The Warrior Trainer

by Gerri Russell

  Ian stepped over the rope and took her icy hands in his.

  This time she shook off his touch.

  "Look at me," Ian demanded. He waited until she brought her gaze to his. "Maisie has said nothing to me about your need for a child. I kissed you because I wanted to. There was no other reason."

  The uncertainty in her eyes cleared. "Truly?"

  He brought his gaze back to her lips and a familiar hunger crept over him. "Even though I know I should not, I want to kiss you again."

  "Nay." She moved further away. "That would not be wise."

  "Neither is playing with fire," Ian admitted. "But I am finding it harder and harder to resist the flames of temptation."

  She gasped, but did not answer him with words. Her actions said it all when she turned and ran from the room. The warrior had fled the battle. The question was, did he want to pursue?

  Chapter Twelve

  Scotia sank to her knees in front of the unadorned iron cross that stood at the far end of the castle's chapel. In this room she felt safe. For only a fool or the most determined of warriors would seek her out in the sanctity of a holy place.

  She drew in a breath of the cool, incense laden air, allowing it to seep inside her and calm the turmoil that one kiss from Ian had stirred inside her. Alone in her sanctuary, she let her hand slide from the hilt of her sword and pressed her tingling lips together, trying to blot out the memory of his kiss.

  When the action failed to bring the calm she longed for, she focused on the peaceful atmosphere of the chamber instead. The chapel seemed overly quiet without Father Colin's melodic humming. She missed him, as she had for the last five years when she had sent the old priest off to aid the oppressed and ailing among her people. Their need for his counsel far outweighed her own. Although at times like today, when her soul felt heavy and confused, she longed for his steadfast advice.

  Even in his absence, she knew Father Colin would warn her to tread cautiously around Ian, to avoid the unsettling longings he brought out in her. Her attention, her duty remained on the Stone—the reason for her existence.

  And the reason to bear a child, Maisie's voice echoed.

  Heat flooded Scotia's cheeks. She put her chilled hands against her face, dampening the uncharacteristic response of her body. This reasoning was getting her nowhere. She knew her obligation to bear a child just as intimately as she knew her reservations. How would she ever reconcile such a division within herself? Was it even possible?

  At least until Ian's training was complete, he would stay at Glencarron Castle. That would give her the time she needed to decide what she should do. She had time to weigh her duty against her own resistance.

  Scotia drew a heavy breath and studied the fading twilight as it spilled through the chapel's only window. It mixed with the candlelight to send shadows flickering along the handworked stone of the floor. In the peace of the moment, she rolled her injured shoulder forward and back. If only the slow, burning ache would ease, she could accelerate Ian's training.

  Weariness invaded her limbs. Is that what she truly wanted, to assist him in leaving her sooner? She sighed, the sound as torn as it felt. And behind that sound came another, yet not from herself. The shadows of the room shifted. Movement. There to her right. Scotia tensed and reached for her weapon. Sword drawn, she turned in a fluid motion that fractured the tranquility of the room.

  "Hold," came Ian's voice from the shadows. He took a step forward and she saw him then, standing in the aisle of the chapel. "Forgive the intrusion, but I could not leave things as they were between us."

  The memory of his mouth pressed against her own played across her mind. "There is nothing between us." In a brisk motion, she sheathed her weapon. "What do you want?"

  He smiled. "Straight to the point." His voice was warm and low. "That's fair. I shall try to be as accommodating." In the openness of the room, his voice seemed to reverberate all around her, playful, but with a purpose.

  "I am tired. I beg thee, make your intentions known."

  His humor vanished and raw impatience flared in his cool, dark eyes. "Release me from my training."

  The air around her became heavy and still. "You wish to go?" There was no reason to ask the question. She could see the answer in his eyes.

  "This day."

  Numbness shimmered across her flesh. She braced herself against the emptiness that followed. "I hold no power over you, Ian. You may leave if you wish."

  "It is not as simple as that." As he came forward, his jaw tightened. "I request your release from this obligation."

  "So it is still an obligation to you." She tried to hide the hurt in her voice, but failed.

  He brought his hand to her cheek. She held her breath, willing him to stop. He did not. He brushed his thumb along her jaw in a slow, gentle caress. "One of your scouting parties has just returned. They carry information that the Four Horsemen attacked another village. Their violence is growing, and I must stop them." With exquisite tenderness he trailed his thumb down the line of her neck. "I take no pleasure in abandoning my duty. But I must go. Now. Before I forget what purpose drives the course of my life."

  "I am prepared to send more of my warriors to fight the battles. It is what they've trained for."

  "Which will leave you with few men to guard your own walls."

  "I know what I am doing." Scotia pulled away from his touch, angry now, and grateful to feel something other than the confusion his nearness brought. "And you are avoiding the real issue here. Why do you want to leave? What is so important that it outweighs adequate training and preparation?"

  "What more could you teach me?" He towered over her, his large body blocking the light from the window beyond. Twilight dappled his broad shoulders and sent flickers of light dancing through the blond streaks of his hair. In the odd light she could barely make out his expression, but his eyes searched hers clearly enough. Determination stared back at her.

  She understood his need for escape. No warrior enjoyed being kept from battle, including herself. She vanquished the thought as quickly as it came upon her. Her duty to protect the Stone kept her behind the castle walls. For her, there was no other option.

  "Do you trust me?" The words tumbled out of their own volition.

  "Aye." His gaze softened, became sincere. His admission filled her with gratification. A warrior did not take trust lightly; its presence in battle could mean the difference between life and death.

  Her throat tightened. For an instant she considered granting his request. But the fact remained—he was not ready. Sending him off now could do more harm to him and others than good. "Then trust me when I say you are not ready to leave. There is more to learn." She was tempted to stop there, not to hit him where she knew it would hurt. Yet she continued in spite of herself. "You gave me your word that you would stay until your training was complete. Do not go back on your duty, your honor, now."

  A low growl came from his throat. "You challenge my honor?" Seconds clicked by and silence hovered between them. "I know my duty," he said finally. The intensity in his eyes darkened. "I shall stay."

  He had spoken the words she wanted to hear, but his eyes had lost their warmth. For honor he would stay until she released him, though he had no desire to do so. The realization stung.

  She tried to find her voice, to frame the words she needed to say. But how could words express what she had just this moment discovered?

  She needed him with her.

  Without him, she would once again be alone. The sudden understanding made her throat tighten further. She had never regretted isolating herself in the castle, making warriors who wanted training come to her as her mother and grandmother had before her.

  Somehow, over the years, she had forgotten what it felt like to have companionship. It was out of necessity that the memory had slipped away, she was sure now; the twist in her gut told her so.

  Scotia drew herself up, biting back the emptiness that threatened to consume her. She had to rele
ase him. She had to let him go.

  "Ian, I... I..." She tried to force the words.

  "I shall see you at supper." He cut her off with his brusque tone. Something in his expression shifted, and for a moment she thought she saw a flare of understanding in his eyes, but before she could be certain, he turned and left the room.

  Scotia swallowed hard, forcing back the sudden heaviness in her throat. He must have known what she tried so desperately to say. Yet he had given her a reprieve. She should be happy.

  A pang of remorse stirred within her. If this was what happiness felt like, she would be better off without it.

  If she could not find the words a while ago, she would find them now. Scotia cast a wary glance at the man beside her at the head table in the great hall. Voices hummed around her, but she heard not a word. All her thoughts centered on Ian.

  She had made a terrible mistake. Never had she put her own needs before others. Now was not the time to start. If Ian wanted to leave, she would release him. I need no one, she reminded herself. Relying on others makes a person weak and vulnerable. Weakness can get a warrior killed. The words of her mother's training played over and over in her mind, but they did nothing to ease the emptiness that had invaded her soul.

  Scotia looked down at her untouched trencher. She had no stomach for food. She pushed her meal away and turned to the man beside her, feeling uncharacteristic nervousness creep upon her. "Ian." Scotia knotted her hands, then pressed them flat against the table instead. The time had come to say good-bye. Her gaze locked with his. "I made a mistake."

  A glimmer of hope sparked in the depths of his dark eyes. "About what?"

  "I release y—"

  "Mistress!" The doors of the great hall flew open, hitting the walls with a bang that echoed throughout the chamber, stilling the voices inside.

  As she had been born and trained to do, Scotia reached for her sword, then checked her movements. The interruption came from one of her guards, not a challenger.

  She wished the guard had chosen a better moment to interrupt, but realized he would not have burst in unless the matter was urgent.

  The guard halted before her, his breathing ragged, his youthful cheeks flushed. "There is something you must see at the front gate."

  Scotia released the hilt of her sword and pushed away from the table. "What is it, Keddy?"

  The young man shook his head. "You need to see this for yourself," he gasped.

  A flicker of apprehension coursed through her. Scotia stood, but she was not alone. Ian's chair scraped against the floor as he abandoned his own meal. "I shall come with you." He drew his sword as he tossed a look at his brother in the chair next to him. "Are you coming?"

  Scotia waited while Griffin sank his teeth into a mouthful of kippers. "Nay," he said around the food in his mouth. "You and the goddess of warriors can handle things on your own."

  "Suit yourself," Ian said, his displeasure obvious in the clipped tone of his voice.

  Scotia was hurrying out of the hall when Ian unexpectedly took her hand. She tried to keep her mind fixed on whatever trouble awaited her at the gates and not on the comforting sensations of Ian's hand wrapped around her own. His nearness, his awareness of her should have made her feel weak, perhaps even vulnerable. Instead she felt strangely safe.

  It had been so long since she had felt at ease in the presence of another warrior that it was all she could do to let him lead her out of the hall and into the courtyard beyond. Outside, the evening torches had been lit, casting a pale yellow glow across the outer bailey as they approached the gate.

  Her guard's eyes widened when his gaze lit upon their joined hands. Flustered by the reaction, Scotia pulled out of Ian's grip.

  "Keddy, what did you wish me to see ... ?" Her words trailed off as the young man held his torch toward the gate.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the pale torchlight Scotia could just make out the image of a person—a small person—standing in front of the iron portcullis. A child. "Open the gate."

  The portcullis had never opened so slowly. Clenching her fists at her side, she waited. Finally the barrier lifted enough to reveal a forlorn looking girl with a half-burned yellow skirt, a dirty face, and hair streaked with blood. She stood deathly still as the sound of grinding chains and creaking wood filled the night air. Scotia turned to the young guard. "Where did she come from?"

  Keddy shrugged. "After the sun set, she was just there."

  Ian ducked beneath the half risen gate. Holding a torch aloft, he scanned the approach to the gate. "No one came near the castle this eve?"

  "Nay," Keddy replied, clearly baffled by the child's appearance. "We have men on each watch, and no one saw a thing."

  The grinding of the gate finally stopped, but the little girl remained where she was, saying nothing. A mournful look darkened her eyes, made old before their time.

  How could a child end up here? At her gate? Had her own men been so distracted that they had missed the young girl's approach? Or was she the one to blame? Had she shifted so much of her attention to Ian that she'd neglected the safety of her own household?

  Regardless of how the child had slipped past her guards, they needed information. Scotia took a hesitant step forward, approaching the little girl, stopping a sword's length from her. "Where did you come from?" Scotia asked, feeling more like she was interrogating a prisoner than speaking to a frightened child.

  The girl remained silent, and tears pooled in her eyes.

  "What is your name?"

  No answer.

  Frustrated by the lack of response, Scotia turned to Ian. "Why will she not talk?"

  He merely raised a brow as he brushed past Scotia to kneel before the child. "Much has happened to you lately." Ian reached up to brush a ringlet coated in dried blood from the side of the child's face, tucking it behind her ear.

  The child flinched from his touch. Ian continued despite her reaction, caressing the side of her face with a gentle touch until her tears stopped and the girl nodded. An odd tenderness filled Scotia's chest at Ian's treatment of the little girl.

  "What is your name, sweeting?" Ian offered her an encouraging smile, making Scotia cringe at how forcefully she had spoken. She had demanded where Ian coaxed.

  "Lizbet," the girl whispered, and tears once again filled her eyes.

  "Lizbet, I am pleased to meet you. I am Ian." He urged her forward, toward his chest with a gentle hand on her back.

  Icy fingers gripped Scotia's soul as her half formed suspicions coalesced. She lacked even the most basic of talents when it came to compassion and sympathy. She would never make a decent mother—especially since those traits did not come to her naturally. And there was nothing natural about her reaction to children.

  Ian continued to stroke the girl's hair and coo to her softly, until she all but melted in his arms in a puddle of tears and body-wracking sobs.

  Scotia flinched at the sound, not from fear but from the wrenching sadness the child now expressed. Many times she had felt like crying in her youth, only to be silenced by her mother. What would it be like to let go like that, to give oneself over to the turmoil inside? Scotia looked away from the girl's tear-stained cheeks, unsettled by her emotional release. With a trembling hand, Scotia tugged at the edge of her armor. She could never be so free with her pain. Her mother had hammered that sentiment into her head during her youth. "What has happened to her?" Scotia asked through a sudden thickness that invaded her throat.

  Ian did not answer. But as he gazed up, sympathy and understanding shone in his eyes. "Shh now, sweeting. Nothing can harm you while Ian is here."

  He continued to talk, his voice low and soothing. When her crying slowed, he lifted her in his arms. "Let us take her inside. She has been through enough tonight. She will tell us what has happened when she's ready. For now, she needs a meal and a warm bed near the fire."

  A grating sound filled the air once again as the gate came down. Scotia looked at Ian with the child in his
arms, and a strange feeling fluttered in her stomach. Liz- bet looked so at ease curled against Ian's body. It was how Scotia had felt the morning he had kissed her on the parapets. Welcomed, cherished, comfortable. Oh, but to be that child.

  It looked as though little Lizbet had been in some sort of battle. Or was her presence here a ploy orchestrated by a challenger to catch her off guard? A worse thought occurred to Scotia: Did the man she feared most have a hand in the girl's sudden appearance?

  "Keddy," Scotia called to the guard. "Gather a scouting patrol of at least ten men. I want information. Where did the girl come from? Are her parents nearby?"

  Keddy straightened and a solemn yet proud expression crossed his youthful features. "We shall find the answers ye seek, mistress." He offered her a terse bow, then raced toward the guard tower, no doubt eager to perform his first adult duty within her charge.

  Scotia turned back to Ian and the child. "Bring her in, and then we will press her for answers. We must know if the Four ..."

  She broke off, not wanting to speak out loud the worst of her fears. Ian nodded, his eyes reflecting the dread she could not utter as they headed inside. Only one other group could render this type of trauma to the Scots besides the armies led by Edward II.

  With trembling fingers, Scotia grabbed a straw pallet from a stack near the wall, then arranged it before the hearth. The warmth of the flames cast out a gentle greeting. Ian laid the child down with her feet closest to the flames, then wrapped a blanket about her small, beaten body. He cradled her head in his lap. He looked so natural, like he had done this same sort of thing a hundred times before.

  As if reading her thoughts, Ian looked up and offered her a half smile. "My foster mother was the medicine woman in the clan. I used to visit the sick with her. It was always my job to comfort the patient while she mixed her remedies. The clan did not judge me at those times." His smile slipped, and he averted his gaze, but not before Scotia saw shadows enter his eyes.