Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior (14 page)

“What would ye have me do?” Ronan said. “Invite war into our village, bring it to the doors of women not as capable as Nellore?”

Suddenly, the familiar sound of a sword being freed from its scabbard drew the men’s gazes just in time to witness Nellore slice the air between Garik and Duncan, bringing the steel to a halt above Duncan’s out-stretched arm. Despite Duncan’s choking grip, Garik could not help but smile at the majestic wonder of his love. The wind swept her unbound, black curls into a dance about her hips.

“Da, let him go,” she said.

Duncan’s hand dropped straightaway, allowing Garik to breathe air into his lungs.

Nellore drew close to her father. “Ye ken I do not do this to be defiant, nor am I blind to the risks. But, da, our lives are marked by war. Perhaps one day peace will come but not without sacrifice. Peace is a hard won struggle as ye well know. Ye
will
be called away once more to fight. Now is the time to safeguard Gribun.”

“She comes,” Ronan said. His tone held a finality even Duncan could not ignore. Then an amber glow lit Ronan’s brown eyes as he smiled. “Besides,” he said, “Nellore could best any MacLean warrior. Hell, ‘tis likely she could best any of ye.”

Duncan nodded but worry clung to his features. Garik drew close and put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “I told Logan he was a fool when he first spoke of bringing Nellore. I threatened to beat the idea from his head. But then he reminded me of the woman I love. She’s no average maid. You know it as well as I.” He started to walk away, but then he called back to Duncan. “I will let nothing happen to her. This I vow.”

*

Nellore breathed in the crisp, wintry air as they set out from Gribun. She cast her da a sideways glance. His brow was set to brood, but she could not blame him after the tongue lashing Brenna had given him when she learned Nellore was to be included in the band of warriors traveling south to their enemy’s territory. Nellore had tried to calm her mother’s ire, but to no avail. It was their lady, Bridget, who had been able to convince Brenna of the wisdom of their plan. Nellore had overheard the words Bridget used to comfort Brenna—they were words that now echoed in Nellore’s mind and sent shivers down her spine.

“Remember, Brenna, we each have a destiny. Do not stand in Nellore’s way. The stars revealed her place in our clan long ago. The destiny of our clan is tied to her. Let her go,” Bridget had said.

With talk of the stars and destiny and the fate of their people in her hands Nellore had set out with her lover on one side and her father on the other. She had never been farther south than Benmore Mountain. The closer the mountain loomed, the faster her heart pounded. Although she was afraid, she held tightly to the conviction that pulsed through her—the knowledge that everyone had a duty to the clan, and more than anything she longed for the peace that would keep Garik alive and at her side.

Snow began to fall. She and Garik pulled the hoods of their cloaks over their heads, while the other warriors enclosed themselves within their plaids. After several hours spent crossing moors and winding though narrow forest roads, they descended from a hill that had given them a distant view of Duart Castle. Surrounded by water on three sides, the narrow yet tall stronghold was better fortified than Nellore would have guessed.

Another forest spread out before them. Clumps of snow fell from the thick canopy of fir branches, which lined the narrow road. She slanted her eyes to glimpse the fineness of Garik’s profile. He had removed his hood. She longed to wind her fingers deep into the thickness of his long, black hair and pull his face down to meet hers. As if sensing her gaze, he suddenly turned to look at her. A slow, deliberate smile told her he had guessed the sensual nature of her thoughts.

“The snowflakes clinging to your hair give you the appearance of an angel,” he said. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Though I know you are no angel.”

She smiled and warmth flooded her cheeks as she blushed, but her avowal of love was stolen from her lips by an arrow that whizzed past her head. Her breath caught, and her mind emptied as instinct took over. She kicked her heels into her horse’s flanks and joined the other warriors as they raced forward. Behind them the sound of the MacLean battle cry rent the air.

Just ahead, she spied another warrior through the trees with his bow drawn. She did not hesitate. Before drawing her next breath, she gripped her horse’s sides tightly between her thighs and pulled her bow string taut against her cheek. Releasing her arrow, she watched it find its mark. The warrior fell from the banking onto the open road. They charged forward. The fallen MacLean’s bones snapped beneath the pounding of her horse’s hooves. Then the trees came alive. MacLeans descended upon them. She was knocked to the ground by a heavy man who had dove at her from a high place in the trees. She landed with a hard thud. The wind left her lungs. She struggled to breathe and fought to move the bulk of the stout warrior sprawled atop her. At last she wriggled free, but before she had time to right herself and draw her sword, the MacLean had the point of his dirk pressed against her throat.

“I have the lass,” he shouted above the clashing of steel. “I will kill her. Put down your arms or watch while I slit her lovely white throat.”

Her eyes darted from left to right, scanning the battle. Her kinsmen dominated the fight, but when the MacLean’s words reached their ears they ceased their struggle.

“That’s right,” the MacLean snorted. She looked up at her captor. He was short and stout of build with a bulbous nose and breath that reeked of onions.

“Get your hands off of her,” Garik shouted. Three MacLean blades pressed against his chest, but still he growled his protest. “I will rip out your heart,” he snarled.

The distasteful little man leered down at her. “Stand up, whore. I would see all of ye before I slit your throat.” She stared up at him, her face impassive. She moved to her knees and then slowly stood to her full height. His eyes were as wide as saucers as they traveled from her toes to the top of her head. She towered over him.

“Surprised?” she said softly. Then she thrust her knee into his groin. He crumpled to the ground. All at once, the MacKinnon warriors raised their swords. A MacLean charged at her, but she reached behind her back and withdrew her blade. Whirling around, she sliced her attacker across the belly. Then she turned and drove her steel into the chest of another. He stumbled back and then fell to ground, dead. She stormed to his side and pressed her foot into his bloody chest, withdrawing her blade in time to parry the blow of yet another MacLean coming at her from the side.

“Back to back,” Garik shouted to her. She nodded charging forward. When she reached his side, she turned so her back was to his. The din of steel on steel echoed around them. Within a matter of minutes, the MacKinnons had the MacLeans bested.

“Did ye see the look on that eegits’s face when ye stood to your full height?” Logan said between bouts of laughter. “I thought he was going to faint dead away.”

“In the end, I think he wished he had,” Hamish said.

“Aye, my fierce lass,” Duncan said, smiling as he pulled Nellore into his arms.

“She took them all by surprise,” Ronan said.

Garik’s hand smoothed down her hair. She turned to face him. “Are you all right,” he whispered as he tucked a stray black lock behind her ear. His hands skimmed over her body, looking for any injury.

“I am fine,” she said. “I assure ye.”

“I am just making certain. I’ve seen it many times, men with holes in their bellies, but they are too numb to know they are injured.” Garik was the only man, including her father, not celebrating their victory. She reached out and cupped his face in her hands, forcing her eyes to meet his. “I am well, not a scratch. I swear it,” she said.

He stared at her for several moments. Fear surrounded him in an anxious shroud. Then he clutched her close, squeezing her so tightly she could hardly breathe.

She stroked a soothing hand down his back and pulled his head down so her lips grazed his ear. “Ye’ve naught to fear, my love,” she whispered. Then she pressed her lips to his. He returned her kiss with an ardor that sent a shock of sensation coursing throughout her body. She tasted the power of his fear. She knew then that he had seen the MacLean dirk against her throat and thought the worst. She tore away from the power of his kiss.

“I’m alive.” Her hand rested on his chest. She could feel his heart still pounding.

“Garik,” she said. “Look at me. I am alive.” His blue eyes met hers, and she melted against him. “I love ye,” she whispered.

“Garik,” Ronan said behind them. “Pull yourself together, man. The lass is fine.”

Garik tore his eyes from hers and nodded to Ronan. Then he looked back at her. “You do not leave my side until we are back at Gribun. Do you understand?” he said. He did not wait for her reply. He swung her into his arms and put her on his horse. Then he pulled himself behind her. She leaned her back into his chest and savored his heat. His arms gripped her possessively as they rode toward Duart Castle.

“If ye wish to enter the keep, ye will leave your weapons,” a MacLean’s guardsmen said.

“I heard ye the first time,” Ronan answered, although his hands remained crossed over his chest.

“Ye’ve ten men with ye,” the Guardsman replied. “’Tis a great enough number to take a few of us with ye to Hell before we slaughter the lot of ye.”

“Nine men,” Ronan said. Then he jerked his head toward Nellore. “We have a woman in our company.”

The guardsman seemed to notice her for the first time. “So ye do,” he said thoughtfully. Then he retreated a few steps to where another guard stood at attention. After they exchanged a few inaudible words, the second guardsman disappeared through the gate.

The guard remaining continued to stare Ronan in the eye, but said nothing.

Within a few minutes, the second guard returned. “Come on then, ye’ve been permitted inside, but ye ken ye’re surrounded.”

They stepped into the keep.

At the high dais sat two men. One was not altogether unpleasant to look upon with his broad shoulders and blonde hair paired with thick, black brows. His sharp, dark eyes seemed to follow every movement in the room. The man next to him had the same coloring but a sickly countenance. He did not bother to look up from his meal as they entered.

“State your business,” the larger man said.

“We are here to see the MacLean,” Ronan replied.

The man’s sharp eyes flitted over Ronan and the rest of the MacKinnons before he rose. Only then did the smaller man at his side look up. His thin face bore a vacant expression. She could tell they were brothers, but more than that, judging by the frail man’s indifference to the MacKinnon presence in the keep, she knew he was the younger and less valued son. Her eyes shifted back to the taller man. A sneer curved his lips. He came and stood before Ronan.

“The MacLean will not see ye,” he said.

“Ye mean he cannot see me,” Ronan replied. “I ken he’s taken to his bed.”

The man shrugged, clearly unconcerned for his father’s well-being.

“Ye must be Balfour,” Ronan said.

Balfour only nodded in reply.

“The warrior ye sent to my lands, the one that filled my kinsman’s back with arrows, was good enough to inform me of your father’s condition.”

The MacLean paused and she saw his lips twitch, hinting at a smile, but it left as quickly as it came. “Ah, yes, I had forgotten about that matter,” he said.

“I assure ye, I have not,” Ronan snapped.

“Save your ire, MacKinnon. That man did not act on my command or my father’s. My brother, Calum, has ambitions which can be trying to contain.”

“Perhaps there is something I can do to help ye contain, as ye put it, your brother’s ambition. We’ve come here in peace. The presence of a lady in our number attests to this.”

The slamming of a door echoed throughout the hall, causing her to jump with surprise. “He lies,” a voice shouted from behind the screen, which she assumed separated the high dais from the family rooms deeper in the keep. She strained to see who spoke, but then the foul man who had threatened her life in the forest strode into view. When he saw her, his face twisted with anger. “And that is no lady. She just struck down three of our men. Look at the size of her. She wields a blade with the strength and skill of a trained warrior.”

Garik pushed her behind him as he turned to face the accuser. She peered around his shoulder and studied the man shouting his way through the great hall. His deep baritone voice echoed off the high ceiling.

Ronan shifted his gaze away from the naysayer. “As I am sure you well know, Balfour, we were set upon in the woods. Given no chance to declare our position, we were forced to defend our lives. I do not deny this lass has some skill with a blade. It is by my decree that all MacKinnon women know the finer points of weaponry. I do not believe in allowing women to be defenseless.”

“Again he lies,” the man said as he joined Balfour. “They attacked us.”

“Yet, ye somehow managed regrettably to escape, Calum,” Balfour said dryly.

Calum ignored Balfour’s disdain. “Only just.”

“A pity,” Balfour said before turning back to Ronan. “I would thank ye for sparing my brother’s life, but ye did me no real favor. Still, I will hear ye out, Ronan, laird of the MacKinnon.”