The Warrior Trainer

by Gerri Russell

  "With you, I feel whole," he said in a whisper of sound.

  The words sank inside her, warmed her. Before she had time to adjust that to flowering sensation, he trailed his fingers along, the lean muscle of her thighs, to her inner thigh and deep inside her core, bringing her passion to new heights of rapture. She gave a soft cry.

  He responded with a single savage groan as he rolled her onto her back, eased his hard thighs between her legs and filled her body with promise and heat.

  A sharp gasp tore from her throat at the pain that came as quickly as it eased. Only then did Ian begin to move, slowly at first, then deeper, filling her more fully with each thrust of his hips. The fire that had smoldered like embers in her belly burst into flame. The heat of it filled her, consumed her, as she sought whatever it was he tried to give her. Helplessly, she moved her hips against his.

  Scotia felt as if she teetered on the brink of oblivion, filled with sensations too intense to bear in silence. She could hear breathless cries of pleasure she knew must be hers, but she could no more control them than the mounting waves of honeyed fire that tightened her muscles and arched her back.

  Heat spiraled inside her, growing stronger and stronger, until all sensation shattered around her, propelling her into the awaiting abyss. A groan escaped Ian. She held on to him, pulling him with her over the edge of forever.

  Every inch of her body, every fiber of her being filled with a warmth and pleasure she never dreamed possible. In his arms she felt not only safe and protected, but also cherished and consumed. Nothing had ever seemed more natural than having Ian within her, having his hands caress her body, having his lips upon her own.

  Careful not to separate their bodies, he pulled her alongside him, resting his chin at the top of her head. "Rest for a while. You will need it. We have waited too long to reach this place for me to leave before we are both fully sated."

  His hand came up to feather the lightest caress across her belly. "Do you believe it’s possible that I have given you a child already?”

  Scotia's swirling senses halted with a sickening plummet. Passion gave way to the reality. A child. It was what she had wanted. It was her obligation to provide the next female Warrior Trainer.

  Yet now, in the shelter of Ian arms, she realized that she wanted more than that from him. Not only did she want him to father her child, she wanted him to love her. Closing her eyes, Scotia struggled to control her frayed emotions. He had failed to speak those endearing words of love to her. Was she so unlovable? Her mother had always made her feel that way.

  "Let me up," she whispered.

  "What is wrong?" Ian shifted her in his arms until he faced her, breaking their intimate connection. A surge of tenderness swept across his features. "The first time is always painful. The next will not be that way. I promise."

  How could she endure the glory and splendor of their lovemaking again, knowing it would fulfill her passions but never bond them as a man and a woman should be? "Ian, I—"

  A knock sounded on the door and the moment dissolved between them. "Scotia. Ian." The voice was that of Burke's. "I'm certain ye'll have my hide for the interruption but the scouts are just now returned with urgent news about the Horsemen. 'Tis important."

  A look of regret passed across Ian's face before he turned away from her to grab his shirt. They dressed in a silence that no longer felt intimate, only charged with the tension of their unfinished conversation and the possible threat of attack. When his shirt and plaid were back in place, Ian brought his gaze to hers. He waited while she fastened her sword at her side. "Ready?"

  She nodded, and he opened the door.

  "What do you have to report?" Scotia asked.

  The torch Burke held in his hand illuminated the doorway and spilled a yellow-gold glow into the room. Scotia knew the moment she saw the overly bright look in his aged eyes that something had happened. Burke sent a skittering glance at Ian before looking away. "One of the scouting parties has returned." He hesitated.

  "Go on," Scotia encouraged. "What has happened?"

  "The scouting party encountered the White and Red Horsemen and their army as they came up from the south. Only two of the six men are still alive."

  A dark shiver passed through Scotia. The battle had begun. "Where are the men?"

  "Being tended to by the village healer. They were both badly injured."

  Scotia nodded and took a step toward the door. "I shall go to them."

  Ian followed by her side. "I am with you."

  Burke held up his hand, stalling their movements. "There is more." Again, he shot a furtive glance at Ian. "Another scouting party reports that the Green Horseman is dead, that the Black Horseman has turned back toward Scotia's castle, and the Black Horseman has a prisoner with him. The scouts say he is still alive but tied to a scratch plow and badly beaten."

  Ian's body tensed. "Who is this man?"

  A muscle moved spasmodically in Burke's throat. "Griffin."

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Griffin grimaced as he struggled against the bindings at his wrists. The rope did not give. Instead, the motion pulled the oxen's yoke that circled his neck and the scratch plow that dragged behind him in the ground deeper into his shoulders.

  "How does it feel to be a beast of burden the Black Horseman taunted from atop his horse as he prompted Griffin, bearing the weight of the plow along in the darkness, back toward Scotia's castle.

  Griffin stopped walking. "Why don't you just give me a sword so we can settle this like men?"

  The Black Horseman reined his horse to a stop. "Why? So you can kill me the way you killed the Green Horseman?" The Black Horseman kicked out, connecting with Griffin's face.

  Sticky warmth flowed from his nose and over his lips as pain exploded in his head. Only the plow at his back kept him standing as it caught his weight by jamming into his back. The plow skidded against the ground, leaving a thick groove in the dirt. He spat the blood away from his lips.

  A sharp bite of laughter punctuated the air. "You might have managed to stop us from killin' your clan, but you'll be the one to pay for their survival."

  The Black Horseman raised the lash he carried. "Now, my beastly warrior, keep movin'!"

  Griffin looked to his left, then his right. All around him the Horseman's army watched with derisive triumph gleaming in their eyes. Griffin straightened his body as best as he could. "Nay. I am not going anywhere. If you wish to kill me, do it here."

  "I don't wish to kill you. We need you as bait. Cooperative bait." The lash came down, over and over, until Griffin could not help but gasp at the pain.

  The lash stopped.

  "Now keep walking," the Black Horseman commanded.

  Unable to do anything more, Griffin shuffled forward.

  The Black Horseman spurred his horse into a walk beside Griffin. "We must go to the White Horseman. He will be interested in the news you shared, with us."

  Griffin gasped for breath as he staggered forward. He had shared nothing about Scotia, the Stone of Destiny, or Glencarron Castle. His own father had offered the information in order to spare Griffin's life. Griffin's unschooled reaction to his father's betrayal had only proven Abbus MacKinnon's claim.

  Griffin's breathing grew painful when he thought of what his father had done. Why save him, only to betray Ian and Scotia? It made no sense. The moist night air felt good on Griffin's face, and he breathed deeply, hoping the air would act as a salve to his lacerated chest as they continued to push through the darkness.

  Soon the rhythm of his feet drowned out all thought, all feeling, as he followed the Black Horseman. What seemed a lifetime later, Griffin looked up to see Glencarron Castle beneath the soft glow of the moon's light. A surge of anticipation awakened the warrior sleeping inside him. The battle would begin soon. A battle that would decide his own future as well as those he had come to love.

  Griffin struggled to stand, tall and proud, preparing to fight whether he was tied to a plow or clutching
a sword, just as Scotia had taught him.

  Amidst the light of fifty torches, Scotia and Ian led the entire village and all their warriors through the darkness, following the obvious trail one group of Horsemen and their army had left behind. The disrupted brush would have been clue enough that he headed toward Glencarron Castle. But he also made no effort to conceal the tracks left from the horses or the deep grooves cut into the soil by the heavy plow Griffin carried.

  Scotia sat atop her horse. She surveyed the mounted warriors who fanned out in front and behind the group, braving the darkness of the night. Warriors and villagers alike carried torches as well as some sort of weapon, be it a sword, a spear, an ax, or a crossbow. A surge of pride welled inside her. They were all prepared to do what they must to survive a midnight attack. With Ian among them, she felt the odds were greatly in their favor.

  Her gaze strayed to the man and horse to her left—her husband. Scotia smiled to herself, surprised at how easily the word came to her. Despite the tension Ian must be feeling, his posture was not rigid, as most men's would have been given the same situation. Instead, he sat his horse with an air of nonchalant control. It was a look that warned all who gazed upon him to proceed with caution. A look that said he had a purpose in mind and nothing would keep him from that.

  If she were wise she would heed that warning, but she could no longer put off the question that had haunted her since they had departed from the village in haste. "Do you wish you had gone on to the aid of your clan instead of coming back for me?"

  "That question serves no point other than to torture us both." He glanced her way, then turned back to the dark landscape ahead. "I made my choice. And I would make the same decision all over again if it meant keeping you from harm."

  He had chosen her protection and safety over the lives of those who had raised him. What had she done to deserve that kind of devotion? Was there more than his claim to keep her safe behind his decision to remain with her?

  She wanted to believe there was a deeper meaning, but most likely it was only her own desires clouding her thoughts.

  Desires and kisses and irrational yearnings—never had she known such a world existed until a few hours ago. Moonlight caressed the masculine sensuality of his body. He was strong, supple, and hers for a year and a day. Her cheeks warmed against the cool night air.

  Scotia forced herself to turn away from the tug of Ian's presence. Near him, she found it harder and harder to remember she served Scotland as guardian of the Stone, as a trainer of warriors. But was that all she could be? Was there no room in her life to serve the roles of wife and mother? Could she let go of centuries of obligations and duties to think of herself and her own happiness? If her own mother had been so horribly wrong about sex with a man, could she also be wrong about marriage? It was something to consider.

  Feeling the enormity of her decision, Scotia shifted her gaze to the stars. She had found answers to her troubles in the heavens before. Perhaps she would do so again.

  The night seemed to sparkle all around her, as if the air had been freshly washed and cleared of all that had come before this moment. She drew a breath of the sweet air into herself. New beginnings. Fresh chances. Would such a thing be possible for Ian and herself? Hope glimmered inside her despite all the odds against them.

  She stole another glance at the fierce yet gentle man beside her. Perhaps if they made it through the coming battle, they would have that second chance.

  The remainder of their journey passed in silence. Scotia used the time to run a thousand different possibilities through her mind. Had the Black Horseman rejoined the White and Red Horsemen? Did they head for her castle, or did they wait in secluded darkness, ready to spring a trap upon those who drew near? Would she and Ian find themselves trapped between the two groups before they could attempt to rescue Griffin? Did Griffin remain alive?

  She knew from personal experience the White Horseman could be as cruel as he was cunning. And what about those she had left back at the castle? Were they as safe as she had assumed they would be?

  She shivered, fear suddenly making her limbs feel heavy and weak. Age-old terror now seemed fresh and vibrant, coursing through her with the same intensity it did twelve years past. Scotia tensed, every instinct within her fighting the memories she had yet to let rest. She was older now, wiser, and stronger. Any match between them would be on equal ground this time.

  The thought acted like a tonic to her system, revitalizing her body with not only strength, but determination. She drew herself up in her saddle and kept her gaze trained ahead of her, both watchful and prepared.

  This time she would be ready to fight.

  When dawn gave way to the morning tight, and the crenellated towers of Glencarron Castle came into view, Scotia's determination faltered at the stark reality before her. Even at a distance, she could see the deep groove in the earth they had tracked all night continued right up to the gatehouse.

  The pounding of her heart drowned out all else as she scanned her castle, searching for clues as to what had happened in her absence. The outer bailey walls were undamaged, but the portcullis stood open, suggesting that at least one of the Horsemen had found his way inside.

  But more distressing than the open gates was the fact that neither her guards nor any of the Horsemen's army were anywhere in sight. Desperate to discover the fate of her people, Scotia kicked her horse into a run, speeding toward her home.

  Ian followed beside her, his presence a welcome comfort. As they reached the gatehouse he slowed his horse, forcing her to lag behind him. The unconsciously protective gesture warmed her icy spirit and she allowed him to take the lead. They dismounted. The warriors and villagers who had traveled with them gathered behind them.

  At the sight of red droplets of blood against the rock strewn ground, Scotia stumbled, then caught herself. The smell of blood, with its cloying, metallic sweetness, came to her nose and raked the back of her throat. She bent down to touch the sticky substance. Her finger came up wet. "It is fresh." She was unable to say anything more. A wave of guilt and powerlessness crept upon her before she could stop it. She should have put a stop to the fighting years ago. If she had only known...

  Ian's hand settled upon her shoulder. Gently he turned her to face him. Understanding and compassion reflected in his gaze. "It is what we do now that matters. Come," Ian said, as though reading her thoughts.

  Rising to her feet, Scotia drew her sword, ready to battle whatever evil stood in her way. No one harmed her loved ones and got away with it.

  "Prepare yourselves for anything," Ian warned the crowd that stood loosely grouped behind him. "Stay together. There is safety in numbers." He reached for his sword as he brought his gaze back to Scotia's. "Is there any way I might convince you to stay out here and allow me to fight this battle alone

  "Never," Scotia said in a tense voice. "This is my battle as much as yours." She would put an end to anyone who threatened her family. Maisie, Lizbet, even Griffin—she loved them each in a special way.

  Ian nodded, and a glimmer of admiration reflected in his gaze before he turned away. "Then stay near me. I want you in my sight at all times."

  She opened her mouth to object, then stopped herself at the realization he only wanted to see her safe. Warmth filled her at the thought. She wanted the same for him. "Agreed." Together they stood a better chance of succeeding in battle than they did fighting alone.

  Yet as they headed toward the open gate, Scotia paused.

  Ian slowed to a stop beside her. "What is it? What is wrong?"

  "I had a thought. It might be nothing, but I cannot shake the feeling that this is all too easy. The trail here was so deliberately set."

  "What are you thinking?" Ian asked.

  "I find it difficult to believe the Horsemen would come so close to the village of Cullin, yet not attack. Then, when we learned of Griffin's capture, the Black Horseman left blatant clues for us to find, even in the dark. When we got here, the trail of blood
made us assume it was Griffin who had been injured or killed... and yet..." Scotia hesitated, reasoning things out as she talked. "Why would he go to such extremes to see us come through the front gate of the castle unless—"

  "It is a trap," Ian answered.

  Scotia nodded. "We need to find another way inside— something that will give us the element of surprise."

  "The tunnel in the cliffs," Burke said from behind her.

  Scotia turned to look into Burke's gray eyes. In fragmented bits and pieces her memories coalesced. The arrow arching toward her. Her feet refusing to carry her forward. The evil grin on the White Horseman's face. A young girl, her hands red with her own blood, guided over the jagged rocks below to a boat that had taken Maisie, Burke, and herself to safety that fateful night.

  The tunnel.

  For years, even thinking about entering the tunnel brought on an irrational fear that left Scotia fazed and weak. She had not been near the place for years, not since she had rigged it with a system of thin ropes that triggered bells inside the castle walls. A shiver of dread tried to creep across her flesh, but this time she was ready for it. No more. The man did not merit her fear. "Follow me. I shall show you the way inside. But we must act quickly, before they discover our change of direction and trap us beneath the castle with nowhere to go."

  With Ian by her side, Scotia lead their small group of warriors down to the shoreline, up the rocky cliff, and into the tunnel. The soft sound of the surf hitting the rocks muted the sound of their footsteps as they made their way up the rocky passageway. She stopped the group along the way to disengage the ropes of her warning system.

  The cloying scents of earth and salt hung heavy on the air as the group continued on. Finally they reached the end. With as much stealth as possible, Scotia gathered her small army into the cramped chamber at the top of the tunnel. The few torches they had brought with them turned the darkness into a hazy light, illuminating a door off to the left.