil.”
He frowned, smoothing the tangled curls from her face. “Nay, angel, ye’re tired is all. Once ye—”
“I wish that was all it was, Aidan, but—”
“Ye havena’ changed a bit, my laird, always one fer the lassies, ye were. Come in, I canna be waitin’ all night fer ye. We’re heatin’ the out of doors as it is.” An older man, the light from the lanterns glinting off his shiny bald head, smiled warmly at Aidan.
“Samuel, ’tis good to see ye,” Aidan said, stepping away from Syrena. He took hold of her hand and tugged her along behind him as the small, wiry man ushered them inside. “’Tis been a long time. I didna ken ye came to England with my uncle. Did yer wife accompany ye?”
“Aye, after the Lady Elizabeth passed and he took up with his new wife, me and Bess didna want to leave himself to his own devices. We could no’ stand the idea of him bein’ served by a bunch of snooty Englishmen.” His light blue eyes filled. “Ye ken he passed, doona ye, my lord?”
“Aye, I received word from John Henry. I didna ken he’d been unwell.” Syrena had noted the hard slash Aidan’s mouth drew into every time he made mention of his cousin, but she had yet to discover the cause.
“Unwell?” Samuel scoffed. “’Twas fit as a fiddle. If ye ask me, his wife and her brother had somethin’ to do with it.”
A feminine peal of laughter floated down from the second floor. “Mayhap ye’d best be keepin’ those thoughts to yerself, Samuel,” Aidan warned.
“Aye, ’tis—” A delighted cry drew their attention to a heavyset woman, bright auburn curls escaping from beneath her snug, white lace cap as she bustled toward them.
She clutched Aidan’s hand. “Laird MacLeod, ’tis grand to see ye. Lord Hamilton mentioned we should be expectin’ a visit from ye.” She lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “Was none too happy about it, ye ken, on account of Lady Davina. Och, ye’re well rid of that one, let me tell ye, my laird.”
“Bess,” Samuel admonished his wife.
“What? Och, well, ’tis no secret how—”
A grim-faced Aidan cut her off. “Bess, Samuel, this is my wife, Lady Syrena.” Tugging on Syrena’s hand, he set her in front of the couple.
A warm smile wreathed the older woman’s round face. “Och, my laird, she’s a bonny wee thing. ’Tis glad we are to meet ye, my lady.”
Syrena managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“Bonny and tired, Bess, we’ve had a long journey. If ye doona mind, I think she could use a bath and her bed.”
“I’ll see to it straightaway. And what about ye?”
“Later. I’d like to speak with my cousin first.”
“Ye’ll be waitin’ until the morrow, then. He’s taken his father’s place as agent to King James and is rarely home. If he was, I doona think they’d be carryin’ on as they do,” Samuel said darkly, jerking his thumb to the raucous laughter coming from above.
Aidan followed the older man’s gaze. “I’ll question his widow. She would’ve been around when Lachlan was here.”
Samuel and his wife shared a pained look. “We were sorry to hear yer brother is missin’. John Henry questioned all the staff, but none kent anythin’ of Lachlan’s whereabouts. Mayhap ye’d best wait until his lordship returns. There’s strange goin’s on up there, my laird. And Lady Ursula and her brother”—Samuel shuddered—“trust me, ye doona want to have anythin’ to do with the likes of them.”
“Aye, listen to my Samuel, Laird MacLeod, and wait until the morrow.”
“I’ll have to take my chances, Bess. I doona have time to waste.”
“Och, well, doona say we didna warn ye. And doona imbibe of the mead, I’m fairly certain ’tis laced with laudanum.”
A flicker of disgust crossed Aidan’s face. “I won’t. Is Lady Davina up there as well?”
Bess cast Syrena a sidelong glance. “Aye, she is.”
Aidan lifted Syrena’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I won’t be long.”
She shook her head and tightened her grip on his hand. Maybe Aidan was right, and she was simply tired. Her certainty that evil dwelled in Lord Hamilton’s residence had wavered as the suffocating darkness dissipated. But Bess and Samuel’s silent communication had prickled a warning. Something was going on, and she wouldn’t leave Aidan to face it on his own. “No, I’ll go with you.”
“Nay,” Aidan and Samuel said as one. As though sensing Syrena meant to insist, Bess used a potent argument, appealing to her vanity. “Now, my lady, ye canna wish to attend the soiree as ye are.”
Aidan shot the older woman a look of thanks, and before Syrena could argue the point, he was already halfway up the stairs.
Bess directed Callum and Connor to Syrena’s assigned chambers then led her up the long, wooden staircase. A wall of darkness slammed into her as she reached the top step, and she stumbled. She struggled to breathe, fighting past the suffocating sense of doom, the tightness in her chest.
Bess took one look at her and took hold of her arm, dragging her along behind her. “Och, sorry, my lady, I should have helped ye, ye’re exhausted from yer journey.” With every step they took away from the dark-paneled gallery, Syrena’s breathing eased. They slowed their pace once they reached the far end of the corridor. Connor and Callum had just deposited her possessions when Syrena and Bess entered the chambers.
“Samuel will show ye to yer accommodations, lads, but I think it might be best if one of ye stand guard over yer lady.”
“Aye, Laird MacLeod suggested as much,” Connor piped in. “I’ll be outside yer chambers if ye need me, Lady Syrena.”
Noting the stubborn set of his jaw, Syrena sighed. “Thank you, Connor,” she said as he and Callum took their leave.
“I ken ye doona think the precaution is warranted, my lady, but ye may be glad of his protection. There are unnatural goin’s-on when this lot gathers. What I’ve seen would have Lord Hamilton turnin’ in his grave if he were to ken. God rest his soul.” Her kind brown eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“His wife didn’t hold the gatherings when he was alive.”
Bess looked horrified. “Nay, Lady Ursula’s brother was banned from the house. He’s a defrocked priest and takes his anger out against the Kirk. Lord Hamilton would have none of it and, John Henry, well, he doesna’ have the sense to see what’s goin’ on right beneath his nose. Mayhap he doesna’ want to deal with it, run off his feet with the king’s incessant demands as he is. And his wife, well, that’s another story altogether.” She sighed. “I’ve told my Samuel I’ll no longer remain amongst these people. ’Twas why I was so glad to hear Laird MacLeod was comin’. I’m hopin’ we can travel home with ye.”
“I’m certain Aidan wouldn’t mind, but I’m surprised you wish to leave Lord Hamilton. It sounds as though you’ve been with the family a very long time.”
“Aye, verra long, and I canna say it will be easy to leave, but ye havena’ seen what I’ve seen. Mark my words, my lady, there’s evil afoot in this house.”
Syrena shuddered. Bess had confirmed her worst fear. King Gabriel had alluded to the use of dark magick in London, and she now knew it roamed the halls of this elegant town house on the Strand. Her brother’s last known residence.
Chapter 21
Syrena lay on top of the cream-colored coverlet. Her hand slipped from Nuie’s hilt, and she jolted, forcing her eyes open. Determined to make Aidan believe that someone in this house was responsible for Lachlan’s disappearance, she couldn’t allow herself to fall asleep.
“Syrena,” a man whispered.
She blinked and sat up. With only the dying embers of the fire to light the room, she strained to see who had entered her chambers. Tightening her grip on Nuie, she asked, “Who’s there?”
“Syrena.” The thin voice wavered, even weaker than the first time.
Lan.
“Lachlan, is that you?” Her heart hammered in her chest. Pressing her palms to her temples, she searched for him in her mind.
“Aye.”
She swallowed her fear. He sounded so weak, but at least he was alive. “We’re here, Lan. Aidan and I are in London. Tell me, tell me where you are.”
“Nay . . . nay. Danger. Leave . . . too late.”
“No! We’re not going anywhere without you. Be strong, we’ll find you. Lachlan, stay with me,” she cried, sensing the connection fading. Pressure built inside her head with the effort to reach him. She gritted her teeth and pushed past the pain, sending him her strength, her love, but he was gone.
She sprang from the bed. She had to find Aidan and tell him Lachlan had made contact with her. Rubbing her eyes to clear her misted vision, she grabbed her mantle from the end of the bed. More certain than ever that evil dwelt within the town house, she would go nowhere without her sword. She strapped the sheath to her back and tucked Nuie inside, fastening the dark woolen cloak at her neck.
Wrapping the protective weight of the material around her hand, she lifted the iron latch.
She cursed the creak of the wood and peeked around the door. Connor, leaning against the stone wall, turned.
Oh for Fae-sakes.
He straightened when he saw her. “Is somethin’ amiss, my lady?” His brow furrowed as he took in her mantle.
“I must speak with Lord MacLeod? Have you seen him?”
“Nay.” He tipped his chin in the direction of the grand hall. “He’s no’ come this way. Ye’ll have to wait fer his return, my lady.”
She couldn’t wait. Lachlan’s life depended on them. She took a step over the threshold and Connor moved in front of her. “Connor, you don’t understand. It’s very important I speak with him,” she said, frustrated by the determined look in his eyes.
“Ye must remain here, Lady Syrena. I canna allow ye to go to the hall. The laird would have my head. And if ye’d seen what I have stumblin’ along these corridors, ye would no’ want to.”
Desperate to reach Aidan, but certain Connor would not let her go without a fight, she had no choice but to get Connor into her room and immobilize him for at least an hour. She wrapped her mantle around her as though she was chilled. “I’m sure you are right,” she said, forcing her teeth to chatter, adding a shiver for effect.
A frown furrowed his youthful brow. “Ye’re cold, my lady.” He craned his neck, looking past her to the interior of her chambers. “Ah, I can see the reason from here—yer fire is out. I’ll take care of it fer ye, my lady.”
“Thank you, Connor,” she murmured, wishing there was another option available to her, but there wasn’t, and she didn’t have time to waste developing one. He crouched beside the grate, chatting to her as he nudged the flame to life with a poker. While he was distracted, she slipped her cold hand to his neck.
“What—” The rest of his startled question died on his lips as her fingers found the pressure point that rendered him unconscious.
She caught him just before he hit the floor and dragged him to the bed. She quickly secured his hands and feet. Tucking him beneath the covers, she brushed a lock of hair from his face. “I’m sorry, Connor.” She assuaged her guilt with the knowledge he would suffer no ill effects. He’d simply sleep for an hour or so, and truly, what choice did she have when her brother’s life was at stake?
She closed the door behind her and stepped into the narrow corridor. The cacophony of voices grew louder as she hurried along the East Wing. As she approached the curved staircase, a man and a woman, both dressed in black and wearing half-masks, staggered from the wood-paneled gallery. Oblivious to her presence, they groped one another with unrestrained lust. A cloud of sweet, intoxicating fumes rolled off the pair. Syrena stepped out of their way, reminding herself to refuse refreshments if they were offered. Lengthening her stride, she hastened toward the gallery that ran the width of the house. A heavy thud sounded behind her, then several more. She winced. The couple had fallen down the stairs. Samuel’s genial voice, with his thick brogue, offered his commiseration.
Before he spotted her, Syrena slipped around the corner of the paneled wall into the gallery. On the opposite side of the room, the chatter of men’s and women’s voices wafted from beneath the double doors that led into the grand hall.
Within inches of the doors, a dark terror choked off her breath.
Not again.
Staggering under the oppressive weight, she stumbled and lost her balance. She reached out, stretching her fingers toward the wall to break her fall. Gasping for air, she dragged herself into a dark corner. Syrena covered her mouth to contain her silent retching, the pain in her head bringing her to her knees. She pressed her heated cheek to the wall, absorbing the coolness of the wood.
Nuie.
Groping beneath her mantle, her fingers were lifeless and she barely managed to wrap her hand around her sword’s hilt. She clamped her mouth shut, swallowing convulsively to keep the bile down, and used both her hands to remove him. Nuie’s life force, his strength, took hold of her, filling her with his power, a shield against the dark magick. The band constricting her chest snapped, and she dragged in muchneeded air. The loud buzzing in her head faded to silence, the pain subsiding as the black cloud lifted from her mind.
“Thank you, my friend,” she panted.
The doors to the grand hall swung open. Too weak to stand, she huddled in the shadows. Behind the masked couple the interior glittered in the flickering glow of candlelight. Through a swirl of color, a crowd of men and women, masked and unmasked, she strained to catch a glimpse of Aidan.
The door closed and out of the darkness, the man asked, “Are you certain you don’t wish to remain a bit longer, my dear?”
“Certainly not, Jasper. Lady Hamilton’s soirees have gone beyond the pale. It started off as a lark, but now they go too far.”
“But, sister, I overheard Lady Ursula promise a display of the dark lord’s power to the followers of Jarius. I will not learn of the location if I don’t remain.” There was a pleading note in the man’s voice.
“Dark lords, secret location,” she scoffed, “honestly, Jasper, how much wine did you consume? I swear it’s drugged. Did you see Lord Billingsly? If you ask me, Lady Ursula has gone mad, and that brother of hers, Jarius, is the cause. Come, I don’t wish to remain a moment longer.”
“But, sister . . ” Their voices faded as the woman dragged off the protesting man.
Rubbing her temples, Syrena tried to absorb what she’d heard. They must have misunderstood. They could not have been referring to the lords of the underworld. The Fae had locked the dark lords away after the battle with Tatianna.
There was no way Mortals could release them, was there?
She searched her mind for an answer, but stopped herself. There was no time to waste. She had to find Aidan, and together they would decide what to do.
Syrena held on to the wall and pulled herself to her feet. Evil pulsed around her. If she let go of Nuie, she was certain it would attack again. After suffering its effects twice in one day, she didn’t plan on letting it happen again. She had to find a way to keep her hand on her sword while concealing him at the same time. Aidan wouldn’t appreciate her striding into the soiree with Nuie drawn, although if he heard what she had, he might not care. Turning her back to the doors, she cut a slit in the waist of her primrose gown and slipped Nuie inside. Red shards shot through her fingers, but she couldn’t afford to mute his power. She would just have to be careful.
Tugging the mantle closed, she kept her left hand on her sword and held the fabric together with her right. Syrena slipped inside the grand hall. Flattened against the back wall, she searched for Aidan. To the right, at the front of the room, a statuesque woman in a claret gown cut low to display her ample attractions held court. Several men in robes as black as the woman’s hair surrounded her, hanging on her every word.
A liveried servant stepped in front of Syrena, balancing a tray with silver-encrusted goblets. He blocked her view. “No, thank you,” she said, trying to look past him.
“Lady Hamilton insists all her guests partake, my lady.”
“I’m sure she does,” Syrena muttered under her breath. “I’m afraid I must decline.” She waved him off, frustrated when he stood his ground.
His onyx eyes flashed and his thin lips flattened. “And I’m afraid I must insist or I’ll be forced to have you removed.”
She’d like to see him try. No one was making her leave until she found Aidan. Allowing her mantle to slip, she gave him a good look at Nuie.
He blinked and took a step backward. “I . . . I’ll just go.”
“I thought you might.”
While she tracked his hasty retreat, a young woman bumped into her. “Sorry,” the pretty blond twittered, stumbling toward the doors. The tall man in front of Syrena nudged his companion and jerked his head in the direction of the girl. His heavyset friend turned, the upper part of his face covered in a black half-mask, a lascivious grin creased his thick lips, and he nodded to his companion. They quickly followed after the blonde. Syrena was torn between finding Aidan and protecting the girl.
She sighed and headed after them, certain she could dispatch the lecherous louts easily enough. Before the doors to the grand hall closed behind her, a narrow shaft of light illuminated the far wall of the gallery. With her head thrown back, an expression of bliss upon her face, the girl held the backs of both men’s heads, pressing their faces to her bared breasts.
Disgusted, Syrena stepped back into the hall. Now it seemed in every corner she looked couples indulged their lustful cravings with no care as to who saw them. A sidelong glance revealed the servant who’d tried to force the drink upon her, speaking to the woman in the claret gown. He tipped his head in Syrena’s direction. Almost certain it was Lady Ursula he spoke to, Syrena anxiously searched the crowd. Every instinct warned her to stay as far away from the woman as she could.
Drawing her hood over her hair, she wove her way through a small cluster of people. Stretching up on the tips of her toes, she looked over the shoulder of the man in front of her to see the opposite end of the hall. Near the far wall, set apart from the crowd, stood a man with his back to her, speaking to a beautiful redhead. The familiar stance, the breadth of his shoulders, caused Syrena to expel a sigh of relief.
Aidan.
She excused herself, nudging the man out of her way. Without him blocking her view, Syrena could see Aidan and the woman were deep in conversation, oblivious to those around them. There was something about their interaction that made her uncomfortable, and she hesitated before walking toward them. From where she stood, Syrena watched as the woman took Aidan’s hand and placed it on her swollen belly. She appeared to plead with him. He didn’t withdraw his hand, his chiseled profile softening as he seemed to offer her comfort. It was a look Syrena was familiar with, a look she’d come to love, and she tried to ignore a pinch of jealousy. There was no help for it, her interruption might not be welcomed, but Aidan needed to hear what she’d learned.
“Not very subtle, is she?” a sultry voice said.
Syrena turned. The woman in the claret gown stood beside her, a dark brow raised as she watched Aidan and his companion. “Pardon me?”
A sympathetic smile curved her reddened lips as she turned her attention to Syrena. “Judging by your reaction, I assume you’re Lord MacLeod’s wife, am I correct?”
Syrena shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t like what the woman seemed to imply. “I, yes, I’m Syrena MacLeod. And you are?”
“Lady Hamilton, Ursula to you, my dear.” She folded her arms beneath her bountiful chest, and tilted her head. “I’m afraid Davina is regretting her choice in husbands of late. I can’t say as I blame her. My stepson pays little to no attention to her. And then this evening, in walks the gorgeous Highlander she let get away. She has horrific taste if you ask me, breaking off her betrothal to Lord MacLeod to marry John Henry.”
“Davina . . . Davina and Aidan were betrothed.” The words were scraped from Syrena’s throat.
“Oh, yes, several years ago. She broke his heart, from what I hear.”
Syrena’s troubled gaze sought Aidan. Davina said something to him and he nodded. Removing his hand from the curve of her belly, he wrapped his arm around her. Davina clung to him, her head resting against his broad shoulder. Together they left through a side door.
A dull ache blossomed in Syrena’s chest.