His words had the desired effect—her tears dried up. He glanced at Nuie, who glowed red and grinned. “There’s my lass.”
Hidden on the side of a hill, not far from the castle, Syrena and those that remained huddled around a pitiful fire. The chill from the night air settled deep in her bones. She wrapped her arms around herself and scanned the shadows for Connor and the three others she’d set on the first watch. Syrena, John Henry, David, and his companion, Dirk, would take the next shift.
The full moon began its slow ascent over the peaks of the castle. David, on the opposite side of the fire, spoke with his companion. Every so often Syrena felt his gaze upon her. But she set aside her discomfort, certain her unease had more to do with the fact he’d followed Ursula’s directives than with the man himself. After all, a servant was not given much choice in who they served—not with a family to feed.
All fell silent. Only the crackle and pop of the flames and the chirps and whistles of night creatures broke the quiet. Tension weighted her shoulders. This was the most difficult time of battle. The waiting—too much time to consider the outcome.
John Henry sat beside Syrena on a log. He snapped a twig and tossed it into the flames, and then another, and another.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Syrena’s nerves were scraped raw, and she wanted to yell at him to stop, but she understood his fears and sympathized.
He shot to his feet. “I canna take it anymore. How much longer?” he asked Syrena. The light from the campfire softened the harsh lines of worry in his handsome face.
“Not long, Lord Hamilton. The moon has almost reached its apex.” Across the dancing flame, David nudged his companion and nodded. Were they as relieved as the others that the long wait would soon be over, or was there another reason for his reaction?
“Doona worry about yer lady wife, my laird, she’s a strong one. They willna break her,” Bess said, as she attempted to reassure him.
John Henry stopped his pacing and pushed a sandy lock of hair from his face, his gaze seeking out the castle. “Aye, she is. If only I had told her I loved her, mayhap she wouldna . . ” His voice trailed off. His face pinched with sorrow, he strode in the direction of the horses.
“Poor mon,” Bess murmured.
Distracted, Syrena watched David and Dirk follow after John Henry, and murmured an agreement to Bess’s statement. She pitied the man his knowledge that the woman he loved might die without ever learning how he felt about her. Syrena decided she would not put herself in the same position. This night she would tell Aidan she loved him.
David ran out from the cover of the trees, his eyes wide and wild. “My lady, come quick, something has happened to Lord Hamilton!”
Syrena scrambled from the log and raced after him with a hundred scenarios running through her mind. As she pushed past the horses, the two men backed away to reveal John Henry, lying on the ground, gasping for air. She dropped to his side and set Nuie on the ground. “Lord Hamilton, can—”
His red-rimmed eyes were glazed and bulging. Struggling to speak, he fisted his hands into her shirt and pulled her down to him. “Poi . . . poison.” His voice was little more than a whisper.
Bess shrieked, “My lady, behind ye!”
Syrena whipped her head around. In the filtered light of the moon, David’s face glowered with menace, and he raised Nuie over his head. “Prepare to die,” he sneered.
On her knees, she twisted and lunged. Wrapping her arms around David’s legs, she jerked them out from under him. Midway through his fall, he flung Nuie over his shoulder.
“Dirk! Take it . . .” David slammed into the ground, lying flat on his back.
Before she managed to untangle herself from his limbs, his companion had grabbed hold of Nuie and ran to the waiting black steed. He leapt onto the horse and galloped into the shadows of the night.
Connor rushed toward them, panting, unaware of what had transpired. “Lady Syrena, the signal.”
Before she had a chance to respond, David struggled to sit up. A flash of silver glinted between his fingers. “You can’t stop him. You can’t stop any of it.”
“My lady,” Bess yelled and tossed her John Henry’s sword.
Drawing the blade in a wide arc, Syrena slit his throat.
With a wet gurgle, he slumped over. Blood splattered his white shirt and the sword. She wiped the blade on the grass and met Connor’s startled gaze. “Consider your friends’ deaths avenged.”
Mouth open, Connor gave her a jerky nod. “The . . . the signal . . .”
Everything was happening too fast, and the magnitude of Syrena’s responsibilities threatened to overwhelm her. Aidan had entrusted her with the protection of his people, while the Fae had entrusted Nuie, their greatest treasure, to her care. She had failed on both counts.
Breathe. You are a warrior. You know what to do.
But how could she be a warrior without her sword? Without Nuie, she was simply Syrena, a Fae princess without magick, without power and strength.
As though he were with her now, Uscias’s words echoed in her mind. “It comes from here, Syrena, your head and your heart. It’s always been there. Look for it.” An image of Aidan appeared before her, his beautiful smiling face when he told her Nuie mirrored her emotions, who she was, and not the other way around.
She took strength in their words and motioned for the two men who’d stood watch with Connor. “Go after Dirk. He’s headed for the castle. He’ll take the long way around.”
She knelt beside John Henry. His weakened fingers encircled her wrist. “Tell Aidan . . . tell him there is a passage.” He paused, gasping for air. “A passage from the crypt . . . from the crypt to the chapel.”
“I’ll tell him. Save your strength, John Henry,” Syrena said as he struggled to speak, yet knowing he didn’t have much time left.
“Leave me . . . save . . . save my wife. Tell her . . . tell her . . . I love her.”
She held his gaze. “We’ll save her, you have my word.”
Syrena led what was left of her small party across the moors to the woods. In Nuie’s stead, she carried John Henry’s sword. She knew what the loss of her sword would cost her. Princess or no princess, she’d be brought before the Seelie court. Her defense, concern for a fallen Mortal, for her brother’s life, would carry little weight. It would only serve to draw the Fae’s derision. Having suffered their contempt in the past, she didn’t care. It was only her promise to Nuie that mattered—her promise to protect him.
And there was only one way she knew how to do so.
Uscias.
He would know she failed to fulfill her oath, be obligated to report her to the court, but none of that mattered.
They crossed the flat terrain that led to the copse of trees where they would rendezvous with Aidan. Syrena slowed her breathing and searched for the quiet in her mind. She had only ever communicated with Lachlan in this manner and hoped she would be able to do so with the wizard.
“Uscias,” she called to him.
A low buzz vibrated inside her head. “Princess Syrena?”
Relief at reaching him rushed through her. “Yes, it’s me. Uscias, I need your help. Nuie’s been taken.”
An ominous silence rang in her ears before he said, “I’ll come, but first I must go to the Seelie court. Much has happened since you disappeared. Magnus and Dmitri attacked.”
Syrena stifled a shocked cry with her hand. She hadn’t been there to fight alongside them. Guilt and fear roiled inside her. How could she ever face the Fae? She’d failed them when they needed her most.
“We were victorious, princess. You trained your army well. Fallyn and her sisters are unharmed, but I’m afraid you . . .”
She knew what he was about to say. Even if she hadn’t lost Nuie, she would have to face the Seelie court. “I know. It doesn’t matter. Uscias, the Mortals have the Grimoire of Honorius.”
Her mentor’s curse startled Syrena. If she hadn’t known how dire the situation was before, she did now.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, we were told by a woman that they had the Grimoire in their possession.”
“Where are you?”
“Glastonbury. They are attempting to release the dark lord. Uscias, they have my brother, and I’m certain the Fae that went missing.”
“I’ve arrived at your uncle’s palace, princess, I must break contact. The fate of both Mortal and Fae realms rests with you, Syrena. The Grimoire must be destroyed. It will sense your magick, your goodness, and try to destroy you by driving you mad. Fill yourself with light, and pray, pray to the angels for their protection. This has been your quest all along, my child. The angels chose you.”
She heard Uscias grunt and in a quarrelsome voice say, “She needed to know. You cannot expect her to do this entirely on her own.”
“Who are you speaking to?”
“It doesn’t matter. I must go. I will come as soon as I’m able. May the angels walk with you, Syrena.” The connection sputtered and silence filled her mind.
Angels.
The angels had known all along where her father’s quest would lead her. Once again, Syrena felt crushed under the weight of responsibility, the expectations of others.
“My lady, are ye all right?” Connor asked, holding up a bough for her to ride beneath.
“No . . . no, I’m not, but I have to be,” she answered honestly.
“Doona worry, we’ll get the laird’s brother and Lady Davina back.”
Connor was right. Nothing else mattered but saving Lachlan and Davina, and now, destroying the Grimoire.
A movement ahead captured her attention. Under the light of the moon, ghostly apparitions wove among the trees. Syrena held up her hand, and the others came to a halt. Connor whistled. Seconds later, a corresponding whistle came back in response.
“’Tis Laird MacLeod.”
The shadows moved silently toward them, familiar faces coming into view as they drew near. Aidan stepped forward. His gaze scanned the riders then locked on to hers. “What happened?” he asked as he raised his arms to help her from her horse.
Syrena inhaled his warm, woodsy scent, allowing herself a moment in the comfort of his embrace before she stepped away. “Your cousin was poisoned.”
Connor led the white steed toward them. They’d tied John Henry to his horse, and he lay slumped over the saddle.
“I’m sorry, Aidan, he’s dead.”
Connor asked if he wished him to remove the body and Aidan nodded, gesturing for Callum to help.
He didn’t take his gaze from his cousin’s body; a muscle pulsated in the hard set of his beard-stubbled jaw. “Who?”
“David and his companion, Dirk.”
Aidan dragged his hand through the thick waves of his dark hair. “I should’ve listened to ye.”
“No, I should’ve listened to myself. They were my responsibility. I should’ve been more vigilant. I promised him, Aidan. I promised John Henry that we would save Davina.”
“Aye, and we will.” He looked down at her and frowned. “Where’s yer sword?”
“Dirk has it. I’m certain he means to give it to Jarius to be used in the ceremony. I sent two men after him, but he had a head start. He will alert them, Aidan. The element of surprise is lost.”
“Nay, Jarius and Lamont ken well enough we’d come. The two of them are arrogant fools. We’ll use it against them.”
“Who . . . who . . . is . . . Uscias?”
Syrena started.
Lachlan.
“My mentor. Lan, we’re here. We’re coming. Where are you?”
“Dungeon . . . Coming to move, now . . . Where’s Aidan?”
“He’s here, with me.”
“Tell him, sorry . . . sorry for everythin’.”
Aidan watched her. “Lan?” he mouthed.
She nodded, and he drew her into his arms. Lachlan was saying good-bye, and she couldn’t bear to hear it, didn’t think her heart could take much more. “You tell him, when we see you.”
“Syrena . . . thank ye . . . fer when I was a bairn. Ye . . .”
“No . . . no more, conserve your strength, we’re . . .” The crackle of energy faded. Her head ached as much as her heart. She drew away from Aidan. “We have to go. They’re moving him now.” She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself not to cry. “Aidan, he wanted me to tell you he was sorry.”
He lifted his sword, drawing the men’s attention. “Move in.”
She didn’t think he’d heard until he looked down at her, a telling sheen in his eyes. “If he comes to ye again, tell him . . . tell him he has nothin’ to apologize fer. And tell him I’ll kill every last one of the bastards.”
Chapter 25
Even dying, his brother felt the need to apologize to him. Aidan cursed, his anger magnified with each bone-jarring step he took. He was no better than his father. With his bitter resentment, he’d pushed Lan away. It was as though Aidan himself had placed him in Jarius’s hands.
If he hadn’t blamed Lan for the debacle with the Lamonts, for every bloody thing that had gone wrong in their lives, Ursula wouldn’t have been able to lure him to London with the threat of exposure. Aidan didn’t need Lan to tell him he’d gone because of him.
He felt Syrena’s presence behind him, running to keep up with him as his strides ate the ground beneath his feet. Christ, he’d done to her what he’d done to his brother—holding a part of himself back, blaming her for something she had no control over. And now, although he left it unspoken, he forced her to make a choice—him or the Fae. She’d willingly played the part, pretending to be something she wasn’t. But he’d seen her face when she’d slip and mention her people, her home. The fear she’d make him angry, lose his love, simply because she was Fae.
Aye, he loved her, but he was no longer certain it was enough, at least not for her. Look what damage his hatred of the Fae had done to Lachlan.
“Aidan, I have to speak to you. Please, hold up, it’s important,” she panted.
He slowed his pace. “Is it Lan?”
“No.” She took a deep breath before she said, “I . . . I contacted the Fae. I know how you feel about my people, Aidan, but I had to inform them I lost Nuie. They had to be made aware of Jarius’s intentions and that he has the Grimoire.” She searched his face as though waiting for him to explode. “Aidan, both Mortal and Fae are in danger.”
It seemed Syrena had made her choice.
“Do ye think they will come?”
“Yes, but I don’t know if it will be in time. Aidan, the Grimoire must be destroyed.”
His brow furrowed. “Was that what ye sensed when we arrived at the town house?”
She nodded. “And now without Nuie, I’ll have to fight its magick on my own.”
“Nay.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the soft skin of her palm. He’d protect her with his life, even if it meant protecting her from him. “We’ll fight it together. Come, Callum and Connor took out the two men manning the guardhouse. The chapel is on the ground floor.”
She groaned. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “Aidan, I’m sorry, I forgot, but when Lan—”
“What is it?”
“John Henry said there’s a passageway from the crypt to the chapel.”
“Doona worry about it. We still have time to use the information to our advantage.” He whistled for his men. Within minutes they were headed for the low, whitewashed building at the back of the castle. The change of plans laid out, he welcomed the heated rush of blood through his limbs, the opportunity to make the bastards pay for what they’d done.
The closer they got to the crypt, the more Syrena stumbled. Aidan tightened his hold on her. “Ye’re feelin’ its magick, aren’t ye?”
Her face a sickly white, she nodded.
Aidan cursed. He couldn’t stand by and watch her suffer. “Go back, Syrena, and wait with Bess,” he pleaded.
“No, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. You need me, Aidan, and so does Lan.” Her words were strained as though it was a fight just to get them out.
“Aye, but he wouldna want ye to suffer because of it and neither do I.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. Her mouth worked silently.
“Are ye doin’ magick?” he asked, surprised to find he hoped she was.
She grimaced. “No, but if I was certain of its success, I would. I’m praying.”
Aidan didn’t think she looked very happy about it. “Prayin’ is a good thing,” he murmured as he shoved open the door to the crypt. The dank air enveloped them in its chilly embrace.
He motioned for the men to follow, cautioning them to silence. Syrena whimpered as they went farther into the room. Her fingers pressed to her temples. The last vestiges of his restraint all but stripped away from helplessly watching the agony she endured. His determination to kill Jarius intensified with each strangled breath she took.
Four well-fed rats scurried across the stone floor, taking refuge behind the elaborately carved wooden coffins. Cobwebs hung from curved stone arches, and he batted the sticky gossamer threads away before guiding her beneath them. “Fight it, angel, ye can do it,” he said in an urgent whisper.
Rivulets of water streamed down the thick gray walls from the low ceiling, splashing onto the stone steps. He scooped her into his arms. She was in no condition to make the steep climb on her own.
Halfway up the stairs, the riotous whispers of the men behind him drew his attention. “Someone’s comin’.”
Aidan balanced Syrena on his thigh. Tucking her between him and the wall, he lifted his sword.
Through the muted light he saw Dirk round the corner, his eyes widening in fear as he took in the deadly intent of the men that surrounded him. A big hand muffled his terrified squeal. Beaten down by a flurry of fists, he disappeared from Aidan’s line of sight. Moments later, Connor triumphantly pushed through the crush with Syrena’s sword in hand. “I guess the bastard heard about the secret passageway.” The lad grinned.
“What about the two men that were sent after him?”
Amusement faded from Connor’s expression, and he glanced at the blood coating Syrena’s sword. He wiped it clean on his trews and shook his head. “No sign of them.”
Aidan cursed beneath his breath then dragged Syrena’s hand from her head and wrapped it around her sword. Almost immediately, her breathing eased. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she pressed the golden blade to her chest. “Thank you.”
“Nay, ’twould be Connor’s doin’, and I’m thinkin’ whoever ye were prayin’ to.”
She smiled weakly at the lad when he said, “We’re even.”
“You can put me down, Aidan. I’ll be all right.”
Reluctantly, he did as she asked. He didn’t think she was as well as she pretended to be, but he could not carry her and wield a sword at the same time. She touched the gleaming stones on the hilt with shaking fingers. Murmuring something to the sword, she raised it over her head. The blade sizzled, vibrating in the heavy, musty air. It turned a fiery red, illuminating Syrena in its heated glow. From the steps below, he heard the men’s exclamations of awe.
“Ye’re a wee bit fashed, are ye?” Aidan said as he allowed her to take the lead.
His concern for her well-being grew as he watched her struggle to climb the rest of the way. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps the closer they came to the top. He grabbed hold of her arm when she tripped and felt her violent trembling beneath his fingers. “Bloody hell, Syrena, I’ll not put ye through this.”
She placed a finger to his lips then climbed the last step to the narrow landing.
From behind the planked door came a low moan and a guttural grunt. “Ride him, Ursula, ride him hard. When he spills his seed in you, I’ll slit his throat and you’ll absorb his—”
Aidan lifted his foot at the same time as Syrena. Together they kicked down the door. The wooden planks splintered and crashed to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust. The air cleared, revealing his brother, naked, chained spread-eagle to a stone altar. Ursula, black satin gown hiked to her waist, straddled him. Her pendulous breasts spilled over the top of her gown, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Lan bucked, then moaned, spending himself inside her.
With his back to them, a man in coarse brown robes chanted. He raised his arm. Moonlight filtering through the stained glass window glinted off the lethal-looking blade he held.
Aidan swung his sword, severing the hand at its wrist. Blood sprayed in a wide arc over Lan and Ursula. The blade clattered to the floor still gripped within a closed fist. Ursula’s blue eyes, glazed by drugs and lust, widened.
Aidan’s men swarmed in from behind him and he lost sight of Syrena in the crush. The black-robed congregation frozen in place by the bloody tableau quickly roused themselves, and the din in the cavernous room rose to a frenzied pitch.
Lan slowly turned his head and fixed Aidan with a languid stare. “About . . . time,” he slurred.
Aidan had no chance to respond. Jarius, his bloody stump cradled to his chest, raised his wild-eyed gaze to his. Letting out a bloodcurdling howl, the madman grabbed the tall, iron branch of candles at the foot of the stone altar and, ignoring the splash of hot wax, jabbed it at Aidan. Jerking back, Aidan positioned himself protectively in front of Lan. From behind him, Ursula shrieked then wrapped her arms around Aidan’s neck, choking the breath from him. With a maniacal smile, her brother came at him again. With one hand Aidan tried to break her hold on his throat while defending himself against Jarius with his sword.
Aidan leaned against the altar and brought his foot up to kick away the flaming candles before Jarius could smash them into his chest. There was a flash of movement then Syrena was at his side. Reaching for Ursula, she broke the woman’s death grip on him and dragged her from the altar. Jarius swung the iron branch at him, Aidan ducked and drove his blade up and into Jarius’s heart. A wet gurgle rattled in his lungs. His eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor.
“Jarius!” Ursula screamed, breaking free of Syrena to rush to her brother’s side. She swiveled her head and snarled at Aidan. “I’ll kill you for this.” As she attempted to lunge for him, Syrena grabbed hold of her.
“Allow me to do the honors, Ursula,” a man rasped from behind him.
Aidan whirled to face the man he knew was Lamont, raising his sword just in time to parry the first blow. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Syrena shove Ursula aside and take up her position in front of Lan. Lamont fought like a man possessed, and Aidan knew he would need to stay focused if he hoped to best him. He’d have to trust Syrena to protect herself and Lachlan.
Their swords locked and Lamont sneered. “I’d hoped to make ye watch yer wife and brother die in front of ye, but it seems like I’ll have to kill ye first.”
Aidan forced down his fury at the taunt, focusing instead on backing Lamont to the edge of the dais. Grunting and groaning, they struggled for supremacy, then Aidan broke his sword free and went after him with everything he had.
When they were less than a foot from the stairs, Aidan gripped his hilt with two hands and swung his blade at Lamont. The force of the blow was enough to weaken the other man’s hold on his blade and Aidan lunged, throwing Lamont off balance. Lamont’s arms windmilled as he tripped backward off the top step of the dais. His sword clattered to the floor and he landed on his back at the base of the platform.
Scrambling quickly to his feet, he backed away. Aidan prowled after him. Ripping off his black cape, Lamont swirled it in Aidan’s face then grabbed a man from the crowd and shoved him in front of Aidan to make good his escape. Bloody hell. He pushed the man aside, about to go after Lamont when he heard Syrena’s panicked cry.
“Aidan!”
He turned. One of Lamont’s men closed in on her while she fought another. Having battled her himself, Aidan could see her strength was waning from fighting the magick. A wry man in black robes jumped in front of him before he could reach her. Cursing, Aidan blocked the smaller man’s blade then drew back and slammed his fist into his face. Before the man had even crumpled at his feet, Aidan raced across the dais to the warrior that approached Syrena with murderous intent.
Knowing Syrena was too weak for him to waste time in a fight, Aidan stayed out of the man’s line of sight and came up behind him. Wrapping his arm around the warrior’s throat, he grabbed him forcibly by the chin and snapped his neck, shoving the dead warrior aside to reach Syrena. The man she fought caught sight of Aidan and took two steps back then turned and ran.
Syrena swayed and Aidan reached out for her, drawing her to him. “Are ye hurt?”
“No . . . it’s the Grimoire,” she said weakly, freeing herself from his embrace. “I have to destroy it.”
“I’ll help ye.”
“No, you can’t. Look after Lan.” She took a steadying breath, her face pale as she took a wobbly step away from him.
Aidan hesitated, torn between seeing to his brother and protecting Syrena. As he tracked her unsteady progress toward the back of the dais, his decision was made.
“Callum.” He motioned to the big man. The fight with the black-robed congregation was over, and he was rounding up prisoners. “I need ye to keep an eye on Lan.”
With a quick nod, Callum signaled for Connor to relieve him of the two men he held by the scruff of their necks.
Aidan turned to follow Syrena then watched in horror as she flew through the air, landing on her back with a bone-jarring thud, cracking her head on the corner of a chair.
He ran to her. “Syrena!”
She raised dazed eyes to his. Blood streamed from a deep gash on her forehead. “Bloody hell, I’m no’ lettin’ ye do this.”
“There’s no other way.” She leaned against him, then using his arm to hang on to, she rose slowly to her feet.