Branded by a Warrior

by Andrea Thorne

  It wasn’t until months later the men discovered the truth about the Scottish witch who had deceived both of them and ran off to marry Kincaid soon afterward. They both thought she had been forced into a marriage due to her conniving father, not because she was doing Kincaid’s bidding. Duncan and Broderick were too proud to listen to Elisabeth as she begged them to listen to her, to hear reason. Yet, Elisabeth had been accurate.

  Broderick could still remember the vicious fight he had with Duncan at the waterfall; both had their blades drawn when Duncan’s sister arrived. She had screamed at both of the men like they were wee lads.

  She was a whirlwind of long dark red loose curls and confidence. She had no fear as she stood between him and Duncan; she tried telling them Fiona was trying to start a war for Kincaid. She had pled and begged the men to listen to reason.

  Neither of the men listened to her, lord he wish he had.

  When neither man would back down, she had enough, pulling her broadsword out she pushed Broderick away so she could speak with her brother alone. Whatever she had said to him in those few moments had made Duncan relent. Broderick remembered watching his friend stare at him one last time before he walked away with his angel faced sister.

  Looking down upon her face again, he saw the subtle differences in her face, and undoubtedly her lush body. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get that vision of her naked out of his head. Shaking the thought from his head he cursed at himself for coveting her body in her condition.

  Looking down at her asleep before him, he enjoyed the look of his plaid against her skin, something about the image made something inside him shift. He owed her so much for stopping the fight between Duncan and himself all those years ago. He was still ashamed at the rift it had caused; he and Duncan never fully regained their friendship after that day. That was something that still haunted him till this day; he never fully understood why they hadn’t. He felt ashamed and embarrassed a woman like Fiona could cause such a divide between him and his friend, they had been on the brink of war over a whore.

  Beside him Conn stood up and looked at the door and gave a low growl to alert his master of someone approaching, petting his loyal wolfhound’s head he heard his elderly healer approaching. His dogs had never really liked the healer, they often growled at the old woman when she approached. Signaling for his dogs to stay, he got up from his seat and opened the door for the craggy old healer

  “Good eve Caitriona, I have need of your services most urgent. Her wound is grave; we must do whatever we can.” Broderick requested as she shuffled past him and walked directly across the room to Elisabeth. The healer said nothing to him as she walked in.

  The thin silver haired healer knelt beside Elisabeth and hovered her hand over Elisabeth’s body for several moments before she stood up and turned back to look at him.

  With a knowing smile she rattled, “A touch of destiny!”

  Crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes he looked back at the frail healer, “Old Rhona said the same, what ye mean woman?” He demanded, irritated at the bat-brained healer. She was well known for her odd ramblings, but her healing powers made up for her addled nonsense.

  Nodding her head she smiled and turned back towards Elisabeth, opening her pouches she pulled salves and herbs from her clutch and leaned over to retrieve the hot water by the fireplace, “Ye destiny is entwined with this lass,” she said cryptically, pointing back at Elisabeth.

  Walking over to Caitriona, he knelt beside the elder and looked at her in the eyes, “Will she live?”

  Mixing up hot water with a foul smelling paste, the silver haired healer nodded, “Oh yes, she will live. She will live.”

  Broderick watched and assisted Caitriona long into the winter night. The slash started high on her left shoulder and angled across her chest, missing both breasts. The scar left would be substantial; a wound that deep would permanently leave a mark. There was no herb powerful enough to take away a scar of that magnitude. The beauty before him would be scarred.

  Many grueling hours later Elisabeth’s wound had been closed by the skillful hands of Caitriona, assisting when needed, he was dead tired. He had been awake for almost two days now.

  Treated and wrapped in soft linen bandages, Broderick helped Caitriona slip a lightweight chemise over the lass once she had finished her work. They covered her in another thick blanket before the roaring fireplace after they were completed.

  During the entire time she was being worked on, Elisabeth neither moved nor spoke; she continued to lay dead to the world. Broderick had dismissed his healer for the eve, allowing her to seek her bed late into the night. Her job had been done, she would not be required to keep vigil over Elisabeth, that chore would fall to him alone.

  Stoking the fire until it roared, Broderick lifted Elisabeth and carried her to his bed. He couldn’t let her sleep on the hard floor or a straw pallet. The woman would sleep in his bed until she awoke. He wasn’t sure if the Douglas clan knew she was alive, he wasn’t about to be separated from her. He would watch her, or have Rhona next to her at all times until she woke. Laying her on his soft bed, he pulled his warm covers over her slim body, tucking her in tightly so she’d be comfortable. His dogs curled on the floor beside his tall bed.

  Frowning, he walked back to the fire and sat down and unlaced his huntsman boots. His eyelids were heavy as he pulled off his boots and tossed them over by the door. Sitting back in the chair he leaned his head back and closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Exhausted beyond compare, he listened to the fire crackle as he finally relaxed for the first time in days. Yawning he crossed his arms and settled in for a few hours of rest. Dawn was not far away, and with it came another busy day.

  The sounds of Elisabeth’s chattering teeth could be heard all the way across the room, opening his eyes, he looked back towards his bed. Standing up he quietly walked over to the bed and looked down upon the sleeping woman. Reaching down, Broderick touched the back of his hand to her forehead, she was freezing yet again, wrapped in layers of blankets, she was still too cold.

  Sighing deeply, he resigned himself to what he must do. Pulling off his shirt he tossed it on the floor. Pulling back the tartan plaids and blankets that covered the sleeping warrior, he slipped into bed, gathering the freezing lass into his warm embrace. Pulling the covers over both of them he sighed as he closed his eyes, praying she would make it.

  He was unable to explain the overwhelming need to ensure her safety at all times, he still didn't quite understand it himself. He knew there were others like Rhona and Caitriona that could watch over the lass, but he simply didn’t want to give her up. He silently told himself this was the only way to ensure her safety, yet still rest. He and his men had just ridden two days without sleep, he was exhausted and in desperate need of a good nights rest. No one would harm her while he slept next to her; his body heat would keep her comfortable and warm. He told himself he was only fulfilling his vow, but he knew it was more than that.

  Holding the beautiful Warrior Queen in his arms he thought over Rhona and Caitriona’s words earlier, destiny. He knew the words weren’t used lightly, especially by either elder who had came to help tonight. Holding the woman in his arms, he thought about what the women had said. Both were sure she would live, both had spoken of destiny. He had an unnatural attachment to her, something very odd and out of character for him, usually he pushed women away so he wouldn’t get attached. Finding Elisabeth so close to death, in need of help and alive, she had easily penetrated the cold walls of his heart without a single word. How was his destiny entwined with this lass? Was it to be her rescuer? Was it to help her seek vengeance for her fallen family and clan? He thought long and hard about what the old ladies had said, something in his cold heart told him it was far greater than simply rescuing the lass from the snowy forest floor. The woman next to him was about to change his life, this he knew.

  Letting the cadence of her breathing soothe him, he thought about the future as sleep claimed him.

&nbs
p; Chapter 2

  In the nine and twenty years he had been alive, never had he woken up with a woman beside him. Yes, there had been ladies who bestowed their favors upon him aplenty, but none that ever graced his bed, and surely none that had ever slept the entire night with him. Waking up to the sensation of her bare skin touching his made him wonder what he had been missing out on these past years. The sensual feel of her tangled under the sheets with him made him feel alive and hungry.

  Looking down, he saw her resting her angelic face upon his bare chest. Her injured arm stretched over his body still tightly bandaged. She held him tight as she slept. Her leg entangled with his, he noticed that she finally felt warm. With skin as soft as rose petals and hair the color of copper, she was stunning. The sensation of skin to skin contact made him feel intimate with her; he surely had never woken up tangled with such a vixen before in his life. If the stories were true about her, she had never taken a husband to his knowledge, he was unsure if she had a lover. There was so much he didn’t know about her.

  Looking over her skin he saw the bluish tint had disappeared overnight, she felt warm and much more alive. He knew flesh-to-flesh body contact was the quickest way to defrost a person; he was pleased to see such a difference in the lass. She no longer looked like she was perched on death’s doorstep. She looked alive and vibrant, like she would wake up at any moment.

  Broderick leaned his head back to get a look at her bandaged shoulder more clearly; it appeared that the bleeding had finally stopped. Her bandage was still snow white. Satisfied with the appearance of the lady lying across his chest, he knew he’d have to get up soon. Soaking in the sensation of having the notorious Warrior Queen in his arms, asleep and alive, he smiled down at the lovely lass nestled against his chest. He sighed deeply; he knew he needed to attend to his duties as Laird, even if it felt quite wonderful to have the beauty sleeping peacefully upon him.

  He ran his hand up her back, slowly detangling himself from her tight hold. Rolling out of his bed he stood up and stretched, he smiled as he watched her nestle into his spot on the bed. The woman had not been lucid since he found her, yet she instinctively clung to him and his warmth. She trusted him as if she’d known him her entire life.

  Shaking his head, inwardly scolding himself for having such a foolish thoughts. With a furrowed brow he walked over to his wardrobe and donned fresh clothes quietly while Elisabeth slept peacefully. Gathering his assortment of weapons, he lifted his black sable fur off the chair and spun it around his shoulders, buckling it across his chest. Running a hand through his hair, he looked back at the bed one last time before calling for his hounds. There was much to do this morn, missives to be written to the King, and other Scottish lairds. Word of the Drummond massacre needed to be sent, Scotland would mourn such a beloved laird as Fergus Drummond. Broderick had contemplated if he should tell the King of England of Elisabeth’s survival; he knew the Drummond family was well favored by King Richard. Broderick knew he could claim he didn’t know or recognize Elisabeth, thus why he didn’t report her survival. Why would the King of England care about one lone, small surviving female? Something inside him cautioned him against revealing her identity to anyone. Only Kendrix and himself knew her true identity, soon enough he’d tell Rhona as well. Broderick knew Kincaid and his men would stop at nothing to get their hands on her if they found out she was alive. He knew that if it meant keeping King Richard in the dark about her survival, he would take the chance.

  Exiting the room he let the hounds run ahead of him while he gently closed his large wooden door. He’d send Rhona up to sit with her until he came back tonight; he knew the elder would be more than happy to help. Even though she looked much better this morning, he cautioned himself, she could still die. Fever and infection could set in and take her easily.

  She slept for ten long days.

  Day after day passed as Rhona and Broderick kept watch over the lass. As each day passed he grew more concerned with her state. Why hadn’t she woken up yet?As the week progressed she started to talk in her sleep, reliving dreams and nightmares, she called out for her family as she shed tears.

  Hearing Elisabeth’s voice reassured him she would make it, even if it was when she screamed during her nightmares. Rhona assured him the lass only needed time. She had a far walk back to the land of the living when she once stood on death’s doorstep.

  During the mornings and afternoons he left Elisabeth in Rhona’s care, in the evenings he never left her side. Each evening he would return to his room, hopeful to see her eyes staring back at him. Rhona in true fashion had taken it upon herself to sew the lass a new wardrobe as she sat with her. Over the ten days, dresses and tunics, leggings and beautiful gowns began line his wardrobe, all belonging to the sleeping warrior queen in his bed. Rhona was happy to create a new wardrobe for Elisabeth; she had once made all of his mother’s clothing as well. She was pleased to have a woman to design clothing for once again.

  In the evenings he would sit at his desk and write missives and go over his estate accounts as the fire roared and she slept. He had even begun repairing weapons by the fire at night to keep busy. Each day as he walked up the stairs to his room he promised himself that tonight would be the night he slept in the large leather chair before his fireplace, instead of next to her. He would ultimately fall for the sorrow he could hear gripping her each night, he refused to allow her to be in such pain if he could stop it. As each night brought in a wave of fresh nightmares for her, he would crawl in next to her and hold her. He would simply talk to her, calming her, bringing her out of her nightmare back into to peaceful slumber once again.

  Try as he might, he could not ignore her pain and suffering. Her cries, her tears, her screams pierced his heart and soul. He had heard her screams for her parents, for her brother, for her people. She mourned even while dead to the world.

  His clan was now well aware of the lone Drummond survivor they had brought back with them; however, Broderick and Kendrix still concealed her identity. The brothers agreed to keep her identity secret until the lass could speak for her; she may very well want a new identity. They had shared her identity with only Rhona, their most trusted elder. They all agreed it was possible Elisabeth wanted to let the Warrior Queen of Scotland to stay dead, until she spoke, the clan assumed their Laird also didn’t know her identity.

  The past week had been grueling for Broderick. The castle buzzed with activity of sealing the castle for the hard winter ahead. He had messengers coming and going all week with missives from the surrounding lairds and his king.

  He and his men had great difficulty doing their border patrols with the onslaught of heavy snow, it appeared winter was coming early to the Highlands. His days and nights were filled with the demands of being the laird, duties he took very seriously, yet he found himself thinking about the beautiful woman who slept in his bed.

  When he left his chamber in the morning, he worked until the moment he set foot inside his room. Isolated so high in the mountains, winter sealed them off from the rest of the world; it was his duty to see his people had enough supplies stored to see them through the winter months. On top of his duties, he constantly found himself worrying over the woman who lay in his bed for the past week. He was unaccustomed to caring, to being so distracted, something his younger brother liked to point out.

  On the evening of the tenth day, he returned to the castle from a bitter cold border patrol. He had seen Rhona in the kitchens before he came up; she had been busy cooking and informed him the lass still slept. Grabbing a quick bowl of stew he ate before heading upstairs to change. Walking up the stairs he shook off his sable fur and rubbed his hands together, blowing into them for warmth. He was looking forward to the heat of his fire tonight. Today had been exhausting and he needed to sleep.

  Opening his door, he looked directly over to the bed as he did every night since he brought her home. The bed was empty. Her soft cry captured his attention; scanning the room he saw her sitting on the floor, hold
ing her injured shoulder, leaning against his bed. Her head slumped over, crying in pain as she sat on the floor, his wolfhounds at her side.

  Chapter 3

  Sitting bolt upright, Elisabeth screamed in the midst of a nightmare, the sound of her own scream finally woke her from her prison.

  Opening her eyes, she sat up straight and the agony of her injury hit her like a mace. Gasping at the fire in her shoulder, she ran a hand over her injury and saw she had been treated, and changed. The blood was gone from her skin, her hair smelled like fresh roses and she occupied the biggest bed she had ever seen in her life.

  Panic struck her as she realized she had no idea where she was, scanning the room she saw she was alone in the most handsome room she had ever laid eyes upon, surely nothing this beautiful could belong to Kincaid.

  Then she saw it.

  Above the fireplace, the family crest of Clan MacMillan. Covering her mouth to contain her sobbing, she closed her eyes and wept. God had seen fit to see her live another day. She was safe at Castle MacMillan. Scanning her scattered memory, she had no recollection of how she gotten here, or who had saved her life.

  She was safe, safe behind the fortress of Castle MacMillan, the most notoriously impregnable castle in all Scotland. Kincaid could never find her here; he would never touch or harm her again. Broderick would never allow that, that she knew.

  Sitting in the middle of the large bed, she reached up with her good arm and brushed away the lingering tears on her face as she continued to take in the room.