Considering the probing look in Gabriel’s eyes, Evangeline couldn’t think of anything to say without revealing her true reasons for not returning to the cave. Forcing a smile, she stood and offered a hand to Aurora. “Come. You can bring your dinner with you.” At least with Aurora’s presence she wouldn’t have to worry she’d fall prey to Lachlan’s practiced seduction.
“Oh, no, she’s staying with us,” Fallyn said, leaping from the settee to take hold of the child’s other hand, shooting a triumphant look in Broderick’s direction.
“No.” Evangeline tugged Aurora back to her side. “She’s coming with me.” She wasn’t about to let Fallyn steal away her chaperone. Fallyn might think she needed more incentive to keep Broderick at bay. But it wasn’t fair; she had her sisters and Evangeline had no one.
“No, she’s not.” With a firm jerk, Fallyn pulled Aurora closer to her.
The little girl looked helplessly from Evangeline to Fallyn.
Scowling at Fallyn, Evangeline tugged harder. “I said, she’s coming with me.”
“Here, Aurora, look what I have for you.” With a victorious smirk, Fallyn conjured a white ball of fur. The little girl tugged her hand free from Evangeline’s with a delighted squeal. A dog! Fallyn had conjured a dog just like the one Aurora played with in the Mortal realm. Considering the state of her magick, Evangeline would be lucky if she could conjure a furball. She glared at her friend—ex-friend—and stormed from the cave.
Lachlan raised his gaze from the piece of steel he twisted in his hands to Evangeline, who ducked into the cave, an angry flash in her violet eyes, a contemptuous sneer on her lips. Muttering something about Fallyn under her breath, she closed the wooden door Broderick had affixed to the mouth of the cave before they had left. The two men hadn’t wanted to leave him, but he’d insisted they do so. He didn’t want them wasting what little time Broderick had left to woo Fallyn.
Evangeline shook the snow from her tousled mane as she stomped to the hearth. He grinned at her familiar demeanor. Now this was the Evangeline he was comfortable dealing with—unlike the one who’d lain vulnerable in his arms with the shimmer of tears in her luminous eyes.
“Who are ye fashed with now?”
Tossing her cape to the floor, she turned toward him.
“What the bloody hell happened to ye?” The muscles in his belly knotted at the sight of her bruised and swollen face.
“I fell,” she grumbled, wincing as she lowered herself to her cape.
“Did ye hurt anythin’ besides yer face?” Considering the look she shot him and the manner in which she’d lowered herself to the ground, he gathered her backside had taken the brunt of her fall. His tension eased at the knowledge she’d not been badly hurt and the injuries she’d sustained were the result of an accident. “Lucky ye have extra paddin’.”
With an affronted gasp, she said, “I cannot believe you said such a thing to me.”
He chuckled. “I meant the thickness of yer cape.” He dropped his gaze to concentrate on the piece of steel in his hands. If he didn’t, he’d be tempted to think on the delectable feel of her firm, rounded behind filling his hands.
“Oh. What are you doing?”
“Ye mean this?” He held up the piece of metal he’d twisted into a knot. She nodded. “I’ve been testin’ my strength. Ye were right. I canna believe how much stronger I am.” His smile of wonder faded at her disgruntled expression. “What’s the matter? I thought you’d be pleased with the speed of my recovery. At this rate I can lead the charge against Magnus on the morrow. And this time, we’ll no’ fail.”
“I am pleased.”
“Ye coulda fooled me.” He noted the tremor that shook her slender frame, relieved her arms were crossed over her chest. “Ye’re cold.” He’d been too preoccupied to notice the fire had burned down to glowing embers. Now that he thought about it, he was surprised he didn’t feel the chill. “Why doona ye relight the fire?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip then lifted her hand to flick her finger at the hearth. Nothing happened. “It’s no use,” she said wearily.
Slowly, he lowered the metal to the ground beside him. “’Tis because I took too much of yer blood, isna it?”
“I’d already depleted much of my mag—strength before I gave you my blood. I should be fine by morning.” From the troubled look in her eyes, he didn’t think she believed that and felt a twinge of guilt at the pleasure he’d been taking in his increased strength.
“Ye need yer rest. Come here.” He lifted the covers, shoving aside the thought he was a fool to let her close to him. He offered her comfort, nothing more. In all good conscience, how could he not? He was the reason for her suffering, and it was not as though he couldn’t control himself. It was Evangeline, for Chrissakes, his sister-by-marriage’s best friend, the woman who’d been nothin’ but a pain in his arse for as long as he’d known her.
She hesitated as though she, too, questioned his intentions.
“I offer ye warmth and a place to lay yer head, nothin’ more. I was no’ myself earlier. ’Twas only on account of sharin’ yer blood that I ...” He clamped his mouth shut, not about to tell her how much he’d wanted her. How she’d inflamed a desire in him more fierce than any he’d ever known. Nay, he spoke the truth, ’twas her magick that had fired his blood.
Obviously her need for warmth won out. Avoiding his gaze, she came to his side. “Sweet Christ, ye’re freezin’,” he said when she joined him beneath the covers. He drew the furs to her chin then wrapped his arms around her.
She made a halfhearted attempt to wriggle from his hold.
“Doona be daft, ye’re shakin’ like a leaf in a windstorm.” He rested his chin on top of her silky hair, trying to ignore the voluptuous curves pressed against him. “So, how do ye think Broderick’s farin’ in his attempt to woo Fallyn?” he asked, hoping to distract himself. If he didn’t, he was afraid he’d soon give her reason to question his intentions.
She tipped her head back, brow arched. “You can’t mean to tell me he actually thinks he’s courting her?”
He scowled at the wry glint of amusement in her eyes. “What’s he done now?”
“He told her she had to cede to his request for shelter as he was a king. She made a rock fall on his head.”
“ ’Twas no’ the smartest thing fer him to say, but did she agree?”
“Yes, although she’s not pleased, hence the falling rock, but why are you so interested in what goes on between them?” He raised his brows and held her gaze. She rolled her eyes. “I should have known. Well, I don’t mean to disappoint you, but I doubt very much Broderick will win her back. You’ll just have to accept the fact you’re stuck with them. If you’d just agree to their proposal you’d save yourself a lot of aggravation. What exactly is your objection to them starting a school?”
“The men havena entirely forgotten or forgiven what happened when Morgana ruled the Enchanted Isles. A school to train women to be warriors would not be well received. How could it be when the men had been treated little better than slaves by the lot of them? I have enough to deal with without addin’ ...” He frowned at her stunned expression. “What?”
“I ... well I thought you objected to the school simply because you didn’t believe women could or should be warriors.”
“I told ye, ye didna ken me.”
“I’m beginning to see that perhaps I misjudged you.”
He laughed. “Doona look so disappointed. Ye’re no’ entirely wrong. I doona think women should be warriors. It just wasna the reason I objected to the school.”
With a derisive snort, she shook her head. “Fallyn and her sister’s fighting skills are superior to some of your own warriors’. So are Syrena’s. Perhaps you have forgotten she, too, was once a warrior.”
“She still is.” He grinned before adding, “And I doona dispute their prowess on the battlefield, Evangeline. I just don’t believe they belong there.” He didn’t think she’d appreciate it if he told her where he thought they did belong.
“You are ...”
He placed a finger on her lips before he gave in to the urge to quiet her with a kiss. For all his good intentions, he was too aware of her body molded to his. And the direction their conversation was headed didn’t help matters. “Doona waste yer breath. I ken well enough what ye think of me. Why doona ye get some sleep now? We’ll have need of yer magick on the morrow.”
A flicker of emotion shadowed her eyes.
“Doona worry, Evie, we’ll get Uscias back.”
“We have to. Nothing matters more than stopping Magnus from gaining access to weapons with the power your sword contains. Nothing!” Her gaze fell to his blade lying within easy reach at his side.
He frowned. Not sure he liked what she appeared to be saying. “Evangeline, I doona give a bloody hell aboot Magnus. All I care aboot is makin’ sure Uscias is safe and unharmed. If he has to reveal his secrets to keep him that way, then so be it. We’ll deal with the consequences later.”
She pulled away from him, then twisted to skewer him with a furious glare. “No! No matter what the cost, we have to prevent Magnus from arming his warriors with weapons such as yours. He will be unstoppable. He will destroy the Fae of the Enchanted Isles. You have to understand!” She broke off on a choked cry.
Shocked as much by what she said as the desperation in her voice, Lachlan stared at her.
“What has gotten into ye? Ye canna truly mean to say ye would sacrifice Uscias to stop Magnus?” He didn’t even try to keep the contempt from his voice.
Her shoulders sagged as she lifted sorrow-filled eyes to his. “I will do whatever I must to protect the Fae of the Enchanted Isles. Whatever it takes, I will do.”
“I thought I kent ye, Evangeline. But I see I was mistaken.”
Chapter 11
Evangeline wriggled beneath the blankets, trying to absorb warmth from the hard wall emitting heat at her back.
“Careful, lass,” the heat-producing mountain of muscle murmured close to her ear in his thick brogue, his big hand splayed across her belly. Her eyes flew open and her sleep-befuddled brain cleared in an instant. She jolted upright, hitting her head on his chin.
“Bloody hell, would ye quit doin’ that. I swear ye broke my jaw this time,” Lachlan grumbled.
“Sorry.” Her apology came out on a crystallized cloud. No longer sheltered by his embrace, she shivered in the frigid air of the dank cave.
“I’ll forgive ye if ye light the fire and give me back the covers.”
Without thinking, she flicked her fingers at the hearth. It wasn’t until the flames danced on the walls that she realized what she’d done. She pressed her hands to her chest, practically giddy with relief. Her magick had returned. Not that she’d doubted it would, not really, but it was not an experience she wished to repeat. She didn’t know how Lachlan stood it, being dependent on others, feeling helpless and out of control. There could be nothing worse.
“If ye doona mind, Evangeline, ’tis still freezin’ in here.” He yanked the covers back.
She conjured more blankets and dumped them on his head.
“I see ye’re back to yer charmin’ self this mornin’.”
Last eve he’d thought her overwrought and exhausted—distressed over her lack of magick. He’d said as much before she’d drifted off into a restless sleep. He was wrong. Her distress had been caused by her inability to make him understand that there was no price too high to pay to stop Magnus. It was the futility of her attempt to convince him that had frustrated and disheartened her. She supposed the knowledge she’d possibly sacrificed his cousin for the cause added to the turbulence of her emotions. He’d never forgive her if he learned about Iain.
The thought didn’t trouble her as much as it had the night before. Her magick had returned, and with it her confidence and conviction. She believed without a doubt she was right, although that didn’t assuage her conscience completely. Lachlan appeared to be well healed with no chance of a setback, and she wondered if she should inform him about Aurora’s vision. She quickly pushed the thought from her head. He’d have the unenviable task of choosing between saving his cousin or his mentor. No, it was up to her to relieve him of the burden. Besides, she was not certain what Aurora had seen.
He nudged her with his knee. “If ye’re fallin’ asleep, ye might wish to do so lyin’ down.”
She glanced over her shoulder. With his arm crooked behind his head, he watched her. The firelight bronzed the sculpted muscles of his bare chest, the dark highlights of his golden hair. She tore her gaze from his masculine beauty, swallowing hard before answering, “I’m wide awake and I’m quite certain it’s morning.” With a low murmur, she removed the door. At least a foot of snow tumbled across the threshold; a swath of dull gray sky barely visible through the whirling white torrent beyond. The wind howled through the opening.
“Fer Chrissakes, put it back.”
With a disappointed wave of her hand, she set the door in place. “We’ll have to wait out the storm.”
He sat up beside her, scrubbing his hands over his face. “No’ necessarily. It may be just what we need to give us the advantage. They’ll be expectin’ us to stay holed up here until it abates.”
His broad shoulder brushed against her, and her gaze drifted to the dressings covering his wounds. Despite the obvious strength of his battle-hardened body, she couldn’t completely shut out the memory of how close he’d been to death. “Are you certain your wounds are sufficiently healed?”
He cocked his head as though surprised by her question. “Aye.”
Afraid his desire to lead would override his common sense and put him at risk, she quirked a finger. “Let me see.”
He shrugged and presented his back. She moved behind him then carefully removed the linen bindings. Tentatively, she traced the tips of her fingers over the raised pink welts crisscrossing his broad back. The corded muscles flexed beneath his bronzed skin, and the urge to press her lips to his healing wounds overwhelmed her. She leaned closer, inhaling his warm, masculine scent.
“Yer fingers are cold.” His husky voice jolted her heat-fuzzed brain.
Hastily, she withdrew her hand. “You’ve healed remarkably well.” Her voice revealed nothing of her flustered state. The desire that had flared to life inside her.
“Aye, thanks to yer blood.”
She twisted her hands in the blankets to keep from touching him. “Gabriel and Broderick thought you might require more. If you think you ... well, hmm ...” What was wrong with her? She swallowed a pitiful groan. She knew exactly what was wrong with her. She craved the feel of his body enveloping hers, the feel of his mouth on her skin, her lips.
“Are ye offerin’ me yer blood, Evie?” He reached for her hand. Holding her gaze, he traced the tips of his calloused fingers over the sensitive skin of her palm in the same manner she’d smoothed hers over his back. The look in his amber eyes caused the muscles low in her belly to clench and her yes came out on a breathy sigh.
She closed her eyes, certain he knew how he made her feel. Somehow she managed to say, in a more controlled voice, “If you think it will aid you in defeating Magnus.” She had no choice but to make the offer. Wasn’t it her duty to do everything she could to guarantee their mission’s success? Her arm felt heavy as she lifted it toward him.
“Oh, aye, I’ll take what ye offer,” he murmured. Lying back amongst the pillows, he gave her arm a tug. “Come here, Evie.”
“But I thought ...”
He pulled her into his arms. His heated whisper warmed her cheek. “Ye think too much.”
If that were true, what was she doing snuggled up against a man she’d vowed to keep her distance from? Worse still, she’d only just regained her magick and now she risked him going too far, taking too much and leaving her powerless once again. She placed her palm on his chest to lever herself up.
As though he read her thoughts, he covered her hand with his. “Nay, ye doona have to worry. I willna take too much. Just a sip, a small taste of ye is all I need.” He brought his hand to her face, trailing his fingers along the curve of her cheek, along her jaw, and down her neck. Replacing his fingers with his lips, he murmured into her neck, “Here.”
“Yes,” she breathed. Unable to resist him, she smoothed her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. Her lust-addled brain cleared enough that she managed to conjure a dagger. She pressed it into his hand.
He stiffened. Rising up on his elbow, he searched her face, then bowed his head with a groan. “Nay, I canna do it.”
She took the blade from his clenched fist. He released a shuddered breath then touched his forehead to hers, reaching for her hand. “Nay, I willna let ye do it.”
She managed to make a small nick in the hollow of her neck before he wrenched the blade from her. He jerked his shocked gaze to her throat. “Christ, I told ye, I canna do this.”
Ridding herself of the dagger, she placed her palm on his beard-shadowed jaw. “Yes, you can. I want you to.”
I need you to.
“Ye shouldna have done it, Evie.” His warm breath caressed her face as he touched his lips to her eyes, to her cheek, to the corner of her mouth then feathered kisses along her jaw and down her neck. As he swirled his tongue over the cut, her moan of pleasure joined his. Spearing his fingers through her hair, he drew her head back, exposing her neck to his hot, hungry mouth. He suckled deeply, sending a heated jolt of desire so deep inside her it was as though his lips touched every part of her—her breasts, her belly, her womanhood. She writhed beneath him, her nails digging into his broad shoulders.
“Ye’re so sweet, so beautiful. I canna get enough of ye.”
Through the erotic haze that blanketed her senses, a niggling of fear that he’d forgotten his promise managed to slip through.
“Nay.” With one last lingering sip, he lifted his heavy-lidded gaze to hers. “I would never hurt ye, Evie,” he said, then took her mouth in a mind-numbing kiss.
She tunneled her fingers through the thick waves of his hair, holding him in place. Parting her lips on a moan, she allowed his practiced tongue entry. His lips were firm, demanding, possessive. She squirmed, trying to get closer—her body on fire for him. He skimmed his hand along the curve of her waist to her hip, then cupped her behind to mold her to him. Moving in rhythm with his tongue, he rocked his straining erection where she was hot and needy ... and it ... terrified her.
Not like his father had once done. No, this had nothing to do with Arwan. Lachlan was nothing like his father. This was about her. She was nearly frantic with desire for him and it scared her half to death. He swallowed her desperate whimper, rolling to his side with her in his arms. His kiss gentled and he drew his hand from her behind to rub her back, his fingers kneading the tension from her neck.
From beyond the thick walls of the cave, men called out to one another, penetrating the rough rasp of their breathing. Lachlan broke their kiss, pulling back to look into her eyes. “I think ’tis a good thing I am healed, Evie. Because if we did this again, I’m no’ sure I could stop. I’m no’ sure I would want to, and we both ken ’twould never work out between us.”
She did. And what was wrong with her that at that moment she didn’t care?
Standing on the snow-covered ledge, Lachlan was like a stag in heat; he couldn’t keep his eyes off Evangeline. Frustrated, he dragged his hand through his hair. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t let things go too far, so why did he feel like he had? Why did he feel like he’d already taken that last step to fall spiraling out of control over the mountaintop?
He shot a furious glare to where she stood talking to Fallyn. Evangeline’s glorious mane of raven-black hair tumbled down the back of her white fur cape. Her exquisite face was animated, her lips delectably kiss-swollen, her ... bloody hell, there was something in her blood that was making him feel this way. It was the only explanation. The only reason all the emotions—emotions that had nearly driven him mad after his rescue from Glastonbury—he’d worked so hard to shut down, vowed never to feel again, were bubbling up inside him. It was bloody annoying is what it was, and he was not about to let one woman tear down the walls he’d painstakingly raised. Destroy the comforting peace he’d finally found in the emptiness.
From the moment he’d assumed his title, she’d nagged him to care—care for those he ruled. Now she’d gone and succeeded. She’d made him care all right, made him care about
her
. And it had nothing to do with him admiring her, respecting her and her passionate zeal to protect the Fae, no matter how misguided. No, it all came down to her blood. He was intoxicated by it, craved it.
Well, no more.
As though she felt the intensity of his perusal, she met his gaze through the falling snow. It was as though only the two of them existed. The raucous chatter of the warriors preparing for battle faded to a low hum on the wind. He scowled at her, but he no longer held her attention—his sword did. A winsome smile curved her lips and he promised that once this was over, he’d learn what she found so bloody interestin’ aboot his blade changin’ colors. Nay, he wouldna. Once this was over, he’d avoid her like the plague. He’d ban her from the Enchanted Isles. Aye, that’s what he would do.
Feeling someone’s gaze upon him, he looked back to see Broderick and Gabriel regarding him oddly. “What?”
“We’ve been trying to gain your attention for several moments now. Are you certain you are well enough to lead the assault?” Gabriel asked, concern furrowing his brow.
“Aye, never better.” It was the truth. Never had he felt so strong and powerful. And now, with his course of action in dealing with Evangeline decided, no one could defeat him. “Let’s put an end to this, shall we? I mean to be in the Enchanted Isles before nightfall.”
As they prepared to mount their steeds, Lachlan thought to ask Broderick, “How did ye fare with Fallyn last eve?”
Gabriel snorted a laugh. “He spent half of it unconscious. The rocks had a most interesting way of falling on his head. If it wasn’t so hard, I’m sure he’d still be out cold.”
“Perhaps if you would’ve been more helpful I would have made some progress, but you were too busy wooing Shayla,” Broderick retorted testily.
“I was not wooing the woman. I conversed with her was all. It speaks much to your failure with Fallyn that you think having a simple conversation constitutes
wooing
, Broderick.”
The Welsh king grunted and stalked off to speak to his men.
“No,” Gabriel said firmly when he noted Lachlan’s considering perusal. “I have no intention of taking Shayla and her sisters off your hands.”
Lachlan turned to regard the subject of their conversation. “She’s verra bonny and ...” He tried to think of another attribute to entice the king of England’s Fae when Evangeline came into his line of sight, obviously giving the sisters last-minute instruction. He rolled his eyes. He’d never met anyone as opinionated or controlling as the blasted woman. If she knew what was good for her, she’d best heed his command to stay far from the battlefield until someone came to retrieve her.