Chapter 20
Over the heads of the gathered assemblage, Lachlan spied his wife, standing alone in a corner at the back of the grand hall. With a murmured excuse to the lords and ladies who attempted to ingratiate themselves into his good graces, he wove his way through the heated crush to her side.
Propping a shoulder against the marble wall, he frowned down at her. “Why are ye no’ with Fallyn and her sisters?” It bothered him to see her on her own. He berated himself for not keeping a closer eye on her. Unaccustomed to looking out for anyone, and with so many of his subjects vying for his attention, it hadn’t taken much for him to lose track of her. He should have realized it would take more than her new position as his queen to endear her to the Fae.
She arched a brow in answer to his question.
“Ah, still fashed with ye, are they?”
She shrugged as though it didn’t bother her, but Lachlan had spent enough time with his wife of late to recognize the strain on her beautiful face. He brought his hand to rest on the shoulder she’d raised, his fingers sliding over the gossamer silk of her exquisite gown. “Ye look verra bonny this night, Evie.” To say she was bonny didn’t do her justice. During the evening meal he’d had a difficult time concentrating on the elaborate feast set out before them. The golden candelabras lining the center of the banquet table had cast Evangeline in an ethereal glow, the candlelight reflecting off her waist-length hair and the crimson gown cut low to reveal the tantalizing swell of her breasts. She’d overshadowed the simpering women of his court with her vivacious, sultry beauty.
A rosy flush swept up her elegant neck to color the high arch of her cheekbones, her fingers plucking self-consciously at the revealing neckline of her gown. Drawing his attention once more to the ripe mounds his fingers itched to caress.
“Thank you. I was not certain what to wear,” she murmured. Her gaze flicked to the elegantly clad couples who twirled by.
Lachlan ignored a woman who cast him an overtly provocative glance as she whirled by with her husband, and focused on Evangeline. His wife’s obvious effort to fit in set off a visceral response in him. He shot a contemptuous look to where Fallyn and her sisters stood at the edge of the dance floor, fending off their ardent admirers. Could they not have put aside their anger at her for one night?
Or mayhap it was only he who could see beneath the haughty facade she presented to the Fae, her mask as carefully crafted as his own. Unwilling to stand by and watch her being hurt time and time again, he silently vowed if it was the last thing he did, he’d change the Faes’ opinion of her.
He took her hand. “Shall we join the others in a dance?”
She attempted to free her fingers. “I would rather not, but by all means go ahead. There are several of your subjects eager to partner with you,” she said with a pointed look at another woman who attempted to gain his attention. Until that moment, Lachlan hadn’t realized how bored he’d grown with their blatant invitations. At least now he had a legitimate excuse to deny them. “Nay, I’d prefer to dance with my wife.”
Her look of surprise contained a hint of pleasure, but she shook her head. “I can’t dance.”
“I doona believe ye. The Fae love to dance.” He could’ve kicked himself when her expression shuttered. Considering how the Fae felt about her, he doubted she’d ever been invited to take part in their festivities. He should’ve kept his bloody mouth shut. “It doesna matter. I will teach ye.”
“But I—”
He pulled her into his arms and her protest died on her lips. The tension eased from her willowy frame and he savored the feel of her warm womanly curves pressed against him. With her innate elegance and grace, Evangeline fell effortlessly into step with him. “I was right. Ye can dance,” he said when they took a second turn around the dance floor.
He spun her away from him, then pulled her back into his arms. Her eyes sparkled as a breathless laugh escaped her parted lips. She looked young and carefree, her luminous skin flushed with pleasure. He couldn’t help but think it was what she’d look like when he had her in his bed. He decided then that they’d continue their dance in the privacy of his chambers.
He stumbled, tripping over her feet. “Evangeline, the mon is to lead, no’ the woman.”
She looked down at their feet. “I thought you were.”
“Aye, so did I,” he grumbled, certain it was a sign of things to come.
The strains of the melody stopped abruptly. Lachlan frowned at the musicians. He’d not called a halt to the festivities. Half-turned to gain their attention, he followed the direction of their gazes. A charged silence fell over the room as the dancers parted.
Lord Bana, nostrils flaring, his aristocratic features pinched, strode toward Lachlan with his sword drawn.
Lachlan kept his gaze on Bana while he set Evangeline away from him. Her fingers tightened on his arm and he gave them a reassuring squeeze. He waved off the four guards who were about to rush Bana. “What is the meanin’ of this?”
“I’m challenging you for the throne,” Bana grated out, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
A low growl was all the warning Lachlan had before Evangeline launched herself at Bana. Lachlan managed to grab hold of her arm before she reached the man and shoved her behind him. Bana took a wary step back, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. Erwn, obviously unaware of his brother’s intention, gaped at him. “Brother, what are you doing?”
Bana ignored him.
“And the reason fer yer challenge?” Confident in his ability to best the man, Lachlan thought he deserved at least one chance to withdraw.
“Because he—”
“Evangeline,” Lachlan muttered, attempting to quiet her with a look over his shoulder, but she was too busy glaring at Bana to take notice. He relaxed somewhat when Broderick slipped into place behind her. Fallyn and her sisters, warrior faces pinned into place, positioned themselves on either side of her. The last thing he needed was for Evangeline to use her magick on Bana. No matter the provocation, it would do more harm to her reputation than good.
“You’re a half-blood. You have no magick. By allowing Uscias to be kidnapped, you have proven you are unworthy of the throne. But even more damning is your decision to take
her
as your queen.”
He would allow the slur against his reputation, but the bastard would pay for the one he made against Evangeline. “It will be my pleasure to kill ye, Bana.” He allowed a slow menacing smile to curve his lips. “I’ll meet ye at first light.”
“No!” Bana shot a panicked look through the crowd. “Mid—midday at the lists.”
“Ye need yer beauty sleep, do ye? I’ll meet ye at midday and I’d suggest ye get yer affairs in order. Guards.” He motioned for his men. “Get him out of here.”
Lachlan turned his back on Bana to show how little a threat he perceived him to be, then signaled for the musicians to resume playing. “Shall we finish our dance, Evie?”
“No.” Her face pale, she bit her bottom lip and he noticed the telltale sheen in her eyes before she blinked it away. Lachlan cursed under his breath. She blamed herself for Bana’s challenge. “Evie, look at me.” When she didn’t do as he asked, he tipped her chin with his fingers. “It has naught to do with ye.”
“It’s true, Evangeline. The two of them have been looking for an opportunity to gain the throne since Arwan’s death.”
No matter that Fallyn had been as big a pain in his arse as Evangeline had once been, Lachlan appreciated her attempt to reassure his wife. Not that it appeared to have worked. He took Evangeline’s hand in his and stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “My wife seems to doubt my ability to thrust and parry. I think mayhap a private demonstration is in order.”
The women groaned their disgust at his remark while Broderick laughed. “I’d thought to return home on the morrow, but perhaps I shall remain in case you have need of me.”
“If ye’re sure yer brother can handle another day of yer absence, I’d appreciate it, Broderick.” Once Lachlan had taken care of Bana, he would have to deal with Erwn, and he was not entirely sure if Bana’s charge would spur others to take up his challenge as well. A friend at his back would be welcome.
“Rand will be fine, and Fallyn and I have yet to complete our negotiations.”
“I told you I am—” Fallyn started to protest before Broderick cut her off by sweeping her into his arms to join those who had returned to the dance floor.
Lachlan led Evangeline, who muttered something about highlanders with no sense under her breath, through the subdued throng. He acknowledged their offers of support but did not break his stride. If his wife was gearing up to give him a piece of her mind, she would have no qualms saying her piece in public. He found himself looking forward to her tirade. He’d much prefer her to vent her temper and fears at him than direct them at herself.
As she followed him from the overheated hall, she said, “This is a serious matter, Lachlan. I don’t understand how you can make light of it.”
“I ...” A movement from behind one of the marble pillars in the entry hall caught his attention. He scanned the torchlit room then decided Evangeline was rubbing off on him. He was sensing danger where none existed.
“What is it?”
“Nothin’,” he said, nudging her up the marble staircase, overcome by an odd sensation. The fine hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He glanced over his shoulder. A warm tingling raced through his limbs and he frowned, rubbing the back of his neck, wondering if he was just now feeling the affects of the ale he’d consumed the night before.
“You can pretend to ignore my concerns if you wish, but you know I’m right.”
Reaching the second floor, he scanned the empty entry hall beneath them. “What are ye goin’ on aboot now?”
She huffed out an exasperated breath. “Magick, Lachlan. Bana has magick and you don’t.”
He followed behind her as she strode to their chambers, eyeing the sway of her hips and the view of her lushly rounded behind. As she opened the door to their rooms, he came up behind her, nuzzling the crook of her neck. “I would if ye gave me yers.” He frowned into the soft fragrant hollow. Where the hell had that come from? He’d made himself a promise not to take her blood again. The emotions it stirred in him were as powerful as they were dangerous. But the memory of the intoxicating rush of her blood, of the power and magick it gifted him with was difficult to fight.
“You want my blood?” she asked in a strained whisper as she stepped into his chambers.
Christ, he wanted to deny it, afraid of the consequences if he didn’t. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing the evidence of his desire to the soft cushion of her behind. Intoxicated by her feminine scent, an insatiable craving came over him, gnawing at the denial he thought to make.
“Aye.” He nipped her earlobe. “I want yer blood, Evie. I need it to make sure I defeat Bana. Leave no doubt in the Faes’ mind of my right to lead.” Sweet Christ, what had come over him? He was manipulating her, using her fears against her. It was her blood. It was making him mad with desire. He tried to fight it, tried to take back the words he’d uttered, but when she turned in his arms and lifted her violet eyes to his, he gave up the fight.
A battle warred within Evangeline—the urge to protect her magick as strong as the urge to protect Lachlan. When he crushed her mouth with his and enveloped her in his powerful embrace, any thought of resisting him evaporated. No matter what Lachlan and Fallyn would have her believe, it was her fault Bana challenged Lachlan for the throne. If his passionate kiss was not turning her legs and her brain to mush, she’d question why the urge to protect him was as strong as the one to protect her magick.
Never before had she put anyone or anything before her magick—until now. He tunneled his fingers through her hair, devouring her mouth, grinding his erection against her stomach. Uncomfortably aware of his size, his potent masculinity, the memory of Arwan’s brutal assault assailed her.
As though he sensed her fear, Lachlan pulled back, his breathing ragged. He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, I didna mean to frighten ye.”
The gentleness of his big hands stroking her back calmed the panicked racing of her heart and she relaxed in his embrace. He was nothing like his father. She had never wanted a man to touch her as she wanted Lachlan to. Never felt the heat of passion, the flare of desire he made her feel. For all that he drove her mad with his arrogance and teasing wit, his unerring need to defend and protect her left her feeling as though he accepted her as no one else could or would.
Her heart pinched at the memory of their shared smile outside of the stables that morning. She’d expected his anger and instead he had laughed. His reaction had managed to tear down one more of the barriers she’d erected to protect her heart. She knew if she wasn’t careful she would soon be defenseless against him—if she wasn’t already. Bringing her palm to his beard-roughened jaw, she said, “You don’t frighten me.” He did, but not in the way he meant.
“Nay? Good, because the hunger I have fer ye is bloody terrifyin’ me.” His heated amber gaze consumed her as he walked her backward to the bed. The edge of the overstuffed feather mattress hit the back of her knees and they fell in a heap of tangled limbs. Her breath left her on a whoosh when the heavy weight of his body fell on top of her. He shifted and something sharp scraped across her chest. She released a pain-filled gasp.