King of the Isles (32 page)

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Authors: Debbie Mazzuca

BOOK: King of the Isles
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Chapter 30
The splash of Lachlan hitting the water echoed in Evangeline’s head. She calmed the anxious churning in her belly with the knowledge he had her magick. Straining to hear some sign he’d rescued his son, she was unaware Ursula approached until she felt the woman’s malevolent gaze upon her.
“How does it feel to matter so little to your husband that he’d sacrifice you for his child? His child with another woman.”
After witnessing what Ursula had done to the terrified little boy, Evangeline would have sacrificed herself without Lachlan having to ask.
“Answer me!” she screeched.
Evangeline’s anger at what the woman had done to Lachlan and his son was stealing what little strength she had left. She refused to let the spiteful witch goad her and kept her mouth firmly shut.
Ursula lunged, jerking the chain from Lamont’s hand. She maliciously twisted the cold metal, cutting into Evangeline’s abraded flesh, stealing her breath. Gasping for air, Evangeline fell to her knees, frantically curling her fingers around the chain to loosen its strangling hold.
Lamont cursed then yanked the chain from Ursula. He slackened the tension on Evangeline’s throat. She sagged against a boulder. “She’ll be no good to us if she’s dead,” he said. Fisting his hand in Evangeline’s robes, he forced her to rise.
“Move,” he ordered once she’d managed to stagger to her feet.
“She’s Fae. I can’t kill her. Although if you ask me, she looks half-dead. I find it difficult to believe she’s as powerful as he said she was.” With a contemptuous snort, Ursula pushed her from behind.
Evangeline wondered who Ursula referred to, but the effort to remain upright took all of her concentration.
“Ye ken well enough the iron steals their power.” Lamont shoved Evangeline down a steep path.
“Then remove it or she’ll be of no use to us,” Ursula demanded from behind them.
“Nay, we canna risk it.”
Evangeline tripped over a rock and once more fell to her knees. With no give from the taut links, her head whipped back and she swallowed an agonized cry. Ursula was not far from the truth when she said she looked half-dead: it was how she began to feel. She tried not to dwell on what delayed Lachlan, to let her fears take hold of her. Instead, she searched for a way to escape from Ursula and Lamont before they reached the door.
Digging furtively through the dew-dampened grass, she found a fist-sized rock with a sharp edge and pried it loose. Lamont bent over to haul her to her feet. She slammed the rock into the side of his head. He stumbled. She wrenched the chain from his hand. Gathering what little strength she had left, she whipped the length of iron at his legs. He howled, but before she could topple him to the ground, Ursula hurled herself at her with an enraged cry. Evangeline’s breath left her on a whoosh, but she managed to throw herself in Lamont’s direction. She caught him off balance and he fell, rolling down the hill. Ursula rammed her forearm into the back of Evangeline’s head, planting her face in the bracken.
“You’ll pay for that,” Ursula spat out, hauling Evangeline up by her hair. Ursula’s hot, sickly-sweet breath caused Evangeline’s stomach to lurch. Through the haze of her pain, she recognized the scent—laudanum.
Lamont struggled to remain upright, cursing the damp earth as he slid back down the path. He motioned to Ursula. “Bring the bitch to me.”
Ursula snorted, shoving Evangeline toward him. “Fool, you’ve made him angry now.”
Before Evangeline could react, Lamont backhanded her with his gloved hand. Her teeth slammed together and her mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. She drew back and spat it at his masked face. He raised his hand, his eyes glittering with rage. A robed form slipped from the shadows. Long white fingers encircled Lamont’s wrist, and he uttered a pained cry.
Evangeline stared in stunned disbelief at her rescuer. Morfessa.
Relief further weakened her legs and she weaved unsteadily on her feet. Morfessa hated her, but she knew he’d do everything in his power to stop Ursula and Lamont from releasing the dark lords.
“You’re wasting time. Get her to the door.”
Evangeline gasped. No. She must have misunderstood him.
Lamont threw off Morfessa’s hand and grabbed Evangeline by the arm, dragging her the rest of the way down the path. She jerked her gaze to where Morfessa stood, his face cloaked in shadows. “No.” She struggled against Lamont’s hold. “You don’t understand. They’re trying to open the door. Stop them!” she cried.
Lamont dragged her to a ledge protruding from the sheer rock face, the inky black waters of the loch lapping at the rocks far below them. She tried to pry his fingers from her arm. He kicked her legs out from under her, bringing her to her knees. A wave of nausea washed over her and she covered her mouth.
Ursula took a cautious step onto the precipice. “I don’t like ... perhaps I can stand over there,” she said, pointing a trembling finger back to the path. A gust of wind buffeted the ledge and Ursula released a panicked cry, clinging to the vines that covered the granite walls.
“Stay where ye are,” Lamont growled at Ursula. Unwinding the chain from Evangeline’s neck, he pressed a dagger to her throat. “Doona try anythin’,” he warned, flinging the length of iron over the ledge. Several strangled breaths later she heard the accompanying splash.
Lamont tore the vines from the wall, and then it was there, Evangeline’s worst nightmare—the door to the underworld. She arched her back in horror. Her knees scraped across the loose pieces of sharp shale as she tried to escape. She could feel the blood trickling from the wounds. She had to get away from them.
As though Morfessa read her thoughts, knew she meant to hurl herself into the watery depths beneath them, he flashed to stand behind her. Dragging her to her feet, he wrapped his fingers in a bone-crushing grip around her wrist. “Now they will have no choice but to believe in your evil,” he said as he forced her hand to the door. She fought him, but in her weakened state her effort proved futile. He slammed her palm onto the raised pentagram etched in the middle of the stone door.
“Don’t do this. Don’t let the Fae suffer because of your hatred for me,” she begged, twisting her hand, trying to break free of his hold.
“They won’t, but you will,” he promised next to her ear. “Keep her hand there,” he ordered Lamont before he disappeared in an explosion of light.
Lamont’s knuckles dug into her back. “Where the hell did he go?”
“It doesn’t matter, we no longer need him.”
In Evangeline’s mind, the pieces clicked into place. He had gone to retrieve the blue stone. Each of the wizards held a quarter of the magickal rock. In the wrong hands, in the hands of evil, the stone was the key to the underworld; in the hands of the pure of heart, it was the lock. Twenty-six years ago her mother had stolen Morfessa’s. For his plan to succeed, he would have to steal Uscias’s. She knew now what he meant to do. He would win his way back into Rohan’s good graces by saving the day, using Evangeline as a means to an end.
She squeezed her eyes closed. She wouldn’t cry. She’d always known he’d hated her, but never had she thought he’d go this far to seek his revenge. Her stomach roiled. She clamped her mouth shut to keep from expelling the bitter revulsion that rose up inside her.
The door heated beneath her. Lamont no longer held her in place, but she couldn’t move. It felt as though the fabric of her robes were fusing to the stone. She tried to pull away, her gaze landing on Lamont and Ursula, who held worn pieces of yellowed parchment between them. The last of her hopes disappeared. She’d clung to the belief they wouldn’t remember the words Jarius used to call upon the dark lords, but they didn’t need to remember them. Somehow they’d managed to rip the pages from the
Grimoire of Honorius
—the book of dark magick—before Syrena had destroyed it.
Their voices joined together, the cursed ancient words rising in a powerful hum. The door vibrated beneath her and she fought the urge to seek out what little was left of her magick. Afraid of what she would find, what it would do. A hairline crack formed at the upper edge of the rock. A sulfuric smell leeched from the stone. No matter how miniscule the magick inside her was, the stone was using it. She had to fight against it in the only way she knew how.
Centering herself, she calmed her breathing, trying to ignore the noxious fumes and the heated vibration beneath her fingers. Deep inside her, she searched for the subtle glow of her magick, the white light. There was nothing. The voice she’d heard on the day she’d come through the realms seeped through her conscience, and she jerked in horror. Tempted to give up, she heard Lachlan’s voice in her head, telling her she was not evil, assuring her of her goodness. Holding on to his love, fighting past her fears, she was able to hear it for what it was. It was not the voice of evil, it was her voice, her own fear talking.
The knowledge filled her with the strength to fight. Inch by excruciating inch, she peeled her body from the door, feeling as though her flesh tore away as she did. She couldn’t contain her anguished cries.
“Come to me, Evie.”
Afraid she was delirious from the pain, she slowly opened her eyes. She choked back a relieved sob when she saw Lachlan standing on the path, big and powerful and holding out his hand to her. Free from the door’s hold, she took a shaky step toward him.
“No!” Ursula cried and threw herself at him.
A loud crack rent the air. The rock shuddered, then a deep fissure appeared at the top of the door, running down its length to cross the center of the ledge inches from where she stood. The thin layers at the edge crumbled, giving way, taking Lamont with it. Evangeline jumped back, clinging to the vines to keep from falling.
“Help me,” Lamont cried, hanging from the rock by the tips of his fingers. Lachlan shoved Ursula away from him and took a step toward Evangeline.
“Don’t. Don’t come any closer,” she warned. “It will use your magick.”
Behind the door she could hear them. Deep guttural voices raised in excitement at the thought they were about to escape their prison. Tendrils of black smoke seeped from the cracks, winding their way around Ursula, who crawled toward Lamont. Choking on the fumes, Ursula batted at the inky haze. Evangeline covered her mouth and nose, motioning for Lachlan to do the same. The stench of evil was suffocating as the garbled voices grew louder.
“Lachlan, get Uscias. We need the blue stone.”
“Nay, I willna leave ye.” His attention shifted from her to something that moved to the right of him. “Nay, laddie, stay there.”
“Lachlan,” Evangeline groaned. “Take him to Armadale.”
“Help us,” Ursula cried. Through the thick mist, Lamont and Ursula were no longer visible.
Lachlan blew out a disgusted breath and took a step in the direction of Ursula’s cries. Before he’d ventured more than two steps, their high-pitched shrieks cut through the haze. A loud splash followed by another. There was a shout, then a terror-filled scream. “Colin!”
“Ursula! Oh, God, what are ye? No... no, get away from me.” Someone thrashed wildly in the waters below them. Evangeline tried to block out the sound of Lamont’s hysterical crying, and then the night grew eerily quiet.
In a clap of light, Uscias appeared behind Lachlan—followed in quick succession by Fallyn, Shayla, Rohan, Gabriel, and Broderick. The bright flashes illuminated the ledge and Evangeline gasped in horror. “Lachlan!” His son had crawled halfway across the granite shelf, the black smoke writhing around his tiny frame.
Lachlan cursed. Tension hardening his chiseled features, he stepped onto the ledge. The rock groaned beneath his weight.
“No, don’t move. Lachlan, hold out your arms and concentrate on him. Picture him coming to you,” she said. He did as she advised, and his son appeared safely in his arms. She leaned against the wall, her shoulders sagging with relief.
“Evangeline, catch,” Fallyn said and threw her the blue stone.
The rock pulsated and glowed in Evangeline’s hand. Her long-held fears rose up to taunt her and she wanted to throw it back. Any of the others would be a better choice. She lifted her gaze and met Lachlan’s; her breath hitched at the look of love in his eyes. “Ye can do it, Evie.” His confident smile calmed the panicked gallop of her heart.
She nodded, then inched along the ledge, the shale crumbling beneath her curled toes. Clinging to the vine, she swung to face the door. Holding her breath, she pressed the stone in the center of the pentagram. Pain-filled cries split the air, then receded, and the cracks resealed. The crumbling ledge rebuilt itself. Slowly she drew her hand from the door, folding her trembling fingers over the stone. The thick verdant vines crawled across the rock to once more conceal the door.
As the tension flowed from her, a loud cheer broke out from behind Lachlan and she looked up to see Uscias, the three kings, Fallyn, and Shayla beaming at her. She shook her head but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. Lachlan reached for her and drew her into his arms. He held her as if he never meant to let her go, and she was filled with an overwhelming sense of well-being.
“’Tis over now,” he said and kissed her.

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