The Warrior Trainer

by Gerri Russell

  Ian clasped his hand with his own. "Agreed."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Scotia stood in the lists surrounded by her students. Half the young warriors of the castle began their daily exercises, while the other half had left earlier on patrol. Two new students joined them today—one eager for her knowledge, the other resentful. Lizbet and Griffin trained a distance from the others, practicing basic defense.

  A slight afternoon breeze sent wisps of hair to tease her cheeks, reminding her of the featherlight caress Ian had placed there before he left. Two days had passed and still she could not put Ian from her mind. She missed him. She missed his presence in her castle. She missed the easy banter when they talked. But most of all she missed his sensual smile—the one that brought out that irresistible dimple at the corner of his lips.

  But Ian was gone, quite possibly forever. Her sanity and her concentration would improve if she accepted that fact. And despite all the logic that told her to let go, she still held out hope that something would draw him back to her.

  And then what? What would she do if he did return? The thought brought an ache to the center of her chest.

  Scotia straightened, then tugged down the bottom of her brigandine, as if doing so would force away the emptiness Ian's absence created. Duty called for her to live in the moment, not the recesses of her mind.

  Griffin's lips curled up in an arrogant smile as he glared at his sparring partner. He lifted his weapon high over his head and swung at Lizbet. The girl saw the blow coming and did nothing to counter the move. Instead she stepped back, allowing Griffin to swing at only air. He stumbled sideways with the force of his movements.

  "You must strike your blows with less force and more control," Scotia said, grateful for the much needed redirection of her thoughts.

  He lowered his sword and gave her a long measuring look. "This is no sword, but a stick. And I am no warrior to fight with an infant."

  "It matters not whether you hold a sword, a stick, or use only your hands. Skillful manipulation is the key to mastery."

  Griffin tossed his weapon on the ground. "A stick is a stick."

  Lizbet charged forward, stick in hand, and whacked him across the knees, garnering a yelp of pain from her opponent.

  "I won," Lizbet shouted, waving her stick in the air. "My sword and I won."

  Griffin dropped into a sitting position and hugged his stinging knees to his chest. "I am going to kill that child if she does not stop hitting me," he grumbled as he cast a dark glare at Lizbet.

  "Then do not drop your weapon, and she will have no chance. As you said, she is only a child." A child with much talent and promise, Scotia mused as she picked up the stick and handed it back to Griffin. "Let us try that again, shall we?"

  Lizbet immediately sobered and assumed the fighting stance Scotia had taught her. The child's blond curls bobbed about her face as she tried to contain her excitement at this new challenge.

  The image reminded Scotia of herself at that age— how she hungered for her mother's knowledge, and how she would have done anything to gain the approval that her mother never gave to her. "You did well, Lizbet," Scotia said.

  A smile reflected in Lizbet's eyes at the compliment, but she did not take her gaze from her opponent.

  Griffin shook his head. "Nay. I have had enough child's play this day. Until a more worthy partner can be found, count me out of the training."

  "I would be willing to step into that role," a familiar male voice said from the far side of the lists.

  Ian.

  A rush of joy made Scotia's knees weak. She turned toward him, her gaze filled with both relief and joy. He was safe. His face was shadowed with both fatigue and a day's growth of beard, but the smile on his lips told her what she wanted to know. He had returned and he was glad to see her.

  Scotia swallowed against the sudden thickness in her throat. "You came back."

  "I did." The words were simple, but the look in his eyes spoke of something more complex. His emotions mirrored her own—the depths of her fear and the richness of her joy. A shiver of sensation sent her heartbeat into an erratic flutter. She clamped her hands together to try to tame her reaction to his return.

  Slowly, he moved toward her, as though giving her time to adjust to his presence. Scotia drew a steadying breath, feeling more in control of herself. It was then that she noticed the others. A crowd of rugged men gathered behind Ian. They stopped before her, a dozen men, clothed in plaids of blue, green, and brown, worn over shirts of saffron yellow, with legs bare from the knee to the top of their boots. The dress of her countrymen.

  "These men have come to train with you, Scotia, and protect you if the need should arise." Ian stepped aside to introduce the men, one by one. Keith, Angus, William, Donald ... their names blended together as each man came forward, offering a bow and expressing his desire to serve her and learn from her.

  By the time the last man had made his introductions, Scotia was numb with joy and disbelief. She stared at the men assembled before her. "I am honored that you would come." She paused as she tried to gather strength in her voice. They expected a commanding trainer, and that they would have. She drew herself up. "Training will begin on the morrow. Today, you will rest, feast, and familiarize yourself with the castle."

  A rumble of excited masculine voices filled the lists— a sound not often heard in this place of training. The noise echoed through the gray rock of the castle, making the old tired stones seem a little bit brighter as her people, too, embraced their purpose with a renewed vigor. Even Griffin's usual stormy gaze had taken on a softer note as he chatted with the men. He would have plenty of worthy sparring partners among this bunch.

  Scotia's gaze caught Lizbet's as the girl skipped in circles around the group of men. The tender smile on her face reflected the same pride Scotia held in her heart. These men had come to train with her, the Warrior Trainer, to learn how best to fight for their people. The Four Horsemen would not win once she finished training these men. For they would leave here to train their own clan, and others, in the ways of the ancients.

  With a sense of wonderment, Scotia turned back to Ian. The very breath in her chest stilled at the look of hunger in his eyes. "Thank you for your aid," she said in a breathless tone.

  "I missed you," he breathed.

  The words assailed her as no weapon ever had. She felt weak, her body drugged, and her pulse fluttered irrationally.

  He leaned toward her. "I want to show you something." His husky voice sent a wave of heat coursing through her. He held out his hand. "Please?"

  The man knew just what to say to break through her defenses—defenses that were growing ever weaker as he held her gaze. "But the men?" she offered halfheartedly.

  "Will wait."

  "And your challenge to Griffin?"

  "It too can wait." Ian beckoned her forward. "Please, Scotia, I want you to remember why it is you train warriors at all." He clasped her gauntlet-covered hand in his and led her out of the lists toward the front gate.

  She found any desire to protest had abandoned her. All that mattered now was the feel of his hand in hers. He had come back to her. The knowledge was as heady as it was freeing.

  "Poppie, raise the portcullis," Ian called. As soon as the gate lifted, he pulled her through, outside the castle.

  How many years had it been since she had stepped beyond the gates of her own castle? She could not remember. Her duty to protect the Stone had kept her from leaving the castle.

  Thirsty for a drink of what she had not realized she missed, Scotia's gaze moved beyond the bluff where her castle sat, to the landscape that surrounded her—rugged, snow-topped mountains, lush rolling hills, and a sea that glittered in the late afternoon sun. This was the Scotland she loved and protected. The land her ancestors had protected before her.

  Again, she turned to face Ian, feeling more at peace with her purpose than she had in years. "Thank you for this reminder."

  "You are welcome." He
drew her up against his chest. She did not move away from the intimate embrace despite the fact she knew she should. She did not have the will any longer; all that mattered was his touch.

  She looked at his mouth the way he had once looked at hers. A spiral of warmth coiled in her stomach. Now she understood the fascination. Her fingers traced the fullness of his lower lip, delighting in the warmth and the softness.

  Ian groaned and turned into her caress, nuzzling her hand with his lips, which sent tingles of sensation up her arm. "You are impossible to resist," he said with a grin that brought out the dimple that intrigued her so much. Her fingers left his lips to explore the indentation. He tightened his arms around her, and his smile deepened. "I tried to stay away from you, to control my need for you, but I find I cannot."

  As unsteady on her feet as she had ever been, Scotia laid her hand on his chest for the support her knees refused to give her. She could feel the thunderous beat of his heart beneath her palm. She watched him, suddenly wanting more, but not quite knowing what that more entailed.

  Helplessly, she stared at his lips, hungry for his kiss. Her senses spun, dipped, whirled. She melded herself to his strength, to the feel of his hard body.

  He brought his lips to hers, soft and quick at first, merely a brush of his lips against hers. When she relaxed into his arms, he kissed her again. This time his lips were far from teasing. His mouth closed over hers with a sweetness, a tenderness, that was devastating. Scotia gasped at the sharp explosion of longing in her womb. Ian caught the sound in his mouth, muffling it with a groan of his own.

  When their lips finally parted, they were both breathing as though they had been battling with heavy swords instead of sharing such a pleasurable kiss. Warmth crept up Scotia's throat and across her breasts as something inside her began to tighten and ache.

  "We must not continue this." She tried to pull away, but could not find the strength. "I am sworn to my duty. I must always remember that."

  "As I am sworn to my revenge," Ian replied as he caught her lips with his. His hand slid into her hair, loosening its tight plait as he cradled her head.

  She sighed with pleasure and closed her eyes, relishing in the feel of such delicious and unknown sensations. "We cannot do this."

  "Nay," he breathed against her ear, capturing her earlobe between his teeth, teasing the sensitive lobe, igniting a fresh spark of sensation so hot it threatened to incinerate her where she stood. "There will be naught between us."

  "Nothing," Scotia breathed, and she knew the words to be a lie, but did not care. At this moment she cared about nothing except feeding the hunger growing deep inside her. Was this the force of nature Maisie had spoken of? If so, she finally understood what Maisie had meant. This desire, these sensations, there was no controlling them when they had you in their grasp.

  Scotia held on to Ian's shoulders as the sweet torture continued. He rained kisses down her throat, then across her neck just above her brigandine. And for the first time since she. had vowed never to remove her armor, she wanted it off. Its weight suddenly became too heavy, its heat too intense.

  "Help me take off my armor," she whispered, not trusting her voice. She reached for the ties at the sides that bound the two pieces together.

  With gentle fingers, Ian pulled the ties, loosing the grip the brigandine held on her chest. Air coursed between the padding that lay atop her skin and the metal plates of her armor. She drew in a startled breath at the feel of the breeze as it moved across her in a way it had not for many years, not even as she bathed. But even more startling was the feel of Ian's hands as they slipped beneath the padding as well as the short, sleeveless chemise that protected her flesh.

  She clutched at his shoulders, totally unprepared for the intense pleasure of his touch. His fingers flared across her ribs and teased the fullness of her breasts. A shiver of yearning rocked her when his hands stroked the sides of her torso, then moved to stroke the sleek line of her back. Never had anything felt so enticing and unnerving all at the same time.

  Ian's eyes remained steady on her face as he took the brigandine in his hands and slowly lifted it over her head. A slight afternoon breeze washed over her, cooling the heated flesh beneath her padding and chemise. Ian set the brigandine at their feet, then flared his hands about her waist. She made an incoherent sound of panic. The feeling of exposure, of vulnerability, was too sharp to bear. He stilled his movements and she knew he was allowing her to set the pace. Continue or retreat, the choice was hers.

  "So you are human after all," came a male voice from behind her.

  Scotia's hand moved to her sword as she pivoted toward the gate to face the challenger she had known would someday return. "Brodie Haldane."

  Haldane offered her a mock bow. "At your service."

  Scotia's gaze dropped to her brigandine. If she reached for the armor, Haldane could strike. She cursed herself for a fool. One fleeting moment of pleasure could never be worth the danger she found herself in now. She pulled out of Ian's grasp, mourning the loss of his warmth and protection.

  Ian appraised Haldane. His hand moved to his sword, but before he could draw the weapon from its sheath, Scotia nudged him aside.

  Without the aid of her armor, she drew her weapon and began her advance, feeling naked, exposed. "So you did not get your fill the first time around?”

  "Aye," Haldane said, his voice dripping venom. "I came back to finish what I started since none of the foreigners I sent seemed up to the task." He offered her a cocky grin. "It seems fitting that I finish you off here, at the gate of your castle where your new warrior protectors cannot help you."

  Ian moved around her, forcing her behind him. "She has me," Ian growled. "I shall take care of him, Scotia."

  Scotia stared at Ian's back, torn between anger and mirth and fear. No one could fight her battles for her. "I am quite capable, I assure you."

  "Who are you?" Haldane spat out, lunging at Ian.

  Ian easily avoided the blow, but Scotia took advantage of his backward motion and jabbed Ian in the ribs with her elbow as he moved beside her. He gasped at the impact but remained standing. "Scotia, nay," he choked out.

  She ignored him, facing Haldane once again.

  His lips twisted into a knowing smile. "I have learned a thing or two since our last encounter."

  Scotia assumed her fighting stance, trying to cast off the remnants of sensation that lingered from Ian's touch. She focused on her enemy. She had learned a thing or two about him during their last battle, like how he moved and where his weaknesses lay. She would use all that knowledge against him now. She cut to his left, remembering he favored his right. Her tactic worked. His cuts became less accurate, the weight of the sword became unbalanced, and his movements grew weak.

  "Are you prepared to sacrifice your title to me, along with the Stone of Destiny?” he asked, his eyes locked with hers as he slashed violently at her chest.

  Scotia slammed her sword into his, blocking the attack, yet feeling the impact in the depths of her previously injured shoulder. "Never," she replied around the pain radiating through her arm.

  "I finally put the two things together. The Four Horsemen are back, ravaging your country, looking for the Stone that presumably they already have."

  His brow shot up in question as he circled her, casing her for an opening. "If you are still alive and it is your duty to guard the Stone, then the Stone must be here with you."

  Scotia tensed, not from Haldane's assumption, but from the tension she could suddenly sense in Ian's posture.

  "Will you neither deny nor confirm the truth of my logic,” Haldane taunted.

  Scotia remained silent. She protected the Stone with her strength, not with lies.

  "I take it from your lack of words that I am correct." He spat at her feet. "You are a woman. You do not merit such a valuable prize as that Stone. It shall be mine." He lunged forward.

  She stumbled back, catching herself before she fell. She twisted to the right, evading
a blow that could have easily taken her leg. "I mourn for the women in your life," she taunted. He forced her backward, and she let him. Better that he should wear himself out before she pressed her own assault.

  "You are the only female of interest to me." He furrowed his brow, and the long red slash that ran from his cheek to his chin puckered as a result. A wound from their last meeting. A visual reminder of their last conflict.

  "Lucky me."

  "No." Haldane bared his teeth in savage delight. "Lucky me to be the one to take you down."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Metal to metal, their swords rang a peal of power and violence. A quick attack, then withdrawal. Scotia and Haldane studied each other as they circled like wolves, two warriors engaged in a life-and-death struggle.

  Ian clenched his fists at his sides as a mindless panic set in. Haldane had mentioned the Stone. Whether Scotia possessed it or not did not disturb him as much as the fact that she would not allow him to fight for her. How could he just stand back and watch? As a warrior, the battle was everything to him. Yet this was a battle he could not fight.

  Cursing the rules of honor that forbade him from interfering once the first strike had been made, Ian kept his sword poised. The sound of the clashing swords rose above all else until even the slight breeze that had crept down from the north abated, as though it too held its breath.

  Ian clenched his teeth. His gaze clung to Scotia. He had seen men like Haldane before. Loathsome adventurers who would rather steal others' success than earn it themselves. Men who would kill without remorse. A sickening fear tightened Ian's gut. He would never allow that to happen. Not to Scotia.

  No one could keep him from interfering in her battle if the fight turned against her. He would do anything, even break a code of honor, if it kept Scotia safe. He clutched his sword in his right hand and drew his dagger with the left. He tensed, balancing on the balls of his feet as she had taught him, waiting, watching.

  Several of the castle's inhabitants suddenly appeared at the gate; no doubt the sounds of battle had pulled them away from their daily tasks. Each time Scotia's sword caught her opponent unaware, a cheer rose from the crowd. Tension mounted as Griffin and the new warriors gathered among the growing crowd, forming a semicircle around Scotia and Haldane.