When the others crowded into the narrow space, Ian leaned into the small wooden door. "Ready?" He met her gaze squarely, with no hesitation.
"I am ready," she replied, and raising her sword, she prepared to meet whatever surprises awaited them.
For a brief moment, Ian's expression softened as he leaned toward her, to brush his lips against hers. "To the future," he whispered against her cheek before he pulled away. Then, with his sword poised, he gave the door a mighty heave. Wood splintered as it hit against the stone wall. Together, they charged into the open air and came to a swift halt. Ten men with bows drawn and aimed at them stood atop the garden wall.
"I see our honored guests have finally arrived," the White Horseman jeered as he towered over them, a hulking barbarian.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Scotia searched the garden area. The Black Horseman and the Red Horseman stood behind their leader on the wall. Behind them a sea of soldiers spilled across the rest of the garden area, crushing beneath their boots the fragile sprouts her gardeners had sown so carefully. So many men—too many.
Scotia's gaze snapped to the White Horseman's face, to the wrathful intensity that burned in his eyes. This time she could not stop the shiver of cold fear that moved through her. The old, familiar terror she had felt the night he had slain her mother began to hammer in her mind, bringing a tremor to the fingers wrapped tightly about her sword.
"Impossible," she breathed above the sound of the villagers murmuring and shuffling behind her.
"Nay, it is possible indeed. I set a trap to push you into a better trap. Brilliant of me, would you not say?"
Scotia could feel a bead of moisture dampen her temple as she realized her mistake. She had judged the White Horseman's actions by her own thinking. And she had allowed her own fears to overshadow the lunacy of this man. A stupid error. One that could cost them their lives.
"Do not blame yourself." The White Horseman's voice grated against her taut nerves. "I would not be so foolish as to insult your intelligence by believing you could fall for so obvious a trap as that first one I set." His mouth quirked into a terrible smile. "You are the mighty Warrior Trainer. The very same clever young girl who led me to believe you were dead for the last twelve years, or this day would have come much sooner indeed."
Scotia tried to bury her emotions deep within herself, refusing to let them betray her again. She had to stay on the edge of her control. "Your ploy will not work."
"It already has." A triumphant look beamed from the White Horseman's face.
Ian took a step forward, but Scotia stilled him with a hand on his arm. "Nay, Ian." Fear slipped past her guard and into her voice. "He will kill you without a thought." Her plea must have penetrated the haze of his fury because he stopped, but his sword did not come down.
Scotia trembled despite her attempts to stop. Her breathing came in rapid bursts as the years since their last meeting melted away and she saw the White Horseman as she had then. He was still a hulking figure, his muscles honed by brutality instead of training. Villainous and ruthless.
Drawing on years of training and practice, she inhaled a slow, calming breath and forced the memory away. There were differences in this man now, just as there were differences in herself from that time so long ago. The morning sun brought out the deep lines of age that had settled near his unearthly pale eyes. His eyes had changed the most. Instead of steady and strong, they now appeared overly bright and unfocused as his gaze darted between Ian and herself.
The White Horseman smiled mockingly. "Are you going to stare at me or give me what I want? I am not a patient man. Any further delay on your part will only cause your friends an earlier death." He jerked his head to the side, and her gaze followed. Rows of his army stepped aside to reveal three battered prisoners.
Instantly, Scotia's fear dissolved into rage. Griffin, Maisie, and Lizbet were tied to stakes that had been driven into the soft earth of the garden. Their hands were secured behind them, their legs bound as well. Angry red welts showed on their faces and arms. Lizbet hung limp against her bonds. Scotia's heart cried out to go to her. The poor child had already suffered enough at the White Horseman's hands.
Maisie glowered at her captor's back, ready to slay him with her gaze if given the chance.
Then there was Griffin, whose body appeared swollen and bruised. Blood oozed from cuts on his face and legs. From beneath the swollen blue lids of his eyes, Griffin offered her a look of outraged sympathy. I am sorry, he mouthed, though no words came forth.
Scotia looked back to her enemy. She once again tried to subdue her anger without much success. "How dare you treat them this way."
The White Horseman curled the hand that held his sword into a white-knuckled fist, and a feral gleam sparked in his light eyes. "I'll dare that and more until you give me the Stone."
Beside her she could feel Ian tense. She turned to him. His fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his raised sword. His aim, the White Horseman's heart.
As if sensing the danger he faced, the White Horseman brought his blade against Maisie's throat. "One move from you, Ian MacKinnon, and she breathes no more."
Ian's face became a mask of control, but icy fury burned in his eyes, so cold, so deadly, that Scotia could almost feel his wrath chill the blood in her veins.
"Where is the Green Horseman?" Scotia asked, knowing the answer, yet stalling for time while she scrambled to formulate a plan.
"I killed him," Griffin cried out hoarsely, struggling against the bonds that held him captive. "He and the Black Horseman attacked our village. But this time we were ready for them."
"Quiet!" shouted the White Horseman. "Or you'll die first."
Griffin's news that Ian's village had been spared and the Green Horseman killed brought with it a first ray of hope. Though three Horsemen still remained, the doubt Griffin's deed placed in their minds might be the weakness she sought to find.
A warrior never fights with anger, revenge, frustration, or arrogance, she reminded herself.
She drew silent strength from the earth beneath her feet and allowed the calming surf below to turn her anger into energy.
"One warrior matters little in the overall plan to dominate Scotland."
Even as the White Horseman made his claim, she could see a glimmer of uncertainty pass across the other warriors' faces. And where there was uncertainty, there was vulnerability. Scotia forced a laugh in a deliberate attempt to bait him. "You think the Stone will enable you to do that?"
The White Horseman's face grew red with anger. "The legend surrounding the Stone is proof of that. The Stone has brought great success to those who possess it. When I carry the Stone into battle for England, I shall never lose. How easy it will be to dominate Scotland after that."
"Nay," Maisie cried out. "Do not give it to him. I beg ye, Scotia. Keep it safe. Our lives are insignificant when compared to the Stone." Her plea became a strangled gasp when the White Horseman pressed his blade against her throat, drawing a ribbon of blood.
Ian growled.
Scotia steeled herself not to react. It was what the Horseman wanted, was it not? To see her tremble with fear as she had when she was younger? "Obviously, we are at a stalemate." She widened her stance, assuming her fighting posture. "I have something you want, just as you have something I want. If you kill Maisie, you will never see the Stone, let alone possess it."
His jaw went rigid, but the hand that held the sword at Maisie's neck relaxed.
"Perhaps we could negotiate terms if the MacKinnon would lower his weapon," the White Horseman snarled.
Scotia kept her gaze trained on her enemy. "Lower your weapon," she asked Ian, hoping he could hear the newfound confidence in her voice, that he would trust her enough to do as she asked.
She could feel his questioning gaze upon her, but his weapon remained aimed at the White Horseman. "One charge and I shall have him before the archers can stop me."
She fought the urge to turn to him, to al
low her gaze to linger over him as a wife would look at her husband, to reveal to him both her fears and passions. Yet she could not. To do so would expose how much he meant to her and bring him certain death. Nay, she had to treat him as she would any other warrior in her army if she was to keep him safe. "Lower your weapon," she repeated with a sharp, authoritative voice.
He finally obeyed, and Scotia breathed a thankful sigh.
"If we are to negotiate, as you put it, we will do so in the courtyard near the keep upon equal ground." Scotia braced herself for his refusal. To her surprise, he did not offer her one.
"After you." He waved his hand toward the small door that led to the inner bailey. His men parted, making a path for them.
Scotia frowned. "I am not so foolish as that. Again, we will negotiate. You send half of your men, then I shall send half of mine."
The White Horseman's eyes narrowed upon her. "Why should I agree to something so ridiculous?"
"Because I have the Stone." She had no choice but trust he would do as she asked. But if he betrayed her, she would be ready for that as well.
His face darkened, but he lowered his sword from Maisie's throat. "Agreed." He turned away. "Move the prisoners!" he shouted.
"Leave them here," she countered, her voice bold. "They are not going anywhere in their present condition."
That brought a jeering smile to his face. "You're right about that. All right. Leave 'em behind, but with an armed guard."
It was one more guard than she wanted, but Scotia conceded the point. One man would not be difficult to eliminate when the time came to set them free. It would also mean one less man to face in the courtyard. With as much indifference as she could muster, she addressed Ian. "Take the first group into the courtyard."
He gave her a beseeching look that spoke his confusion at her actions. She offered him the slightest warning shake of her head. She was not sure what he saw in the motion, but after a brief hesitation he turned away to gather half the group of villagers and warriors. Once the task was complete, Ian followed the Horsemen's army through the small door and into the courtyard beyond.
Scotia watched them go with a new sense of determination, which Ian had placed inside her with his one brief gaze. To everyone else it meant nothing. To her, it said I trust you.
That determination remained steady as the second group made their way through the doorway. When everyone else had left except herself and the White Horseman, Scotia cast a final glance back at the prisoners. As she did, a motion to her left caught her eye. She saw Burke peek out from the door of the tunnel. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Her steward would see to the guard watching over Maisie, Lizbet, and Griffin. In short order, the three of them would all be free.
Encouraged by this second ray of hope, she pushed through the door into the courtyard with the White Horseman at her side. Just as she had hoped, Ian had spread the two groups around so they were not all clustered in one place.
"Now that I have agreed to this little arrangement, where is the Stone?" the White Horseman growled from behind her.
Scotia sheathed her sword, then turned to face him. "Leave the others below and come with me." She did not wait to see whether he followed. Her plan was to draw him away, up the stairs that led to the west tower. She hoped that by removing their leader, his army would flounder when the inevitable battle broke out. Nothing else would end what the Four Horsemen had begun.
At the top of the stairs, Scotia looked behind her, past the White Horseman to the people below. She saw nothing but confidence on the faces of her people. They knew what they had to do. She sought out Ian. She should have known he would be watching her progress. Yet his expression was completely unreadable. She had no idea what he could be thinking. In that moment she realized she had become accustomed to reading the emotions he so readily displayed. Their absence made her feel bereft and alone as she continued up a second set of stairs to the newly altered round tower above.
"Quit stalling," the White Horseman thundered behind her.
"If you want the Stone, then it is here you must go." Scotia reached the top of the tower and spun to face her enemy, her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her sword. If needed, she could draw the weapon before the Horseman could advance on her.
A murderous gleam lurked in his eyes. "Give it to me now." His voice rose to a bellow that drew every eye in the courtyard to them. He searched the small tower. "Where is it? I see no shrine or housing for the Stone up here. If you thought to trick me, you will pay for the misdeed with your life."
"It is no trick. The Stone is here, and in plain sight, where it will be safe from you and your kind forever."
"Where?” He drew his sword, but not before she drew hers.
She dropped into her fighting stance. "It's in the wall of the tower. Third stone from the left beneath the crenellation that faces due west. If you look closely you will see that the Stone is darker than the others that surround it. The etchings that cover the surface will prove to you that it is indeed the real Stone of Destiny."
When he saw the Stone, his eyes widened with triumph then anger. "You put such a priceless artifact in the wall of your castle?” He backed away from her, toward the Stone. "It is sacred and blessed."
"It is worthless stone compared to the value of human life." Scotia kept pace with him. She would hand over the Stone in an instant if it meant keeping her people safe, alive. But if the Horseman gave her an opening to attack and drive him from this world instead, she would gladly take it.
He stopped before the darker stone and kneeled down beside it. "The Stone of Destiny." His voice filled with awe as he traced his fingers over the etchings of a Latin cross on the surface of the Stone. It was the opening she searched for.
She lunged. Her blade penetrated the chain mail that covered his sword arm. His fingers went slack, and his sword dropped to the wooden floor with a clatter. The same moment the White Horseman howled in pain, the battle broke out beneath them. The sound thunderous, like a storm rising from the west, refusing to be tamed.
Chapter Thirty
The moment Scotia headed up the stairs to the tower with the White Horseman, Ian prepared to act. He feared for her, as he clutched his sword, ready to send the signal for the battle to begin. He opened his mouth to issue the order when the very same cry he intended erupted from behind the inner bailey wall.
Ian spun to the gate across the courtyard. Familiar faces, members of his own clan, rushed into battle against the remaining Horsemen and their army. Behind the first charge of men came Abbus MacKinnon. Without hesitation, Ian fought his way to his father. When Abbus's gaze alighted on his son, his gruff expression shifted to a smile. "Ian, my boy. Let's show these Englishmen what a Scot is made of."
The clash of battle sounded all around them. Ian saluted his foster father with his sword, glad to have his support as well as his clan's. "I shall have to leave that task in your capable hands, Father. Right now Scotia needs my help."
Two of the Horsemen's warriors charged for them. With a quick thrust of their swords, the assault ended, leaving his foster father and himself isolated for a brief respite.
"How did you know to come here?" Ian asked.
"We followed the Black Horseman when he took Griffin captive. I told the Horseman to come here if it was the Stone he was after."
Shock ran through Ian. Whatever explanation he had expected, it was not that. "You put Scotia and her people at risk."
"I did it to save yer brother. I'd already lost one of ye to the Horsemen. I couldn't lose you or Griffin as well." Abbus strode toward the fighting. "Ye've got a woman to save, and I've got a battle to win." His father's voice boomed above the din of the conflict.
With a brief salute, Ian darted back toward the tower where Scotia had taken the White Horseman. Ian had nearly reached the stairs when a flurry of fire arrows shot past him, landing in a haystack left from the winter's store. With a whoosh of sound, the dry hay caught fire. Tongues of greedy
flame soon covered the hay, sending a plume of gray smoke billowing across the battlefield.
Given a different situation, he would have stopped to put out the fire. But he had to get to Scotia before it was too late.
His throat was raw. His lungs burned from breathing the acrid air as he raced up the stairs. He took each step more swiftly than the last. He ignored the rising crescendo of battle around him, concentrating on the tower that held both the woman he loved and the man he despised.
Fear and despair gripped Scotia as plumes of angry gray smoke rose from the courtyard below. The castle was on fire. Her people were in danger from the flames as well as the Horsemen's army. Scotia gripped the hilt of her sword with all her strength. She was a warrior, a protector, and a liberator of her people. There was no time for fear. Only action.
Blood from the cut she had inflicted on the White Horseman's arm seeped through his chain mail shirt like a splash of crimson paint. It was not a deadly wound, but it would give her the edge she needed to destroy him.
Anger blazed in his icy cold eyes as he scowled at his wounded arm, then at her. "How dare you strike me?"
"I dare to kill you."
"Do not be so foolish."
From below, cries of triumph mixed with shrieks of agony, each sound compounding the next. Ian and her people were striving to rid themselves of the men who challenged their freedom—she would do the same with this evil man.
"Listen to them," the White Horseman taunted above the roar of the battle. He picked up his sword. "They fight against the unconquerable. Just as your mother did."
"Is that what you think?" Scotia forced her mind to clear. She had to concentrate on the task ahead of her, just like her men below. "You think you cannot be beaten?"
The Warrior Trainer Page 23