Griffin leaned forward, his interest now fully engaged. "So how do we best the Four Horsemen?”
Encouraged by Griffin's reaction, she reached for a second scroll and unrolled it over the first. "Science, mathematics, and history."
She watched Ian's reaction as he studied the parchment. What did he think of the details she had added to the notes her mother had made from her experience with these men? The lists were long since they were constantly updated, detailing each warrior's strengths and weaknesses.
"The Green Horseman has great strength at the onset of a battle," Griffin read, "but he tires easily and then favors his left side over his right." His gaze came up to meet hers. If she was not mistaken, satisfaction shone in his eyes before he dipped his head, studying the parchment once more.
"The White Horseman's list is the shortest," Ian said with a frown.
"Aye. The man has very few weaknesses." A chill crept over her at the thought before she could steel herself against it. She would not give in to her fear of that man. The day would soon come when she would confront him. There could be no vulnerability in her when that time came.
"The best way to defeat these men is to separate them. In isolation, they are not as strong."
Griffin leaned back. "Impossible. They always travel together."
"My own warriors are among Scotland's clans, working to do what you say cannot be done." She pulled out a third scroll and unveiled the reports her men had sent to her of their progress.
"I dispatched half my best warriors to fight with the Bruce in the lowlands. The others are grouped into scouting parties and feed me information about the Four Horsemen."
Understanding filled Ian's face. "That is why the warriors who remain at your castle are either very young or very old." He frowned. "They are not adequate protection for you."
Why did he care so much about her household? "I can protect myself."
"Perhaps. But what about everyone else in your castle?"
His question hit its mark. She knew the castle was no longer as well guarded as it once had been, just as she knew her current army was comprised of young men filled with more enthusiasm than skill, despite her efforts to accelerate their training. "I shall find a way to protect them." She turned her attention back to the scroll.
Ian's gaze lingered on her; she could feel it as though it were tangible. She ignored him, continuing with their previous conversation. "My warriors are trying to create doubt and insecurity among the Four Horsemen, trying to get them to break themselves into smaller fighting parties."
"Nay. I need them together if I am to find the White—" He broke off his words, and that same moment intense determination filled his eyes.
"Why do you need them to stay together?" Scotia asked, with growing unease. "You cannot fight all of them alone, at least not fight them and survive." Is that what he planned to do? Was that the destiny he spoke of? How did he expect to do what no one had done before, even with her training?
"A pattern is emerging as to how the Horsemen strike. My men are out there, anticipating the Horsemen's moves with the intent of evacuating the villages before the villains strike. Their frustration and lack of success will force the Horsemen to separate."
"If the Four Horsemen separate, how will the clans know where they will strike next?"
"We will not know for certain. But the risk of not knowing their exact locations is the only way to defeat them once and for all."
"It is too dangerous for the clans," Ian said, his voice hard.
"All battles have risks," Scotia said, hiding the hurt his dismissal caused. She snapped up the top scroll, rolled it with overly precise movements, then returned it to the basket. "Some will die before we finally succeed. It is the inevitable price of war." She reached for the second scroll.
Ian covered her hand with his own. "I did not mean to sound so critical," he said, his voice softer now. "It is just that our people have already suffered so much at the hands of these men."
Irritated by his move to pacify her, she pulled her fingers away. "I feel the same, but that does not change what must be done."
"Enough of this talk." Griffin stood. "If we are to defeat the Horsemen, we must do it with swords. When do we battle?”
Scotia was glad of Griffin's impatience this time. She, too, felt the sudden need to wield her sword. Ian once again did not agree with her methods. The first time, when he attacked her training techniques, he had been right about how arcane her methods were. But this time he was wrong. Dead wrong. Strategy was her strength. And she refused to back down.
Scotia secured the last scroll, then stood. "We battle now." Without waiting for her students to follow, she headed out of the great hall and down the long corridor to her training chamber.
"You first, Griffin." Inside the empty room, she waited for Griffin to ready himself before she drew her sword. "Let us see if you can defend yourself."
Ian wanted to protest. He would welcome the physical challenge of a battle with her right now. But the dark look that suddenly shadowed Scotia's features changed his mind. Anger burned her cheeks. If the two of them battled now, she would likely spear him through the heart. But would Griffin fare any better?
Yet after Griffin's challenge to Scotia last night, perhaps a bit of her anger would put his brother in his place. Ian knew from experience where Griffin would end up— at the base of Scotia's feet.
Ian stood off to the side, studying the two warriors. His brother clutched his heavy claymore, a feral gleam in his eyes. It was a look Ian was familiar with, a look that had often brought nothing but trouble between the two of them.
In preparation for the sparring, Scotia held her lighter broadsword in one hand before her. Her other hand stretched behind her as a counterbalance. She appeared composed now, no longer allowing their previous disagreement to affect her. It was almost inhuman the way she shielded her emotions from others. But he knew her to be all too human, indeed.
The battle began as Griffin lunged forward. His movements were hard, short, aggressive. Scotia avoided his blows with quick and fluid movements. She made fighting appear so simple. Like a mere dance, but with a lethal partner.
High color filled her cheeks as she wove her way about her enemy. Griffin did not stand a chance against her.
Four passes later, Griffin lay on the floor. With one booted foot on his chest, Scotia held him captive, as did her sword at his neck. Ian tried to suppress a smile at the memory of his and Scotia's first battle. It had taken her six passes to bring him down.
"You cheated," Griffin exclaimed, his face contorted in rage. A growl came from deep within his throat as he hooked Scotia's calf with his hand and sent her flying backward.
"Nay," Ian objected, but before he could make a move to defend her, Scotia absorbed the blow, springing to her feet, her sword in hand.
Griffin tried to stand, but she caught his leg with her heel and sent him to the floor once more.
"A reckless maneuver when my weapon was against your throat." Scotia allowed her blade to rest against his skin.
Griffin's eyes hardened and Ian thought about intervening, but somehow he knew she would do nothing to seriously injure his brother despite his ill behavior.
"Let us try that again, shall we?” She drew her sword away from Griffin's neck, then resumed her fighting stance. "This time you will follow the rules of engagement."
Griffin roared like an enraged bull as he gained his feet, launching himself at Scotia, his sword clutched in his outstretched hands.
With an almost effortless grace, she captured his right wrist with the hilt of her sword and snapped his weapon free.
Griffin bellowed in pain and thrust his left fist toward her face. Again, she intercepted the punch with her sword hand and delivered a forceful blow to his jaw with the other. Griffin hung there a moment, his eyes rolling, his body shuddering with the stunning effect of the blow until he crumpled slowly into a dazed heap on the floor.
Chapter Elev
en
Ian moved to his brother's side, relieved for Griffin's sake that the lesson had been short. Scotia had been kind to him, whereas she could have been harsh in return for his dishonorable behavior. Ian had seen Griffin in many battles, and never before had he fought with such vehemence.
When Griffin opened his eyes, Ian helped him sit up. "There are things Scotia can teach you about fighting if you would give her a chance."
Griffin batted his dark hair out of his eyes, revealing a gaze that reflected both humiliation and frustration. "Leave me alone. That woman has nothing to teach me." The lack of violence in his expression lessened Ian's own anger. His brother might be hotheaded, but at least he was not foolhardy. Perhaps now Griffin would go home and resume his obligations to the clan.
Scotia moved to Griffin's side and handed him his sword. Her face was blank, devoid of anger or the disappointment Ian had expected to see. "You are right. I do not have anything to teach you if you cannot learn to channel your anger. You have skill, Griffin, if you would only learn to use it as an asset and not turn it as a weapon against yourself." A slight catch in her voice told Ian she was not as impervious to Griffin's behavior as she appeared.
On unsteady legs, Griffin stood. "My anger has served me well in the past."
"It did not help save Malcolm," Ian interrupted, unable to still his irritation. Griffin froze, but Ian continued. "I, like you, did not truly believe in Scotia's ability to teach me when I arrived, but I soon learned I was wrong. She is the best warrior I have ever seen."
From the corner of his eyes Ian glanced at Scotia. Her expression was that of faint surprise, as though she had not expected him to pay her the compliment. That he had done something she had not expected pleased him.
A blaze of defiance burned in Griffin's eyes. "Less than a week in her presence and she has tamed you into a kitten. How shameful you are to your Highland heritage, brother. That is, if you are a Highlander at all."
Ian held a flare of anger in check. "You dare to challenge my heritage when you have abandoned your own?"
"What?" A dark scowl shadowed Griffin's features.
"You left our clan alone, exposed to attack, to follow me here. Make that dereliction of your duty worthwhile. Open yourself to what Scotia can teach you."
Ian stole a glance at Scotia, where she stood behind Griffin. Her expression remained shuttered. He could only assume it was her anger she hid.
Scotia sheathed her weapon. "It is your choice to train or not, Griffin. I shall never force a person to accept what I freely offer to all my countrymen. If you wish to leave, do so with my blessing. If you chose to stay, it will be on my terms. Until you accept those terms, you are not welcome in this chamber, for it is only a place where I train true warriors." Her face darkened as she moved in front of Griffin. "Now leave so Ian and I may continue his training."
Griffin said nothing, but Ian saw the tightening around his lips, the slight clenching of his hands at his sides. From years of watching and measuring Griffin's reactions, Ian knew his brother was not ready to concede. If anything, Scotia's dismissal would only make him more determined. The question was what it would make him more determined to do—train as he should or see that Scotia was defeated?
"I shall leave this room, but not the castle," Griffin said. "You will not be rid of me that easily."
Nay, nothing had ever been easy where Griffin was concerned. Ian just hoped the hot-tempered fool would come to his senses before he got himself killed.
Silence hovered between them until Griffin left. When they were alone, Scotia crossed the room until she stood before the training cross. "You and I shall continue our training here." Her voice was soft and her actions determined as she climbed between the ropes to the center of the cross.
Ian frowned at her response as he followed her inside. She wanted to pretend nothing had just happened. "I shall talk to Griffin."
"No need," she said without looking up.
"He does have manners sometimes," he said in his brother's defense.
Her shoulders dipped ever so slightly when she paused in the center of the cross. She placed her sword on the ground below the ropes. "Griffin's opinion of me will either shift or it won't. But the change must come from within him. You cannot do the work for him." She brought her gaze to his, and he saw something different in her eyes this time. Instead of the usual stoic determination, he saw hurt.
"Scotia," he said, not really knowing how to make things right between them. He set his sword down beside hers, then reached for her hands.
A shudder passed through her as he laced their fingers together, but she did not pull away. Beneath her gauntlets, he could feel the warmth and strength of her hands. "We must continue your training," she said.
"Scotia—"
"Nay, Ian. No more talk." She swallowed hard, and he could see a battle of emotions cross her face—tenderness, fear, desire, pride.
"All right," Ian conceded, yet he did not release her fingers when she tried to tug them out of his grip.
After a moment's hesitation, she said, "Move with me." She would train him even now. Scotia swayed first left, then right, winding her body through the different levels of ropes. Ian followed, focusing more on the feel of her hands tightening and relaxing around his own than on her movements. They stepped over a low rope, then ducked beneath a higher rope, synchronizing their movements through the web.
A flush of pink stained her cheeks, and her breath came in ragged gasps much like his own. Her steps grew stronger, and the turmoil in her eyes shifted to satisfaction with a hint of something more.
As her confidence grew, so did her gaze. Beneath the veil of her lashes she studied his chest, his arms, his thighs, and now, his lips. When they dipped beneath another rope the outside of his thigh brushed against the leather encasing hers. Despite the protection, she gasped at the contact.
His body tightened, thickened at the brief touch. The next thing he knew, they were falling. She had tripped over the rope. He shifted his weight, taking the impact of the fall on his back and shoulders as he rolled her on top of him. Despite her armor, she felt light and pliant against his chest.
Her green eyes widened, first filled with surprise, then horror. "That has never happened to me before," she breathed.
"Nay." He smiled at her. "Most warriors find staying on their feet leads to better combat."
"My apologies." She tried to pull away.
Ian held her tight, not wanting to break the moment.
At the contact, warmth flooded him. Then heat, fiery heat. She was soft and hard all at the same time. A heady combination. Her armor thrust against his chest, but he could imagine the soft rise of her breasts beneath. Her weight straddled his leg. Her well-toned thighs brushed against the most male part of him.
She shifted her body, no doubt meaning to pull away. Instead she only brought herself into full contact with his growing arousal. Heat shimmered between them, causing his muscles to clench and flex. This woman stirred his senses, regardless of his efforts to keep his distance. Her touch, her scent, her words, all had the power to make him forget his own goals and think of nothing but holding her in his arms.
"We should continue." Her voice was raw and jagged.
Ian drew her up against his chest. "Continue what?" The rapid beat of her heart matched his. He breathed in the scent of soft spring heather and nearly groaned. Why did she have to smell so good? Was it not enough that every other aspect of her person intrigued him? Could she not have some flaw, some fault that would turn him away from what he wanted now?
"The training," she whispered, her gaze once again on his lips.
"Is progressing well," he said, even though his thoughts turned toward other things. Pleasure, possession, passion. He slid his hands up her leather-covered arms, the coolness strangely seductive against the heated flesh of his palms.
Scotia shivered, but did not pull away as his mouth met hers.
He kissed her, and this time his kiss was f
ar from chaste. Nay, he kissed her deeply, thoroughly, as though searching for the answers of his unexplainable attraction. But instead of answers he only found more questions. Why now? Why did he have to meet this woman right now, when his life was filled with nothing but revenge and necessity? Knowing he should stop, but unable to wrench himself away, he parted her lips, gently persuading her to open herself to him.
Her response was as desperate as his own. She reached up to grasp his shoulders. Slowly, hesitantly, she caressed his shoulders, then his back, her touch explorative as her lips softened beneath his. He deepened the kiss, demanding more from her in a world that had suddenly become both dark and sensual.
Ian pulled her tight against him, until her body fit into the hardness of his thighs, thighs she meant to make stronger, more flexible with her training exercises. Saints! He would train with her every day if these reckless sensations were the way to improvement.
What was he thinking? He could not stay and train with her forever. Ian dragged his mouth from hers and shifted her head down against the frantic hammering of his heart. "I did not mean to do that," he breathed against the softness of her hair.
She twisted out of his embrace, then stood. "Neither did I." She touched her lips with the back of her gauntlet-covered hand.
"Sometimes the forces of nature are stronger than even we are ourselves." He got to his feet and stepped over a low rope, placing a physical barrier between them.
"Forces of nature?" She wrapped her hands around her middle and stared at him with a mixture of confusion and hurt. "Did Maisie put you up to this?" she asked in a shaky, breathless voice.
Ian frowned, confused by her reaction. "What does Maisie have to do with it?"
She closed her eyes, as if doing so would help her gather her senses. When she opened them again, her vision was clear and steady. "Since I would not agree to her plans of bearing a child as I am supposed to, has she asked you to seduce me into it instead?”
"A child?"
"A daughter. I must have a daughter." She dropped her gaze to the floor. "Damn her," Scotia whispered, her voice raw. "It is my choice to make."
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