A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She would be his. No other man’s.

  His.

  Aidan lay over her, bracing his weight on one arm so he wouldn’t crush her. With his free hand, he let his fingers skim over the silkiness of her skin. Her lips parted with a soft gasp.

  “I've wanted ye for so long, wife,” he said in a low voice.

  “Then have me.” She leveled her gaze at him with such smoldering challenge, he could not help but accept.

  He stretched his body over hers, and she spread her legs beneath him to accommodate him. His cock lay against her leg, swollen and desperate. So close to where her thighs met.

  Though he wanted nothing more than to shove into her, he knew he needed to be careful. No matter how strong a lass she might be, no matter what kind of a beating in battle she might be able to take, he would not have this hurt her.

  He wanted her pleasure as much as his own and would have it no other way.

  His hand ran over the swell of her hips, down to the dark curls between her legs. She licked her lips, and her chest rose and fell with quickened breaths. He let his finger sweep against her sex. It came away wet.

  He closed his eyes against the need hammering through him. He dragged his fingertip over her again, up to the hard bud of her sex, and opened his eyes to watch her expression. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an “o” of surprise.

  A slow grin tugged at his mouth. The tip of his middle finger settled against her tight warm entrance while his thumb carefully circled over the little nub. Her cheeks went pink and her lips, those beautiful lips, were so damned red he could almost imagine them wrapped around his cock.

  He carefully teased her for several minutes, easing his finger deeper within her until her sheath was tight around the digit. How he wanted it to be his cock. But not yet.

  Sweat prickled on his brow and his back ached on the side he braced over her. Her breath panted from her and her sex tensed. She was near climax.

  Perfect.

  He withdrew his finger and shifted forward so the head of his cock positioned at her center. His bollocks tightened and he had to take a deep breath to control himself.

  Slow.

  He nudged against her. His body trembled with the desire to sink into her heat.

  Slow.

  He eased carefully inside her, so the swollen tip was near buried within her. His cock had never been so damned hard in all his life.

  Slow.

  Bridget gave a soft whimper and he stopped, fearful he'd hurt her. Her hips flexed forward unexpectedly, shoving herself upward, impaling herself with his cock.

  They cried out together, her with the tearing of her maidenhead, no doubt, and he with the most exquisite pressure around his aching cock. He stilled and drew in a ragged breath.

  “I dinna want to hurt ye,” he gritted out between his teeth.

  “I'm not a sensitive girl,” she gasped.

  He groaned and dragged himself slowly from her before easing back in. Her breath caught and she arched her body with his slow thrust.

  She was tight.

  Too tight.

  The squeeze of her around him was almost painful. He clenched his teeth and continued with his slow pace, gentle despite how hard it was to remain so.

  Bridget rolled her body in time with his. “More.” Her head leaned back with her pleasure. “More. Please.”

  He groaned and let himself thrust deeper so he was completely buried inside her. She cried out and gripped his back, pulling him against her. Her breasts crushed against his chest and the softness of her skin ground against his.

  “More.” Her breathy whisper in his ear almost undid him.

  He caught her bottom in his hands, bracing her hips, and thrust hard and deep into her. Her moan of pleasure echoed in his ear and the hands holding his back raked down his skin. They moved together, hungry and frenzied.

  He held her to him and rolled them together, careful to do so on the side of her body where her shoulder was uninjured. She settled atop him, her hands pressed to his chest, her legs straddling him.

  She wriggled over him and gave a little groan of frustration. He grasped her hips in his hands and moved them forward, then back. She squeezed over his cock with each movement. The painful tightness of her had relaxed into perfect pleasure.

  He guided her over him until she caught the rhythm and rocked on her own, her sweet warmth coaxing his swollen cock. She moved slowly at first and ground her body against him. Her chest swelled with a gasp and he knew she was close.

  She moaned and glided her hips over him faster. Tighter and tighter she squeezed.

  God, she was beautiful riding him with her wild black hair and her eyes bright with loving.

  Aidan grasped handfuls of grass on either side of him to keep from climaxing before her. She pressed her hands hard to his chest and cried out the most delightful sound of pleasure ever to grace his ears.

  Her sex clenched around him, and it was his undoing. He roared with the incredible force of his own release and let his seed pour into her with great satisfying waves of bliss. She bent over him and laid her head on his chest. Her gasping breath tickled over his overly sensitive skin and her heart thundered against his own.

  He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her to him. His wife. Finally and truly his.

  He couldn't help but smile as he whispered into her ear. “Are ye no' glad now ye dinna kill me?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bridget's stomach twisted into knots of anxiety she would never let herself show.

  Aidan had known the entire time she'd tried to kill him. He'd known, and yet he had not tried to annul the marriage or kill her in kind. He'd known, and he'd still protected her from his uncle and nursed her back into good health.

  They rode to Forth Manor on his horse with hers trailing beside them, its saddle empty.

  Her stomach was not the only thing in knots. Her heart was twisted into its own complexity of discomfort.

  She had just lain with her brother's killer. More than that, she'd enjoyed it. Even now, her body hummed with the glowing warmth of their shared union, and every part of her wanted to press back against the wide expanse of his chest and revel in the pleasure of his touch.

  Every part but her mind. It could not release the clutch of horror on what she'd done. On the memory she'd defiled.

  Tears burned in her eyes. She was glad she sat in front of Aidan so he would not see. Those tears were for Richard and him alone.

  Aidan curled his hand more securely around her waist with his free arm and pulled her back against him. She closed her eyes, hating how her traitorous body pulsed warm and low at the soreness between her legs. Despite the burden of her own guilt, she craved him more than she had prior to their coupling.

  “How's yer shoulder?” he asked.

  She cleared her throat to free it of the ache before speaking. “It's feeling much better, thank you.”

  “We dinna hurt it more?” His voice rumbled in his chest where it pressed against her back. The action was quietly intimate.

  Her cheeks burned. “No.”

  And in truth, it was feeling fine. She'd already told him as much, but he'd worried after her so much, she'd allowed him to take her on his horse instead of her own lest she hurt it more.

  The silence between squeezed with tension.

  “I know ye dinna love me.” His voice was soft, resigned. “I know ye might no' ever love me. But I…” His words tapered into quiet once more.

  Bridget's heart slammed hard in her chest. She didn't want to hear what he was going to say. Or so she thought. The racing of her pulse might indicate otherwise, as would the breathlessness holding her captive, waiting to hear what he meant to say.

  “Bridget,” he said finally. “I care for ye a good deal. Ye're as strong as ye are bonny. And yer kindness is beautiful, at least when ye are no' trying to kill a man while he sleeps or throwing pots at his head, aye?”

  She couldn't help but chuckle.

  His ar
m was warm and secure around her, and despite her best efforts to resist, she finally gave in and eased back against him. He was strong and firm against her. Though she didn't need it, he lent her a protection that made her feel feminine and lovely. She closed her eyes and breathed in the heady masculine spice of him.

  “I respect ye, Bridget,” he said. “As a woman, as a soldier, as my wife.”

  The ache in her throat returned. For she respected him, too. He'd sacrificed everything for his family. She knew he'd gained Forth Manor due to his marriage to her, but she hadn't known he'd done it primarily to give Rabbie and Cailean a home. It wasn't until little Rabbie had launched into the story one day at practice that she found out about their mother dying in childbirth and his father getting sick soon after.

  Most men would have abandoned their young siblings to someone else to care for. Aidan had curled them close in his protection and cherished them. He was loving and gentle, and yet he was fierce and powerful when needed.

  “I hope someday ye can forgive me,” Aidan said in the same tender tone. “I hope someday ye can welcome me into yer heart.”

  Hot tears filled her eyes. Not because she feared she could never love him, but because she feared she already did.

  #

  Aidan held Bridget to him for the duration of the ride. She was silent, even after his declaration. He drew comfort from her nearness, in how she seemed to melt against him and welcome his touch. Her body told him more than she would allow herself to say. As a warrior, it was a communication he could appreciate.

  Forth Manor loomed in front of him, and a ball of pride swelled in his heart. Cailean was right; their father would be pleased with how far he'd risen and what he'd secured for his siblings. They would never need to fight for their place in life as he and his da had.

  Nor would his children.

  Aidan pressed a kiss to the silky top of Bridget's head. She wriggled against him, as if she could squirm her way even closer. A smile touched his lips.

  She may not be comfortable giving in to affections of the heart, but there would be time to win her. In the meantime, he would love her every night until they were both breathless and sweaty with the efforts of their play.

  The shouts of men sounded from within the manor walls. Not the usual bellows of mock battle, but the shouts of preparation.

  Bridget stiffened in his arms and jerked upright. He understood her reaction immediately.

  Within the main gates of Forth Manor, soldiers ran about in a flurry of activity. He leapt from the horse, then offered to aid Bridget, but found her at his side already.

  “What's going on?” she demanded.

  Aidan grabbed one of the nearest soldiers, a man with a great black beard and dark squinting eyes. “What's happened?” he demanded.

  “The English.” The man's eyes darted to Bridget before he continued. “They've broken the treaty. Men are marching toward the manor as we speak. They're hours out, but we're going to ride out to meet them before they can get here first.”

  Aidan cursed low under his breath. He nodded toward the man and sent him off. “Get into the castle,” he said to Bridget.

  Her red lips fell open to protest.

  “Rabbie will be scared.” He said it gently, and her mouth closed. “Get him and Cailean. Lock them in our chambers with ye. I know if anyone is able to get through, ye'll ensure they stay safe.”

  Bridget shook her head. “They won't hurt us, they're my people.”

  The nudge of battle raked over his nerves and crumpled his patience. “They are no' marching toward the castle to come to a feast, aye?”

  Still, she remained where she stood, shaking her head. “I don't want you to go.”

  Those words stilled him, and hope lit a tender flame in the depths of his heart. She cared for him.

  “You'll kill Englishmen if you go to battle,” she said.

  The sapling of hope wilted. She cared for her people. Not him.

  “They would kill me if I did not,” he answered simply. “Ye know that as well as I.”

  Her cheeks stained with the color of her emotions. “You can't kill them,” she said. “They're brothers and fathers and sons—”

  “And who did ye kill on the battlefield?”

  She went silent.

  He'd said it harshly. He'd said it to quiet her. And he'd said it because it was the truth.

  “Yer men attacked innocents in Scotland.” He tried to soften his tone. “The same as the Scottish have done in England. Yer men killed us as we killed them in battle. There are no' winners when everyone loses so much.”

  Tears filled her beautiful blue eyes. Her sadness bit into his heart like the sharpest of blades. “I will swear to no' go to England to attack,” he said. “But I'll be damned if I sacrifice my family to people who would see them dead. Brothers, fathers, and sons alike.”

  She continued to stare at him with her wounded gaze, but now was not the time for discussions. “Go and get Rabbie and Cailean now.”

  She gave a dazed nod and made her way toward the keep without another word. He ran after her and caught her by the elbow. She turned toward him.

  He stared down at her beautiful face, committing it to memory in case he needed such reminders in battle, then pressed his mouth to hers. She stumbled back and put her hand to her lips before turning away from him.

  “She's always going to hate ye.” Donald appeared beside him.

  Aidan let a sigh squeeze out from between his gritted teeth. “Ye may be right. She thinks I killed her brother in a battle at Castle Quelling.”

  Donald's face remained impassive. “Did ye?”

  Aidan shook his head. “I'm no' certain. She said he was a knight who’d dropped his weapon and was on his knees. I dinna kill lads who drop their weapons and are already down.”

  “I do.” Donald snorted. “I remember the lad. Poor fighter, even with all his fancy armor.” He shrugged. “It's battle.”

  The explanation was offered callously and without thought. The way Aidan himself had explained it. Hearing it come so simply from someone else's mouth brought to light its cold cruelty. Aidan had spoken thus to Bridget, in addition to reminding her of the men she'd killed in the name of her supposed nobility.

  If she never did love him, he had only himself to blame.

  “Enough of this foolish prattle.” Donald clapped him on the shoulders. “Let's go kill some English.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The chamber was suffocating with its lack of information, especially with Aidan's final words rolling through Bridget’s head. He was right of course - she had killed brothers and fathers and sons.

  The English were not the good side, but nor were the Scots. It was all war. It was all ugly and awful.

  Rabbie lay curled in her lap with his head tucked under her chin. “If they attack us, can I shoot my bow?”

  “If anyone unwanted comes through the door, yes.” Bridget rubbed soothing circles over his small back. The tender gesture seemed to help quell his anxiety. “But be mindful that when you take a life, it will be gone forever.”

  Her own words echoed in her mind with a haunting effect. She'd been so naive for so long. She'd let her desire to be good and just color all her decisions and perceptions. Where she thought she was protecting her family and killing those who meant harm, she too was killing someone’s loved one.

  Cailean drew back on her own bow. “I won’t let anyone in - I'm a good shot.” She strode over to them in her own set of hose and man's tunic. “Dinna worry, Rabbie. I'll no' let anything happen to ye. Or ye.” She nodded at Bridget.

  A knock sounded at the door and near split them all from their very skins.

  Bridget eased Rabbie to the ground and approached the door with her dagger at the ready.

  “My lady?” Elsbeth's voice sounded from the other side.

  Relief flooded Bridget, and she pulled open the door to find her lady's maid with a red rose twirling between her fingers. Bridget glanced at the
rose then returned her gaze to her maid.

  “Get in the room now,” Bridget said. “I didn't know where you were and there is an attack coming.”

  “But, my lady - there's someone here to see you.”

  Bridget looked toward the empty hall. “Who?”

  “Who else would ask to see the Rose of the de Veres?” Elsbeth lifted the red rose with a smirk.

  Bridget's stomach slammed to her toes. Thomas’ timing could not be worse. “No.”

  “What? Why not?” Elsbeth immediately corrected her tone. “He will not leave until you see him.”

  Certainly that sounded like Thomas. Bridget looked over her shoulder to where the children huddled against one another. “If you stay with them, I will speak to him in the hall in front of this door.”

  Elsbeth disappeared and reappeared sometime later with Thomas behind her.

  “Thomas.” Despite her apprehension, Bridget could not help the joy brimming under her words. He was the only taste of home she'd had since she arrived at Forth Manor.

  She threw her arms around him in a huge embrace before backing away lest the children see. Elsbeth slipped into the chamber and closed the door with a knowing look to her mistress. Even with the privacy, or perhaps because of it, Bridget put space between them.

  “What are you doing here?” She kept her voice soft to ensure the children did not hear.

  Thomas grinned at her. His teeth were brilliantly white and perfectly straight. He was as handsome as he'd been when they'd last spoken. When he'd asked her to be his wife.

  “Saving you.” He said it as if she ought to know the answer already.

  “Saving me?”

  “The treaty hasn't lasted,” he said. “The Scots attacked Northumbria last week. There's no point in you being here. We brought enough men to attack.”

  Bridget shook her head. “The Scots said the English had broken the treaty. And why would you attack the manor?”

  “To save you. I don't imagine they'd let you go easily.” Thomas winked.

  Bridget thought of Aidan and his fairness. He hadn't forced her to bed him, and he would not force her to stay. Not if leaving was what she wanted. “He would let me leave,” she said softly, realizing suddenly she had a choice.