The Warrior Trainer (29 page)

   "Neither the council, nor even the two of you, had the right to determine that my life meant more than any other person in this country." Her gaze shifted from Maisie to Burke. "Our people have paid a terrible price." A spark of compassion flared in her eyes, along with steely determination. "They will suffer no more, not because of me. It is time the Warrior Trainer's role took on a new aspect."

   "What do ye mean, love?" Maisie asked, fearful of the look she saw in Scotia's eyes.

   "Time for me to became more than I am. I might be the keeper of the Stone, but I should also be the protector of my people."

   "But what of yer lineage, Scotia. An heir. Ye must have an heir." Maisie looked to Burke for support, but his gaze slid from Scotia's to Maisie's, then off in the distance toward the door. An odd expression crossed his face.

   Maisie turned to see Lizbet standing there with her wooden sword clutched in her small hands. "How long have ye been standin' there, child?"

   Without saying a word, Lizbet stepped into the room to stand beside Scotia. An expression of infinite gentleness settled over Lizbet's features as she searched Scotia's face.

   "Lizbet." Scotia's gaze dropped to the wooden sword in the young girl's hands.

   "I need a mommy," the little girl said in the simple yet eloquent way of a child. "I can be your child. Please
?”

   Scotia gathered Lizbet to her, and drew in a slow, even breath. "And I need a brave little girl like you," Scotia said with a catch in her voice.

   Lizbet buried herself in Scotia's arms with a squeal of joy. With her free hand, Scotia grasped the hilt of the sword Burke held out to her. She could train Lizbet. And even though the blood lineage would disappear, it was a solution she could live with right now.

   Scotia shifted her gaze to Maisie. "Things might not have worked out as you or I had hoped, but my destiny is fulfilled, and it is time to move forward from here."

   Move forward.

   The words held a hopeful sound.

Chapter Twenty-four

   The morning mist left a chill in the air that did little to warm Ian's spirit as he headed toward home. His horse picked its way across the rocky terrain of the Highlands. A full day later the image of Scotia, forcing a smile so as not to reveal her grief as he left, stayed with him. He hated to leave her, but he had no choice.

   He and Griffin had slept only a few hours last night in their haste to find the Four Horsemen. The empty hours of travel had left him much time to consider Scotia, and all he had learned from her. She had given him so much knowledge in the short time they had been together. But how did it all fit into his life? So far the only answer he had was an empty ache in his chest.

   Another day's riding and he and Griffin would be home, back in Kilninian, if they did not find the Four Horsemen first. The thought did not bring the same burning desire for revenge that it had three weeks before.

   "Do you think you will ever go back?" Griffin asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them since dawn.

  
Go back
. "My duty takes me to a place I may never return from."

   "It is not your sole duty to see the Four Horsemen pay for Malcolm's murder," Griffin said with a hint of anger in his tone.

   "I must stop the White Horseman from hurting anyone else I love," Ian confessed, releasing the darkest secret of his heart. His reasons for revenge had shifted, become more personal. He would stop the man from harming his brethren as well as the woman who had crept past his guard over the past several weeks.

   "What happens if the White Horseman kills you first? And even if you are able to strike him down, the other three will kill you. This death wish of yours makes no sense to me."

   "Someone must make that sacrifice. I am best suited." Since I have no one else who cares for me, he added silently, reminding himself of his initial reasoning. Ian paused— those words were not as true as they had once been.

  
You matter to me
. Scotia's words played over in his mind. He forced the thought away. He had to stay focused on his goal. "If the White Horseman falls, the others will disband."

   "What makes you so certain?"

   "I am not," Ian admitted. "I had always assumed—"

   "Scotia taught us that assumptions get you killed. Did you not listen to her lessons?" Griffin asked.

   Ian felt the usual anger tighten his gut. "We do not have time to argue."

   Griffin's lips became taut. "Is your loyalty to your clan more important than your life, or a woman who needs your'

   "Scotia needs no one." Ian shifted his gaze back to the trail ahead.

   "You do not honestly believe that, do you?"

   "I am trying to convince myself that she does not."

   Griffin's lips softened into a smile. "Is it working?"

   "Not yet." At Griffin's chuckle, Ian stared up at the apricot fingers of sunrise that streaked across the scarlet sky, and focused his attention on a soft echo of hoofbeats. Riders, a dozen or more had been following them since first light. At first he thought he and Griffin had fallen into a trap set by the Four Horsemen, but now he wasn't so certain.

   Ian had purposely changed their course to the west a while back, forcing their path into a more open and exposed area near the shoreline, hoping to flush out whoever pursued. The riders had only pulled back, as if to follow them. But who were they?

   "Do you hear them as well?" Griffin asked, breaking the silence.

   "Aye," Ian replied.

   "Should we loop back and try to sneak in behind them?" The narrow path widened onto the smoother surface of a dirt road. Griffin brought his horse up beside Ian's.

   "Nay. The horses are weary. The village of Lochaline is ahead," Ian said. "We can rest the beasts there for a while, and then determine whether to pursue." As if understanding Ian's words, the horses picked up their pace, eager for the rest and food that might be ahead. Finally, they neared a rise in the road, and the whisper of frantic voices came to Ian's ears.

   He urged his horse to a faster pace, racing over the rise and down into the village below. At breakneck speed, the scene before him became merely a blur of images—spirals of smoke, charred remnants of wood where houses used to stand, people dressed in ragged and singed clothing wandering in states of dazed confusion among the ruins of the village. His stomach roiled at the scent of burning wood. For a moment, Ian saw his own village, his own clan, devastated after an attack by the Four Horsemen.

   A wrenching sadness mixed with his rage as he gazed at the ruins. The Horsemen had been here, and not long ago, judging by the ash and smoke that hung in the air. Bringing his horse to a stop, Ian dismounted.

   Griffin slid off his horse and came to stand beside Ian. "The Four Horsemen should not have been this far to the north. Something is not right here."

   "I agree," Ian said as he strode into the midst of the village.

   The noise built as he drew closer, whispers gradually becoming shouts. Two bedraggled men with soot on their faces spun toward them, their swords drawn. "Who are you?"

   Unafraid despite their weapons, Ian continued forward, his hands open at his sides in a motion of peace. "Ian MacKinnon of the clan MacKinnon, and he," Ian gestured beside him, "is my brother, Griffin. We mean you no harm."

   Instead of relaxing, the men's stances became more rigid and their gazes moved beyond where Ian and Griffin stood.

   The sound of hoofbeats thundered, then stopped. Ian twisted around, his sword drawn, ready to attack until he saw who followed them. The Ranald warriors—all eighteen of them. "Why are you here and not with Scotia ?" The words sounded harsh, even to his own ears, but he did nothing to temper his tone. These men should be with her, protecting her.

   Keith Ranald dismounted and hastened to Ian's side. "We dinna mean to startle ye with our approach. When we saw ye gallop ahead, we thought ye might need our help." He looked up, his gaze passing over the village. "What has happened—"

   "Why are you not with Scotia?" Ian interrupted. He knotted his hands at his sides, fighting the need to grab Keith Ranald by the shirt and drag him off his feet.

   Keith's gaze returned to Ian's. He flinched at the fire Ian could not keep from showing in his gaze. "She sent the lot of us after ye."

   She risked her own safety to save his worthless head. His anger abated, leaving a funny sensation in the pit of his stomach. Why would she do something so... so careless?

   The villagers lowered their swords and returned them to their scabbards. "Are these men MacKinnons as well?"

   "They are of the clan Ranald, friends of the MacKinnons," Ian informed the older of the two village men.

   "What happened here?" Keith asked.

   The older man, Hector, shook his head, his sorrow a living thing. "The Four Horsemen. Last we heard they were headed to the northwestern isles. We relaxed our scouting troops as a result. Then last eve, they took us by surprise."

   Uncertainty crept inside Ian. "We learned they were headed south."

   The younger man tried to rub the soot from one of his cheeks, but only succeeded in creating a long black smear across his face. "Say what ye will, Hector, but I was one of those scouts who saw the Horsemen heading to the north with me own eyes. Two of 'em and their army as well."

   "Then how do ye explain all this?" Hector's wild-eyed gaze spanned the remains of their village.

   The younger man's shoulders sagged. "I should have wondered where the other two were, and why their army looked a bit smaller. But I dinna think about it at the time."

   "You only saw two Horsemen
.”
Ian tossed a worried glance at his brother.

   Griffin's brow knitted in thought before he spoke. "Is it possible they could have split up?"

   Hector's eyebrows shot up. "Saints have mercy on us if they did."

   Ian growled his frustration. "Scotia's plan." She had wanted her warriors to divide the Four Horsemen. But now that her goal had been achieved, the danger to the country had intensified. When the Horsemen were together, his countrymen could at least predict where the villains might strike next. But with the Horsemen separated into two armies, reports would come to villages from all over, causing confusion or a false sense of security, as it had in this very village.

   Ian's gaze moved about the village. Smoke curled toward the sky from the wooden remains of several homes. And yet, upon his second viewing, he noticed several buildings still standing.

   "How many men did you lose in this battle?" Ian asked.

   Hector thought a moment. "Only four," he said with a frown. "Though it seemed like many more at the time of the battle."

   Hope crept inside Ian. Could Scotia be right in her assumption that less men would bring less destruction and be more vulnerable to the Scottish defenses?

   "Did the Horsemen say anything to indicate where they might head next?" Griffin asked, flexing his hands as though in preparation for a battle.

   The younger man's face darkened before his gaze dropped to the charred earth beneath his boots. "The large warrior on a white stallion stormed through the village crying out like a wild banshee." The man shivered at the memory. "The sound was gruesome, inhuman."