Oath of a Warrior

by Mary Morgan

  Upon entering, Rory closed it behind him and leaned against the oak door, staring at the beauty before him.

  Erina kept her back to him. “You must help me with my laces.”

  As he stepped away from the door, he reached out with hands that shook. Clenching them, he fought the tide of desire. Erina was not his to claim. Ever.

  Unclenching his hands, he worked swiftly on her laces. Within moments, he had freed the garment from her shoulders. Turning around, he walked to the window and leaned against the stone. Staring out at the valley below, he waited.

  The rustling of fabric and Erina’s soft sighs of exasperation were the only sounds in the chamber. Moments ticked by and he tried not to imagine her with nothing on. Quickly chastising his thoughts, he kept his focus on several deer wandering along through the trees. Letting the land soothe his inner demons, he barely registered Erina calling his name.

  After giving her his full attention, his mouth opened like a besotted lad. The ivory and gold material made her auburn hair shimmer in the afternoon light. Aye, it was a tangled mass, but a crown of stunning colors.

  Her face took on a rosy glow. “Can ye help me, please?”

  Rory blinked, bringing his focus to their situation. “Turn around.”

  Complying, she gave him a glorious sight of her back, and he swallowed. Tugging at her laces, he made haste. Erina hastened toward a table and picked up a brush and combs. Soft tapping on her chamber door caused her to drop one of the items onto the floor.

  “Erina?” called out the feminine voice behind the door.

  “By the hounds,” he grumbled.

  “Give me a moment,” she responded.

  Rory glanced in all directions. There was no place to hide. The wardrobe was far too small to hide his massive bulk. And he couldn’t vanish in front of Erina. He’d prayed there was another solution hiding within the walls. If not, he would magically create one.

  Moving quietly to her, Rory grabbed her arm. “Go to the door.”

  “What are ye going to do?” she whispered.

  “I’m going to look for another way out. If your brother has a secret passageway inside his chamber, surely there must be one in here. I’m thinking Kileburn is full of them.”

  Biting her lower lip, she waved him away. “Hurry.”

  The pounding on the door intensified, and Rory feared the woman would come charging forth. Erina pressed herself firmly against the wood as a precaution. Discreetly waving a hand outward, he sealed the chamber and moved near the hearth. After he promptly ran his hands over the paneled walls, he then shoved aside a gilded tapestry and smiled. Using considerable strength, he forced the door open.

  Erina gasped, but he was gone before he could utter a reply, and silently closed the door. With a snap of his fingers light glowed softly in the musty area. Waving his hand outward again, he unlocked the door to Erina’s chamber.

  “Where have ye been? Your brother fears ye have taken ill, or worse,” inquired the woman.

  “Please assure him I will be joining him shortly. I am trying to comb out my hair.”

  Rory could hear the other woman clucking her tongue.

  “Ye should have called for me earlier.”

  “Oh, Janet, ye are a wonder. But I beg ye to deliver the message to the laird.”

  “Humph! He can wait. He’s enjoying the company of the MacGregor laird and his daughter. Though I fancy he favors the latter more. Come now, sit by the fire, and let me see what I can do with this mess.”

  Rory’s shoulders relaxed when he heard Erina comply. And with a single thought, he vanished from the passageway.

  ****

  After adjusting his tartan, Rory made his way down the stairs to the Great Hall. Upon entering, he strode toward Ewan MacGregor.

  “By the saints, there ye are,” bellowed the laird. “Did ye not think to be present when we arrived?”

  Rory fought the urge to counter with a retort. He knew the man well in his travels and considered him one of the few human friends he had. Apparently, he had not altered the timeline with his dealings with Ewan, though he could not recall any conversation about the home of the MacIntyre. In the previous timeline, Rory had visited with Ewan and his daughter in Edinburgh before departing for Lindane. The fragmented memory now a vague whisper within his mind. “My laird.” He gave a slight nod.

  The man gestured for him to take a seat across from him, placing him next to his daughter, Catherine.

  “We had thought to send out the hounds,” Catherine teased, reaching for the pitcher of wine and pouring some into a cup. She held it outward for him.

  “Ah, but then I surely would not have returned,” he chided, winking at her, and taking the offered item.

  Her mouth twitched in humor. “How foolish of me. We all ken how much ye love the animals, and how ye would have favored time in the hills with them.”

  “Have ye found your horse?” asked Graham.

  “The animal remains hidden,” replied Rory. He took a sip of the wine. “No doubt he will venture forth after foraging for food and finding none.”

  “No doubt,” echoed Catherine.

  Ewan shifted in his chair. “As I was saying to Graham, we were fortunate to meet in Edinburgh, and he was generous to suggest breaking our journey here at Kileburn.”

  Rory swirled the contents of his cup, trying to remember the details of another discussion. Did not he mention Graham’s name in passing? “If I recall, ye thought the MacIntyre to be making his way to England.”

  “I did have plans,” offered Graham, leaning forward in his chair. “The Campbell and I considered it wise to present our petitions to the king, praying he would hear about our troubles here in Scotland.” He waved a hand about. “Yet, has the king returned? Made an attempt to visit any of the lairds or nobles?”

  “Why should he concern himself with our affairs? He’s more English than Scottish,” grumbled Ewan.

  “Hush, Father. Ye speak treason.”

  Ewan shook his head. “I speak truth.”

  “Regardless, I was sent a missive from the Campbell stating he had taken ill and could not venture with me. I judged it wiser to return to Kileburn and make the journey another time.” Graham frowned and added, “If we had not returned, I fear my own sister would have come to great harm. We have been plagued with thieving and travelers seeking to rape and pillage from our lands.”

  “I have heard rumors ’tis the English planting men to stir the wasp’s nest among our clans,” suggested Rory, trying to suppress his fury over what had happened to Erina.

  “Aye!” agreed Ewan, smacking his hand on the table. “How can we fight this madness?”

  “By stating our grievances to the king,” suggested Graham.

  “Do ye think he will grant ye an audience?” asked Catherine.

  Shrugging, Graham replied, “Perhaps. If we do nothing, then we shall never ken, aye?”

  Catherine leaned forward. “Is your sister well? I pray she did not suffer too greatly.”

  “Only bruises, but nae harm was truly done,” answered Erina, stepping inside.

  Silence descended in the hall as everyone watched the vision of beauty approach. Rory immediately stood and pulled out a chair for Erina. She gave him a small smile and took her place next to him. Gone was the lass in a tangled mess and sodden clothes. And in its place, a woman with poise and elegance.

  “My sister, Erina,” introduced Graham.

  Catherine inclined her head. “I am happy to hear no true harm transpired.”

  “Thank ye. I was indeed fortunate my brother came upon me when he did.”

  Ewan rubbed a hand over his beard. “I must confess, Graham, your sister was blessed with all the beauty in your family.” He leaned near her. “Why have ye hidden this gem from us?”

  By the hounds, the man was flirting with Erina. Rory leveled a warning gaze at his friend. However, the man refused to back away and uneasiness settled within Rory.

  “Ye wound me, MacGr
egor,” chided Graham. He turned to Catherine. “Do ye find my face offensive?”

  The woman laughed and reached for a nut from a bowl on the table. Popping it into her mouth, she shook her head.

  Erina reached for the jug of wine. “’Tis my own decision to remain secluded, my lord. This is not my home.” Before she filled her cup, she asked, “More wine?”

  “Aye,” interrupted Rory and handed her his cup.

  She arched a brow, but complied, and then returned her attention back to Ewan, who continued to stare at her as if she was a feast to be devoured.

  Rory drained the entire contents of his cup.

  “Please call me Ewan, and ye must remain here during our stay,” he encouraged.

  “Aye,” agreed Catherine. “I have been without the companionship of a young woman to converse with for some time.”

  “How long are ye thinking of staying here at Kileburn?” interrupted Rory, his question directed at Ewan.

  The man leaned back in his chair and fingered the knife on the table. “We can stay the month, if that is in agreement with your plans.”

  Shrugging, Rory replied, “Ye are the laird. My plans are yours.”

  “His plans include finding a husband for me,” scoffed Catherine.

  Graham wiped a hand down the back of his neck. “One which I should entertain for my sister, as well.”

  Rory glanced sharply at Erina and noted the color draining from her face. Fury and indecision battled for control within him. Should he not be elated her brother wished her to marry and find happiness? Erina was not destined to be his, so why could he not find joy in this new possibility? Regardless of his emotions, he had to forge a new path. He lifted his cup. “’Tis a grand idea.”

  Erina gave him a scathing look. Standing abruptly, she inclined her head. “Would ye like to see the gardens of Kileburn, Catherine?”

  The woman laughed and stood. “I would be delighted.”

  Reaching for another jug of wine, Rory refused to watch the lovely Erina MacIntyre saunter out of the hall.

  Chapter Ten

  “Often times, Fae men can be as obstinate as their mortal counterparts.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  Plucking the velvety rose petals from the bush, Erina rubbed them between her fingers and let them fall gracefully to the ground. Frustration seethed within her. Was she to be bartered off to some man like a pawn in a chess game? Even Rory agreed, which troubled her immensely. She thought him to be different, but he had proven her wrong. Men would continue to side with each other when it came to the marriage bed, leaving their women standing on the side like a herd of sheep.

  “At least I treat my sheep with respect,” she muttered. Wiping a hand over her brow, Erina walked under a trellis filled with more roses, but their blooms were fading. Soon, they would wither until next spring. Though she had a dislike for Kileburn, Erina found the gardens to be lush and overflowing. They were a soothing tonic from her current situation.

  “Are ye feeling ill?” asked Catherine, touching her gently on the shoulder.

  Erina sighed and motioned her to a nearby bench. Sensing a kinship with the woman, she replied, “Do ye ever wonder when ye speak your mind that no one listens to your words?”

  Catherine laughed and tilted her head upward. “If ye are referring to certain men, then aye, I ken your meaning. I have given up arguing with my father over his persistence on finding a suitable man to marry.” She directed her attention back to Erina.

  “So ye are resolved with his wishes?”

  “Goodness, nae.” The woman leaned near. “I ignore him and nod occasionally. I reckon he thinks he has worn me into submission.”

  Confused, Erina asked, “Yet, why are ye making this journey with him?”

  Catherine’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Because I realize I must marry, and therefore, I will choose my own husband. If I refused, my father would seek out some old, rich laird for me.”

  “Ahh…so in truth, ye are in control.”

  The woman nodded. “Always. Though my father has no idea.”

  A squirrel scampered past them, and Erina smiled. “If it were only so simple with my brother.”

  “If I may ask, why do ye not live at Kileburn?”

  Pursing her lips, Erina looked away. “It has never been my home. Graham and I share the same father, but not mother. I was never welcomed here after my mother died.” She stole a sideways glance at Catherine, seeing only compassion and not judgment in the woman’s eyes.

  “I am grateful ye have decided to remain here until we depart, though I cannot imagine how it must pain ye to stay.”

  “Thank ye,” whispered Erina. “I have a lovely cottage beyond the hills in the valley, where I keep a few sheep. ’Tis not much, but I am content. During the last harsh winter, Graham would often send someone with food, supplies, and a strict message, ‘Return to Kileburn.’ And I would thank the messenger and send him on his way with my regrets to my brother.”

  Catherine nudged her. “Your brother has kind eyes, so I am sure he will listen to ye after my father and I have departed.”

  Chuckling softly, Erina shook her head. “Ye have only witnessed his good humor.”

  “Humph! It is in the timing of your approach. All men have a dark side,” declared Catherine, smoothing the folds in her gown. “All ye have to do is watch the shift in their eyes. However, there are those who the coldness reflects all the time.”

  Instantly, Erina’s thoughts turned inward and to one man. Rory MacGregor. A traitor with shimmering eyes. She had witnessed the compassion and something more within his depths. Keeping her focus on the flowers, she said, “Rory and your father have kind eyes.”

  “Now there is an interesting man.”

  Erina glanced sharply at the woman. “Your father?”

  Catherine waved her hand in the air. “Nae. Rory.”

  She swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “How so?”

  “My father is laird, but Rory can enter a room and command all. I have seen women almost swoon over him.” Catherine cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle. “I must confess he’s one gorgeous man.”

  Stunned, Erina asked, “But is he not your kin?”

  Arching a brow, she responded, “Nae. His grandfather was taken in my by great-great grandfather. At least this is the story told to me by my father. There are times when I suspect another truth to the tale.”

  Erina quickly glanced away. Mayhap her newfound friend had eyes for Rory. Her heart beat faster, and her stomach clenched. Why did she care? Furthermore, the man would leave when his laird was ready, so she should banish all thoughts of him. But the idea of Rory MacGregor wooing kisses from Catherine twisted her insides like a mass of snakes.

  “Do not tell me ye have not noticed the man’s looks?” questioned Catherine.

  Erina blinked, bringing her focus to their conversation. “He is only a man like any other.”

  “Hmm…I sense a lie within your words.”

  Shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun, Erina was about to object when Thane came bounding toward them. Unable to stand for fear of him crashing into her, Erina opened her arms. Something or someone had caused her cherished dog to become excited.

  “Sweet Mary Mother of God and all the saints!” exclaimed Catherine, and then cupped a hand over her mouth. She tried scooting off the bench, but Thane had trapped part of her gown with his giant paw.

  Erina looked at the woman. Her choice of words had revealed a secret. She ruffled the dog’s fur and shoved him aside. “Dinnae fear, Thane is a gentle beast, unless provoked by mean people.”

  “’Tis good to hear.” Catherine slowly pulled the material free and stood. “I hope ye dinnae mind my outburst.”

  Standing, Erina straightened her gown. “Not at all. And your secret is safe with me.”

  The woman’s face drained of all color. “I dinnae understand.”

  “Ye are Catholic.”

  Catherine st
ood motionless.

  Erina took her cold hand into hers. She did not mean to frighten the woman. “I will share one of my own. I have no religious side. I choose to believe in the old religion. Call me a…heathen. There, I judge my secret is far worse than yours. ’Tis one that many ken well here.”

  A flicker of warmth returned to Catherine’s eyes, and she squeezed Erina’s hand. “Ye are a true friend, indeed. My father fears naught what others think. But I have heard the rumors how the new king follows the path of Elizabeth and wishes to bring Scotland under the Protestant belief.” Dropping Erina’s hand, she continued, “He sees our pope as evil and the devil. I pray I never have to meet this king.”

  “’Tis a shame we cannot follow our own path to light and love, aye?”

  Nervous laughter bubbled forth from the woman. “Or for husbands. And speaking of men…” Catherine nudged her.

  Following the woman’s gaze, she focused on Rory striding with purpose toward the other end of the garden. Almost as if he sense their presence, Rory slowed down and turned. His gaze lingered on hers—powerful and something else she was unable to fathom. Though fleeting, she tried to capture its meaning. Her earlier anger at the man dissolved, and she longed to join him.

  “Rory reminds me of those Greek statues of Gods a traveling monk spoke of last winter,” whispered Catherine. “They were extremely tall and beautifully carved out of marble. Some even bore no clothing. When I urged the monk to tell us more, my father bade him to speak no more of them in my presence.”

  A vision of Rory unclothed appeared within her mind, and Erina found it difficult to breathe. Giving them a short nod, the man smiled and continued along the path. Placing a hand on her chest, she tried to calm her racing heart.

  “Ye should go speak with Rory,” encouraged Catherine.

  After snapping her fingers for Thane, Erina moved away in the opposite direction. She was not about to go chasing after the man, regardless of her attraction to him. When her dog refused to come to her side, she patted her side. “Thane?”