The King's Warrior (Pict King Series Book 2)

by Donna Fletcher

  The King’s Warrior

  Donna Fletcher

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The King’s Warrior

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright September 2016 by Donna Fletcher

  Cover art

  Kim Killion Group

  Ebook Design

  A Thirsty Mind Book Design

  Visit Donna’s Web site

  www.donnafletcher.com/

  http://www.facebook.com/donna.fletcher.author

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Titles by Donna Fletcher

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Wrath cursed the swirling snow. He had hoped the flurries that had begun falling early this morning when he and his troop had broken camp would be all the snow that followed them the rest of the way to Pictland. His hope had died shortly after when the snow turned heavy. Now they would not arrive home until it was near dark or later if the snow worsened.

  He had been away from home too long, though he had accomplished what King Talon had sent him to do, quell the unrest and misunderstanding with the Drust Tribe to the north. While his mission had gone well, he had learned that there was still a group of Picts plotting against the King. At least, there was no longer any threat from the Drust. They were one of the fiercest warriors of the Pict Tribes and their location so far north was important to the King. Northmen came to trade from across the sea and seeing the Drust, their bodies covered from their head to their feet in intricate body drawings with barely a garment on them, kept the mighty Northmen from engaging them in battle.

  Now that the problem had been settled, Wrath was eager to be home and find himself a willing woman to keep him warm for the night. He was not interested in finding himself a mate to join with for life. He was leader of King Talon’s imposing personal guard and his position came before anything else. It had annoyed him to be sent on this mission, away from the King, but the King had felt Wrath was the only one he could trust with it.

  A sudden strong wind whipped at Wrath’s face and had him lowering and turning is head to avoid another icy slap. He did not keep his head turned away long. In a snowstorm as bad as this one, it was wise to keep focused on the horse in front of you or you could easily be separated from the others in the troop and chance getting lost in the snow and freezing to death. And since he was in the lead, he had to keep his troop on a steady course.

  It was not long before Wrath brought the warriors to a halt. It was difficult to recognize his surroundings through the rapidly swirling snow. The familiar markers that let one know how far they were from the Pictland stronghold were impossible to see, forcing Wrath to rely more on instinct than a sharp eye to remain on course. That instinct is what had him halting the warriors, following in a single line behind him.

  He dismounted and grabbed the coiled rope he had hung on the hilt of his sword strapped to his back. He knotted it around the leather belt at his waist and proceeded to have his men do the same down the line. When the rope fell short, he had more rope added to it until the whole troop was fastened to each other. If the whipping snowstorm forced one warrior off course, another would know about it. He refused to lose even one warrior. They all would return home together.

  The bitter cold and falling snow made it difficult to judge how long they had traveled. Or was it eagerness to be home that made the journey seem endless? Wrath mounted his horse when all was done and kept his troop on a steady pace, his eyes on his surroundings to make certain they did not wander off course, and hoped the forest spirits were watching over them. He would take whatever help he could get to see them home safely.

  They rode on with no complaints, at least no complaints that could be heard. The fierce wind whipped the words up and away as soon as they left the mouth.

  The sky darkened after a while and Wrath was not sure if it was because it was growing late or the snowstorm was about to worsen. He hoped it was not the latter, since it would be impossible for them to continue.

  He turned his head away when he was once again slapped with an icy blast of wind and in that moment he thought he caught movement in the snow. Had the wind whipped at the snow by the boulder? It would not be an animal. They would have sensed the storm and taken shelter. He looked again as his horse drew closer and again he saw movement. Or was it the ruthless wind?

  Wrath watched as they were near on top of the spot and when he saw movement again, he brought his horse to a stop. He dismounted and went to the warrior riding behind him. After telling him what he thought he had seen, a line was formed so that Wrath could reach the boulder without getting lost in the blinding snow.

  He saw no movement as he fought against the wind and he wondered if he had been foolish to stop, but then he saw it again. He had not been mistaken. Something was buried in the snow that had drifted up against the rock.

  Wrath pushed against the wind and almost stumbled when his fur encased shoe caught on something beneath the snow. He kicked at it, thinking it was a fallen branch, but it did not feel like a branch. He squatted done and brushed the snow away to reveal a leg partially wrapped in worn cloth. It was a slim leg, too slim to belong to a man.

  He quickly dug at the snow and when he uncovered the edge of a cloak, he yanked at it, sending the snow flying to reveal a thin body, though shapely enough to know it was a woman. He let the cloak fall to cover her body once again and hurried to brush the snow off the cloak’s hood that completely covered her face, then he carefully eased it away.

  The face lacked color and the full lips were tinged blue. What hair peeked out from beneath the hood was the color as bold as the sun. She had features that would have a man looking more than once at her and he squinted several times, then he finally leaned closer to look at what was around her neck. A red, raw mark circled her neck and that could be caused by only one thing—a noose.

  Had she escaped a hanging only to fall prey to the snowstorm?

  There was nothing he could do for her now but see that she was buried properly. A task in itself, since by the time he sent warriors to retrieve the body the forest animals would have feasted on her. It was not what he would want for her, but he would not endanger his warriors’ lives when she was already dead.

  Wrath stared at her for a moment. He could not help but wonder about her. Who was she? Why did she have the mark of a hangman’s noose around her neck? Why was she here, so close to the Pictland stronghold? He would never know and for some reason that troubled him.

  He went to tug the hood down over her face, when h
er eyes suddenly sprang open.

  Wrath almost fell backward from the shock that she was not only alive, but from her eyes. They were the deepest blue he had ever seen. He was jolted by another shock when she spoke.

  “Wrath!”

  He stared at her, thinking he should know her since she had spoken his name, but nothing about her was familiar.

  Her eyes closed again and while there were many questions he wished to ask her, now was not the time. He had to get her out of the snow and get her and his troop home before they all froze to death.

  Wrath signaled to the warrior behind him and together they dug her out of the snowdrift. She was no burden to lift and carry to his horse. He handed her to the warrior tied to him and after he mounted, he took her from him, fighting against the punishing wind as he did. He placed her across the front of him, tucking her tight against his shoulder so that her head rested on his chest. He drew his fur-lined cloak around them both, keeping her covered from the shards of icy wind and bitter, swirling snow.

  Her body was so cold that he worried the heat from his body would not be enough to warm her and she would die before they reached home. But then she was a stranger, so why should it matter to him? Was she a stranger to him? She had spoken his name as if relieved to see him. But she was not familiar to him, so how did she know him? And the marking around her neck nagged at him. It was the mark of the hangman’s noose for sure. Or was it?

  She stirred in his arms, drawing his attention and he thought he heard her say his name once again. The sooner they reached home, the sooner he would have his answers. He forced his thoughts away from the woman in his arms and on the difficult task in front of him... the blinding snow.

  Their pace was slow and seemed to grow slower as the snow continued to rage around them. The darkening sky worried Wrath. If they did not reach Pictland soon they would have to make camp and try to survive another night in the worsening snowstorm. While his men had been trained to face such harsh conditions, the woman was not and he doubted she would make it through the night if exposed to the cold.

  They continued to plod along and when Wrath spotted a faint light in the distance, he hoped it was not his eyes or thoughts playing tricks on him. He kept his horse steady toward the flickering light and was relieved when another light came into view.

  It was the torches, burning brightly, atop of the tall enclosure that surrounded the Pictland stronghold. They had made it home.

  The sound of the men’s joyous roars as they spotted the lights pierced the mighty wind and was carried off on it. The warriors continued to roar and for a good reason. They wanted to make certain an open stronghold gate greeted them upon reaching it. And it did.

  Wrath spotted Broc standing just inside the gate upon entering. He was one of King Talon’s six personal guards that Wrath had trained to protect the King and give their lives for him if necessary. Seeing him there meant only one thing, King Talon wanted to see him immediately. That left no time to deposit the woman with the healer. He would have to take her with him.

  Two torches burned brightly in front of the feasting house, a two story structure that King Talon had designed. It stood proudly amongst smaller dwellings. Wrath drew his horse to a stop and Broc, having followed alongside him, was quick to assist him with the woman.

  “A mate?” Broc asked with a grin, holding the woman as Wrath dismounted.

  Wrath winced. “Do not wish such a terrible fate on me.”

  “On any of the King’s personal guard,” Broc said with a laugh.

  Wrath had agreed with a nod. It was not a spoken law that a member of the King’s personal guard could not wed, it was a silent one. The King’s protection came first, above all else, and a wife would distract from that.

  The woman did not stir when Wrath took her in his arms and entered the feasting hall. Seeing the King had yet to arrive there, Wrath laid the woman on a table closest to the large fire pit in the corner of the room.

  He was about to slip off his cloak and cover her when a shiver ran through her. Her garments were wet from the snow and doing her no good. The only thing he could do about that now was to cover her with his cloak, hoping the fur lining would warm her some.

  “What have you there?”

  Wrath turned to see King Talon descend the steps from the second floor. One look at the King and one understood why he ruled over the Picts. He was a man of immense power; tall, lean, and hard with muscles, he possessed the strength of ten or more men. He was a man to fear and respect. His fine features attracted endless women, but it was the strange markings on the right side of his face that captured the eye.

  Most Picts had several body drawings significant to their tribe The King had only one and most believed he was born with it and meant to be King.

  Wrath had known King Talon before he became King. They had fought together to defeat foreigners and force them off their shores. He was lucky to not only call him his King, but also his friend.

  Wrath stepped aside as King Talon approached so he could see for himself.

  King Talon gave the woman a quick glance when he stopped near Wrath. “You can tell me about her after you tell me how your mission went.”

  “Irongrey, the Drust leader, was pleased to learn that you had not deserted his tribe and was grateful for your generosity in the supplies you sent to help them survive as the land grows dormant and the cold descends. He was not pleased to learn that some in his tribe had plotted against you. He reaffirmed his tribe’s allegiance to you and assures you that the Drust will stand with you against any and all enemies.”

  “The Northmen?”

  “Trading continues and all seems fine with them. I have your share of the traded items, which Irongrey supplied without question or protest. Spices, wine, and fine cloth are a few of them.”

  “What does he intend to do about those tribesmen who betrayed him and are still at large?”

  “He assures me they will meet their fate as soon as they are captured,” Wrath said. “Irongrey made certain to announce to his tribe that their own tribesmen stole the supplies and the animals you sent to replace their aging ones. The tribe’s people, all fierce warriors, were eager to begin hunting those who had betrayed them.”

  “Did you learn of anymore unrest among the tribes on your journey?”

  “I learned that someone is enlisting those who are not pleased that you unified the tribes, took the throne, and became first King of the Picts.”

  “Someone believes himself more suitable to be King. We will discuss the problem when next the High Counsel meets. Now tell me, who is this woman,” King Talon ordered with a nod at the table.

  “I do not know. I found her buried in a snowdrift, barely alive. I am surprised she still lives. I was also surprised to see that her neck bears the mark of a hangman’s noose.”

  The king stepped closer to have a better look. “I will know what happened to her. No one is hung without my permission.”

  Wrath thought of Paine’s wife, Anin. She had the power to touch someone and know what they felt. “Anin could touch her and tell us something about her.”

  “Anin asked permission for her and Paine to visit with her grandmother and her people, the Wyse Tribe. I granted her request. Anin has grown in her abilities since you took your leave. I am sure if she senses she is needed, she and Paine will return.” The King looked at the woman again. “Did she speak at all to you?”

  Wrath reluctantly said, “She spoke my name.”

  “Then the problem is solved. You know her. You find out what happened to her and I place her in your care.”

  “I do not know her,” Wrath argued.

  “Or you do not remember her, since you have known your share of women.”

  “I knew none of them well,” Wrath protested and almost cringed at his own words.

  “You must have left a good impression on this one, since she remembers you. See to her, she is your responsibility now.”

  “I could take her to the heal
er. She can tend her properly.”

  “Did I not say she is your responsibility?”

  Wrath wanted to argue, but the threatening look on the King’s face warned him against it. Instead, he nodded and said, “As you say, my King.”

  King Talon turned and stopped before climbing the stairs. “Do not join with her, Wrath. We do not know who she is or what problem she brings with her.” He continued up the stairs, expecting no reply only obedience.

  Wrath shook his head. He had no desire to join with her. She was nothing more than a problem that he wanted to be rid of and he was annoyed that he would have to tend her. He should have left her where he had found her. He shook his head again. He could be heartless when necessary, but it had not been necessary to leave her to die. Besides, he was curious about her, but then look where his curiosity had gotten him? He shook his head again and grabbed his cloak, roughly yanking it off her.

  Her eyes flew open large with fright and she reached out to him. “Wrath, help me.”

  Chapter Two

  Snow fell on Wrath as he carried the woman, wrapped snugly in his fur-lined cloak, to his dwelling. Her eyes had not remained open long enough for him to question her and heavy sleep had claimed her once again. It troubled him that she should seek his help since it meant she trusted him. Try as he might, he could not place her. But there had been many women he had shared not more than a brief, mutual coupling with and never knew their names.

  It had been before Talon had become King. Talon, Paine, and he had been busy fighting endless battles and enjoying the free favors of the women of various tribes.

  Tribes.

  Various tribes were identified by their body drawings. The Drust were easy to spot since body drawings covered their enter bodies. He, being part of the King’s personal guard, had distinct body markings across his back, chest, arm, and neck. All he had to do was find out what body drawings she wore and he would know her tribe. At least, it was a start in discovering who she was.

  He was glad no one was about to see him carrying the woman to his dwelling. Tongues would wag, though if she remained with him too long talk would soon spread that he had taken a wife. And that was something he would not allow to happen.