The Warrior Trainer (32 page)

   "I think it would be best if we found somewhere quiet to discuss the matter." Ian hesitated as he surveyed the crowd. "Alone." He reached for Scotia's arm, but she stepped back, out of his reach.

   "Anything you have to say to me may be said here." She crossed her arms over her chest. Her gaze remained unyielding.

   Ian noted the high color of her cheeks and caught the spark of determination in her gaze. Surely, something in her current situation agreed with her—be it her self- chosen release from her castle or the revival of her purpose as she now saw it—for he could honestly say she had never seemed more alive than she did at this moment. "Come back to the castle," he said simply. What else could he say in front of all these people?

   "Nay, my mother moved herself too far away from her people. I am determined to live among them, and, if necessary, die among them, helping to gain the independence we deserve from the Horsemen and England."

   "Do you not think that is what I want as well?" He reached for her hands, taking them into his own. That she did not pull away from his touch sent a thrill through him, but her posture remained rigid. "The situation is different now than it was when you left your castle."

   She frowned, and he knew he had pierced through her aloofness. "How?"

   "Your plan has succeeded. The Four Horsemen have divided into two groups. One group has turned south toward my village. The other group is headed north toward your castle. I must admit, I did not see the Horsemen and their army on my way here. Even so, that does not mean these good people are safe. Danger is everywhere. We must go back to the castle."

   He could feel the tension in her hands at his words. "I wanted them to separate, but I can now see your fears in this course of action as well." She paused, searching his face. "What about your clan, Ian? Who will protect them?"

   "Griffin."

   She nodded slowly, and a look of satisfaction settled across her features. "He is still reckless, but he is a strong warrior. Whether he admits it or not, his training has improved his skills."

   "I am glad you approve."

   She dropped her gaze from his. "Does Maisie know about the Horsemen?"

   "Aye." Ian traced his thumb across the leather gauntlet that covered her palm.

   She drew a sharp breath. "I must think," she said curtly. She pulled out of his grasp, then turned away.

   "You must return to your castle. We can formulate a plan of attack there. Keep yourself and these people safe." Ian ignored her grim expression and the curious stares of the villagers. He had to make her understand that her safety was more important than her pride. "I was a fool to leave you."

   Her gaze returned to his face. "That may be, but I am never twice a fool."

   He could see the anger and hurt that flashed across her expressive face, a face that no longer hid her emotions. He had hurt her by leaving with so little warning. Yet, he could not change what mistakes he had already made. Ian put the words he could not say in public into his gaze. "Scotia—"

   She turned her back on him and addressed the villagers. "There are two scouting parties currently searching for signs of the Horsemen. With the danger so close, I shall need four volunteers to organize a watch for tonight."

   Four brawny men from the village stepped forward. "We offer ourselves."

   "You have my gratitude." Abruptly, she turned back to Ian. "Follow me." She marched toward a nearby copse of trees. "I shall grant you a few moments alone. But only a few."

   He would take those few moments and ask for more. Ian nodded to himself as he walked behind her. He would make her see reason no matter the arsenal she threw at him. If only the weariness he fought for the last two days could be denied a while longer. He struggled against the heaviness in his legs and in his thoughts by concentrating on the path before him. He could not sleep until she was safe once again.

   Scotia stopped in the secluded shelter of the trees, then turned to face him. "This should be private enough." She stood there quietly, her hands resting on her hips, a finger's length from her sword.

   "You will have no need of your weapon with me," Ian said.

   "You are bold, Ian MacKinnon." She drew her sword. "You challenged my authority in front of the others. The only way for me to save face is to challenge you to a battle."

   "I don't want to fight you again, Scotia." He sat on the ground, leaning back against a tree stump left behind by a woodsman. "I have been riding a horse for two days straight. My back aches, my legs are sore, and right now I am so tired I can hardly stand without the ground feeling like it is moving beneath me. Please, come sit down. We can talk here." He patted the ground next to him.

   Scotia bristled and her fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword. "They will expect me to challenge you."

   "Then do what they don't expect and come sit beside me."

   She lifted hot, angry eyes to his.

   He sent her a smile that was every bit as sensual as a kiss.

   A long moment later, she sheathed her sword. "How do you do that?"

   "Do what?"

   "Know exactly how to turn my resolve against me?" She sat down on the soft earth next to him.

   He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and felt some of the tension leave her. "It is a gift."

   "More like a curse." She leaned back, away from his touch, and stared off into the distance. "So why did you come back this time
?”

   He allowed her to retreat from his touch for now. "The White Horseman is desperate to find the Stone of Destiny. He knows you have it hidden somewhere. The villagers in Lismore seemed to believe he searched for you among the citizens of Scotland."

   "Aye. Maisie and Burke told him I was among my people three months ago. That's when they started to terrorize the country, ransacking each village for me and the Stone." She turned away, searching the distance, her face suddenly pale and sad. "It is my burden to bear, just as my ancestors did before me."

   He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. "Will you let me help you?" He reached for her with his free hand and drew her head down to his own shoulder until the silken smoothness of her hair rested against the warmth of his plaid, which lay draped across his left arm. "Let me bear your burdens for a while, Scotia. Together we can determine what to do."

   "I should not—"

   "Shh," he interrupted her. "We do not have time for arguments, only accord." He gently rested his head against the top of hers, finding contentment in her closeness. When he felt her relax beside him, he knew she had surrendered to the moment.

   Scotia stared down at their intertwined fingers and tried to ignore the comforting thrill of his touch. In spite of her unspoken protests, he had taken her hand in his and broken through all the barriers she had erected around her heart since he had left her.

   That he would leave her again, she had no doubt. Had her mother not warned her of that trait in men long ago? Was that not why the Warrior Trainer never married? Make no commitments, her mother had told her. Accept a male into your bed to father your child and send him away before he weakens your spirit and your mind.

   Scotia brushed her thumb across the top of Ian's hand. Odd, she did not feel weak right now. She felt stronger when he was beside her than she did on her own. A fact she would never admit to him. The man would find some way to use that knowledge against her when she least expected him to. Scotia smiled to herself. She could still beat him in a battle of swords, and as long as she had that skill she would at least have some power over him.

   Scotia shifted her gaze from their joined hands to the lush hills covered in a sea of grass and heather. The foliage had turned a brilliant purple against the fading light of dusk. The tension over the threat of attack had not left the villagers, but they did not stop their nightly routine of gathering together at the end of the day to celebrate the goodness in their lives. Voices mixed with the ethereal sound of the bagpipes, wrapping the end of the day in serenity.

   Scotia snuggled against Ian's warmth, content to be near him and share, even from a distance, the traditions of this small village.

   Ian reached up and removed the pin that secured his plaid at his shoulder. A moment later, he pulled her more fully against him, then spread the tail of the fabric across their legs and bodies, enveloping them both in a cocoon of warmth against the encroaching night.

   "Are you feeling more at ease?" he asked in a soft, beguiling brogue.

   "Aye," she replied.

   "Then tell me about your past." She tensed at the request, but he soothed her with the soft hush of his voice. "There is nothing to fear here with me. Please tell me, Scotia, why you seek revenge on the White Horseman, because I know it is more a personal vendetta than you have ever acknowledged."

   "It's a long story."

   "It will be a long night."

   Scotia couldn't argue that fact. "To tell you the story I must start at the beginning."

   He nodded and waited for her to begin.

   "Ever since the Stone of Destiny first arrived in this country with my ancestors it has been moved from place to place in order to keep it safe. It has moved from the Isle of Iona to Dunnad, to the fortress of Dunstaffnage, to the Abbey of Scone, where it was nearly captured by Edward I. But a quick-thinking abbot substituted a lump of common sandstone for the true Stone. That was the prize Edward I thought he took from our country. The people of Scotland always knew that England had a false stone. What they did not know was where the real Stone went next."

   "Glencarron Castle."

   "Aye. My mother took the Stone back to our holdings on the Isle of Skye, where she had chosen to live and train." Scotia released a weary sigh. "The ruse almost worked. No one except the White Horseman doubted England's easy success. He tried to convince the English king of his suspicions that the Stone was false, but the king paid little heed to the White Horseman's ravings. All seemed peaceful for a time until the White Horseman returned to Scotland, this time with an army of his own."

   "That was twelve years ago?" Ian asked.

   "Exactly. The White Horseman and his army headed for Glencarron Castle. After a month-long siege, he finally breached the walls of the castle and fought his way to my mother." Scotia closed her eyes as the aching memories swelled inside her. In her heart she heard her own agonized cry as the arrow pierced her mother's armor. "He killed her."

   Scotia shuddered at the recollection, but somehow, in the shelter of Ian's arms, the image did not seem as painful as it had in the past. "He thought he killed me as well when he put an arrow in my back."

   Ian's body tensed, but she continued. "That was when Maisie and Burke forced me to flee. When we returned we found that the White Horseman had torn the castle apart in his desperation to possess the Stone. When he could not find it, he assumed the treasure had somehow been secreted out of the castle during the siege and hidden among the Scottish people for protection. Maisie and Burke allowed him to believe that falsehood."

   "Why?" In the silvery darkness, he sat up and searched her face as though instinctively sensing her sorrow over the pain her people had had to endure because of that lie.

   "I was only ten and three at the time of my mother's death," she said in her own defense. "Maisie explained that she and Burke only wanted to protect me until I matured. With their secret, Maisie and Burke allowed the Warrior Trainer to slide into the realm of legend."

   "An effective deception," Ian admitted. "For I believed you did not exist until my foster father bade me to go to you."

   "Effective until they determined it was time I bear a child and continue my lineage. So they sent out the word of my survival along with my men as they protected our country. But instead of suitors, foreign mercenaries like Haldane came, wanting to challenge me for my lands and title."