The Warrior Trainer

by Gerri Russell

  A mug of ale was pressed into his hands by Richard as he and the other warriors drew him away from the fire, away from her, to celebrate his victory.

  And suddenly the night seemed hollow as she stood there among the merrymakers, alone. It was how she had celebrated Beltaine Eve over the last many years. Why did she expect it to be so different now that the MacKinnon had arrived?

  Scotia turned away from the celebration, suddenly tired, and headed back to the keep. Damn Beltaine Eve for momentarily making her long for more.

  Chapter Eight

  At dawn the morning following the Beltaine Eve celebrations, Ian had given up trying to sleep. Now he sat between one of the carved stones that formed the crenellations of the tower and gazed out at the land before him. On one side of him, a bank of chilled mist sat over the shoreline and soared up to kiss the morn. On the other side, high, wild, and lonely cliffs dropped to meet the green tide as it curled against the rocks below.

  No one could deny that Scotia's land was beautiful, breathtaking even. It was land a man, or a woman in Scotia's case, would be proud to possess. Her ancestors had owned this castle for hundreds of years. In her veins flowed the blood of the warrior woman who had sailed to the Isle of Destiny promised to them by Moses. Ian envied her lineage, her connection to a family whose very beginnings were the source of all the Scottish people.

  With a history like that, he, a lowly bastard, had no right to think about kissing her. Yet after their encounter last night, the idea had filled his mind to the point of obsession. Just the touch of his finger against her flesh made him long for further exploration of her perfectly sculpted lips. Lips so desirable. Lips meant to be kissed. Groaning, he tore his thoughts away from the image. Scotia was a vehicle for his training, nothing more. The sooner he accepted that fact, the better. There were other things of greater importance to consider, such as when he would leave to find the Four Horsemen and take his revenge.

  The Four Horsemen could be anywhere in Scotland, wreaking further destruction and death. He had to stop them, even at the risk of his own life. Anger forced his hands into tense fists as he thought of the pain the Four Horsemen caused, all for the Stone of Destiny. An artifact so important to the people of this country they would be willing to give their lives in order to keep it safe.

  The only way to protect his clan from further assault was to learn what he could from Scotia about the Horsemen. With her help he would defeat the enemy and end the terror.

  But he still had more to learn. He needed time to build on the things she had taught him—how to channel his anger, move with dexterity, be more in tune with his body. All would help him when the ultimate battle took place.

  Ian swung his feet around, then jumped down onto the wall walk below. If he could keep his thoughts off Scotia and on her training, he could leave to find the Four Horsemen and avenge his brother. And to do that he would have to leave this castle and Scotia behind. The sooner the better if he were to help his clan survive a second attack.

  "MacKinnon." At the sound of her voice, his spirit lightened.

  He turned toward the open doorway where she stood framed by the gray sandstone. Her shoulders looked tense, her hair pulled back in a tight plait, her sword pointed down toward the ground before her. She looked so fierce and yet so fragile.

  He steeled himself against the pull of desire that rippled through him. He knew what he had to do to save his clan, to strike the Horsemen down before they destroyed all he held dear.

  "Are you avoiding your training today?" No accusation hung in her voice, only slight disappointment.

  "I could not sleep, so I wandered up here. Time must have passed without my realizing." He took three steps toward her, then stopped. Before they continued training, he had questions to ask her.

  She nodded, and her face brightened a little, as though she were pleased that he had not meant to avoid her. "I have something new to show you this day."

  "How much longer before I have completed my training?"

  Shadows descended into her eyes. "You are so eager to leave?"

  "Aye," he replied honestly. "I fear for the safety of my clan."

  "The Four Horsemen."

  "Have you encountered them?" he asked, knowing even as he asked the question that he should not. The more he learned about her and her life, the harder it was to keep himself closed off to her.

  "Only once, twelve years ago, on the day they killed my mother." The color bled from her face, and her chest rose and fell with the sudden force of her breathing. Not the slow steady breath of the controlled Scotia he had seen up until now, but the ragged breath of a woman torn apart by a haunting memory.

  Ian went motionless. In her gaze he recognized the same overburdened soul that drove his own actions. He saw her pain, her fear, her exhaustion.

  He moved toward her. She did not back away even as he removed one hand from the hilt of her sword to weave her icy fingers with his.

  Her fresh heather scent filled his nostrils, his mind, clouding his thoughts of anything but her. "I am sorry," he said in a voice so hushed the words were nothing more than a whisper. Yet the flare of her eyes told him she'd heard.

  "I had not come into my strength back then." Guilt laced her words.

  Without thinking, only reacting as he would to another human in need, he drew her closer against his chest. Like a creature unused to human contact, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and wonder. The woman in his arms might be a warrior, a legend even, but she was as vulnerable as anyone else, he realized with a start. "What did you do?”

  "I could do nothing but flee with Maisie and Burke to safety." Her body remained stiff, unyielding in his arms, but she did not try to pull away. He prayed she would. He needed her to break the contact, because he found he could not. Instead, he pulled her closer, molding his body against hers, dominating her smaller frame. A surge of protectiveness erupted within him, the need to shield her from all she had suffered.

  "Ian ..." Her armor-covered body relaxed against his chest, and he was lost. He angled his head and lowered his mouth until he could feel her breath on his lips. Her eyelids fluttered closed. And he took what he so desperately wanted.

  With his lips, he demanded her to respond, challenging her to acknowledge the tension that had been building between them since his arrival.

  She tasted of innocence and hunger, as though he had opened a tap that had been left closed off for too long. Her lips parted in an invitation he openly accepted, not quite believing it was Scotia he held, yielding her body for him to explore. Yet she was here, granting him liberties only a lover should take.

  A lover? He was not here to woo her. And yet he could not deny the appeal the thought held.

  He had no right to pursue such things. He let her go.

  Dazed and disoriented, she stared at him, then stepped back into the shadows of the doorway, acting as if the darkness could hide the pleasure they had shared. But even the hazy light could not conceal her lips, still moist from his kiss.

  She turned, closing herself to him, hiding the last sign of their mindless exchange. "We must train." She clutched her sword firmly as she strode down the stairs.

  Ian started after her, his hands knotted in fists at his sides, fighting the stirring desire she had awakened. His urge to leave Glencarron Castle to seek revenge faltered. Yet how could he consider any other option with so many lives at stake?

  It was yet another twist of fate, a fate he could not turn away from. He knew his duty, and he would see it through.

  At the soft tinkle of a bell near her bedside, Scotia jerked awake. A warning she had constructed. An intruder had entered the keep through the secret tunnel hidden among the cliffs.

  Clasping her sword, she rolled from her bed—alert, aware, and ready to defend herself. With her heart pounding, but in full control of her emotions, she slipped from her chamber, moving down the stairs and out into the night. Using the darkness as a shield, she headed toward the passageway that l
ed to the walled garden. Inside the garden, she sensed the intruder's presence. If she remained still, eventually her enemy would reveal himself. Her senses sharpened.

  It did not take long. A soft creak sounded to her right. She turned, searching the moonlit darkness for a sign of his presence. There, near the tall stalks of rosemary, she could make out the faintest glimmer of his eyes. "Who are you?"

  A flash of metal flickered in the ghostly moonlight—a blade. "Who I am is not as important as my purpose here," a harsh, unfamiliar male voice said from the shadows.

  Scotia drew herself up, widening her stance, preparing for the battle to come. How many times had she heard those words before? "How did you know about the tunnel?"

  "That is my secret. But if I made it in, so will others. Does that scare you?” the intruder asked, stepping toward her.

  "Nay." The moonlight revealed a tall, muscular figure dressed in the plaid of her countrymen. A Scot had come to challenge her this time. A momentary pang of disappointment gripped her. Even her own countrymen came to challenge her now. "I find very little use for fear."

  The challenger laughed as he strode toward her, his sword raised, his body tense. "Then you are a fool."

  "Perhaps." Scotia kept her body loose, preparing to absorb the blow she could see coming. Her injured shoulder could take some battering if only she kept the muscles relaxed. "Better foolish than dead. Which is what you will be in no time at all."

  His blade came down. A thunderous clang echoed in the night. Scotia easily blocked his assault. Before she could strike back the light of a torch flooded the garden, illuminating the intruder's face.

  "Griffin," Ian called out from behind her. She yearned to turn to him, but her instincts warned otherwise. Keep your eye on the enemy at all times, her mother had instructed over and over again.

  The intruder's eyes narrowed, then moved to Ian as he came to stand beside her, the torch in one hand, his sword in the other. From the corner of her eye she could see Ian's feet were bare, as was his chest. He wore only his trews and a scowl that looked both fierce and intimidating. She could not hold back the ripple of pleasure that having him by her side, as though ready to defend her, brought forth.

  The man he had called Griffin scowled. "Glad to see you, too, brother."

  Scotia froze. Regardless of her training to stay focused on her foe, she allowed her gaze to slide between the two men. These two were brothers? They could not have been more different than night from day. Where Ian was blond and fair, Griffin was dark and swarthy. Clearly they bore no love for each other. It was not what she had expected from two brothers.

  Ian planted the torch in the soft earth, then clasped his sword with both hands. "If you are here, where are Father and our clansmen?"

  "Back home where they belong."

  Ian's gaze grew dark. "With you gone there are only a few warriors left to protect the entire clan."

  Griffin's expression became dark and foreboding. "The Four Horsemen were sighted heading north. Our village is safe for now." He turned back to Scotia, his sword poised to strike.

  She braced herself to fight the intruder, be he Ian's brother or not. The violence in his gaze told her one thing—he meant to kill her. Fear crept past her guard, but she caught it, cutting the emotion off. After so many years, she knew herself well enough to recognize her own weaknesses. And family ties were her biggest failing of all. This man might be Ian's brother, but if she softened her resolve toward him, it could mean her death. She latched on to her sword, fighting the humanity that threatened to swamp her.

  Griffin swung his sword. She feinted to the right, easily avoiding the blow.

  "Griffin, what are you doing?" Ian asked, his voice both savage and controlled.

  "Claiming a birthright that is rightfully mine. Stand away, Ian," Griffin demanded, his hand tightening on his hilt. "I challenge the woman."

  "I doubt you could do so and live," Ian said dryly. "Go home, Griffin. You do not belong here."

  The force of Griffin's wrath shifted from Ian to Scotia. "Not until I succeed in my challenge."

  "I hope you are used to disappointment," Scotia said, fully prepared to battle.

  Griffin slashed at her once more. Scotia caught the blade with her own, trapped it and threw it back, knocking her opponent off balance. He had skill, but she had more.

  "Scotia, nay." Ian stepped in front of her sword, concern written into the very texture of his face. "He knows naught what he does."

  With the tip of her weapon, she waved Ian back. "Then my task will be that much easier."

  Griffin regained his balance, and prepared to attack once again. "Stand down, Ian. I know exactly what I am doing."

  "You shall not harm her." Ian's face hardened.

  The warmth of Ian's words curled inside her, bringing an unfamiliar sense of security. "Do as your brother says," she said to Ian. "It will be but a moment's work to dispatch the man."

  Griffin charged forward with an angry cry, knocking Ian out of his way. "I'll show you."

  Scotia stood her ground and once again blocked Griffin's assault. She cleared her mind of all but the battle, keeping her steps precise, calculated for the most efficient use of her speed and strength. She wished to disarm Griffin, not send him to his grave. Perhaps when the first thrill of battle wore off he would be more reasonable.

  Griffin lashed out at her with his sword, their blades clashing. When she failed to yield, Griffin spun away, his face hard, his jaw squared, his eyes catching the glow of the torch and smoldering like embers in a fire. He lunged at her with a slash of his weapon.

  Without much effort, she blocked his attack. Griffin bared his teeth in a snarl and launched himself at her again. A stinging whip of metal on metal, then Scotia's blade sliced the flesh on his temple just above his ear. A dark ribbon of blood spilled from the wound, running down the side of his smooth-shaven jaw in rivulets that disappeared into the plaid at his shoulder.

  Griffin flinched and retreated, but Scotia followed, pressing her advantage. She had him now. He was hers. "Do you yield?" she asked.

  "Never to a woman." Griffin sidestepped and advanced again.

  Scotia shook her head. "The multitude of grave markers beyond the castle lay testament to how many times men have said those very words to me." Scotia met Griffin's blade with a forceful blow that locked with his sword at the hilt. She schooled her features to remain expressionless as she turned her sword to the left once, then twice, causing Griffin to gasp with pain. His wrist rolled, forcing the sword from his grasp. The weapon landed with a thud against the dirt.

  Griffin stared at her and the predatory light faded from his eyes. "We...are not done here," he said between ragged breaths.

  "Aye, but we are." Scotia bent down to retrieve Griffin's sword before facing him. "If you ever challenge me in such a way again, I shall kill you. Because you are Ian's brother, I shall let this indiscretion pass. But if you remain at my castle, you will never again approach me like a coward or a lowly thief in the night, but as a man." She turned away. "You may bed down in the stable tonight."

  Griffin pressed his lips into a thin white line and nodded.

  Scotia headed toward the doorway that led back to the castle. "Come, Ian, your brother has suffered enough humiliation this eve."

  Ian stared at his brother. Hard. Only the squared ridge of his jaw betrayed the control it took to keep his anger in check. "Go home."

  With the tips of his fingers Griffin dabbed at his wounded temple. "I want her secrets."

  "Killing her would truly have accomplished that task," Ian said through gritted teeth.

  Griffin shrugged. "Seemed like the shortest means to my goal. If I had bested her this night, I would have held the title as the best fighter in the land. Father would have had no choice but to recognize me as leader of our clan."

  Scotia paused in the doorway as the truth of Griffin's visit slipped out. She spun toward him. "So you think your father will make you leader of your clan i
f you kill me?"

  Griffin's silence was answer enough.

  She looked into his face, his eyes, his actions, searching for a small sign of regret or remorse. She saw only undisciplined, boyish pride. Scotia stifled her disappointment. The young man still had much to learn. "Leaders are made, not born. Remember that the next time you challenge me."

  Before Griffin could reply, Ian stepped forward, towering over his brother, his expression more somber than anything she had witnessed yet. "You are lucky she did not kill you. Try that again, and it will be my sword, not hers, that sends you to your end."

  Chapter Nine

  Darkness covered her way as Scotia headed back inside the castle and into the great hall. Each step put the newcomer and the anger she felt toward him further from her mind. Ian's brother had dared challenge her in her own castle as she slept. Had the codes of noble behavior and honor disappeared along with the desire of her countrymen for training?

  Still angered by the exchange, she entered the great hall and wove her way through the rows of straw pallets strewn across the floor, where members of her household lay sleeping. Soft snores punctuated the silence of the night. A fire in the hearth cast a gold-red light throughout the room, making it easy to locate what she sought. A tankard of ale would help calm her nerves, though the footsteps behind her warned that Ian followed. When he was around, her nerves were anything but calm.

  Scotia grabbed an earthenware jug filled with ale and a wooden tankard from a nearby table, then wove her way back through the hall to the door. Outside once more, the cool night caressed her skin as she took a seat on the wooden stairs near the door. Ian sat next to her, his hip brushing hers. An overwhelming urge to lean into him seized her, but she scooted away, refusing to acknowledge the melting effect this brief contact had upon her.

  "Are you well?" Ian asked, his tone solemn, his body tense beside her.