A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Aidan shook his head. “I want ye in yer kirtle, no’ men’s clothing. It’ll be too tempting for ye to fight otherwise.”

  She pursed her lips and he knew she wanted to argue. “Then I will be there,” she said finally, after a long pause.

  True to her word, she arrived on time for practice dressed in a pale blue chemise with a bonny red kirtle. The men nodded to her respectfully as she passed, but not out of obligation to their lady. They did it out of admiration for a soldier who takes a beating and still wakes up to train the following day.

  Not only did they respect her, they listened to her. She offered fresh ideas on battle with her foreign perspective. In the week she instructed, they improved their skills considerably.

  And in the week she instructed, she became visibly restless.

  Aidan knew the twitch of her fingertips when a man failed a block or the slight lunge when a man needed to avoid a hit. She missed the fight. It was a frustration he could appreciate. He'd been there himself many a time before.

  On the sixth day after her injury, the heavy clouds swept away and the sun lit the sky. Aidan met his wife in the courtyard the same as he did every morning after they’d gone about their separate tasks before starting their days.

  This time though, he had two horses readied and waiting.

  She smiled when she saw him, a warm, welcome gesture she'd begun two days prior. Perhaps it should not have filled his chest as much as it did, but he enjoyed the pleasant sensation brought on by her kindness. She stroked her fingers down her horse's strong neck. Her hands were slender and dainty despite their lethal capability. The hands of a lady and the hands of a warrior. Was there ever such a thing more powerful?

  She glanced toward Aidan. “Will we be doing cavalier training?”

  Her gown was the color of heather and made her eyes gleam with the most becoming blue.

  “I fear ye'll go mad if ye have to watch the men fight without being able to join them,” he said.

  She stiffened, no doubt with the ready argument he was expecting. He put his hand up, and she quelled any protest she'd planned to make.

  “I figure a long ride on a fine day would do ye well.” He stepped back and held out a hand to help her onto her horse. “I know ye dinna need my assistance, but let's mind the shoulder, aye?”

  Her lush red mouth quirked and she accepted his offer, putting her warm hand atop his and sweeping onto the great saddle with practiced ease. The lavender gown fanned out around her and settled over her legs and the horse with a graceful show of modesty.

  She sat tall and proud atop her steed, surveying his men while he leapt onto his own horse beside her. Aidan nodded to Donald, who he'd left in charge. The men would be in good care with him.

  For the first time in his life, doubt nipped at Aidan's subconscious regarding his uncle. What he'd done to Bridget knocked Aidan's confidence in the large man.

  Bridget turned toward him with a grin on her lips. “Ready?”

  He'd no sooner nodded than she shot off toward the drawbridge of the keep. She didn't stop there, not even to wait for him. But then she clearly knew he would never let her leave him behind.

  Together, they raced through the flat, fertile landscape of Clackmannan. The wind blew at their faces, the sun warmed their skin, and the beauty of their new home raced past them in a blur of green fields and brilliant blue skies.

  Eventually, the large snaking river of Abhainn Dubh wound before them, and only then did Bridget stop. The wide smile on her face told him he'd made the right decision in bringing her on a ride.

  “It's beautiful.” Her voice was breathless from having ridden so hard.

  The land was fine enough. Certainly the soil was rich for farming, but he missed the Highlands with its rugged beauty and the steep sloping hills whose tender grass seemed to split against the craggy rock beneath.

  He looked at his wife and felt his heart swell. Her hair had come loose during their ride and her dark tresses whipped around her face, her skirts had risen up to her calves with the effort of the ride, and she sat atop the horse with all the confidence of the fighter she was.

  She, like the Highlands, was wild and beautiful. Something to be appreciated but never tamed.

  And while he had no intention of taming her, he was set on capturing her heart and truly making her his wife.

  #

  Bridget knew Aidan watched her. If it wasn't for the weight of his gaze, the warming of her cheeks would have told her.

  It had become a rather silly reaction to being around him, and it made her feel like one of the ridiculous girls from court who tittered and giggled over men like Thomas.

  Her eyes tightened against the onslaught of the wind and the onslaught of memories. She had not thought of Thomas in the last week she'd been training with the men. She'd thought of home, of course. But his proposal and the intensity of her regret at having not accepted had waned.

  She looked out over the land before her where it sprawled with freedom and beauty. She reveled in the quiet burn of dormant muscles well-worked. Her face tingled from the chill of the wind, and the steady race of her heartbeat finally began to slow. Her shoulder ached with a reminder she'd probably done a bit too much too soon. But for the first time since arriving at Forth Manor, she felt alive.

  Aidan's gaze continued to heat her cheeks. She slid a glance toward him and found he was, indeed, staring. The confirmation did not bring with it any social discomfort. She wanted him to stare and she wanted to stare in return. The more they'd come to be around one another, the more she enjoyed his company.

  The more she'd found him quite handsome and pleasant to look upon. From the decidedly hard, masculine angles of his face to the shift and flex of hard won muscle carved beneath his skin, he was a ruggedly handsome man.

  “I won,” she said softly.

  He laughed, and she found herself joining him. It was impossible not to with the warmth of the sound and the crinkle to his green eyes.

  “Maybe I'll win on the way back.” He tilted his head in invitation.

  She lifted the reins in her hands. “If I let you.”

  “Is it like that now?” he goaded and turned his horse. He snapped his reins, grinned at her, and shouted a command. His steed tore forward and sprinted back the way they'd come.

  Bridget laughed in spite of herself and followed suit. Within seconds, her horse pulled ahead of his. She tossed a grin in his direction and leaned forward to allow her horse the ability to go faster.

  A burn ached through her shoulder and a stab of ice prickled in her gut. She shifted in her saddle, but the pain did not abate. A glance to her left confirmed she was still ahead, but only by a bit.

  She flexed the muscles in her arm to alleviate the discomfort, yet it only succeeded in making the ache more pronounced. Her center of balance tipped slightly despite her grasp on the reins.

  But the issue wasn't her balance. Her arm was weakening.

  A hearty wind blew at them, tugging at her dress, her hair, her body. She gripped harder with her right hand to stop herself from sliding off the saddle, as determined not to fall as she was to still win.

  All her desperation to win was for naught. Despite her best efforts, Bridget began to fall behind.

  Aidan looked behind him and slowed his horse to a stop. She was only too happy to stop as well. Her arms trembled like jelly and her shoulder screamed in agony. “Do ye need to rest?” he asked.

  Bridget's body was heavy with exhaustion, and she found she still had not yet caught her breath. She had underestimated how little her shoulder had healed. She wanted to boldly declare she was fine to continue onward. Her injured side trembled and did not possess enough strength to even hold the reins so near her fingertips.

  After a brief moment of stubborn refusal, she finally sagged back in her saddle. She hadn't even needed to speak. Aidan leapt from his horse and was immediately at her side.

  Without asking, he lifted his large hands to her waist and eased
her from the horse. “I shouldna have let ye push yerself too hard. I know how ye are.”

  Bridget propped the hand of her good arm on her hip. “How I am?”

  “Ye know how ye are.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if she ought to know.

  “And how exactly am I?”

  He studied her for a moment with the warmth of his beautiful green eyes. “So stubborn, I'd have thought ye a Scot.” He nodded toward a distant set of large boulders. “Come. Let's rest, aye?”

  “You say that like it's a bad thing, husband.”

  His hand rested against her lower back and he led her to the stones. “Ye know it's a great compliment.” He winked. “And I like when ye call me that.”

  “Call you what?”

  He faced her, suddenly standing too close. “Husband.”

  Her face flushed with heat. “It's what you are.”

  “In name, aye.”

  She didn't know if he meant those words as a barb, but they struck deep all the same. They were wed, yes, but the marriage had still not been consummated.

  His stare was soft and penetrating all at once, as if it meant to pry gently into her soul. She shifted her gaze away. He made her stomach squirm and her pulse race. It was a reaction foreign to her until meeting him.

  His fingers swept over her cheek, well above where Donald left her face bruised. Her skin tingled in the wake of his touch. She looked up at him, meeting the heat of his gaze.

  “I see how ye watch me.” His tone was low and so intimate. Her nipples tingled with the aching awareness he triggered in her.

  “Pray tell how I watch you.” She tried to be coy with her reply, but her words came out too quiet from her dry throat.

  “With curiosity.” He pulled her hand toward him and pressed her palm against his chest. The warmth of his skin beneath was discernible even with the layer of his wool tunic. “With appreciation.” His hand dragged her fingers down his tunic to where the muscles of his upper stomach were carved into deep grooves beneath. “With want.”

  She licked her lips. “What do I want?”

  “Me.” He pushed her hand to his chest so her fingers splayed out and her palm rested over the steady thrum of his heart. “Ye want me.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Anticipation was a heady thing.

  Bridget stared up into Aidan's unwavering gaze for what felt like a welcomed eternity, and she let herself become lost in the promise there. Her pulse raced too quickly and her throat was too long dry.

  Everything seemed airy and dizzy for the briefest of moments before she realized she'd been holding her breath. A wave of foolishness washed over her in how she kept her hand on his chest, the pulsing beat of his heart beneath warm skin.

  After all, what was she waiting for?

  He caressed her uninjured cheek, and her eyes swept closed of their own volition. She was ready to chastise herself for the ridiculous act when something soft brushed her lips. She drew in a sharp breath. Something rasped against her chin – the prickle of his unshaven skin and his mouth pressed to hers.

  She'd imagined kissing him before and thought his lips might be hard and cool, like marble. They were not. Instead, she found them soft and supple and altogether very enticing. The masculine scent of him surrounded her like an embrace, luring her toward a sensual heat.

  A pebble in her mind fought her reaction, but she shoved it away and pressed her mouth to his as he'd done to her. He gave the most pleasing growl, and eager chills raced down her back. Whatever whispered for her to stop this, she was not interested in listening.

  His tongue swept across the seam of her mouth and her lips parted. His tongue touched hers, and the hungry burn of desire throbbed to life between her legs. A soft moaning sound escaped the back of her throat. If her entire body burned, her cheeks blazed hottest of all.

  But Aidan put a hand around her and pulled her tight to him. He groaned, a deep, throaty, masculine sound that made her nipples harden beneath her dress. She understood then not to be embarrassed by the sounds she made. If her pleasure made him as excited as his made her, she would revel in their delight in one another.

  She shouldn't be enjoying this.

  The thought came back, blaring through her mind and tearing her away with a moment of distraction. Her face was warm where his lips had been, her chin chafed from the scratch of his two-day-old beard.

  “Nay.” His plea came out somewhere between a growl and a whine. “Leave it all behind. Please.” He gazed into her eyes. “It's ye and me and no one else, aye?”

  His fingertips ran over her jaw, down her neck, and to the neckline of her gown. “Let me love ye, wife.”

  Her skin prickled with trills of pleasure where he touched her. Before she could offer protest, his mouth was on hers, kissing down the very path his fingers had traced. Her skin rippled with enjoyment and she sighed against his ear. He gripped her more tightly to him and let his lips graze over the top of her bodice.

  Her knees went soft.

  His fingers were on the ties at the back of her kirtle, slowly, carefully unlacing her, as if he feared startling her.

  He moved too slow.

  A raw need clawed at Bridget. She gripped the laces and pulled at them. The kirtle loosened and sagged around her.

  Aidan's fingers replaced hers, stripping the lacings free. Her heartbeat rushed in her ears.

  His breath came faster and warmed over her skin, quickening her pulse and setting her thoughts racing. She wanted this. All of it.

  “Bridget.” He slid his hands over her clothing, peeling both chemise and kirtle away from her body in one greedy sweep. They fell unceremoniously to the ground in a heap of fine cloth.

  Perhaps she was wrong to not feel ashamed of her nudity, but she stood with confidence in the broad light of day, naked as God had made her. Aidan stared for a long moment before his hands found her waist, her hips, her bottom, her breasts.

  His fingertips brushed over her nipples and sent a needle of pleasure tightening the bud of her breast. She gasped her enjoyment and his mouth came down on hers once more, hot and eager.

  “Ye're even more beautiful than I imagined.” He spoke against her lips, between breathless, hungry kisses.

  His lips trailed downward once more, toward her breasts until his mouth closed over the pink little bud. Pleasure spiraled through her. She gripped his head, holding him to her breast. He flicked his tongue out and teased it over her incredibly sensitive skin. A gasp tore from her lips, and the heat of desire became almost unbearable.

  The idea of him imagining her naked before today heightened her excitement. She too had wondered at what his powerful body would look like. She grasped at his tunic to tug it upward. He lifted his arms and removed it in a ready swipe.

  She stared at the massive chest in front of her, rippled with muscle and masculine strength. She reached a hand out to drag down the lines of his abdomen. The hardness of his stomach flexed beneath her touch and his breath came out from between his teeth.

  She glanced up at him and found him watching her with the same intensity he wore when battling, as if he wanted her as badly as he desired to live.

  Her fingers skimmed lower, lower still, and met the cold metal of his belt which held up his braies and hose. The breath came in and out of her chest so quickly, she felt she could not get enough air to breathe.

  His hands covered hers, hot despite the chill in the air, and slipped the belt free so the remainder of his clothing fell aside.

  She saw him with her hands while watching his face, letting her fingers trail lower still until they met the rasp of coarse hair.

  He swallowed hard, and the muscles at his neck flexed.

  She looked down to where his cock rose between them. Her fingers brushed its silky hot length and he gave a low, deep groan. His prick was hard beneath the silky soft skin. Touching him thus left her insides trembling and the ache of desire was so powerful, her entire body seemed to throb.

  “That isna fair.” His
mouth edged up into a lazy half-smile. He drew her toward him and the heat of his mouth came down on hers once more.

  She moaned against his lips and swept her tongue over his as he'd done to her. He caressed and stroked her breasts. One hand moved lower, down her stomach as she'd done with him. Then lower to where everything wound tight with need.

  His fingers skimmed over her hips, down to the tops of her thighs. She whimpered and arched toward him, mindlessly desperate for him to caress the source of her heat. He gave a low chuckle, and the slightest of touches brushed between her legs.

  Her world near exploded in pleasure. She gasped at the force of the intensity. His finger swept once more, slower, more deliberate.

  Her knees softened and she feared she might fall over.

  As if sensing her difficulty in standing, he eased her down to the ground. It was damp from the constant days of rain and the grass was cool against her heated skin. After almost a month of fighting an unwanted marriage, Bridget finally was ready to be with her husband.

  It was more than acquiescence - she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

  #

  Aidan would finally have his wife, after weeks of sharing a bed with her, of not touching her and waking to a raging ache of his unspent lust.

  She was far more beautiful than even the hints of her body had alluded. The hard work she performed on the battlefield and in training was evidenced in the lines of delicate muscle down her long, slender legs and along her flat stomach. Her breasts were firm and glorious, her nipples pink and hard in the chilled air.

  She gazed up at him with the same open appreciation.

  He lowered himself to the ground so he knelt between her legs. His cock was hot and swollen and his head spun with such desire, he could scarce put a full thought together. She watched him with a soft expression on her face, and it struck him how very vulnerable she appeared.

  Never had he thought to see Bridget appear as such, but then he remembered she was a virgin.

  No matter how slick she was, no matter how need glazed her wide eyes or how she'd moaned when he'd touched her. His cock tensed with the reminders.