King of the Isles Read Online Free PDF

could eventually be made to feel something for his subjects. As for his lack of magick, well, she could always offer her services.
    Evangeline groaned. What had come over her? Lachlan MacLeod represented everything she despised in a man. He was a philanderer—a man who did little but appease his lusty appetites, a man who’d spent the better part of his life hating the Fae. And worst of all, he looked like his father King Arwan. No, she wouldn’t allow her mind to go there. Just as she’d done all those years ago, she firmly closed the door on the revolting memories.
    Glancing down at the ink-smudged holes where there’d once been names, she crumpled the parchment. She needed a breath of fresh air to clear her head. She’d spent the last two days in her room attempting to complete her task, although she admitted, avoiding the Faes’ derision had just as much to do with her self-imposed confinement. Perhaps a visit with Uscias was in order. After all, no one knew the king of the Enchanted Isles as well as his mentor. Her spirits rose at the thought of spending time with Uscias. Assuring herself it had nothing to do with the possibility of seeing Lachlan again, she left her chambers.
    Moments later, she stood deep within the forest of the Enchanted Isles. Her gaze was drawn to Lachlan’s palace—sparkling in the noonday sun—perched high atop the mountain that cast the valley in shadows. Perhaps she should go there first. After all, it was most likely where Uscias would be. And if she happened to run into Lachlan, she could thank him properly for coming to her rescue. Absently she smoothed her hair, then realized what she did. For Fae sakes, she was primping! Huffing an exasperated breath, she set off with a determined stride for Uscias’s cottage. As she walked through the forest, she found it oddly quiet, the leaves crackling beneath her slippers overly loud. A prickle of unease skittered along her spine and she picked up her pace.
    Turning onto the cobblestoned path, she came to an abrupt halt. The door to Uscias’s cottage had been ripped from its hinges and lay splintered on the forest floor.
    Her heart jammed in her throat. “Uscias,” she cried, tripping over the planked door. She regained her footing and rushed inside. Her horrified gaze took in the destruction. Uscias’s belongings were tossed about the small room, furniture viciously smashed and strewn throughout the cottage. She shoved aside a broken chair with a growing sense of alarm.
    From behind an overturned settee in the corner of the room, she spotted a pink satin slipper. Aurora. So concerned was she for Uscias, she’d forgotten the little seer he trained. She tried to calm her staccato breath. Steeling herself against what she might find, she knelt down and peered beneath the settee. Anger intermingled with fear at the sight of the little girl lying so still and bound in irons. With a blast of her magick, Evangeline sent the blue settee flying across the room.
    Careful to avoid the thick links of chain—iron drained the Fae of their magick—she placed her cheek next to Aurora’s colorless lips. The child’s warm breath caressed her face, and Evangeline’s shoulders sagged in relief. She quickly identified the sickly sweet smell that caused her nostrils to twitch. Aurora had been drugged with a sleeping draught. Ridding the child of the chains that drained her of her powers was Evangeline’s first concern. She focused on a spell to remove them.
    Inches above Aurora’s diminutive form, she held her hands palms down. Her magick hummed but didn’t produce the desired results. Whoever had chained the little seer had placed several wards around her. She wondered if Uscias, thinking to keep the child from following him or antagonizing those who’d taken him, had created the wards. If so, that would mean he’d also created a protective barrier between Aurora and the iron, the reason Evangeline could not immediately break through the wards.