A Hardened Warrior

by McQueen, Hildie

  A Hardened Warrior

  Clan Ross

  Book Two

  Hildie McQueen

  © Copyright 2020 by Hildie McQueen

  Text by Hildie McQueen

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  ceo@dragonbladepublishing.com

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Hildie McQueen

  Clan Ross Series

  A Heartless Laird

  A Hardened Warrior

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Hildie McQueen

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Was this to be the end of his life? Tristan Ross lay dying on a cot in a cottage somewhere deep in the forest not too far from his home. Where exactly, he would probably never know.

  His small party had been ambushed and outnumbered by McLeod warriors. It was a short but brutal attack, which somehow left him injured and alone in the forest. How it happened, he wasn’t quite sure.

  Interestingly enough, the small party he’d been escorting had been on their way to discuss a truce with the McLeod. With only a few guards, along with his uncle and a woman, they’d not considered that the other clan would consider the group a threat.

  Somehow the McLeods had known of their approach and whoever the traitor within his clan was, Tristan wished him the worst. If somehow he managed to survive, which was doubtful, he’d ensure to find the bastard and kill him with his own bare hands.

  Darkness beckoned with promises of relief from the pain and Tristan couldn’t help but allow the pull. Just as he was about to let out a long breath that would have, in all probability, been his last, a soft jostle brought him back to the present.

  Although minute, the movement caused him pain and created the inability to breathe properly. Air wheezed from his lungs and he attempted to groan, but even that was impossible.

  The wounds he’d sustained were like none before and because of it, his life ebbed. Tristan sensed the end and grieved at never seeing his family again. He’d never mount his brave warhorse or swim in the icy waters of the nearby loch again.

  He was a warrior and to die from wounds was not something to mourn, Tristan reminded himself. At the same time, a warrior did not lie about letting anything or anyone take them without a fight.

  “Can ye open yer eyes?” A soft feminine voice permeated through the fog. It was as if stones had been placed on his eyes and no matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to open them.

  “Drink this. Ye must try.”

  Liquid dribbled past his parched lips and down his throat. He drank greedily and wanted to beg for more when it stopped. However, speech evaded him.

  Where am I? Tristan tried to ask, but all he managed was a grunt and whoever the woman was, she patted his shoulder.

  Cool rags were placed upon his brow, soothing the heat that filled him and lulling him once again to the darkness.

  The last thing he wanted was to go to sleep. It could mean death. The only option he would accept was to remain awake, and demand word be sent to his brother, Malcolm, Clan Ross’ laird.

  Malcolm would come for him. Of that, Tristan was sure. His brother would take him home to die.

  *

  “Ye have to wake and tell me how to get news to yer family.” The same feminine voice woke him once again. Tristan wasn’t aware if it had been days or only hours since the last time he’d heard her.

  In the haze of the days since arriving there, he’d caught glimpses of the woman. Or perhaps it had been an illusion. Nothing was certain. However, he recalled a beautiful, green-eyed Fae hovering over him.

  Surely it was not real. The idea of a Fae caring for him was no doubt a hallucination brought on by fever. Perhaps, even now, he imagined it. She’d been hazy, almost as if in a mist, which meant that there was a distinct possibility her appearance was imaginary.

  “He is not getting better. We must take him somewhere else to die. If he is found here, we can be accused of killing him,” a male voice said.

  A soft, cool hand cupped his jaw. “He is not as fevered. However, ye are right. We do need to find his kin. No doubt, they search for him.” The woman sounded contrite.

  Tristan wondered if the couple was husband and wife.

  “I will go see if I can find out something. He will be fine alone. Ye should go home, Merida,” the man said in a strong tone. “I will not have ye remain here alone with him.”

  Merida. The name suited the image he’d either seen or imagined.

  The cloth on his
brow was replaced. “There, now sleep and get better. Ye must recover to be reunited with yer family. Ye are strong and I am sure ye will live if ye try harder.” Her voice so close to his ear was like a balm and Tristan let out a sigh.

  She hesitated and seemed to speak to the man. “Ye’re right. I best go.”

  Tristan wanted to beg her to remain, but couldn’t muster more than a moan. And then he heard a soft chuckle.

  “If ye are trying to say something, ye have to do better.” She took his right hand. “Squeeze my hand if ye are from Clan McLeod.”

  He didn’t even try to move his hand.

  “Clan Ross?”

  The attempt must have worked, because she inhaled sharply. “I see. I am not sure I can find someone to get a message to yer clan. They are not receptive to messengers.”

  Footsteps neared. “I will take him to them. Tis best he dies there with his kin.” The man sounded determined.

  The woman let out a breath. “Tis dangerous. They are known to kill messengers. I cannot allow ye to do it,” the woman replied in a soft tone. Tristan loved the sound of it.

  “I know someone close to the Ross. If luck is with me, I will find her.”

  The room became silent. Tristan realized they’d gone outside. Not that it mattered as he couldn’t remain awake much longer.

  *

  Merida McLeod’s feet were like blocks of ice and the weight of them, along with the dampness at the bottom of her skirts, made it hard to continue forward. Every step was a struggle. She trudged toward McLeod Keep on a well-worn path between it and the cottage in the woods where her friend, Grier, a monk, lived.

  She’d met the monk while hunting for healing herbs and they’d built a rapport of sorts. He taught her about the healing properties of plants and, in return, she’d brought the older man food, bread or whatever she could sneak from the kitchen.

  Her heart pounded. She’d not meant to linger away from home so long and now there was a chance she’d be discovered.

  Neither her father nor her brothers would hesitate to lock Merida in her chambers for escaping unescorted. If not holding her captive, they’d assign a guard to follow her every move. Normally, it would be a bother, but not something she’d resent.

  However, now that she knew the identity of the injured man, it was good fortune she’d not been caught escaping.

  Now, she had to ensure not to be caught coming or going, as she’d either be locked up or guarded.

  Neither option was acceptable. She’d promised Grier to return the following day to help move the injured warrior to a cart so he could take the man to the Ross Keep.

  If the man lived, which she sincerely doubted, would he remember her? Somehow, she’d known a part of him remained coherent, although he could not speak or breathe properly. What would happen if he did recognize her one day? Hopefully, it would not be in a public forum where he would expose her in front of her father.

  Merida worried about Grier. The old man was just stubborn enough to take the injured man to the Ross on his own. Her lips thinned at recalling having found the injured Ross warrior.

  It had been during one of their walks that she and Grier spotted the injured man. Together, they’d struggled for what seemed like hours to carry the large, muscled man to Grier’s cottage.

  Deep in thought, she didn’t keep an eye on the path and her foot caught on a limb and she stumbled forward, falling onto the cold ground. “God’s foot!” she exclaimed and scrambled to her feet. This was ridiculous. She’d make sure to wear thicker socks with her fur-lined boots the next day.

  “Where have ye been?” Ethan, her brother, stood next to a tree.

  Merida yelped in fright. Eyes wide and right hand planted over her chest, she glared at him. “Ye scared me half to death,” she hissed. “What are ye doing out here?”

  “Merida.” Ethan’s narrowed eyes traveled over her before landing on her empty basket.

  “Who are ye feeding?”

  “An old man. He teaches me about herbs in return.” She told the truth since whenever she tried to lie her face would turn red and blotchy.

  Ethan neared and took her arm. “Father will forget ye are a woman and beat yer bum raw if he finds out.” Her brother pulled her roughly to a side gate that was hidden by overgrown bushes. “Ye best hope he doesn’t see ye.”

  When she attempted to pull her arm away, he held fast. “I won’t tell anyone this time. But let it be yer last time out. Tis too dangerous.”

  “I cannot let someone starve to death. Tis impossible to find food when the weather turns so cold.”

  Ethan lifted a brow. Her brother was ruthless and cruel. Rarely was he kind to anyone. On more than one occasion, she’d intervened when he’d beaten servants mercilessly for minor transgressions while doing simple chores.

  It surprised her when he nodded. “I suppose. However, next time take a guard with ye. Tis too dangerous,” he repeated and looked past her, seeming to lose interest in the conversation. No doubt, something weighed on his mind, otherwise, he would not have hesitated to announce what she did to their father.

  Their ongoing war with Clan Ross was always foremost in everyone’s thoughts. Ethan didn’t have to clarify why it was dangerous for anyone to leave the safety of the keep. Merida bit her lip to keep from blurting the conflict was his fault.

  Instead, she hitched her chin. “I find it quite odd that ye be out here yerself.”

  His expression shuttered. “Tis none of yer concern.”

  “Tell me, Brother. Who are ye meeting?”

  “Merida,” he growled. “Keep this up and I will inform father of yer outings.”

  She couldn’t risk it. “Fine.” Slipping through the gate, she hurried to the side garden and to a small shed where she placed her basket on a shelf.

  The entrance to the kitchen beckoned. It was risky to be caught entering from outdoors if her mother was there, but her stomach growled. The door creaked, opening to a huge, activity-filled kitchen. Rose, the cook, stirred something in a pot, while a servant girl chopped noisily. Another sat in the corner churning butter, her face bright with perspiration.

  “Child, come and stand by the hearth. Whatever were ye doing out in the frigid weather?” Rose chided while continuing to stir. Her normally bright red cheeks gave her a friendly appearance.

  The cook then motioned to a young woman who walked in with an armful of chopped wood. “Put that by the hearth and serve Mistress Merida some hot porridge.”

  Rose moved away from the pot, wiping her hands on the front of a long apron. “I will pour ye a bit of honeyed mead to warm yer bones.”

  After pulling a chair closer to the fire, Merida slipped her feet from the sodden socks and shoes and held them up to the warmth. She sighed happily as the heat seeped into her. “I love ye, Rose,” she said, reaching for the cup the cook offered.

  Rose neared and whispered into her ear, “Ye need to stop skulking about in the woods. One day, ye will find trouble.”

  Pretending not to hear, Merida drank the mead, leaning forward so the heat of the fire could help warm her hands and face.

  “There will only be ten of us for the midday meal.” Merida’s mother’s voice was like a closed fist to the stomach, but Merida refused to turn around. Her mother could always tell if she was hiding something. And the last thing Merida wanted was to worry her.

  Instead, Merida tucked her feet under the chair, hoping to hide the dirty hem of her skirts. She watched the servant churn, the paddle moving up and down. Up and down.

  “Merida?” Her mother neared. “Whatever are ye doing lingering about?”

  “I am hungry so I came for a bit of porridge.” Again, it was the truth.

  Her mother tapped Merida’s shoulder. “Nonsense. Ye can wait until the midday meal. Come along, dear.”

  “I missed my morning meal.”

  “Tis what happens when ye linger in bed until all hours and then spend half the day out in the corrals with that devil of a horse. Ye a
re not a lad, Merida.”

  Her mother believed her when she claimed she wanted to spend time practicing archery or riding her horse, Duin, around the corral.

  Duin was a stubborn beast that refused to allow anyone but her to care for him. So most mornings, she had to spend time with the unruly beast. It was a chore at times, but Merida enjoyed having something to do that allowed her out of the confines of the dreary, cold keep.

  She plodded after her mother, barefoot. “Where are we going?”

  “Yer father wishes to speak to ye.”

  Her heart threatened to stop and she gasped for breath. “About what?” She stopped at the end of the corridor that led to her father’s study.

  “Ye know.” Her mother’s expression softened and there was a slight curve at the edges of her lips. Merida had inherited her mother’s fair skin and bright red hair. However, her mother’s blue eyes were a slightly different shade of blue than Merida’s.

  Merida refused to take a step further. “I will not marry a Mackenzie.”

  “This is not a discussion to have with me, Child. Ye know yer father will have the final say in whom ye marry. Tis time, Merida; we have given you more than enough leave. Come, yer father waits.”

  She’d also inherited her mother’s stubborn nature, which made for interesting exchanges between them. “Ye promised to speak to him.”

  “Merida!” Her father’s voice boomed right behind her and Merida jumped.

  “Why is everyone trying to scare me to death today?” Merida exclaimed. “I will not have it.” She attempted to skirt around her father, but he was quick and took her by the arm and guided her into his study.

  “Tis time to settle ye,” he said without preamble. “And it is also time for this war between our clans to stop. I will send a messenger to the Mackenzie and ask for ye and yer mother to visit for the season. Prepare yer things. Ensure to take gowns suitable for…” He waved his hand in the air and looked to his wife for help. Both Merida and her mother looked at him, unsure what he meant to say.