A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Aunt Aubrey patted her withered hand on the bench beside her. Bridget sat obediently and regarded the aunt she'd always held in such fond affection. Age had long since changed Aubrey's dark hair into a rich ash gray, but her hazel eyes were still sharp, as was her mind. In her youth, she had been a warrior - she'd worn the clothes of a man and fought in battle. She'd been Edmund de Vere’s favorite daughter.

  Perhaps that was why Bridget’s grandfather had convinced her parents to allow her such concessions as to train with her brothers when she first asked as a young girl.

  “The boy has had his eye on you since I first arrived.” Aubrey slid a glance at Bridget. “And I suspect for far longer than that. Surely you're not surprised at his declaration.”

  Bridget's face went hot. “How do you know what he said?”

  Aubrey smirked. “It was written all over his face. Did you say yes?” There was a note of eagerness in her voice.

  Bridget shook her head and glanced around to ensure no one had heard her aunt. She didn't want Thomas further embarrassed after having already suffered her rejection.

  Aubrey's squared shoulders relaxed somewhat with apparent disappointment. “Ah, I figured as much. Pity. It might have been rather exciting to have an elopement in the family.” She smiled down at Bridget, pride evident in the glow of her golden hazel eyes. “Though I have to say, you've already created quite a stir by demanding no one attend you in Scotland. Especially at your wedding.”

  Bridget pursed her lips. She couldn't tell Aubrey the true reason why, not even when she was so trusted. No one could know.

  It was one thing to kill a man, it was quite another to put one's entire family at risk by doing so. No, she would kill MacAlister and suffer the consequences entirely on her own.

  “I have my reasons,” Bridget offered finally.

  It did not surprise her when Aubrey nodded in quiet understanding. Bridget's mother had not reacted with such acquiescence. The subject was still sore in the de Vere household, even this last day prior to her departure.

  “You're a better daughter than I was,” Aubrey said. “I railed against my betrothal with all I had in me.”

  “I've heard.” Bridget couldn't keep the grin off her face, remembering the tale of when Aubrey brought a sword to the wedding. Nothing came of it in the end, but there had been enough threat to make the story a family favorite. “You still married him.”

  “And I'm glad for it, as surely you will be, too.” Aubrey scoffed suddenly. “I think your Thomas de Lacy will be just fine.”

  Bridget followed her aunt’s gaze across the large garden to where Thomas sat at the bench with a woman on either side of him, their lips pouted out in sympathetic gestures. He said something and both women laughed.

  Aubrey laid a hand over Bridget's, her aged skin soft and cool. “Forget the boy and see to your parents. Tomorrow you will say goodbye.”

  The familiar knot returned to Bridget's stomach. Aubrey was right. Today was the last day she had with her family.

  Her aunt squeezed Bridget's hand. “No matter what kind of man your husband is, be true to yourself always.”

  Bridget took a deep breath and nodded. Aubrey had no idea how very right she was.

  Tonight she would say goodbye to the family who loved her and goodbye to the home she'd always known. And soon she would see Richard's death avenged.

  #

  Forth Manor

  Clackmannan, Scotland

  Aidan hated the damn English. He'd have adamantly declined the suggestion of marrying one were it not for all the goodwill shoved his way to sweeten the request.

  He'd been given land, albeit in the Lowlands, but it was still land, and it was rich with fertile soil. More still, he'd been provided a manor so large it would have made his parents both swell with pride.

  After his parents' deaths, he'd vowed to see his brother and sister cared for. He could rest easy now knowing he'd done exactly that with his marital sacrifice.

  Even still, the deal was suddenly bitter when the first specks of the oncoming retinue dotted the flat, lush landscape of Clackmannan. They'd moved at a miserably slow pace. No doubt to spare Lady Bridget de Vere any discomfort. He'd been watching for some time, waiting until finally they were visible.

  Lady Bridget sat at the head of the party on a surprisingly plain steed. Her blonde hair was plaited back and she huddled down into a heavy mantle.

  Aidan snorted. If the lass was cold now, she'd freeze by winter. Not that he'd mind. His contract with Robert the Bruce would be fulfilled with the wedding. Aidan's rewards had already been bestowed upon him. Surely he could not be faulted for a wife with a weak constitution.

  Then he'd be free to go on to find a woman who would care for his siblings as he did, a woman who could make them all feel whole as a family after the pain of so much loss.

  Two servants traveled with the lass as well as a knight, glinting in his full plate armor atop a black steed. Aidan grunted. It was unsurprising they'd sent a knight to guard the lass on her journey. Heaven forbid the fragile lady of the de Vere family be forced to trek through Scotland without someone to spare her miserable life.

  And his miserable future.

  “They're here, they're here.” An overeager voice sounded in the doorway to his solar. An entirely unwelcome report on the progress he'd seen with his own eyes.

  “Aidan, it's only right ye come to welcome yer bride.” The feminine voice held a chiding tone. “Will ye no' come and meet her? Even from far away she looks bonny.”

  Aidan hadn't yet turned when the clapping of feet on the floorboards sounded and the impact of a small child hit his legs. He glanced down to find little Rabbie staring up at him with their ma's large green eyes.

  “We can go, aye?” The lad was nodding encouragingly at him, his lips curled in a convincing smile.

  Rabbie looked to Aidan more like a father than a brother. It was understandable since their mother had died in childbirth when Rabbie was still a babe himself. Their father had died of illness only a year later.

  Aidan grunted and turned toward Cailean, lugging Rabbie with him.

  Cailean looked over Aidan and tsked her disapproval. “Let me fix this for ye.” She strode toward Aidan and smoothed her hands over his hair. Ever the mother, despite her scant thirteen years.

  He ducked away from her. “Are ye preening me?”

  Cailean chased after him with her hands. “I'm making sure ye look fine when she meets ye, but there's no' much I can do about yer sour face.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Now ye best hurry down or I'll tell her ye stayed up here to cry over having to wed her.”

  Her goading spurred him forward, a difficult feat with Rabbie still clinging to his legs. “I dinna cry.”

  “She doesna know that.” Cailean shrugged and hurried from the room.

  Aidan pulled his leg forward, dragging a gleeful Rabbie along with it. The lad gave a squeal of delight and tightened his grip.

  “Enough now.” Aidan plucked the boy off his leg and set the wriggling mass of his brother on the ground.

  Rabbie immediately propelled himself back toward Aidan's leg. “Nay, lad. No' now. I've got to go meet my bride.”

  “We can go now?” Rabbie lifted his brows in a hopeful gesture.

  “Aye, and we'd best hurry or my intended will think I cry.” He ruffled Rabbie's thick red curls and headed down the stairs of the keep to meet Lady Bridget de Vere.

  Cailean was already waiting at the castle entrance by the time Aidan and Rabbie arrived. The knight led the small procession, followed by Lady Bridget and her two servants.

  Lady Bridget glanced toward Forth Manor with a look of bored disinterest and allowed herself to be helped from her horse. She was petite with golden hair, blue eyes, and a pert nose that tilted upward in a very English way. A stiff wind would carry the lass off. Bearing children with Highland blood might not even be possible for the lass.

  Aidan bit back a groan of disgust.

  “Sh
e's verra lovely.” Cailean pressed her hands to her chest and sighed. “Her hair looks like it's been spun from gold. Ach, ye'll be so bonny together.”

  The knight leapt off his horse, met Lady Bridget, and strode forward with her.

  Aidan stiffened at the affront.

  Did the lass think he'd attack her?

  But then Lady Bridget stopped several feet before him while the knight went on without her. A flash of alarm shot through Aidan and he reached for his sword, only to remember he'd left it upstairs in his haste.

  Poor preparation, indeed.

  He braced himself, but the knight did not attack. Instead, he put a gloved hand to either side of his helmet and lifted it upward.

  A cloud of black hair spilled out and Aidan’s gaze met the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, brilliant and deep like a perfect sapphire.

  A woman.

  Seeing her without her helmet on, he understood there'd be no mistaking the lass for a man. Not with the fine features of her high cheekbones and gracefully arched brows. Hers was the face of an angel to be sure, but she certainly had no kindness to bestow upon him.

  She watched him with eyes as hard as the stones they resembled.

  Her armor squared around her frame, masking her sex. No doubt an intentional oversight not to hug the body to announce what lay beneath.

  He'd only ever seen one female warrior on the battlefield before.

  His heart lurched in his chest.

  There, on the delicate line of her jaw, was a pink scar remaining where he'd torn the tender flesh.

  “Lady Bridget?” he inquired.

  She gave a single nod without ever taking her cool gaze from him. His heart slid into his stomach.

  Lady Bridget de Vere was the very woman whose life he'd spared on the battlefield. And now he would find himself her husband.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lady Bridget stared at the man who killed her brother, the very man she would now be marrying. It was hard to keep the blaze of hatred from her gaze.

  How did one greet the man who had murdered one's family?

  She gritted her teeth against the force of her churning animosity and bowed low. While she ought to curtsey, it seemed a foolish thing to do while wearing full plate armor.

  “Pleased to meet you, my lord.” She kept her head down a moment longer than necessary, for it was a second more she did not have to stare into those green eyes which had seen Richard's death.

  MacAlister stood with his legs braced wide and his arms folded over his chest. It was the stance men took when they wanted power. He was still as massive as he’d been on the battlefield, and his eyebrow was still split by the same scar. He wore a Lowlander’s clothing now in a fine green brocade tunic with brown hose. His eyes glinted in a manner she did not much care for, as if he found her amusing.

  She was not a jest.

  “I’m sure ye’re as pleased to meet me as I am to meet ye, Lady Bridget.” He unfolded his arms and offered a bow graceful enough to rival any courtier in London.

  She did not miss the cynical note in his tone. His gaze wandered unabashedly down her armor. “I assume ye dinna feel safe traveling through Scotland.”

  Bridget tried to keep her smile from being as brittle as it felt cracking over her lips. “This was enemy territory less than a year ago. I'd be daft to assume I was safe.”

  “Aye, well, ye're safe here.” MacAlister folded his arms over his chest again.

  An awkward silence suddenly widened between them.

  “Thank you.” She spoke more to assuage the uncomfortable tension than the genuine need to demonstrate appreciation.

  She only had to put up with the discomfort for a short period. There would be no getting to know him, no long nights of embarrassingly intimate moments she did not care to endure. She'd come here for one purpose alone - revenge.

  Once they were married and she had the privacy of their marital bed, he would be quickly handled. She may even be able to escape, though she did not find the possibility likely.

  Her life in exchange to avenge Richard - lesser men had done far more for the ones they'd loved.

  “It's so fine to meet ye, Lady Bridget.” A slight girl of no more than fourteen stepped between Bridget and MacAlister. The girl might have even jabbed MacAlister in the ribs as she did so. She was a beautiful thing, with pale red hair trailing down her back and eyes the color of spring grass.

  The sudden appearance of the girl snagged at Bridget's defenses. “And you as well…” Bridget trailed off to give the girl a chance to speak.

  Spots of color showed on the redhead’s cheeks. “Oh, forgive me. I'm Cailean MacAlister. I'm Aidan's sister.” She reached out and grasped one of Bridget's gloved hands with her own. “I truly will be so glad to have another woman around to speak with. I'm so happy ye're here.”

  The slight waif of a girl with the beaming face flew toward Bridget and caught her in a massive hug. The ring of keys she wore at her belt clanked against Bridget’s armor.

  “Cailean, enough,” Aidan said in a stern voice. “Ye'll be able to speak with her more in due time, aye?”

  Cailean covered an embarrassed laugh behind her hands and nodded at her own folly. “Ach, aye.” Her nod toward Bridget was far subtler this time. “We're glad ye're here.” The girl spoke with her head obediently lowered.

  “Is it my turn?” asked a small voice. “Is it my turn? Is it?”

  A small child shoved around MacAlister's legs and looked up at Bridget through a tangle of reddish-gold curls. Were it not for the small set of breeches the boy wore, she would have assumed him a girl based on his waist-length hair.

  MacAlister gave a strained smile and held the boy by his shoulders. The boy heaved to a stop and stared unabashedly up at Bridget.

  His face was still soft and round with youth. “Ye're verra pretty,” he declared thoughtfully. “And no' at all dirty.” He looked up at MacAlister. “Aidan, I thought ye said all the English were filth—”

  “This is my brother, Rabbie.” Aidan's face remained stern, as if he had not heard the same slip of tongue as the rest of them. “He's got a habit of talking too much and should best be heading inside to see to his lessons.”

  Rabbie broke free of MacAlister's hold and ran into the keep, only to reappear, offer Bridget one last vigorous wave, and then disappear once more.

  Her cheeks blazed. “No doubt he merely repeats what he hears.” She didn't even bother to keep the harshness from her tone.

  MacAlister's lips thinned. “Welcome to Forth Manor, my lady.”

  She looked behind MacAlister to the large stone manor. The construction had been recent, as was evidenced by the pale stone. She could practically smell the fresh cut lumber.

  MacAlister had been handsomely rewarded for his loyalty.

  And he would pay dearly for it as well.

  Elsbeth cleared her throat, a dainty and decidedly feminine sound. Bridget turned to her lady's maid in confusion when she noticed MacAlister's large palm held upward in silent offering to take and kiss her hand.

  He, the man who had slain Richard, wanted to press his lips to her bare skin. The idea made Bridget's stomach wrench. Elsbeth cleared her throat again, albeit less daintily this time.

  Bridget thrust her gloved hand toward MacAlister. He lifted a brow, but accepted it and kissed the shiny bands of plate covering her fingers. She could almost hear his teeth grinding against one another. The idea of his fury cooled the heat of her own anger.

  He straightened quickly and indicated the door to her servants. “Please come in. I think ye'll find Scottish hospitality to be far more welcoming than anywhere else in all of Christendom.”

  Bridget bit back a scoff at the intentional dig. “Then you won't mind having a bath drawn for me once I've been seen to my room.” She shot him a hard look and strode into the keep. “I've been on the road so long, I find I'm rather filthy.”

  Inside the manor was as new as it had appeared from the outside. Most of the wood furnitu
re was pale with freshly hewn wood, and the tapestries were brilliant with vivid color.

  Though she'd only spoken to the man a few minutes, she was already anticipating her wedding night so she could kill MacAlister and be done with it all.

  Determination coiled tight in her heart.

  After two long years, Richard would finally be avenged.

  #

  The only thing worse than the hard-lipped kiss Lady Bridget had bestowed upon Aidan after their vows were made was having to sit with her through the following celebration.

  He raised his hand toward a servant for another cup of wine. Cailean grasped the cup from the man and brought it to Aidan herself.

  She wore her hair braided back with bits of flowers tucked in the fair red-gold and a green gown that made her eyes glow like emeralds. Her face was stern when she approached and she plunked the cup down hard in front of him.

  Even still, he could not keep from smiling at his sister. “Ye look like Ma.”

  “If I were Ma, I'd scold ye,” she hissed. “This isna a way to act with yer bride.”

  She nodded toward Bridget, who stared directly at them both. A chill settled over him. God's teeth, the woman would all but freeze his cock off later when he tried to consummate their union.

  He lifted the cup to his lips and drank deep.

  “Cailean.” Bridget gave his sister a sweet smile, which near made the wine sour in his mouth. “Will you get me another as well, please?”

  Cailean took Bridget's cup with an enamored grin and spirited away.

  He had to give it to the Englishwoman. She could hold her drink. She'd matched every cup he drank.

  He narrowed his gaze at the realization and turned to her just as she received the chalice from Cailean. “This seemed more suited to ye, my lady.”

  Aidan's heart squeezed.

  His mother's cup.

  Bridget held the delicately gilded stem between her fingertips. “It's lovely.”

  “Ye're the lady now,” Cailean said. “It's yers.”

  Aidan swallowed down his wine and reveled in the acidic blaze of the drink sliding down his gullet. Better that than the burning ache in his chest.