“So, I suppose now we know what he wants.” Xander’s gaze was grave, and he flexed his powerful jaw. His wings quivered with barely contained ire, catching the light and bouncing off the different colors. Irritation rolled off him, and he ignored her gesture to sit in the overstuffed chair across from her.
Alana shuddered. “Me.”
“Nay.” He tugged on his braid, and threw it over his shoulder. “I will never allow it.”
“I will never allow it, but he said he will take the knowledge of Alex to my father if I do not sign a betrothal contract. He told me he wants to rule Scotland and Ireland.”
“Does he plan to assassinate your father?” Her cousin cocked his head to one side.
She blinked. “I contemplated that.”
He scoffed. “Seamus isn’t smart enough to accomplish that.”
“We can’t be confident he wouldn’t try. He discovered every detail about Alex. He either had to go himself, or send someone to the Human Realm.” Alana’s heart ached for her human laird.
A trip to see him just tripled—if not more—in risk.
Perhaps I won’t ever see him again.
“He didn’t go himself. He’s not been absent from Court. He’s been so far up your father’s arse, vying for favors, the king’s throat has to itch.”
She managed a small laugh, but didn’t say anything. Couldn’t stop thinking of the man she craved in another realm.
“Stop thinking about Alex MacLeod. You have a tragedy to avert. He only complicates it.”
Alana scowled. “First of all, get out of my head. Secondly, how can you read my mind? I said my mind-block spell.”
Xander smirked. “I can’t read your thoughts right now. I wagered correctly, is all. Your expression told me everything I needed to know. You need to get a hold of that. If I can read you, so can other people, despite your mind being closed. You probably handed information to Seamus without meaning to.” He tapped his forehead and relented on the seat, perching on the arm of the chair. He flexed his wings.
Heat rushed her cheeks and she fidgeted on the sofa. Alana wouldn’t point out that the stupid prince had remarked about reading her, mentioning when she’d gone pale.
She sat in her cousin’s normal place because she couldn’t bring herself to sit on her chaise. Maybe wouldn’t ever sit on it again.
I should burn it.
Her cousin’s slight mirth melted into a scowl.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Speaking of thoughts, I did not like what your laird was thinking about you yesterday.”
She straightened. “What was he thinking?” Her stomach somersaulted. Alana told herself not to look eager, but her body pitched on the edge of the plush cushion beneath her.
“He wants you, Alana. With an intensity that scares me.”
Of course, it wasn’t a surprised he wanted her. He’d told her as much, and she wanted him, too.
She’d felt his arousal yesterday, as well as when they’d first kissed up on the ridge. Her need equaled his, but she wasn’t about to confess that to her protector. She swallowed. “I told you we’re fated, cousin.”
Xander’s mouth set in a hard line. “Doomed, is what you are.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes. Her voice broke with a half-sob. “If we weren’t before, we certainly are now.” Her heart churned in her gut. That realization lanced like a physical injury.
“You being with the laird was always doomed, Alana.” This was said softly, as if his volume could soften the blow of his words.
It didn’t work; just made her ache more. She fought the urge to rock on the sofa and clutch her stomach.
“I hate that I don’t dislike the laird.”
“You don’t?” Alana swiped her cheeks and pinned her cousin with a stare. She sat back into the plushness of her seat, missing her chaise. She needed the distractions from her agony, but she didn’t want to be too hopeful.
Her cousin’s approval now wouldn’t fix the problem.
He sighed and cast his eyes to the ceiling. “I saw other things in his mind. He doesn’t have a clue how to guard his thoughts. He’s a good, honorable man. Loves his family and his clan, and wants to do right by them, even though he’s overwhelmed by responsibility. He hasn’t been the laird for more than a few months. Alex MacLeod is very young, Your Highness.”
The honorific was a chide, but she ignored it and nodded. “I know how old he is. I don’t care, and neither does fate.”
Her cousin flexed his jaw, but didn’t respond. He looked away, as if he had to gather his thoughts.
Alana had never been able to read minds, but she wished she could at the moment, to tell what he was thinking. Xander was usually frank with her, but was there something he wasn’t saying right now?
It didn’t really matter; nothing could distract her from the human laird.
Alex.
She wanted to dissolve into a pile of sobs. “What in Five Hells am I supposed to do?”
He didn’t flinch at her harsh, unladylike language. “For the safety of all involved, for now, I think you have to tell Seamus what he wants to hear.”
Alana gasped. “You mean—”
Xander leveled her with a serious violet stare. “Aye. Tell the bastard you’ll marry him.”
The claymore slammed into his, and it took too long for Alex to regroup. He was about to fall on his arse.
Duncan laughed as he stumbled about the bailey. His brother released him, which made his unsteady gait even worse, reversing his momentum.
He refused to concede to the ground rushing up and shot his arms wide until he regained his balance. Like he’d been a laddie imitating birds and pretending to fly. Alex sucked back a curse and glared at his twin, but the rascal beat him to speech.
“Yer rusty, brother.”
Damn, he wanted to wipe that smirk off the face that matched his. He’d had nothing to say to his brother since the day Alex had tried to tell him about Alana. When he’d admitted that the lass consuming his thoughts was a Fae princess, Duncan had laughed so hard he’d cried.
His twin had slapped his plaid-covered thigh and had wiped his eyes dry only to further his mirth by accusing him of going mad.
Alex had tried to convince him he’d spoken only the truth, but that only amused his twin even more. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to him in over a week—since that conversation in his ledger room. He’d been forced to interact with Duncan in front of their mother, for her benefit, but even that had been strained, and his twin had acted oblivious, of course.
He’d accepted the challenge of a spar today with the sole purpose if kicking his arse, leaving him bruised. A bump on the head from the hilt of his sword had merit, too. Maybe a little bloody?
The surrounding men—a mixture of clansmen and MacLeod men-at-arms, murmured. Some watched, and some were also sparring.
Alex and Duncan were used to an audience when they were on the fighting yard, due to who they were as much as their skills with the weapons.
Dunvegan loomed behind them, a long shadow cast over the grounds. It was a sunny, breezy spring morning, but there was still a bite to the air that could cause shivers and dry the sweat they’d worked up.
Thank Jesus they were on the opposite side of the large courtyard where the lasses were beating tapestries and rugs clean. The wind carried feminine chatter their way, but they were still out of sight.
He had no need for female concern or attention. “I’m no’ rusty. Yer no’ playin’ fair.” He prayed his statement hadn’t sounded like a petulant, untrained lad.
“Fair? In a fight?” Duncan scoffed as he circled him, obviously trying to hone in on another perfectly mounted strike.
Truth be told, Alex would rather retreat inside than finish the match, even at the risk of being accused of weakness.
He didn’t want to be out with the men. He didn’t want to look at his brother, or be forced to talk to him.
He didn’t believe me.
Duncan had always been the closest person to him. To be thought a fool by his twin, or that he’d been jesting, let alone that he’d gone mad, had more bite than Alex wanted to admit.
They weren’t lads at play any longer. He’d needed his brother to listen, to believe him. Perhaps to solidify he wasn’t actually going mad.
Obviously he couldn’t focus on swordplay anymore than he could Hamish’s endless scrolls demanding decisions. He just wanted to say aye to them all, but he couldn’t empty MacLeod coffers, either. He needed to study the requests, be smart, and see what was truly needed.
Alex just wanted everyone—including his pesky twin—to leave him the hell alone. If Duncan had tried to apologize, it would’ve gone a long way toward forgiveness, but not only had he not, his brother acted as if he didn’t see his ire—and hurt—toward him.
To worsen his mood, he’d missed his ride on the beach that morning, instead giving in to the requirements of his position at his steward’s behest. He was trying to talk himself out of panicking that he’d missed her presence.
Alana would come to him if she’d been able to sneak into his realm, would she not? She knew where he resided. Or would she sit on the ridge where they’d kissed and wait for him, ultimately to no avail?
Give up when he wasn’t there, and go back to her realm?
After the hours they’d spent together the previous week, he was even more obsessed with the Fae princess than before. He’d gotten a real taste of her as a person—not to mention those two kisses in front of her cousin.
She was even more delightful than he’d originally assessed, and he craved her.
Which was worse? Not seeing her for days—maybe weeks at a time—or having to hear Duncan’s yammering about her being not being real? About him being mad?
Then there was the charge that he wasn’t being truthful because she belonged to someone else—or worse, really was a MacDonald and Alex was trying to hide it with a jest about a myth.
‘Prove it,’ his brother had commanded.
Alex growled and rushed forward, pushing Duncan back when their weapons clanged.
“Ah, there’s my brother.” His twin backed up and circled again, beckoning with a flat palm. “Come a’ me.”
“Dinna stick ou’ what ye dinna wanna risk losin’.”
Duncan smirked. “Dinna make threats ye canna see ta tha end.”
He narrowed his eyes and made an unsuccessful strike—his brother was able to slide out of the way. He cursed again and tossed his sword from one hand to the other, then re-gripped it and glared before trailing closer again.
“What has ye in such a foul mood, brother?”
Of course, he has no idea I’m still upset with him.
Alex didn’t answer, just kept loping around his brother. Staring. Trying to intimate him.
They were equal in strength and physical breadth—they were identical twins after all. In addition to that, they’d been trained by the sword from the same age, and were well matched in skill.
Who won their bouts tended to switch off, but Duncan was always more bothered by that than he ever had been.
Their clansmen often wagered over who would win and how long the streak would last. Of course, his brother would never bet against himself. Betting against his laird, on the other hand, made for a worthy brag when he managed to beat him.
“Methinks ye need a good tumble.”
Alex tried not to pause his movements or show a reaction to the jibe. It probably wasn’t untrue. He was wound pretty tight. His erotic princess dreams hadn’t decreased. If anything, they were more intense, more frequent since the last time he’d seen her. Touched her. Kissed her and held her hand as they’d walked and conversed on the beaches of Skye.
The nightly torments still seemed too real to be mere dreams. Perhaps he should discuss them with her next time he saw her.
She was magically inclined after all, maybe they were actually communicating somehow?
Aye, I need a tumble. With Alana.
No other lover would do.
The longer he remained silent, the more Duncan looked torn between amusement and concern.
Alex preferred being laughed at; had no desire for another I-don’t-believe-your-lass-is-a-princess conversation with his brother.
“Somethin’s botherin’ ye.” His twin waited; lowered his claymore.
You didn’t believe me. “Nay, nothin’s botherin’ me.”
“Alex, whate’er ‘tis, can be remedied, canna no’?”
Apologize to me. “Raise yer sword! Are ye ou’ here ta fight, or ta natter like a lass?” he growled back.
Duncan smirked. But something passed in his eyes that said he was bothered that Alex wasn’t opening his mouth to confess all.
“Duncan, I dinna wan—”
His brother invaded his space and grabbed his forearm. “‘Tisna the lass?”
Despite his low volume, Alex frowned and let his eyes dart about the bailey to see if anyone was looking their way. He had no desire for explanations if Duncan had been overheard.
All the men were sparring, and no one seemed to be observing the laird and his twin quipping more than knocking swords.
“Jesu, ‘tis tha lass!” his brother exclaimed when he’d failed to answer.
“Keep yer voice down,” he barked.
“What fer?”
Alex sighed and sheathed his sword. “I’ve duties ta attend ta.”
Duncan stopped him from turning to go with a stronger grip. “I’m concerned abou’ ye, brother.”
“Dinna ye mean, ‘my laird’?”
“Ye can bluster all ye want, but ‘tisna gonna work. Tell me.”
“Tell ye what?” His inquiry had been too loud. A shout that made him want to wince. I tried to tell you, and you didn’t believe me. Alex wouldn’t say the words. His brother would demand a real confrontation, and he didn’t have energy or desire for it.
“Whate’er ‘tis, a’ course.” His brother’s tone was reasonable. Even. Calm.
He wanted to yell again and shove him away.
Usually, Duncan was the one with irrational bursts of temper, not him. The idea was sobering and Alex straightened his shoulders and told himself to breathe.
“My laird?” The question was wrapped in amusement, and flared his anger all over again.
“Sod off, Duncan MacLeod.”
He broke the hold his twin had on his arm and whirled away, ignoring Duncan’s wide eyes and arched eyebrows, along with the way he’d reared back as if Alex had punched him.