Two of the men Ian had brought into her service stood at the entrance to her chamber dressed in full body armor. They held their spears in the shape of an X across her door, barring her exit. "Mistress," the taller of the two said.
"At ease," she reassured them, but they did not drop their weapons.
She placed her hand at the cross in the wood and pushed gently against the spears. The men did not yield. They could only stare at her with wide eyes and slack jaws. Scotia frowned. "I shall leave this room," she said with more force than she had intended. But her words had the desired effect. Both spears vanished, her way unchallenged.
"Pardon, mistress," the guard on her left replied. "We dinna mean to stop ye. 'Tis just that ye look so different from the last time we seen ye. We are ever so glad ye are well and ready to train us again."
Scotia turned to the other guard. Admiration shone in his eyes as well. " 'Tis a wonder that ye be a grand fighter when ye are also such a bonny lass."
Scotia stiffened at his comment. What was wrong with these men? A skirt could not make that much difference in her appearance. Could it? Or was it how she felt in the skirt that changed her image? Baffled by their behavior, she hurried past the men.
As she made her way through the familiar stone corridors of her home, she found herself relaxing. In this castle she was whoever she wanted to be—warrior, woman, mother. A mother. The thought sent a sudden chill across the back of her neck. She did not think she would ever get used to hearing that word in relation to herself. But perhaps in time ...
Descending the stairs, she heard Ian's voice filtering up to her from the great hall. She could not make out the words, but his voice sounded strained. Any lightheadedness she felt disappeared as she recalled the threat of danger Ian had never confided to her. Her hand moved to her sword, and she was pleased to note her shoulder did not ache at the movement.
As she entered the hall, her gaze sought Ian immediately. He stood with his back to her, facing Griffin. Griffin's eyes widened when he saw her. He smiled.
Scotia nearly faltered in her step at the unusual warmth of Griffin's silent greeting. She glanced behind her to see if anyone else were there that he might be smiling at. There was no one. Tension flared inside her as she continued her approach. Something was seriously wrong if Griffin could look at her without his usual combative anger.
"Make the necessary preparations. I shall join you when I can," Ian said. He turned slightly, offering her a profile view of his face. A frown accentuated the shadows of fatigue and worry beneath his eyes. As if sensing her presence, he turned to face her.
She hoped for an encouraging smile like the one Griffin had greeted her with and was not disappointed. Pleasure and a hint of desire shone in his eyes. "You look enchanting," he said as he came toward her, his arms extended as though he meant to embrace her right there in front of Griffin.
Then he stopped, his hands returned to his side, and his smile faded. The tension once again descended over his face. "Are you well enough to be out of bed?"
"I am feeling much stronger. It is time I resume my obligations."
"As a trainer?"
"Among other things." She drew her sword and held her shield out before her. The ring of metal blade against her metal scabbard sent a chilling reverberation through the nearly empty room.
Ian motioned to Griffin with a slight jerk of his head to leave the chamber. Griffin obeyed without objection. Scotia watched him stride from the room as a sense of impending doom swept over her.
"What is going on?" she asked even as she feared the answer.
"Now that I know you are well, I can no longer put this off." Anguish contorted Ian's features.
Suddenly his words and actions over the last few days came crashing around her in instant clarity. The look of sadness in his eyes when they talked, the kisses they had shared with such heated passion, followed by the regret she had heard in his voice as he left her chamber that day.
He was leaving her, this time for good.
"Ian?" She hated the way her voice trembled, but could muster none of her usual control.
"I must go, Scotia."
The air in the room hung still and heavy as he searched her face. She wanted to turn away from his probing gaze, but forced herself to hold steady. "Why?"
"The Four Horsemen have turned their attack back to the south, toward my village. Griffin and I must leave right away if we intend to stop them."
She was slightly comforted that he would not go into this battle alone. Griffin would help Ian against the four warriors and their army. But even with Griffin, the odds were against their survival. "I can send other warriors with you." It was a desperate attempt, she knew. But if she could not stop him, she would try to save him instead.
"Nay. I shall not leave you in danger only to protect myself."
She tried to tamp down a surge of anger by centering her thoughts. But fear and anger, desperation and hopelessness dominated all reason. "You are reckless, Ian MacKinnon, to stand up to those men alone."
"I have to try."
"Perhaps we should just give them the Stone. It certainly has not been protecting our people."
"Have faith, Scotia. Handing it over to these villains will not save us. The Horsemen will never cease terrorizing our country. Giving them the Stone will only make our troubles worse."
"Aye. You are right."
Ian's jaw tightened. "Is the Stone the reason you will not leave the castle?"
She nodded, bracing herself for the frown of disapproval she was certain would follow. Instead, Ian offered her a rueful smile. "You and I are both trapped by duty in a destiny neither of us wants. And neither of us can turn away from what it is we must do."
She stared at him a moment, trying to find some way to deny the truth. Nothing could alter this reality—there could be no escape for either of them. Perhaps Ian was right to think their lives were predestined. His path was clear, as was her own. Still a part of her refused to accept the cruelty of such a fate.
Frustration and bitterness welled inside her. She staggered backward beneath the force of her emotions before she grappled for control. She had to find a way to will away the pain. Scotia clenched her fingers around the hilt of her sword. Her sword. Her gaze dropped to her weapon. Only when fighting could she plunge herself into an emotionless abyss. She needed to go there now. She raised her sword. "Fight me, Ian."
He kept his gaze fastened on her, his expression bleak. "I must go, regardless."
"Fight me!" She waved her sword dangerously close to his face, trying desperately to turn off the agony that burned at the back of her throat.
"Are you sure, Scotia?" He drew his sword.
"Yes," she said softly.
He swung his sword round and round in an easy motion to warm his wrists for the battle ahead.
Scotia began to walk around him, watching, measuring Ian's movements as he rolled his shoulder, flexed his calf, warming his muscles for the abuse they would soon thrust upon each other.
This was their good-bye, at the end of their swords. Strange, but for once in her life she would have preferred kisses.
Ian's balance shifted forward, and she knew he prepared for the first strike. She would allow him that much since she had challenged him. But it would be the last moment she would yield, to him or any man, ever again.
His attack was sudden. He lunged forward while his sword arched sideways, toward her head. It was a good move, one she had taught him if he wanted to take out his enemy in a swift first blow.
She blocked the move. The two weapons came together, sending sparks flying into the charged air. As quickly as he attacked, he darted back, spun around and attacked from the other side.
Once again, Scotia blocked his strike. This time with her shield. The hit sent a wave of pain through her shoulder, and she gasped at the effect.
Ian dropped his guard and lowered his sword. "Had enough?"
A part of her wanted to lower her own sword and le
t his compassion seep through her resolve. But not today— not if she was to find the dullness she longed to take over her body. Scotia lunged forward, ignoring the surprised grunt from him as her sword sheared off a section of his plaid that hung at his shoulder. A small piece of cloth dropped to the floor while the remaining heavy material flopped down to hang behind him like a tail. "Never drop your guard, Ian. Not for an instant. Not to anyone."
"A final lesson Ian asked as he quickly stuffed the end of the fabric into his belt to keep himself from tripping. He offered a brief salute with his sword before his blade whistled through the air as it arched toward Scotia's stomach, her knees, her forearm, her head.
"Take it however you will."
He had learned the lesson well. Scotia blocked each strike with her shield and her sword, absorbing each blow into her body, into her muscles, welcoming the fatigue. Her muscles began to feel numb, lame, stunned by his attack, and she decided to turn her swordplay to attack.
A scraping sound came off to her right, but she kept her eyes trained on Ian, allowing no distraction. He briefly glanced to the side where the sound had come from. Scotia took advantage of his distraction. She sliced at him but only caught air. Ian dropped, rolled, and came to his feet behind her, holding a shield in his hand.
Scotia stepped back and cast a furtive glance beside her. Burke and Maisie stood with their heads together in conversation, looking both pleased and apologetic.
The battle continued. Ian used his shield to block, each stroke she made. Their fighting changed, softened until it become more of a dance. They circled each other breath for breath, passion for passion—movements that stoked the fires of need and regret. Motions that could warm a heart as well as chill a soul.
A flash of metal gleamed in the afternoon light of the room. A shiny reflection caught Scotia's eye, and she forgot about battle. Ian's shield, polished to a brilliance like none she had seen before caught her image and entranced her with what she saw. Some part of her realized that Ian had stopped moving as well, but she could not react to anything but the image of herself in his shield.
High color brought a glow to her cheeks. Her hair cascaded out of her plait to fall in waves of unfurled softness about her shoulders. Her face was leaner, more well defined than it had been before she became ill. And her eyes no longer contained the aged sadness she had seen in them so often in the past. Instead, a gentle acceptance of who she was shone through. She almost laughed at the rightness of her image. She had become all that she had originally feared, both woman and warrior. Neither state dominated the other.
Perfect balance.
The full enormity of her realization brought a smile to her lips. Her gaze moved to Ian's. Her pulse quickened. Her mind cried out to his, Do not go.
The tension was obvious in his coiled muscles as he watched her, like a predator stalking its prey.
She did not move, did not say a word. The next move was his.
His gaze moved to her mouth, to the smile she could feel slipping away the longer he remained silent. "I have waited so long to see you smile," he finally said. "A spontaneous grin changes you from beautiful to stunning."
Scotia caught a deep, shuddering breath as he moved toward her. The look in his eyes did not speak of battle or even good-byes. Nay, it said he wanted to devour her.
The beat of her heart sounded in her ears, pulsed through her body, and thrust her forward, into his arms. Their lips came together in a fierceness that spun out of control before it even started. Pulling her up against his hardening body, he parted her lips. She drew his tongue into her mouth. An incomprehensible wildness stole through her, making her brazen and bold. She slid her hands through his hair, holding him tight.
His hand splayed across her buttocks, bringing her into vibrant contact with his rigid arousal. With a silent moan of desperation, Scotia pulled her lips away. She pressed her cheek against his chest, trembling in the aftermath of the most explosive passion she had ever experienced.
"I shall treasure this memory forever." Sadness filled his gaze as he leaned toward her once more to place a kiss upon her cheek. Without another word, he left the chamber.
Scotia did not move even though she wanted to bring her fingers up to cover her cheek, to hold that last brief kiss from him against her skin forever. The room before her began to blur, and grief welled up until it pushed her numbness aside, wrenching a strangled sob from deep within her.
Ian was gone. But he would not be alone.
"Burke," Scotia said, struggling to find her voice. "Send Keith Ranald to me immediately."
Ian might feel the need to fulfill his destiny alone; she had no such compunction if it meant keeping him alive. He had brought men into her service, and she would use them now.
"Mistress?" Keith Ranald entered the chamber and offered her a respectful bow before approaching.
Scotia gathered the threads of her composure. She had to stay in control of her emotions. If she did not, she would be lost. "Thank you for attending me."
" 'Tis an honor. What may I do for ye?" Pride sparkled in his blue eyes.
"I have a request to make of you and the others."
Keith drew his shoulders up, making him appear even more hearty and robust than he already was. "Anything."
"Here me out first. Dangers lay in this request, and I shall respect your decision if you refuse."
Confusion replaced the pride in his expression. "What would ye have us do?"
"Follow Ian. Do not let him know you pursue, until he has need of you."
"But—"
"He and Griffin intend to confront the Four Horsemen. Alone."
"No...," Keith breathed as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. "To fight them alone ..."
"Will you follow him?" Will you keep him safe? Scotia added in her thoughts.
"If we go after Ian, then yer own defenses will be weakened," he said consideringly. "How can we leave ye exposed like that?"
"Ian's need is greater. My own men will remain here."
After only a slight hesitation, Keith nodded. " 'Tis done. We ride immediately." He offered her a terse bow, then hurried from the room.
Scotia stared after his retreating figure. At least Ian had a chance of survival now. The thought, however comforting, did not free her from the painful yearnings of her heart.
Chapter Twenty-three
Maisie and Burke stood side by side as they waited for Keith Ranald to leave the great hall. When just the three of them remained, Maisie made her way toward Scotia on legs that had suddenly turned unsteady and weak. Scotia stood with her back straight, not moving, barely breathing. Maisie watched as Scotia slowly tensed her muscles, as her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, as the joy that Ian had brought to her face ebbed away, replaced once again with the cool aloofness that had seen her through her youth. She was retreating back into the darkness that had shadowed her life before Ian had come to her.
"Scotia." Maisie placed hesitant fingers on Scotia's arm, trying to offer whatever comfort she might.
Scotia lifted her face. The devastated look in her eyes rendered Maisie speechless. The emotions that had shaped and formed Scotia up until now—the pain, the misery, the withdrawal—reflected in the depths of her eyes. Emotions she had hoped Scotia would never have to experience again.
"I need to get back to training." Scotia made to move toward the door, but Maisie stilled her with a hand on her arm.
"Ye do not need to train. Ye need to talk this out."
"I cannot." Scotia shook her head.
"Ye canna hide yer emotions from me. I see what yer feelin', and it'll consume ye if ye doona talk about it with someone." The strong bearing of Scotia's shoulders drooped ever so slightly, but was enough of a sign of agreement for Maisie to continue.
"Ye cared about that bonny lad, didn't ye?" Maisie asked carefully.
The words brought Scotia's gaze back to Maisie's. "He is gone," Scotia said, her voice breaking.
With those sim
ple words, Maisie knew all the things Scotia did not say: all the fears, all the hurt. How many years had she tried to compensate for Scotia's mother's lack of compassion and caring? She knew the young woman before her as well as if she were her own child. Maisie tried to gather Scotia to her, to offer what little physical comfort she could, but Scotia pulled away.
Scotia's sword and shield slipped from her fingers and a clang resounded in the great hall. When the sound ebbed away, Scotia brought her trembling fingers up to her mouth, as if doing so would hold the pain inside her.
"Do not go back to that cave of darkness ye've locked yerself in for so long," Maisie said, finding her voice. "Let it out, Scotia."
Scotia shook her head. "I... don't know how." Tears welled up in her eyes and her throat worked to hold them back. She turned away, shielding her grief from Maisie.
"I want to help. Please let me help ye." Maisie shifted where she stood, not knowing what else to do. Scotia didn't want comfort, not from her.
"Things were changing, Maisie. I feel... different." Scotia pressed her lips together as if trying to block the force of her emotions. "Sad. Angry."
"Why?" Maisie prompted.
"He made me feel like a real woman, protected and loved. I had thoughts, Maisie. Thoughts about the future."
" 'Tis a good thing." Maisie smiled encouragingly.
"Nay." Scotia shook her head. "Because now I know what it is like to feel feminine, and loved. But all that is gone and I am alone once again. Oh, Maisie. He swept me away in a tide of sensations. I never realized how much I wanted to feel like any other woman—protected and cherished instead of having to always be so strong."
"But ye are strong, Scotia. 'Tis part of who ye are. What is wrong with that?"
"I want more." She flared her fingers across her middle as though she were protecting something there. "I want to be a woman. I want... I wanted a baby." The words echoed around the stillness of the room.
"You can still—"
"Nay," she said in a choked voice. "I want Ian to father my daughter. I... love him."
The Warrior Trainer Page 17