“That is the point, my sweet. We will pass this information along and soon our existence will only make for a good story told on a starless night.” He pressed a kiss to her lips.
“But you have stated truths as well. You revealed how the sun could harm us.”
“All myths and legends have a bit of the truth in them, do they not?”
“Hmm… aye.” She exposed her neck for his caress. “You should add how we are passionate creatures. Mmm… Right there.” She paused to let him nibble near her ear.
“Go on, tell me what else to write,” he encouraged.
She turned in his arms. “How about I show you?”
His lips curved. “The night is ours. Seduce away, my love.”
The End
Heart of a Warrior
A warrior survives doing what he can to heal the heart, body or mind. When all say to give up, Hope whispers, “Don’t. Try again.”
Chapter One
“I call to you to do battle by my uncle’s side... Aid him in his conquest. Let your blade be as his should be... His heart as your heart.”
The young man’s plea for his uncle did not go unheard. Scáthach appeared in the hospital room seconds after she heard the prayer. She was curious to know why she’d been summoned here to this realm. Smells of disinfectant, sweat and death wafted through the open door of the hospital room. Monitor beeps, the rolling of food carts and the light murmur of the hospital staff touched her ears, but no threat seemed eminent. She had donned her warrior garb of tightly fitted clothing with her sword and axe strapped to her side. Her long bangs were pulled back from her face and a gold braided band around her head kept them out of her eyes. Being battle ready, had kept her alive, but no foe awaited her here in the beige-walled room meant for the ill or the dying.
It had been some time since she had been in this world with its computers and high tech machinery. She much preferred the centuries before there were gadgets to help mankind to work less. The luxuries made them weak and soft around the middle. A real man should be fit with muscled arms to enable him to wield a sword … or to hold a woman in his embrace in the art of making love, whichever seemed fitting at the time. She shook her head in dismay of what mankind had given up for his comforts. “Humans,” she muttered under her breath. “Thank the gods, I am no longer one of them.” The Tuatha de Dannan had touched her, making her the Warrior Goddess.
She trained men worthy of her guidance on the magical Isle of Mist, which others called the Isle of Skye. Her duties also were to guide the souls slain in battle on their Death Journey to Tir Nan Og, the land of eternal youth and beauty.
The young boy, who had summoned her, lounged next to the hospital bed in slumber. His cheeks were still round and childish with freckles that bridged his nose, giving his age to be no more than ten and two. His sandy blond hair hung in waves over his left eye. He was long and lanky, showing signs he would one day be a tall man. He clutched a book tightly to his chest and she could make out the title: Celtic Gods and Goddesses. A smile curved her lips. The boy was also smart. He had sent for her, a warrior who had taught the greatest heroes of all time how to fight. He prayed for his uncle in hopes she would guide him. She frowned at the strange request. This was not a battlefield.
She glanced at the bed where a man lay still as death, presumably the uncle in question. Tubes and wires were attached to his body while a monitor beeped in time with his heartbeat. Dark auburn hair with strands of mahogany and russet covered his head like a thick mane. The gods would approve of his strong chiseled chin with hair stubble roughing the edges. His cheekbones were broad and his eyes slanted catlike with thick lashes that were gold near the lids and deep auburn as they curved out to lay featherlike on his cheeks. His features betrayed his Celtic heritage.
She pulled back the covers and took her fill of what lay beneath. Broad muscular chest, flat stomach and long thick thighs flattered him. This was not a man who sat behind a desk, flipping switches to do his work. He appeared to be strong and yet… She took hold of his hand to read his palm and see what his future held. Indeed the man was at war. A battle wreaked havoc inside of him, trying to take over and bring him to his knees. Death was near and it wouldn’t be long before his fight would be over and yet the man hadn’t given up.
She glanced at the sleeping child again. He wanted his uncle to live and feared he couldn’t fight this alone. She was an expert in the art of war and never shied away from a challenge. She returned her gaze to the bedside, running a hand down the man’s arm. A war was a war no matter where the battle was held. Be it on the fields of heather with an army or an illness attacking the body. Both held an enemy that needed to be defeated.
She’d see if this man was worthy to have her as a teacher. If so, she would give him the tools to battle this, making him a warrior. She lifted his arm and read the nametag attached to his wrist. “Trey Brennan.” Her gaze shifted to his face. His eyes had fluttered open at the sound of her voice. The catlike eyes were an amber color, warm and intelligent. “Are you a fighter?” she asked.
He appeared confused by her question, his eyebrows drawing together, giving him a fierce look, a warrior’s glare.
“Are you a fighter?” she repeated the question.
His brows smoothed and his gaze gave her an appreciative once over. “You’re beautiful. Are you an angel?”
She had been called many things. Angel was not one of them. “No. I want your word that you’ll fight to live. I will not waste my time on someone who will surrender at the first sight of a battle.”
He glanced at his nephew still asleep in the chair. “I don’t want to die.”
“Then you must listen to me.”
He nodded. “I will do anything. I’m all Joey has. His parents died five years ago. If I’m gone he’ll have no one to care for him.”
Joey was the boy’s name. Trey had raised him then. Good, she thought. He will work hard, knowing he must survive for his nephew. All warriors had to have a purpose or else the fight wouldn’t matter. Win or die would not make a difference. In this case, survival had to be something he wanted, something he would strive to obtain. She gave him a curt nod. “Then I accept you for my student.”
His lips curved at the corners.
Nice full lips meant for kissing, she thought.
“This is a nice dream.” His voice was a deep masculine baritone. “I always had a thing for beautiful raven-haired women.”
She leaned close so she could whisper in his ear. “Work hard and you may win me as well. Aye?”
“I’d like that.” He closed his eyes again, falling back to sleep.
Chapter Two
Trey awoke with a start, inhaling as he did so as if he couldn’t catch his breath. Wide eyed he glanced around his make shift room—a tent of some sort with only furs to cover what he supposed was his bed. Clothing lay neatly beside him along with furred boots. A long sword etched with Celtic symbols rested on top of the garments, gleaming silver in the light that shone through the opening in the tent. “What is going on?” His thoughts were a jumbled mess as he sorted through where he was and why. He’d been ill—cancer. The big “C” word sent tremors down his spine. Leukemia to be exact and the bone marrow transplant hadn’t worked. His body was rejecting the treatment. So why wasn’t he in the hospital? “Don’t be stupid, Brennan. This is a dream.” His brow creased and his frown deepened as he wondered why the dream seemed so real. “The meds must be strong if I can bring on this delusion with such vivid detail.”
The inkling in the back of his mind told him this wasn’t a dream. No, this was something entirely different. His eyes widened then. “I’ve died and this is… what exactly? Was this Heaven? Or perhaps this was one of the levels of Hell.
He threw back the furs that covered him intent on finding out what was going on, but halted when he realized he was bare as the day he’d been born. Not that he was opposed to sleeping in the nude, but when he didn’t know how he came to be without his cl
othes that was a whole different story. Apprehension knotted in his stomach. Then he chuckled over the absurdity of the situation. “You’re probably dead, man. Why would you need clothes?” As he said the words his gaze landed on the garments beside his makeshift bed.
At the same moment the flap opened.
“Shit.” He hastily covered his lower extremity with his hands for what good it did when he was standing there in all his natural glory. If he was dead, how come he still had emotions like being embarrassed over being found with his pants down, so to speak? To make matters worse, the visitor was a knock-you-off-your-feet gorgeous woman. She was tall, standing only a few inches shorter than his height of six-foot four. Her hair was long almost black, but the light shining through the opening of the tent danced off the strands, highlighting her tresses with beams of cinnamon, russet, and red amber. She was clad in a tight fitting garment of leather and fur that accentuated every curve. Silver and gold bands adorned her arms with Celtic carvings etched into the metal. Her firm thighs were bare and went on forever. Fur boots covered her feet to mid calf. “Warrior,” he whispered wondering why that word of all words came to mind. Not exactly a word used for an endearment and yet the woman’s lips twitched at the corners and her pale blue eyes twinkled in merriment as if he paid her a compliment.
His body reacted like a man fully alive and well and he knew his fair skin turned a nice shade of pink. Her gaze flickered down to his groin and he backed up a step. What was he doing? Surely this was only a dream, some fantasy he had locked away in his pea brain to only resurface now moments before he died. That was it. This was like a last request before death took him. If that was so, then why did he have reservations?
“If you’re ready, we’ll begin.” Her voice was a slow burr like a melodious vibration.
“Ready?” Oh his body parts—one in particular was ready, but he had a hunch she spoke of something entirely different.
Again, those lush full lips of hers twitched but this time a smile appeared, revealing straight white teeth. “I’ll allow you to dress then meet me outside. You don’t have much time to prepare.”
He frowned in confusion. “Prepare for what?”
“To meet and destroy the enemy of course.” She didn’t wait for him to question her further, but whirled around and left the tent expecting him to do as he had been told.
Enemy? Fight? “What the hell?” He glanced around him. Maybe he had hit it on the nail. Maybe this was hell and he would be tortured by having a beautiful woman within his grasp but unable to have her, but have to wage war on some unknown enemy for further punishment. He may have never been a saint, but he hadn’t lived a wicked life. He worked hard, paid his taxes and cared for his nephew as if he were his own son. Why was he being punished? There was only one way to find out and she was waiting for him outside the tent. He was no coward and would meet whatever challenge awaited him.
He grabbed the clothes.
Chapter Three
Scáthach was glad Trey had made the transition to the Isle of Skye without any ill effects. He was indeed a strong man, standing taller than she stood. The russet strands of his hair glimmered in the sun, but once it set, the mahogany would take over, making his hair a darker shade of auburn. His body was as impressive as his face. Long and lean with hard muscled thighs. His broad shoulders and wide chest proved he could wield a sword or hold a woman close, whichever was deemed appropriate. Away from his world his true soul shone through. He radiated strength, determination and heat. She hadn’t missed how his body reacted to her, and truth be known, she wasn’t immune to his charms either. She had not seen such beauty since she trained Cú Chulainn, the most powerful warrior Ireland had ever seen. He mastered the arts of underwater fighting and other combat moves that few ever accomplished. With her invention, the Gáe Bolg, Cú Chulainn had won many battles.
She turned as the flap swung open and Trey emerged from its depth, wearing the garments of a born warrior. A smile of pure feminine pleasure teased her lips as her gaze took him in once more. Oh yes, he was Cú Chulainn and more. The gods had surely designed Trey Brennan for battle, but they had also created him for female pleasure as well.
“Welcome, Trey Brennan to Dú Scáith.”
His mouth dropped open, slacked in disbelief before he recovered. “The Castle of Shadows? Like in the legendary Scáthach’s castle, the Isle of Mist?” He chuckled nervously.
“I am impressed. You know your Celtic history.”
“You mean legends,” he insisted.
She shrugged not seeing the difference.
He glanced around him and she gave him his leisure, letting him become accustomed to his new world. She was proud of her fortress and what she had accomplished over the centuries. The grounds were equipped with all that was needed to fine-tune a warrior’s gifts. Her home stood on the most northerly island in the Inner Hebrides of what modern people now called Scotland. The island’s peninsulas spread out from the mountainous center of Cuillin Hills. Her castle was strong and impenetrable while it stood shrouded in the magical mist of invisibility. Only those who were skilled and brave enough to penetrate the many defenses of her fortress were allowed access. However, she was a goddess and granted entrance to a soul who showed promise of being a fully formed warrior.
“Tell me I’m dreaming.” Trey’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
“Why would I be so inclined to tell you this?”
“Because if I’m not dreaming, I must be dead and I cannot die. Do you hear me? I won’t die.”
“Oh aye, I hear you well enough Trey Brennan. Let me assure you that you are neither dreaming nor dead.”
He took a deep breath but still didn’t relax with her news. Odd, she’d thought her words would put him at ease.
“If I’m not dead and not dreaming, what is this? Why am I here?”
She thought she had explained this to him already, but she could be a patient teacher if the mood suited her. “You must defeat your enemy and become the victor before it is too late. If you will allow me, I will teach you the fine arts of combat and prepare you for the battle.”
He shook his head. “What battle? I don’t understand. I was in the hospital—my death bed if you must know and now… He spread his arms wide. “Now I’m trapped in a dream world from an old Irish legend.”
Sometimes humans were so narrowed minded. “Well, that is irrelevant. There is more than just your world. There are many realms of existence. Train well and all will make sense once more to you.”
He blinked in disbelief, his lids sliding over the amber colored eyes with a slow and deliberate closing and opening again.
Her shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug. “What do you have to lose? Defeat the enemy here and you will find what you seek in your world.”
Chapter Four
Trey was at a loss for words. Battle? Train? Defeat the enemy? He didn’t understand why his mind trapped him in this realm of unconsciousness. Why couldn’t he be surrounded by beautiful women who wanted to pleasure him in the last moments he had on earth?
His gaze slid over the goddess, Scáthach with a body that screamed warrior with her firm taunt arms and thighs. Her height may intimidate some men, but he was tall and liked the idea that she would fit to him perfectly. He had a hunch the woman had passion aplenty, but she made it perfectly clear she wanted to train him in the art of warfare—not make love to him. She took his breath away with a mere glance and he wanted her in the worse way. Didn’t it figure? He lay on his deathbed but his body still craved the feel of a woman beneath him. He supposed it was true. Men did have two brains and his lower one ached something horrible and the cure stood right in front of him in the form of a goddess.
Scáthach arched one perfectly formed eyebrow, giving him the distinct feeling she read his mind.
“Well?” she asked, her lips threatening to smile.
For a moment he didn’t know what she asked. Then it dawned on him. She wanted to train him for battle and wan
ted his permission to proceed. What the hell? Why not? She didn’t look inclined to give into his more basic physical need. Perhaps a good workout would take his mind off what he couldn’t have. “Fine. I’ll train.”
She nodded her approval, giving him the feeling he had passed some kind of test.
He followed her out to the battlefield where other young men of various ages practiced their moves, some with a sword others with battleaxes. His fingers caressed the cool metal at his side. He once held a sword when he had attended a Scottish Festival with his nephew, but he had never wielded one in a battle—pretend or not. His thoughts wavered to Joey, wondering how he was doing. Was he all right? Was someone looking after him? He hoped he was keeping up with his school work and—
“He will be fine.” Scáthach spoke, breaking through his thoughts.
“What?”
“Your nephew is strong. You’ve done well by him. No matter what happens, he will be all right.”
For some reason her words soothed him and he believed her.
“We’ll start with something simple like hand to hand combat first.”
“Okay. Who will I fight?”
Her rich chuckle had him lifting a brow. “You’ll fight me of course.”
“I couldn’t. I might hurt you.”
“Really?” Her voice held a note of doubt.
He rolled his eyes. She may be in shape, but he wasn’t a pushover. Besides, he was taught never to hit a woman. “Truly, I don’t want—”
Before he finish his sentence, Scáthach swept her leg in back of his knees, sending him sprawling to the ground in an embarrassed heap. He shaded his eyes and peered at her. She stood there with her hands on her hips and grinned.
“As you were saying,” she said haughtily and sauntered away.
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