The Warrior Trainer

by Gerri Russell

  "Oh, Ian," she reached up to brush her trembling fingers against his cheek.

  He could not resist the gentleness of her touch. He turned his face into her palm, branding it with a hot, fevered kiss. "Say you still want me," he whispered, exposing his weakness, making himself vulnerable, knowing even as he spoke the words that she would surely reject him now. How could she not? When she could choose her mate from among Scotland's finest, why would she settle for him?

  He closed his eyes as he fought his growing desire. He waited for her to pull away, out of his arms. He waited to feel the emptiness that was always a part of his soul, an emptiness that seemed to vanish whenever she drew near.

  Gentle as a butterfly's wings, her lips touched his. In a flutter of sensation, she caressed his lips, warmed them, then made him long for more of the same. No one had ever kissed him so sweetly, so innocently. She eased away and he could hear the ragged pull of her breath. "Your bloodline matters not."

  He opened his eyes, desperate to read what he could in her gaze. Naked desire stared back at him, mixing with his own gratification. She would not reject him, at least not this night.

  She brought her hand up to his chest, atop his racing heart. "I do not want to put off this moment any longer. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. The Four Horsemen have caused enough chaos in our lives. Let us grasp this moment for what it is. We will worry about the rest later."

  Worry about the rest later. She kissed him again. Snippets of sensation flickered through his mind—rigid muscle met voluptuous softness, the scent of mint mixed with heather, the beat of her heart mingled with his own breathlessness. Harmonious, arousing, intimate.

  He released her mouth, fighting his burgeoning desire. Recklessness had seen him through the majority of his life. He would not make one more mistake on top of the rest that would condemn another innocent to the kind of torment he had endured growing up.

  "Marry me, Scotia."

  Her eyes snapped up to his, dark and unreadable.

  He met her gaze honestly, fully aware of the enormity of his request. Perhaps no other Warrior Trainer had married in the past. But he could not let that stop him. "If you want me to make love to you, to leave my seed and the potential for life inside you, then those actions will be sanctified by marriage. For me, there is no other alternative."

  Fear and sadness slipped into her gaze. She would refuse him. "I... I cannot marry you." The words sounded as though they were ripped from her throat. She rolled from him and surged to her feet. "No man can have me in that way, Ian. The Warrior Trainer must never marry."

  Ian stood, not bothering to hide the hunger he knew was clearly written on his face. Without taking his gaze from her, he drew the tail of his plaid up, then secured it at his shoulder.

  Time suddenly seemed to stand still around them. His blood throbbed through his veins, slowly, powerfully, as it never had before.

  She caught a deep, shuddering breath and stepped toward him, so close he could feel the heat of her body reaching out to his own. "Ian, do not do this," she pleaded in a voice no stronger than a whisper. "We can be together without marriage."

  "Marriage is not the only solution here. He reached inside his sporran and pulled out a red length of cord.

  Scotia's breath came fast and shallow as she stared at the cord in his hand.

  It was obvious by her reaction she knew his intent. Handfasting was as legally binding in Scotland as a marriage performed by a clergyman. Except that with handfasting, the terms were either for a year and a day or a lifetime. The choice would be hers. "I wish to bind myself to you, be it just for tonight, if that is all the time we have, or for a year and a day." He tried to keep his voice level and calm. "Place your right hand in mine." He offered her his hand. He did not touch her, merely waited for her to choose, to commit to his offer.

  A breathless moment passed and then another as she remained still.

  He kept his hand steady, but his confidence faltered. The silence became heavy, almost stifling, drowning out the noises of the night, of the villagers, of all things except the beating of his heart.

  Then her fingers twitched, and his heart seemed to freeze. She inched her hand slowly forward until it slipped, trembling with anticipation or fear, into his own. "If we live past the coming conflict with the Horsemen, then I shall take you for a year and a day. That is all I can promise for now."

  It was more than he had ever hoped for.

  Scotia felt a flare of warmth move through her as Ian's strong fingers closed around her own. In the space of a heartbeat, all her reservations melted away. The shell of protection she had built around her heart vanished, and she felt as though she had been holding her breath for years, waiting for this moment. Only now with her hand in his did the air flow through her, sweet, fragrant, and free.

  Ian wanted her as his wife, however temporarily. Their lives would be joined. The thought brought as much fear as exhilaration.

  A soft chuckle sounded from beside her. Out of lifelong habit, Scotia's hand fell to her sword.

  "Easy there, love," Burke said from where he and the other villagers had gathered around the private alcove of trees. She wondered, startled, when they had joined her and Ian. She had been so absorbed in Ian and his words that the whole village had managed to catch her unaware. A sliver of uneasiness pulled at her. Had her mother not warned that she would lose her focus if she gave her attentions to a man?

  "Burke," Scotia breathed, avoiding the unwanted reminder from her training. "Why are you over here?"

  "We all saw the two of ye standin' close with a red cord in yer hands." His grin moved from fatherly to content. "We thought ye might be ... well, we came tae see if ye needed a witness or two."

  She did not know how to respond.

  "We would be grateful since Scotia and I are to be handfasted," Ian said over her hesitation, but a spark of uncertainty returned to his gaze. Yet that brief glimpse into his soul said more than the whole of his words ever had. She remembered their conversation on the stairs after Griffin had attacked her, and the memories he shared about his life with his clan, and finally the words he had spoken while she lay fevered and dying in her bed—all those times he had shared his own vulnerability without her realizing it. Until now. She saw for the first time a chink in his armor that covered a wound that went far deeper. Slowly, she extended her hand to him.

  Burke nodded his approval and took the red cord from Ian. "Then allow me tae do the honors."

  "Before we proceed, I have a request to make of you, Ian." Scotia paused, as though searching for the right words. "If something were to happen to me, I ask that you take care of Lizbet."

  "Nothing will happen to you, Scotia. Not while I am here to protect you."

  "You and I both know what it means to live the life of a warrior. Nothing in our lives is ever certain."

  "Lizbet will be cared for as if she were my own," Ian agreed smoothly.

  Scotia signaled to Burke to proceed, but Ian pulled out of her grasp.

  "First we must remove your gauntlets," he said, ignoring her right hand to take up her left. Shivers of sensation worked their way up her arm as he gently slid the leather protection from her hand in a motion that was more caress than task. Her pulse quickened when he repeated the motion with her right hand, but instead of releasing her, he slipped his fingers around hers, holding her tight.

  "Now we are ready," Ian said with a nod to Burke.

  The older man twisted the red cord around their wrists three times before he tied a knot. Scotia stared down at their bound hands. Ian had chosen a red cord to bind himself to her. Red. The color represented courage, strength, and passion. The last thought sent a surge of heat through her body that culminated in her belly.

  "It gives me such pleasure tae witness this moment, my dear," Burke said with a catch in his voice. "But I'll be warnin' ye now, ye'll have tae marry once more in the chapel when we get back tae the castle or Maisie'll have my hide."

  Ian's smil
e bordered on possession as he gazed at Scotia. "Only Scotia can decide the fate of our future. Maisie will have to wait."

  The tone of his voice exuded confidence, and she almost let herself believe the fantasy of the moment. She did not want to think of tomorrow, or of what obstacles lay ahead of them. The only thoughts she had were of Ian in her arms.

  Burke cleared his throat and glanced up to address the villagers gathered in the intimate setting. "With this cord, I bind two lives into one." Burke shifted his gaze back to the two of them. "Scotia and Ian, with the Lord and these good people as yer witness, yer lives are joined. May the next year find ye bound in spirit as ye are now bound in life."

  When he finished speaking, Ian lifted her bound hand to his lips. He brushed a kiss, featherlight and airy, across the back of her hand. "I pledge you my life," he said quietly, but with steely resolve.

  But not his love. She drew her shoulders up, trying to ignore the ache in her chest the omission of those words had caused.

  A cheer rose up from the crowd. A moment later, the skirl of bagpipes drifted once more upon the night air to wrap the village in a seductive serenade.

  The beat of a drum sounded along with the bagpipes. Scotia studied her husband. She knew what came next. They would remain bound to each other until they consummated their marriage.

  "Come to me, Scotia," Ian invited huskily.

  A small voice inside her urged her to remain where she stood, that she could not give herself over to the passion between them. It was the voice of her mother setting limits upon her again. Another voice reminded her that she and Ian had joined their lives, however temporarily, and that appeasing her passion was her due, if she wanted it.

  And heaven help her, she wanted it.

  Drawn to him by a will stronger than her own, Scotia held her breath and took the two steps that separated them.

  Ian's arm tightened around her possessively. His smoldering gaze dropped to her lips, and Scotia felt her body ignite at the same moment his mouth swooped down, capturing her lips in a kiss of demanding hunger. His hand urged her forward, even closer, to mold her pliant body against the rigid contours of his. With a silent moan of desperation, she slipped her free hand up his chest, her fingers clutching his broad shoulders, her body arching into his. A shudder shook his powerful frame as she fitted herself to him, and his lips crushed down on hers, parting them. His tongue drove into her mouth with a hungry urgency and she became lost in his heated magic.

  "To the cottage!" A second cheer arose from the crowd. Before she or Ian could object, they found themselves lifted into the air by four of the village warriors.

  The jarring movements of those who carried them into the heart of the village caused the cord that bound them together to cut into her wrist. They stopped before a small crofter cottage. The door stood open, as though in anticipation. A heartbeat later, she found herself whisked inside, along with Ian, and deposited atop a floor covered in luxuriant pelts. Over the thunder of her heartbeat, she heard the door close softly as the warriors departed, leaving the two of them alone.

  She knew what came next.

  Scotia swallowed roughly as she surveyed the room. There was no other furniture. A small fire burned in the hearth across from the door. The flames added a soft, gentle heat to the air as well as warming the room with a rich, golden hue. Scotia took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but a sudden fit of trembling gripped her and doubts assailed her mind. What if he found her lacking or undesirable? She had no training in the art of seduction, only battle. Nay, she told herself as she tried to steady her nerves. I must not give in to my fears. Fears are to be conquered, not fed.

  As though reading her thoughts, Ian took her other hand in his. "There is nothing to fear." A smile touched his lips. Scotia found herself drawn to them. His lips were full and soft, and in that moment, she wanted to feel them on her mouth, her body. She longed to run her own lips along the strong line of his jaw, to twine her fingers through his hair.

  To experience all she desired, she would have to remove her armor. The last time she had tempted that fate, she had nearly died. But now she had her men to keep her safe, give her time to redress, should the need arise.

  Other needs drove her now. Her need for Ian.

  Without hesitation, he reached for her belt with his free hand and unbuckled it, then placed her sword on the fur pelts that covered the floor. Again, her trust overrode her fear. Before she had come to know Ian, she would have grieved at the loss of her sword. Now, she welcomed the release from its weight and from its purpose as her mind turned from her duty as a trainer of warriors to her duty as a lover.

  "You are beautiful, Scotia," he whispered against her cheek as he placed the lightest of kisses along her jaw. When his lips touched the corner of hers, she turned her head to receive his kiss.

  Her body responded immediately to his caress. Warmth pooled in her belly and arousal flared as she drew him more deeply into her mouth. With her free hand, she trailed her fingers down his shoulder, across his back, until she unwittingly urged him closer against the softness of her body, fitting the evidence of his arousal tightly against her thigh.

  Deftly, Ian unlaced the leather cording at the side of her armor, freeing her from confinement. With fingers that caressed as they moved, he eased the armor over her head, then tossed it aside. Silently he continued until her padding, cuisses, cross-garters and skirt joined her armor on the floor. A moment later, her shift whispered across her skin until is settled lightly atop the cord that bound them together in marriage.

  She stood naked before him, bathed in the golden firelight and the warmth of his gaze.

  "You are a warrior with no equal, Scotia," he said, his voice as caressing as his touch.

  No equal. At the words, her gaze dipped once more to the red cord that connected them both physically and symbolically. She wanted an equal, a partner, and someone she could trust. That man stood before her now.

  "You are wrong, Ian. You are my equal, my husband, and a man I have every right to explore." And explore him she did. With her free hand she disrobed him, until his clothing joined hers upon the floor. Her gaze traveled across his wide, strong shoulders and the light sprinkling of blond hair that spread across his chest. She followed the narrowing line down, across the rippling flatness of his stomach to the most male part of him. At the sight of his arousal, a wild, almost uncontrollable heat flared inside.

  "Untie our hands," Scotia said, surprised by the urgency in her voice.

  "Not yet." He pulled her to him. She gasped, then closed her eyes, overcome by the startling sensation of his skin against her own. He brushed his lips across hers before he slid his mouth down her neck, across her shoulders, then further down until he reached her breasts. He nuzzled them slowly for endless moments before his lips closed over her taut nipples, first one, then the other. She moaned softly as he increased the pressure of his warm and languid caress, pulling her into a dark, whirling storm of pure desire and need. She tangled her hand in his hair, feeling the thick, cool silk slide through her fingers. Her legs felt weak beneath her as she drew in the heated, musky scent of his skin.

  "Ian," she called, uncertain what it was she asked for, but she knew she longed for more of this dizzying arousal.

  His mouth left her breasts, and still she trembled with the vibrant awareness of his body so close to hers. With a physical effort she forced her eyes open and looked at him. What she saw made her heart ache. In the glow of the firelight, his face was hard and dark with passion, and yet there was as much tenderness in his eyes as desire.

  A sudden yearning took hold of her, fired her desire and her boldness. She slid her hand over the rigid muscles of his chest, watching as they flexed instinctively in passionate response to her touch. His reaction—heady, earthly, erotic.

  She trailed her fingers over his arms, his neck, and shoulders, following each touch with her lips. His skin was like satin, and heat radiated from him, spreading through her, pulling
her into a place without thought, without time, where all she knew were the waves of sensation and fire cresting through her body, and the desperate need for more.

  And, for the first time in her life, feeding her senses became more important than controlling them. Casting aside her normal discipline, she hungered for the wild inhibitions he drew out of her. Free from restraint, she wanted to touch him, to feel the full length of him against her skin. An incoherent sound of anticipation escaped her. She claimed his lips, expressing all at once her need for him and her capitulation.

  Powered by need, she kicked out her foot, trapping Ian's legs and bringing them both down to the furs. In a movement as reckless as her desire, she reached for the hilt of her recently abandoned sword and brought the weapon up to slash through the cord that bound them together. Their commitment was still binding, with the cord or without.

  Free of her bond, she caressed Ian's back and hips and buttocks, savoring the firmness of his muscles beneath her hands. She claimed him as her mate, even if he would only be hers for a short while, even if their joining would not give her the child she so desperately longed to conceive. Each touch, each kiss sent all rational thought further from her mind until she could only feel something wild and primitive building inside her, racing through her veins, seeking an unknown release.

  Ian must have felt it too if the rapid rise and fall of his chest were any indication, but his response was not filled with the same breathless urgency that pulsed through her. Instead, he took his time, brushing her hair away from her neck with agonizing tenderness to kiss her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, her breasts. With each sweet kiss, the reality of the world faded until there was nothing left but the two of them and the shadows of the small chamber.

  He slid his hands to her waist, holding her captive, a sweet prisoner, as he cradled her body against his own. And nothing had ever felt more right. His hands moved down to cup her buttocks, the roughened texture of his palms flaring against the satiny softness of her flesh. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply into the tumbled mass of her hair, as though savoring her scent.