The Warrior

by Kinley MacGregor

  “I won’t hurt my brother.”

  Raziel glared at him one last time before he turned and led them through the outer bailey.

  Catarina took his hand in hers as they walked through what was obviously intended to withstand the Second Coming. Lochlan shook his head at the fortifications. Kieran had never cared for such. Though his brother been a natural fighter with good instincts, Kieran had never really cared about conflict or leading. He’d only wanted to play and chase maids.

  It was obvious Lochlan was about to face a very different man than the petulant boy who’d left home.

  As they walked, he counted at least twenty knights patrolling the battlements and yard. It said much that the Scot had the money to pay them and it spoke even more to his paranoia that they were about at this time of the night. Obviously, the Scot was ready to fight anyone who threatened the sanctity of his home.

  Once they reached the castle, Raziel wouldn’t allow them to enter anything more than the foyer. “Wait here and don’t move.”

  “May I at least scratch my ear?” Catarina asked impishly.

  Raziel curled his lip at her. “You think this is amusing?”

  She shook her head before she answered in a sincere tone. “I never find tragedy amusing. But I do believe you see danger where only safety exists. And you grossly misjudge a good man with no knowledge of his character.”

  Raziel scoffed at her. “How lucky for you that your life has been so gentle that you trust so easily. May Allah always be so kind to you.”

  With that spoken, he led Kestrel to the stairs.

  Cat didn’t move again until the two of them were out of sight. “Well,” she said, turning toward Lochlan, “they’re not exactly friendly here, are they?”

  “Apparently not. God save them from whatever it was that has caused them to be this way.”

  She nodded. He was right. Their pasts must be horrible indeed to warrant this kind of security.

  All of a sudden, a fierce shout rang out from the hallway above them. But it was so muffled by the stone that they couldn’t make out the words. Only the displeasure of the man’s tone.

  “Your brother?” she asked Lochlan.

  “I know not, but I would assume so. The saints know the man always had a voice that could carry for leagues.”

  Cat was beginning to think this had been a wasted effort on their part as the shouting continued without letup. She could only imagine how hard this would have to be on Lochlan to have come this far only to be turned away now that they were so close.

  And still the angry shouting continued.

  Lochlan met her gaze an instant before he headed toward the stairs.

  “Lochlan,” she called, but he didn’t pause as he continued on his way.

  Cat lifted the hem of her gown before she followed after him. He stalked toward the chamber with determined strides that said he wasn’t going to leave until he had his audience.

  And as they drew closer to the room at the end, the words became audible.

  “You can’t just send him away,” Kestrel snarled. “Not after what he’s risked to come to you.”

  “As if I give a damn what he risks. He wasn’t there with us in the bowels of hell. He was off in the Highlands, bedding wenches and making merry while we were being tortured and humiliated. The devil take him to hell where he can roast him for eternity.”

  Cat expected that to give Lochlan pause. Instead, it seemed to fortify him as he reached the doors and swung them wide.

  All sound stopped in the wake of the echoing clatter of wood against stone.

  She drew up short as she saw the face…or what was left of it of Lochlan’s brother. It was all she could do not to flinch. But the greatest tragedy was that one side of it was completely perfect and told the world just how beautiful this man had once been.

  The other side was scarred horribly by burns and held a single patch over his eye that was no doubt missing. Her stomach sank at the sight of it. How the man must have suffered…

  Lochlan finally paused as he came face-to-face with a familiar stranger. His heart pounded as he met the one crystal eye that was the same exact color of his father’s…and Kieran’s. In fact, he saw much of Kieran in the features that remained undamaged by savage cruelty and yet…

  The truth slammed into him with an iron fist. “You’re not my brother.”

  The Scot let out a feral cry so raw that it actually made the hair on the back of Lochlan’s neck stand up. He upturned the table before him, before he drew a sword and lunged.

  Lochlan barely had time to draw his own and deflect the fierce blow that would have severed his head.

  “Bastard!” the Scot snarled, kicking him back. He came at him, but before he could swing again, Kestrel blocked his way.

  The Scot spat at Lochlan, then threw his sword at him.

  Lochlan caught it in his hand and lowered it to the floor.

  Still the man’s eyes accused him of treachery and other things Lochlan could only guess at. “I’m as much a MacAllister as you are.”

  Lochlan winced as he realized the man before him must be one of his father’s numerous bastards. “Then I was wrong and you are my brother. For that I am grateful, but please forgive me for what I said. You’re just not the brother I was hoping to apologize to.”

  That took the fight out of him. The Scot literally slumped against Kestrel an instant before he shoved him away.

  He turned to Raziel. “I want him out of my castle. Now. Alive or dead, makes no never mind to me.”

  “Well it makes a difference to me,” Catarina snapped. She approached the Scot with her hands on her hips. She raked a scathing glare over him as if she were taking a small child to task for his rude behavior. “How dare you, sir!”

  The Scot looked aghast at her. “Have you lost your sense?”

  “Nay,” she said, lifting her head with pride, “I have not, but ’tis quite apparent you have.”

  That fired his one eye even more as a fierce muscle worked angrily in his jaw. “Woman—”

  “Man!” she spat back, interrupting him. “I’ve heard quite enough of your ranting this night. ’Tis only right you should hear some of mine.”

  Lochlan wasn’t sure which of them was most stunned as he exchanged a wide-eyed stare with Kestrel.

  Raziel started toward her, but she stopped him dead midstride with a look so cold, Lochlan could feel the burn of it.

  She then turned that frigid stare to the Scot. “What happened to you is a tragedy to be sure. And for that I am truly sorry for your loss. No man should suffer so. But you could take a moment out of your selfish life to alleviate someone else’s suffering. Just once.”

  He advanced on her then with a lethal twist of his lips. “You know nothing of suffering. Nothing.”

  “And there you would be wrong, sir. Most wrong.” Her voice held the strength and sincerity of a woman who had been pushed too far to back down.

  She stood toe to toe with him without hesitation or fear. Lochlan had never before seen her equal.

  And when she spoke again, her voice was laden with the pain of her own past and her words evoked an unrivaled anger inside him. “I know exactly what it’s like to be held down and beaten for no reason whatsoever. I’ve tasted my own blood and have felt my teeth loosened from the blows. If you think for one moment that you are alone in the realm of suffering, then think again. The world is filled with those who ache. If we are lucky, our outsides don’t bear the scars that shred our souls. Then again, are we the lucky ones?”

  She didn’t really pause for his answer. “When one looks at you, my lord, they see the marks of your past and they treat you with deference over it. When you look at Lochlan or me, you judge us without knowing the price we’ve both paid in our pasts. How dare you. Of all people, you should know better than to do such a thing.”

  Lochlan braced himself to intervene should the Scot strike her.

  He didn’t. Instead he stared at her as if imagining her
slow dismemberment.

  “You’re a cheeky wench.”

  “And you’re a bullish oaf.”

  His eye blank, the Scot looked at Lochlan and shook his head. “God have mercy on you, man, if this is your woman. You should have let me gut you and save you from her tongue.”

  Lochlan shrugged. “I’m rather fond of that tongue myself. I find it often holds a lot of truth when it speaks.”

  The Scot reached out then and placed a gentle hand to Catarina’s face. There was a subtle gentling of his gaze. “I’d forgotten how soft a woman’s skin could be.”

  He dropped his hand before he turned to face the fire and ambled over to it.

  Lochlan frowned at Kestrel, who shrugged at the same time Raziel came forward to retrieve the Scot’s sword.

  Suddenly, the Scot’s low, thick voice filled the air. “Kieran died so that I could live this life, such as it is.” He laughed bitterly, then winced as if it caused him unimaginable pain. “He took the blade meant for me and he died in my arms, coughing up blood and begging me to ask you for your forgiveness.”

  The Scot braced one hand against the mantel. “He said he wanted you to know that he hadn’t meant what he’d said to you the last time you’d spoken. That it was thoughtless and cruel and that he loved you. That he respected you.” He paused to let out a tired sigh. “All he wanted that last year we spent in prison was to go home and see the lot of you again. He kept saying over and over again that God would not be so merciless as to let the last words between him and his beloved brothers be so cruel. It was why he didn’t kill himself that day at the loch even though he didn’t want to live anymore. But he didn’t have the courage to face you. He just wanted the pain to end. He didn’t want to see the judgment in your mother’s eyes. The disappointment in yours or your brothers’. It was more than he could bear.”

  Lochlan clenched his teeth as each whispered word pounded him like a hammer through his heart. He desperately wanted to cry for the brother he’d loved so much. For the brother he’d hoped to find again.

  But he was among strangers and that alone kept him stoic on the outside. Inside however, he was screaming out in pain again…just as he’d done the day when he’d found Kieran’s sword and plaid by the loch.

  And once again, he’d have to face his mother with the bitter news that her son was dead. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but as Catarina had said, he wasn’t a coward and it wasn’t the kind of news that should come from anyone save family.

  “Thank you,” Lochlan said past the lump in his throat, “for trying to save him. For being with him when I couldn’t be.”

  Duncan turned toward him then and when their gazes met, Lochlan realized that they did share a bond in blood and in Kieran’s love.

  His gaze was blurry from his unshed tears as Lochlan held his hand out to this new brother. “I understand why you hate me, but should you ever need anything, send word and I will come.”

  Duncan stared at his hand for several heartbeats before he took it and pulled Lochlan into his embrace. “He loved you, Lochlan. I hated how much you meant to him. How much all of you did. I knew I was only half as good in his eyes. At least that’s what I thought until he died for me. Then it was too late…it should never be too late for such things.”

  Lochlan clapped him on the back as his own anguish choked him. “Half or full blood makes no never mind to us. A brother is always a brother.”

  Duncan buried his hand in Lochlan’s hair before he pulled him back and placed his forehead against Lochlan’s. Grimacing, he pushed himself away and headed for the door. “You can rest here, if you like.” He raised the cowl on his cloak.

  “Raziel,” he growled as he paused just before the door. “I’ve had enough of company. I want no more of it. Do not disturb me any more this night.”

  Lochlan took a step toward him, but Raziel cut him off as Duncan made his way out of the room.

  “Press him no more,” he said in a low, guttural tone. “It physically hurts him to talk and it hurts him even more to move. He must rest now and he never wants anyone to see him in that kind of misery. I beg you to allow him the dignity he deserves.”

  Lochlan wanted more answers, but he understood what Raziel was saying. “You don’t seem like a servant to me. Why do you obey him so?”

  “Duncan gave up his face for me when I was nothing but a worthless dog. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him now.”

  “Raziel is also one of the very few he trusts,” Kestrel said quietly. He shook his head. “So it was Duncan who survived. Now we know for sure.”

  Catarina frowned. “I don’t understand. How did Kieran know of him as a brother when you didn’t?”

  Lochlan had no idea.

  “He was raised in a neighboring village,” Raziel said. “His mother kept him hidden out of fear. She saw the way the lairdess treated her husband’s bastards and so she sought to protect him as best she could. Unfortunately, she died when Duncan was only eight and he was left to struggle on his own. He met Kieran by accident a few years later and Kieran recognized him as a brother immediately. So he would take food and clothing to Duncan. Sometimes even coin. It was Kieran who bought him an apprenticeship with the local blacksmith.”

  Lochlan cursed as he remembered Kieran being caught stealing by their father. He’d never explained to anyone why he’d been doing it.

  Now he understood. Kieran had been taking supplies for their brother.

  “Why didn’t he tell me?” Lochlan breathed.

  “Duncan didn’t want him to. He never wanted anyone to know he existed.”

  “Yet he went to Outremer with Kieran.”

  Raziel nodded. “He found Kieran on the bank of the loch, weeping. Kieran told him that he couldn’t go home again. It was then they decided that they’d find their brother Sin and make their own family where no one would be more related than the other. Where there would never be harsh words or hurt feelings between them.”

  Those words cut Lochlan to the soul. “I never carried a grudge against any of my brothers.”

  Kestrel cast a look to Raziel, then to Lochlan. “It’s far easier to give forgiveness than it is to ask for it.”

  Lochlan nodded. It was true. Kieran would have been too embarrassed over his tirade and actions to reach out to them and apologize. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Lochlan,” Catarina whispered.

  He pulled Catarina against him. For the first time, his brother’s death was almost tolerable.

  Almost.

  Raziel stepped forward. “I’m sure all of you are tired from your journey. Come with me and I’ll show you to rooms where you may rest. Would you like for me to bring you food?”

  Lochlan nodded. “A light repast for the lady. I know she has to be starving.”

  Kestrel cleared his throat. “And I’m most certain the two of them will be wanting a room together.”

  “That would be most improper,” Lochlan said quickly.

  Kestrel rolled his eyes. “Then for the love of God fetch a priest and marry her already.”

  Raziel looked horrified by the mere thought. “That would prove to be most difficult. The Scot refuses to have anyone of holy cloth near his home. His belief is that God turned His back on him and as such he will never welcome a cleric here again.”

  Kestrel scowled. “Not even Christian of Acre?”

  “As a Brotherhood member, he’s an exception and not a real priest, I might add.”

  “Well, there is that,” Kestrel said. “But it doesn’t usually stop him from wearing the robes.”

  Ignoring that, Raziel took them down the hall to a large bedchamber. When Lochlan started to withdraw and leave it for Catarina, Raziel took his arm. “No one here will judge you. We know how fragile and fleeting life is. Find your comfort where and when you can and trust we’ll never breathe a word of it.”

  Lochlan knew he should leave, but honestly it was the last thing he wanted to do and he was grateful th
at Raziel understood that. “Thank you.”

  Raziel inclined his head to him before he shut the door and walked off with Kestrel by his side.

  Cat watched Lochlan’s uncertainty as he turned toward her and couldn’t help smiling over it. Only he would be worried over her reputation after all they’d shared. It was endearing and sweet.

  “We’ll find that priest, Lochlan. Have no fear.”

  He nodded as he unbuckled his sword and set it aside. His silence concerned her. He was hurting.

  Going to him, she wrapped her arms about his waist. “Your brother loved you.”

  She saw the tears return to his eyes and yet somehow he managed to keep them in check.

  “I keep seeing him as a child,” he said in a quiet tone. “He used to be the devil of a prankster. Putting burrs under my saddle or in my boots. One time he woke me in the middle of the night by telling me the castle was on fire. I went running outside completely naked only to have him laugh and wake half the castle to witness my horror.”

  Cat tried not laugh, but it was hard. “And still you loved him.”

  “More than my life. God, Catarina, we were to grow old together with me having to look under my saddle even in my winter years. How can he have died on foreign soil with strangers around him?”

  “He had Duncan.”

  The anguish in his eyes stole her breath. “He should have had me. I was the older brother. ’Twas my job always to look after him. How could I have failed him so badly?”

  “You didn’t fail him, Lochlan. You loved him. There was nothing more you could have done.”

  Lochlan nodded. In his heart, he knew she was right, but the ache inside him denied it. It wanted his brother back and no amount of reason would make the pain or the guilt go away.

  His heart breaking, he pulled her to his lips and kissed her with every part of himself. Right now, he needed her in a way he’d never needed anything. She kept the pain away. Made him glad he was still alive.