The Warrior Trainer

by Gerri Russell

  "This battle is not over yet."

  "I know." She studied his face. Her glorious green eyes were strong and clear once more. "Before we go back into battle I want to ask you something."

  "Anything." He brought a finger up to brush a wayward tendril of hair from her cheek.

  "Will you say that to me again?" she asked.

  "That?"

  "Did you only speak the words because you thought you were going to die?" A raw ache sounded in her voice, and he instantly knew what she wanted to hear.

  He cupped her face with his hands. "I love you," he told her with all the joy in his heart. "I love you." He bent his head, covering her mouth with his in a slow, sensual kiss. "I love you."

  She kissed him back, holding him fiercely. What started out as a slow, gentle celebration of life became an urgent plea. With an effort, Ian dragged his mouth from hers. "As much as I am enjoying this moment, we really must stop now before I am hopelessly lost."

  "You have the same effect on me." She pressed her face to his chest and drew a shuddering breath.

  "Our duty is not yet complete." His gaze shifted from Scotia to their swords. Their weapons lay on the wooden planking inches from them. "Come," he said as he stumbled to his knees. "We must yet fight."

  He held out his hand to help her up. She put her fingers in his. With his free hand he retrieved her sword and handed it to her before grasping his own.

  "Do you wish to see him?"

  Scotia nodded. Together they moved to the side of the tower and peered down at the crushed body of the White Horseman, the Stone he had desired above all in his life now weighing down his chest in death. Waves slammed against the rocks, shifting his broken body with their advance and retreat. Soon, both the man and the Stone would be lost.

  Scotia stepped away from the tower's edge. When she did, the wind picked up the ends of her free-flowing hair, setting it into motion about her face and shoulders. Her cheeks held a rosy flush and a soft glow breathed life into her timeless green eyes. With the backdrop of the wild Scottish hills behind her, she looked as though she had stepped out of legends of old and into this very moment.

  "Ready ?” He took her hand in his.

  A shadow crept over her face.

  "What is it, Scotia?"

  Her fingers shook ever so slightly as she raised her gaze to his. "Nothing. Let us proceed."

  They made their way down from the tower. Each step brought them closer to the nightmare the White Horseman had left behind. When they entered the courtyard, Ian released Scotia's hand.

  Fire had devoured the bakehouse, the stables, and the stacks of hay not used during the winter. Flames of red and orange swept hell across the outer perimeter of the courtyard. Smoke and ash hung heavy in the air, but not thick enough to hide the bodies of the dead and dying. The sounds of battle rang in the clash of swords, the shouts of men, and the cries of the wounded. The castle could be rebuilt, but the lives taken this day would never be regained.

  "Before we fight here, we must release Griffin and the others."

  Scotia nodded and followed him to the gate leading into the garden. Inside the confined area, Ian squinted through the thick haze of smoke.

  "Ian?" a familiar voice called out, and a dark shadow appeared from behind the door, sword in hand.

  "Griffin?" Ian felt a chill course through him, but he kept it carefully under control. His own fears would not help to heal his brother's swollen and bruised face and body. "Are you all right?"

  Griffin lowered his sword. He started to smile, then grimaced instead as the muscles in his face rebelled against the action. "It takes more than a beating to stop a MacKinnon."

  Ian could only be glad for that. Despite their differences, Griffin was still his brother, his family. "How did you manage to free yourself?"

  "Burke remained hidden until all the others left. He cut us free after surprising the guard."

  Ian nodded. He narrowed his gaze to search the smoke- filled garden. "Maisie and Lizbet, where are they?"

  "We are here." Maisie and Burke, with Lizbet huddled between them, stepped out of the tunnel opening and hastened toward him.

  "I was so worried," Scotia cried as she folded all three people into her embrace.

  Ian smiled faintly as he stood gazing at the four of them. "Are you harmed?" Ian asked the older woman. Anger seethed through him as he search her tired gray eyes for signs of distress. The slashes in her clothes and the welts on her face and body indicated that she had been whipped. Repeatedly. Damn the White Horseman for his villainy. At least they would suffer at his hand no more.

  "I am well." Maisie hugged the little girl beside her. "Lizbet, however, will have none but Scotia comfort her."

  Scotia dropped to her knee and lightly caressed the young girl's battered face. "Lizbet, the White Horseman is dead. Soon this will all be over."

  "I want you to stay with me. I feel safe with you," Lizbet cried as she buried herself in Scotia's arms and held on with all her might.

  "Scotia would stay with you if she could," Ian interceded, "but her duty calls her elsewhere right now."

  The young girl lifted her chin. Tears pooled in her brown eyes—eyes that held an unspoiled innocence despite the horrors she had lived through in her young life.

  "You must be brave, as Scotia is brave," Ian said softly.

  Lizbet stopped crying, and with an effort straightened her slight shoulders.

  "That is better," Scotia said. "There is something I need you to do for me."

  "What is that?" Lizbet asked.

  "You must help Maisie and Burke save the castle. Find a way to contain the fire."

  Lizbet nodded. "What about you?"

  "Ian and I must help the warriors who battle in the courtyard." Scotia patted the girl's cheek and sent her after Maisie and Burke, who had begun filling buckets of water from the garden well.

  "I shall go with you," Griffin said. As he drew his sword, a steely resolve settled in his eyes—a look Ian had never seen there before. Much had changed in Griffin since they had last parted.

  "I would welcome your help," Ian said.

  "As would I," Scotia agreed.

  Together, the three of them headed out the gate and into the fighting now obscured by thick and heavy smoke.

  "Griffin," Ian shouted above the sound of swords clashing. The soft whiz of arrows arching through the air shattered the spaces between the clang of metal and the moans of the dying that raised a chorus of grief over it all. "Go to Father. He is here. Protect him."

  Griffin's face brightened at the realization their father had come after him. "Where is he?"

  Ian nodded toward the melee. "I last saw him at the front gate."

  Without hesitation, Griffin turned and strode away.

  The smoke in the courtyard began to ease. As those who fought became more visible, so did he and Scotia. Two warriors charged toward them. "Fight with me back-to-back," Scotia shouted.

  She had barely taken her position when the two men reached them. Both fell easily to the ground, only to be replaced by two more. Ian drove his sword through one man's body just as an arrow whizzed past his head, but strangely he felt no fear. He channeled the heat and power of battle sweeping inside him into a cool efficient weapon, as Scotia had taught him.

  He pressed against Scotia's back, finding comfort in her presence there. Together, they moved deeper into the fray.

  "What is our plan?" Ian shouted.

  "Two Horsemen remain as the core of this army. If we take them down, the ranks will dissolve." Scotia searched the wild, twisted fighting for the Black and the Red Horsemen. She and Ian moved as one, farther into the crowd until the fighting closed around them, enveloping them in its midst.

  With a renewed vigor, Ian pressed his attack, clearing a path through the fighting until he saw both warriors ahead. The Black Horseman battled with Griffin while the Red Horseman clashed swords with one of the Ranalds. The Red Horseman's thrusts came more slowly. The tip of his sw
ord dipped slightly, exposing his body. The man was growing weary, as was Keith Ranald.

  The Black Horseman lunged at Griffin, barely missing his thigh. Griffin stumbled in his retreat, but managed to spin out of the way.

  "They are both growing tired," Scotia said.

  "We must intervene." Ian started forward.

  Scotia's hand on his arm held him back. "Not while they are engaged. It would not be honorable. There are other ways to aid Griffin and Keith. Watch."

  Scotia rolled forward, hit the ground, then came to her feet between the fighting warriors. She held her sword at the ready. The motion startled them all. The Horsemen's blades grew still. "I shall let you live if you take your army and go in peace from this castle and this country—go back to England where you belong."

  The Black Horseman grinned at Scotia. "This land will be ours once the White Horseman gains the Stone."

  "The White Horseman is dead. The Stone is lost in the Sea of Hebrides."

  "You cannot fool me," the Black Horseman growled, but panic flickered in his eyes. "We will succeed."

  "You have already failed."

  The Black Horseman peered about him, and the arrogance in his stance lessened. His gaze hardened as he turned back to Scotia. "We must prevail where our leader did not." With a slice of his sword, he left Griffin behind to challenge Scotia.

  "Then you leave us no choice." Scotia blocked his strike and quickly returned the blow. It sent him to the ground.

  A small, sardonic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "My leader waits for me."

  "Then go to him." Her sword came down, its job complete. No sooner had her blade swept free of the body than the Red Horseman charged her. Ian swept forward and drove his sword through the Red Horseman.

  Without anyone to command them, the army gradually fell into chaos and then rapidly retreated. Cheers from Scotia's men followed them out the gate. The battle was over.

  Slowly, the tension that had driven Ian for days left him, leaving only exhaustion in its place. He strode toward Scotia. Her shoulders were rigid, her back straight as she stared at the fallen men scattered across her courtyard. She stood listening to the retreating footsteps of her enemy with her bloodied sword in hand. He knew so intimately the thoughts that crossed her mind. "It is never easy, the life of a warrior."

  The clang of the iron portcullis as it closed behind their enemy reverberated through the entire castle. The sound set her into motion once more. "We must see to the wounded and bury the dead. I shall also need a contingent of men to barricade the tunnel through the cliff. I want it sealed at the garden gate and along the shoreline."

  "Scotia—"

  "Please, Ian." Tears shimmered in her eyes, and something more—a subtle shift in the way she looked at him. With fear? Uncertainty? It was as if she no longer knew what to say to him or how to feel.

  Scotia stepped back, putting more distance between them. "Help me with these things. There is no time for talk or tears." Despair crept into her voice. He reached out to pull her to him, but she moved even farther away. "Nay, Ian. I cannot allow myself to feel sorry for the things that have happened this day. Too much remains yet undone."

  He did not press her for more, allowing her to maintain the thin thread of control she held over her emotions. She looked pale and stricken and heart-wrenchingly beautiful. He had to let her set the pace, to come to him when she was ready to move beyond this moment and into their future.

  Scotia walked back through the charred remains of the courtyard, where several men had already begun work to rebuild the wooden stairs that led into the keep. Thankfully, the stairs were the only part of the keep damaged in the fire.

  Abbus came to stand beside Ian. "You would let her walk away from you so easily?"

  "It is not what she walks away from, but what she walks toward that gives me hope." Ian turned to gaze at the man who had given him so much over the past years.

  Abbus gazed thoughtfully at the burned timbers. "Toward destruction?"

  "Nay. Toward our future, together." Ian allowed himself a small smile. "Father, there is something I must tell you."

  Abbus's bushy brows arched over his knowing eyes. "What is that?"

  "I cannot lead the clan. Scotia is my destiny now." Ian marveled at how easily the words had come to him, how easy it was to relinquish his past.

  Abbus smiled in that fatherly way he always did when one of his sons finally did something right. "She was always yer destiny. From the moment ye were left at the base of our door. I knew ye would be the one to fulfill the prophecy her mother created while I trained under her."

  "You trained with Scotia's mother?"

  "Aye," he nodded. "Myself, the Ranald, and the White Horseman." At Ian's frown, he added, "Scotia's mother somehow knew the spin her own destiny would take."

  "How could she know?"

  Abbus shrugged. "Perhaps because of the Stone. I never thought to question her. 'Twas from me that she garnered the promise to send her daughter 'a man alone in this world' when she came of age."

  His foster father's words whirled across his mind. "You lied to me about my purpose with the clan?” Ian said tersely.

  "Aye, my son. But I never would have sent ye if I dinna think ye were the right man for the task. I had hoped the two of ye would eventually marry," he said with a slight shrug.

  "We did. Last night."

  Abbus clapped Ian on the back. "Congratulations, my boy."

  "No congratulations are due yet. She has not promised herself to me forever. Only a year and a day."

  Abbus's grin widened. "Well, then ye'd best get to the task of changin' her mind."

  Ian watched Scotia as she drove iron nails into the freshly cut planks of wood with more force than was necessary. He would not change her mind. She would have to do that herself.

  And when she did, he would be waiting for her.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Ian placed the torch against the burial pyre that held the body of one of the Ranald warriors. Night had fallen, and the sky filled with millions of stars that welcomed the warriors as they went to their eternal reward. The air had turned crisp, and a light breeze teased the flames that devoured the warrior's remains. In his mind, Ian repeated the ancient Celtic blessing that would send the great warrior on his way. Despite his will to keep going, moving steadily until the work was complete, he swayed on his feet.

  "You are exhausted." Scotia's voice came from behind him.

  "Aye." He turned to face her and had to refrain from pulling her to him. "I have slept little in the last three days."

  "Then you must retire now. The others and I shall finish what remains to be completed. You have already done twice as much as any other man here."

  "I would do the same, a thousandfold. These are my people as well as yours. Just as we united in marriage, our countrymen united in battle."

  "Our marriage was a mistake. You could never love me if you knew—"

  "Scotia—"

  "Nay. Say no more. I had thought on our way back here that there was hope for us." She shook her head in true remorse. "Now, things are different."

  Ian narrowed his gaze on her, searching for a way to reach her before she did something they would both regret forever. With every breath he drew he believed she loved him.

  Scotia averted her gaze. As she did, her unbound hair brushed her pale cheek, then fell in a wild tumble about her shoulders in luxuriant waves. He remembered another head of reddish brown hair, and he knew the reason she had changed her mind. She did not fear him. She feared the taint of her own blood.

  He knew the feeling all too well.

  He brought his arms around her and held tight as she struggled against him. When she finally stopped, he waited until she brought her gaze to his.

  Fragile love stared back at him from the depths of her green eyes. He smiled to himself as he faced her. "Listen carefully to me, Scotia, because I am not going to let you do this to us. You gave me your love without hesit
ation the night of our handfasting, and I shall not let you take it away, all for the sake of your wounded pride. The harder you try to deny that there is something between us, the harder I shall fight you, and without the use of our swords."

  She struggled within his arms, but without the same intensity as she did before. "I—"

  "I shall haunt your dreams each night," he interrupted, "just as you have haunted mine since the moment I first saw you. You will lie awake in your bed wanting me, knowing that I am lying in bed wanting you. And finally, when you are ready, you will come to me because you will have no choice."

  She flinched, but did not move. Instead of the anger he had expected, her eyes reflected pain. "It is not possible."

  He continued as though she had not spoken. "And when you do come to me, I shall be waiting with open arms."

  Scotia drew a shaky breath. He ignored her attempt to speak, driving his point into her heart as best he could. "I hurt you when I left. I understand that now. But I swear on my life I shall never leave you again. I have spoken to my father, and I have relinquished all rights to lead my clan."

  Surprise filled her eyes.

  Ian laughed. "Father had no arguments for me when I gave him the news. He said leading the clan was never my destiny—you were. And if that is so, Scotia, I am here to embrace that destiny with all my heart and soul."

  "There are things about me you do not know," she said in an aching whisper.

  "Perhaps those things will not matter to me."

  She shook her head. "Nay. You would leave me for certain if you knew the truth."

  He released her abruptly. "Love bears all things, Scotia. When you realize that, you will come for me. And I shall be waiting," he said before he walked back toward the keep.

  She would come for him, he told himself. She had to.

  Hours later, Scotia headed straight for her bedchamber and the steaming bath that Maisie had no doubt left for her there. The thought of soaking away the grime and blood in the heather-scented water was more than she could resist. Without hesitation, she took off her armor, dropping it on the floor next to the tub. She pulled her shift over her head and paused at the sudden realization of what she had done.