The Warrior Trainer

by Gerri Russell

  Scotia eyed the pile of discarded garments. A hysterical sob rose up inside her. For years she had been frightened, terrified even, to remove her armor. Now, with Ian nearby, she did not even consider her actions, merely threw off her garb without a second thought. The chill air of her bedchamber skittered across her bare flesh. Did she feel so at ease with him and his presence in her household that she no longer felt the need for such extreme measures of protection?

  Scotia tore her gaze away from the reminder of how much he had changed her life as she slipped into the heated water. Weary from exhaustion, she leaned her head back against the copper tub, wanting nothing more than to forget the events of the day. The images of the battle would eventually fade from her mind. Even the conflict with her father would soon recede into the realm of unreality.

  But she would never be able to forget the expression on Ian's face when he charged the White Horseman and sent him to his death. The primitive anger, the revulsion that etched itself across his features spoke louder than words his feelings for his enemy.

  Knowing the truth of who had sired her, how could he ever look at her again with love in his eyes? She had committed to him for a year and a day. As a warrior she would honor that commitment. Savoring each day, each moment, storing them all up for the time when they would be apart. Because even though she wanted a lifetime with him, he would never willingly join himself to her forever if he knew the blood of that horrible man flowed within her veins.

  How could he ever love her?

  Scotia closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind of everything, but images of Ian pressed in on her instead. She saw Ian battling with her for the first time, staring up at her from the floor with genuine surprise in his eyes; Ian dancing with her in her great hall; Ian gazing up at the stars with her and sharing stories of his past; Ian holding her tight, demanding she hold on to life when she was so sick; Ian standing before her covered with soot and blood proudly proclaiming: I shall haunt your dreams each night, 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.

  He had been wrong about one thing: even away from her bed she would think of him. With a sigh of regret, Scotia finished her bath, then changed into the soft linen nightrail she had worn when she was ill. She crept into her bed and pulled the covers up tight against her chin.

  For what seemed like hours but was probably more like minutes, Scotia stared at the unadorned ceiling of her room and waited. But even sleep refused to claim her. Finally, she pushed the bed linens back and got out of bed. The only way she would ever be able to sleep was if she worked herself into blessed exhaustion. And she knew just how to accomplish that.

  Taking the candle with her, she stopped at the pile of discarded clothing and armor to retrieve her sword, before quietly slipping out of her bedchamber and down the stairs. When she stood at the doorway of her training chamber, she paused to clear her mind as she always did. But the serenity that usually filled her did not come.

  Edgy and off-balance, she stepped into the room, ready to begin a grueling routine. Halfway across the room she froze at the sight before her. On the floor near her feet lay Ian's sword with his plaid coiled around the weapon. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as Scotia knelt beside the cloth. A pang of longing tugged at her heart. With trembling fingers, she lifted the edge of the fabric up to her face and pressed her cheek into the woolen warmth. Ian's minty scent lingered there. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened, but they spilled past her barricade anyway.

  He had known she would end up here, in her training chamber this eve. And he had left his sword and his plaid for her to find, to give her a reason to come to him if she could not do so on her own. The sweetness of his words came back to her: When you are ready, you will come to me because you will have no choice.

  Defying all logic and reason, she was ready to go to him. The question was would he be ready to receive her when he knew the truth? Suddenly, it seemed paramount that she find out.

  Before she could think about what she was doing, Scotia slipped her nightrail off and wrapped Ian's plaid tight around her body, allowing the length of the fabric to drag on the floor. With a sword in each hand, she hurried down the corridor before she could change her mind.

  After a breathless moment, she placed her hand on the door to the bedchamber he had taken for the night. The door swung open with a slight creak of the hinges. She paused in the doorway and drew a shaky breath. The light of a fire in the hearth cast a reddish glow about the room. The light beckoned her forward, toward the bed.

  Halfway across the room she paused to lay their swords down upon the floor. There would be no need for weapons between them tonight. She stepped across the swords and continued toward him. Ian lay on his back, one arm draped over his face, the other flung across the bed. His breath came softly within the quiet of the chamber, slow and even. He had kicked off the covers to reveal one naked foot, one long, lean thigh, and the exposed planes of his chest lightly furred with crisp blond hair.

  Scotia swallowed, transfixed by the sight of his big, muscular body. He was hers, her husband, for the asking, for the taking. But would she be brave enough to take what she wanted now that she knew who she truly was? Could she take the last step and bare herself to him?

  "If you would take one step forward, you could nestle in my arms." He stretched his hand out to her as if doing so would have the power to keep her with him.

  She took the last step that separated them and caught his hand in her own. She brought his fingers to her lips. "Hold me, Ian."

  His opposite hand snaked out from the bedside. Before she knew what had happened, she found herself beneath him, the softness of her breasts colliding with the unyielding strength of his chest. A moment later he shifted her on her side and cradled her in his arms, tenderly brushing his lips against her forehead. She trembled in response, and his arms tightened around her. "I would hold you forever if you would only let me."

  With an effort, Scotia dragged herself back from the mindless swirl her senses had become the moment he touched her. She had to tell him the truth. Now. Before this went any farther. She propped herself up on one elbow and gazed into his eyes. "Ian, I must tell you something, something that could change everything between us."

  He continued to rain kisses across her jawline and down her neck. "What could you possibly say that would change the way I feel about you?" His mouth left a scorching trail of kisses across her shoulder and down her arm. "I like your choice of garments this evening. Very fetching." He slipped one hand inside the opening at the front of his plaid to caress the rounded Softness of her hip and thigh. "You wearing my plaid makes me want you all the more."

  "Are you sure you would want me if I told you my father was the White Horseman?" Scotia shuddered from the combination of her confession and his bold exploration of her body. Without a pause, his hand slid along the side of her breast, his fingers splaying wide in a bold, possessive caress.

  "I know," he said in a gentle voice. "I heard him say so on the tower."

  Startled, Scotia pulled back to stare into his face. "And still you can touch me like this?"

  He cupped her face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over the soft curve of her mouth. "One thing you have taught me since my arrival here is that it is not your background that matters or what makes you great, it is who you are inside. Does that rule apply only to your students and not to yourself?"

  Her lips trembled beneath the caress of his thumbs. His words penetrated her soul, her very being. "You do not care?”

  His brown eyes smoldered with unleashed passion. "Only for you."

  She turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm with all the sensual sweetness his words had brought into her heart. A groan tore from his throat. His mouth sought hers, claiming her in a kiss that was both urgent and gentle. He parted her lips for the demanding invasion of his tongue.

  Helplessly
lost in the stirring sensation his kisses always brought, she slipped her arms around his broad shoulders. He pulled her against his full length, clasping her against his thighs while his tongue began to plunge into her mouth, then retreat, only to plunge again in an unmistakably suggestive rhythm that sent desire coiling through her loins.

  "Ian?" she whispered against his lips.

  "Aye," he murmured huskily as his hands moved up to release the tie of his plaid, revealing her body fully to him.

  She pulled away from his kisses, but kept her lips close, almost desperate to reclaim her connection with him. She had to speak the words she longed to say, and speak them now while she still could. "I wish to change the terms of our handfasting agreement." She reached for his right hand with her own, and gently threaded her fingers through his.

  "What do you wish to change?”

  The warmth of his fingers wrapped around her own. "The length of our marriage."

  "How long?"

  "Forever."

  "Not long enough."

  Scotia smiled her agreement. His reply made her ache with a sudden yearning to possess him, body and soul. She withdrew her hand from his and trailed her fingers across his broad, muscled chest and the sprinkling of hair that teased her fingers with its texture. "I love you," she whispered, bringing her gaze back to his.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with a kiss, taking control of their lovemaking in a desperate desire to prove just how much he meant to her. Her fingers feathered the lightest of caresses against his jaw, his throat, his chest. And where her fingers stopped, her kisses began. The taste of his skin went straight to her head, making her bold, freeing her inhibitions, compelling her to continue what she had begun.

  Her lips reached greedily for the hard bud of his nipples, sampling them with slow swirling probes of her tongue. When he shuddered beneath her assault, she shamelessly nipped, then kissed her way across his torso, around his navel, then lower still. When she pressed a warm, moist kiss at the base of his swollen flesh, his head fell back onto his pillow with a sound that was half moan, half plea.

  In that moment she realized she had as much power over his body as he held over hers. Delighted by the discovery, she took another taste, then another, breathless at the urgent hunger she could bring out in him. She played the seductress, surprising him with tender erotic caresses that had him twining his fingers in her hair and whispering "I love you" on a disbelieving breath.

  She continued her assault until his hands became almost urgent upon her shoulders, and the heat of his body flowed beneath her fingertips with a hunger that matched her own.

  With a shift of his weight, he pressed her into the bedding, and his body hovered above her. He kissed every part of her. The passion of his kisses heated her flesh, seduced her spirit, until she felt as though she were drifting beneath him in a hot, wet, shimmering mist.

  His adoring hands trailed his kisses, caressing her battle hardened body until her flesh trembled her ultimate surrender. She was his, now and forever.

  As though sensing her thoughts, he smiled down at her, bringing his hands to her hips, and with slow exquisiteness he entered her, spreading a smooth voluptuousness through her. Her body arched. Pleasure engulfed her.

  His fullness surrounded her. They became one. Slowly, deliberately he stroked her and hot torrents of ecstasy grew stronger and stronger, until she plunged headlong into a vortex of colliding sensations. In that moment, she drew him deeper inside her, opening herself up to him, until his life force pulsed at the very soul of her being. Scotia clamped her legs around him, savoring the warmth of his seed within her.

  They lay together, their limbs possessively entwined, neither willing to break the bond that had been forged between them. Her body still heavy with pleasure, she listened to the sound of his heart thundering beneath her ear, content to know that all of it belonged to her now.

  "I have so much to thank you for," she whispered softly. "You risked your life to save mine. You accepted me for who I was. And," she dropped her gaze to the flat plane of her belly, "you gave me a precious gift this eve."

  He brought her gaze back to his. "A gift?"

  She smiled, unable to restrain the joy that tumbled through her freely. "A baby."

  A grin lit up his face and brought out the dimple at the side of his cheek. "How can you be certain? These things take time."

  "I just know."

  His grin faded to a somber smile. "Then that does not leave me much time."

  "Time for what?" she asked, confused by the sudden turn in the conversation.

  His gaze moved beyond her to where she had set their swords upon the floor. "I have yet to best you in a sword fight."

  She inched closer to his chest and let her thigh slide suggestively over the top of his. "I may never let you win."

  Ian caught her by the shoulders and rolled her beneath him as a new urgency blazed in his eyes. "Has it never occurred to you, my love, that I may never want to win?"

  As his lips covered hers, she surrendered to the stormy splendor of his kiss, thrilled by the thought that their battle would go on forever.

  Epilogue

  Nine months to the day after that final battle with the White Horseman, Scotia's contractions started at midnight. And from the first hint of pain, Ian was at her side, refusing to leave her.

  He brought a cool, lavender-scented cloth up to her temple, brushing away with infinite tenderness the sweat upon her brow as the pressure in her pelvis threatened to tear her apart. It was a battle she had no idea how to fight. She tried to relax, to let the child do the work, but instead of relief, her efforts only brought on a new wave of pain. "Our daughter is in a hurry to be born," Scotia panted.

  "If the force with which she tries to enter the world is any indication, the Warrior Trainer line will be well served by her birth." He drew her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss at its center. A wave of pure pleasure moved through her, countering the pain as her belly tightened again. Over the last several months, Ian's expression had softened, becoming more at ease, no longer darkened by the shadows of the past or duties that remained unfulfilled. Only love and anticipation filled his gaze now.

  She should feel nothing but happiness and anticipation as well, on the day their daughter would enter this world. Yet as she stared into Ian's soft brown eyes, she held one small regret close to her heart. She might have succeeded in providing a new Trainer to take her place, but after centuries of protection by her ancestors, she had been the one who failed to keep the Stone of Destiny safe. The churning gray-green water of the sea was the Stone's protector now.

  "What are you thinking about, my love?" Ian asked, watching her face closely.

  "Nothing."

  His expression became thoughtful. "I can guess what saddens you. And I have something that might ease at least some of your pain." Before she could question him, he slipped his hand from hers and left the room. He returned a moment later with a large object wrapped in the folds of the MacKinnon plaid. "Remove the cloth," he said, holding the gift out to her.

  "Ian." She hesitated with her fingers atop the woolen cloth. "I do not understand."

  "You will." He gave her a reassuring nod.

  With hesitant fingers, she pulled the fabric away and tears misted in her eyes. The Stone of Destiny. "Ian," she whispered brokenly. "How? Oh, I cannot believe this."

  "Griffin and I finally located it yesterday morn beneath the waters at the shoreline," Ian said as he placed the Stone on the floor near her bedside. "We have been looking for it every day for these last nine months."

  "I had no idea." Scotia wanted to slide her arms around Ian's neck, to show him how much this gift meant to her, but another contraction pulled at her, leaving her powerless to do anything more than grip his hand. "You have ... given me so much. What have I... to give to you?”

  He pressed a possessive kiss to the back of her hand with a reverence that touched her very soul. "You have given me something I
always craved, but never expected to find."

  "And what is that?" She looked up at him with her heart in her eyes.

  "A family."

  Scotia could not comment, as another contraction stole her breath and her focus. Their daughter would wait no longer.

  " 'Tis time." Maisie moved to the end of the bed along with Lizbet. Maisie prepared to receive the child while Lizbet stood by with clean linens.

  As the contraction eased, Scotia caught the young girl's gaze. "Your sister is in a hurry to meet you." Lizbet responded with an eager smile. As part of their family, Lizbet would train alongside any daughters Scotia and Ian had, carrying on the tradition of guarding the Stone and training Scotland's warriors together. No longer would the burden fall to just one warrior. The thought brought with it a sense of peace Scotia had never experienced in her lifetime. Her children's lives would be different. For that, she was extremely grateful.

  "Yer doin' well, love," Maisie said in a soft, soothing tone. Scotia barely heard her as a deep, heavy tightening took control of her body and the need to push overwhelmed all else.

  A moment later, the healthy cry of a baby resounded throughout the bedchamber, followed by Maisie's startled gasp. Silence fell over the room as Ian's gaze moved from her face to the child, then back to her again. An amused smile brought out that dimple she loved so well.

  "What is it?" Scotia asked, around the sudden pounding of her heart. "What is wrong?"

  A look of exquisite tenderness came over Ian's face. "Our daughter..." He hesitated.

  After wrapping the babe in the fresh linens, Maisie placed the child in the lee of Scotia's arms. "Yer daughter, my dear, is a son."

  A son? Scotia's gaze moved to the tiny infant in her arms. So small. So beautiful. The room suddenly seemed cast in a sunlit haze as the light of morning stretched out across the room, turning the baby's abundant blond hair into burnished gold. From the color of his hair to his firm yet stubborn chin, to the tiny dimple in his left cheek, the baby looked like Ian.