The Warrior Trainer

by Gerri Russell

  His brother's eyes widened. "And what about this revenge of yours?"

  "Avenging a dead man hardly seems more worthwhile than protecting the living."

  Griffin's brow shot up. "All the living, or one woman in particular?"

  "She is alone in her castle, Griffin. Unprotected except for a few inexperienced warriors. I want to offer what little help I can to keep her safe."

  "I know we have had our differences, and for that I apologize," Griffin said, his voice uneven, his gaze troubled. "I know now that you are as good, or better, than any man in Scotland."

  "There is no time to explore those dark roads now, Griffin."

  Griffin regarded him with something close to fondness. "You are a good man, Ian."

  "As are you. Now go." Ian turned the conversation away from himself. "Return to the clan. I trust you to do what is needed for our clan. You have studied with Scotia. You know her lessons. Protect them well. And if there is time, teach the others as she has taught you."

  Griffin's expression turned from surprise to sadness before he dipped his head. "I did not learn the lessons well. I fear I let my pride rule my head."

  "Sometimes those things that make us weak are also the things that make us strong. Remember that. This is your time to prove yourself, Griffin. Make it count."

  Griffin studied Ian's face in silence before a slow and thoughtful grin came to his lips. "I think I finally understand why I disliked you for so long." He sighed, the sound filled with a touch of humor. "You always accepted your weaknesses, where I could not accept mine. It seems so simple now." His gaze changed, filled with remorse. "All those years ..."

  "They matter naught," Ian said.

  Griffin pulled his shoulders back, his bearing tall and proud. "I shall guard Father, and all the clan, with my life."

  Ian smiled. "I know." And he meant the words.

  Griffin returned his smile. "Go to Scotia. From the beginning it was obvious Father picked the right man to send to her for training. She needed you as much as you needed her."

  Ian's smile faded. She needed his help right now to protect her from the White Horseman; he would not deny that truth. But anything more ... He could not consider anything more. "God be with you, brother," Ian said, anxious now to be on his way.

  Griffin reached out to clap Ian on the shoulder. Their first physical contact that had not come from anger. Griffin did not pull his hand away. Instead it lingered there. His features became pinched, then eased as if he had wrestled with something and come to a decision. "God be with you, brother," he said slowly, emphasizing the last word.

  The word brought a flush of warmth to Ian's soul. He put his hand over Griffin's. "Until we meet again."

  Griffin nodded, then turned away to mount his horse. Ian watched as his brother, followed by thirteen of the Ranald men, disappeared through the smoky haze of the burned-out village. The MacKinnon clan would be safe in Griffin's care.

  The two men from the village watched as Griffin and the others rode away. "They'll need God's mercy and His help to overcome the demons like those that rode through here," the younger man said.

  Hector faced Ian. "Are you heading to the northwestern isles to face the Horsemen there?"

  "Aye." Ian nodded to Keith Ranald and the other four warriors who had remained with him. Together, they strode to their horses and swung up into their saddles, united by their purpose. They would return to the Isle of Skye to help defend Scotia and her people. But would they be enough to defend a whole castle from even two of the notorious Horsemen? Could they gain the edge they needed to win in battle?

  His chances would be better if he had just a few more men. Ian turned to Hector. "Would you and the others be willing to go with me, back to Glencarron Castle, back into battle with the Horsemen in order to end their tyranny, once and for all?"

  Hector paled. "Nay. I must try to help those who are injured and rebuild what we can."

  "I'm with ye." The young man beside Hector unsheathed his sword. "There are others here who will help put an end to their destruction."

  "I am grateful for your help," Ian said. "How soon can you be ready to ride?"

  "Not long. We have no supplies to gather, only ourselves and our horses."

  Ian nodded as the younger man hurried away. He would return to Glencarron Castle to fight his enemy. But it was not the only reason for going back. He had tried his damnedest to ignore the power Scotia held over him. But no matter how hard he tried to remove himself from his feelings, she pulled him back.

  There was no other woman like her in all of Scotland. Ian smiled wistfully at the memory of their first battle. Within the space of two heartbeats he had found himself wrapped in her cords of leather, flat on his back with her sword at his throat. Truly a prize among women.

  When the men were ready, Ian turned his horse around and led the fifteen men who had joined him along with Keith Ranald back down the path he and Griffin had traveled a short while ago. Encouraging his horse into a faster gait, Ian scanned the glen ahead for signs of the Horsemen. He and Griffin had seen no evidence of their presence when they had traveled this way before. But they could have missed their approach between the rugged terrain that stretched across the Highlands.

  He had to hurry back to Scotia as quickly as possible. He never should have left her. He knew that now. He would have spent every moment of every day for the rest of his life thinking about her, worrying for her safety, wondering how she fared in these troubled times. Why had it taken a threat from the Horsemen to make him see that revenge was not as worthy a goal as protecting those you cared about?

  He did care. Perhaps a bit more than he should, given who he was when compared to the enormity of Scotia and her role as guardian of the Stone.

  Her role as guardian put her at risk now, not her role as the Trainer. Ian dug his heels into his horse's sides, impatient to go faster. Time was of the essence if he was to get to her before the White Horseman did.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  A rush of joy filled Ian despite his weariness when the pale gray towers of Glencarron Castle came into view against the backdrop of the morning sky. He and the warriors with him had ridden hard all night to reach Scotia as fast as possible. With a hungry gaze he searched the parapets for a glimpse of her. He cared not whether her face filled with anger or delight when she saw him. Just to see she was safe would be enough for him.

  Yet he caught no sight of her reddish-brown hair. Or any of the guards, for that matter. The towers of the castle appeared as deserted as they had when he had first approached her castle. Ian dropped his gaze to the gate. It stood wide open, with no one in sight.

  Alarmed, he pushed his horse into a full gallop. The thunder of hoofbeats matched the pounding of his heart. Had they arrived too late?

  At the gate, Ian dismounted before the horse came to a full stop. The other men followed suit. Everywhere there was silence. Ian's heart seemed to freeze, but not his feet.

  He was running even before the thought to do so formed in his mind.

  "Scotia!" The exclamation was part greeting, part battle cry.

  He skidded to a halt just inside the door of the great hall with his men at his heels. Their breathing seemed overly loud and out of place in the emptiness of the chamber. "Scotia!" Ian searched the room for signs of struggle, conflict, blood, anything to indicate what might have happened.

  "Ye will not find her here." Maisie's voice came from behind him.

  Ian spun around, his heart in his throat. "Where is she?"

  "Fulfillin' her obligations." A deep sorrow weighed down Maisie's appearance, making her look older, more tired, more feeble than ever before.

  "Speak plainly, I beg you." Ian strode toward Maisie and took the older woman's chilled hands in his own. "Where has she gone?"

  "To a village nearby to set a trap for the Horsemen."

  Ian's breath stilled in his chest. "Alone?"

  "Nay," Maisie said as she pulled her hands from his. "She took ma
ny of the guards, one of her scoutin' patrols, and Burke."

  Ian shook his head as he tried to make sense of this turn of events. "Why?"

  Maisie's look darkened. "When ye left, she decided she belonged among her people, not locked inside a castle any longer."

  Ian released an inarticulate sound. "Damn her bravery. The White Horseman could be anywhere."

  Maisie's brow shot up. "Such concern from a man who passed her love over for the sake of revenge."

  "I had no choice," Ian said through gritted teeth. "But I have returned."

  "For good?" Maisie's face brightened as her mood shifted from accusing to curious.

  "I cannot tell the future, Maisie. None of us can." Ian pushed his fingers through his hair, suddenly feeling restless, filled with the need for action despite his exhaustion. "Where has she gone? Do you know?"

  "Aye. She has gone to a small village nestled at the base of the Cullin Hills just across the isle to the south."

  And most likely in the direct path of the White Horseman's approach. "How long ago did she leave?”

  "At first light."

  "Then there is still hope of catching up to her before she gets herself killed. Why could she not stay here and remain safe?" he cursed.

  "She's a warrior, Ian. Even female warriors need to battle when their souls are on fire." Maisie crossed her arms over her chest in a look that dared him to argue.

  "When I find her I intend to give her plenty to battle, namely me."

  Maisie smiled. "Yer father was right to send ye here, Ian MacKinnon."

  Ian narrowed his gaze. "What do you mean?"

  "We'll discuss it when ye return. Scotia needs ye now."

  Ian nodded. More than anything he wanted to find Scotia and convince her to return to safety. "I shall need a fresh horse."

  "There are horses already saddled and waitin' in the courtyard for ye and the men in yer company." At Ian's surprised look she added, "We watched ye approach. That is why the gates were open."

  "Then you are not alone here?' He had yet to see anyone besides Maisie.

  "The others are here. We are workin' on another of Scotia's plans." When he opened his mouth to ask her what that plan might be, she shooed him away with her hands. "Go. Be gone. Ye have yer own tasks before ye. All will be explained when ye return with Scotia."

  "The White Horseman is on his way here, Maisie. Are there enough men left at the castle to protect you, Lizbet, and the others

  "I've no intention of surrenderin' this place to anyone until Scotia returns."

  "I shall leave the new warriors I brought from Lismore here to help guard the castle. The Ranald warriors will come with me."

  "As you wish," Maisie agreed.

  Ian nodded. Then with quick and sure steps he made his way outside to where the fresh horses waited. The sooner they found Scotia, the better it would be for all of them.

  Scotia wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and leaned against the edge of the pit she had helped to dig. The scent of freshly turned earth surrounded her, and the trench she and her helpers had dug surrounded the village. They had been working before dawn to create a fortification that would give them an advantage over the Four Horsemen.

  Since her arrival yesterday, she and the clan leaders had put a three-part plan into place. The trench would serve as the first obstacle the army would have to overcome. Those who made it across the trench would then have to make it through the mounded dirt that held sharp, deadly spears; get past a row of archers; then meet the warriors with swords before they would ever reach the women and children Scotia and the other warriors tried to protect.

  The arrangement was the best they could do without the protection of a castle. Even if she could lead these people back to her own castle, they would be more vulnerable on the open road then they were here, tucked beneath the trees.

  She would triumph over the Horsemen and end their tyranny with the help of these people. The time had come to end the battle over the Stone of Destiny.

  The thought of the battle ahead sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. She could honestly say she was not afraid. Had she not trained for this purpose her whole life? And even though she was no longer near the Stone, she had no regrets about her decision to be among her people. Ian had taught her that. If she were ever to expand her sense of her own people, and have them come to know her as a trainer and not just a warrior to best, she had to be among them, experiencing their joys, their triumphs, their defeats.

  As she looked out at the grassy fields before her and the hills beyond, her world had never seemed quite so expansive. There were no walls to confine her or boundaries to hold her captive to her duty. Only wide open spaces that seemed to go on forever.

  Scotia resumed her work of scooping the soft, loamy dirt into a wooden bucket, then dumping it at the edge of the trench in an ever-growing mound. But even the hard, physical work could not take her mind from those last moments with Ian. The bucket shook beneath her fingers as she filled it once more, and she cursed herself for a fool.

  She had to stop thinking of him. How else would she ever move forward? Ian was her past. Scotland's people and their independence were her future.

  "Thinkin' about Ian again?" Burke asked from the edge of the trench.

  "Not if he were the last man alive." Scotia frowned at her steward. Were her thoughts so easy to read these days?

  "Come out of there," Burke called. "The trench is done. The men want to cover it with branches and leaves before it grows dark." Burke's gaze moved across her dirt streaked knees and fingers. "Give me yer hand. Ye need tae rest for a bit." He held out his fingers. She accepted them, then pulled herself out of the depths of the trench by her own efforts.

  "Ye've been workin' since first light."

  Scotia brushed the dirt from herself. "Many hands will make the work easier and faster."

  "The scouts ye have posted beyond the village have yet tae report any activity. Surely, there is time tae take a short rest."

  Scotia shook her head. "We must keep going, until all is complete."

  "Then let me help, too." Burke picked up several branches from the piles left around the trench, then carefully spread them over the open area. With everyone helping, it did not take long to conceal the trap, and they soon found themselves back in the center of the village before a great fire. Over the flames, a stag roasted, sending the intoxicating fragrance of richly roasted meat through the village.

  Scotia ate sparingly. As had been the case since Ian's departure, she found she had little interest in food or drink. All around her were sounds of the villagers celebrating their success in setting a trap for the Horsemen. The noise eddied and swirled but passed her by, leaving her filled with restless energy. She paced back and forth at the edge of the gathering, unable to remain still for long.

  At the snap of a twig, Scotia spun toward the woods, searching the thin row of trees to the south. In the hazy purple light of dusk she saw a young boy who had been gathering branches in the woods running toward the village. His footsteps echoed the sudden frantic beat of her heart. Her muscles tensed, and she reached for her sword.

  "Six men on horseback are coming," the boy called out as he skidded to a stop at the edge of the trench. Several leaves that covered the trap fluttered and swirled at the force of his movement.

  "Do you recognize any of them?" Scotia asked as she shifted a large platform of wooden planks over the trench for the boy to cross safely into the village.

  "Nay," the boy panted. He ran over the makeshift bridge then helped her to pull it back. "But the man who appears to be their leader wears a plaid of red and green and blue and white."

  Ian's plaid. Scotia's gaze swung from the boy to the figures riding ever closer. A hush fell over the village.

  "Should we get the crossbows?" one of the villagers asked. The men, who had celebrated only moments before, prepared for battle.

  "He be friend, not foe," Burke spoke from near her side i
n a voice that held as much surprise and wonder as Scotia herself felt.

  The village once again grew deathly silent as Ian and the men drew close enough for Scotia to see the easy smile slip across Ian's face—a smile that brought out the dimple that intrigued her so much. Until that moment, Scotia had thought she remembered exactly what he looked like, but she had not.

  They had been apart only a few days, but she had forgotten the way his linen shirt clung to his wide shoulders and the muscles that lay shadowed beneath. His angular face held an arrogant handsomeness made all the more sensual by that dimple at the side of his finely sculpted mouth. And his eyes—at one time they had been filled with uncertainty. Now, blatant determination shone in their depths, making her catch her breath at the intensity of his look.

  Scotia stared at him in mute fascination as the muscles in her throat struggled to say something intelligible to him, to greet him, or chastise him, she knew not which her heart wanted more. So she merely watched him as he approached with no words, only hope.

  Until she remembered the trap.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Ian entered the village just as dusk descended over the land. He forced his eyes to remain open despite the fact he'd had very little sleep in the past two days. From atop his horse he searched the village for a glimpse of Scotia. He spotted her tall form immediately at the edge of the crowd that gathered near a blazing fire pit.

  He knew the moment she saw him. Her eyes went wide, and a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. A moment later, any pleasure he might have imagined there vanished, replaced by a somber expression. Those gathered near her must have noticed a change in her. The soft rumblings as they talked settled into a silence that left only the whisper of the wind to greet him.

  "Good eve," he said as he brought his horse closer to an area strewn with leaves. He urged his horse forward.