Wolf Warrior 01 The Lost Wolf Warrior

by Rae Monet

  Stephen laughed, which made her seethe. He was still laughing when, in a flash, he grabbed her hand and bent it back, making her drop her weapon. His laughter stopped when he drew his own dagger against her throat.

  Roan was quick to draw his own sword, but when he sensed Stephen was only trying to teach Diana a lesson, he lowered it.

  Roan remembered their dialogue well.

  "You could use some tutoring in a woman's way, my lady."

  Instead of blanching or screaming, Diana growled and moved forward, straining against Stephen's knife. At the first sight of the blood dripping from her neck, Roan had surged forward, then paused at Stephen's stunned expression. He was amazed when Stephen had immediately dropped his dagger and touched his gloved fingers to her neck to stop the blood flow.

  "What manner of stupidity accounts for your actions?” Stephen had yelled, but Roan saw his touch on Diana's neck was gentle.

  Turning his attention to his sister, Roan noticed an immediate flaring in her eyes. He sensed a strong emotion emanating from her—one very akin to desire. He sensed it from Stephen as well and carefully watched Stephen's actions. Stephen looked at his fingers, which were pressed against Diana's neck. Slowly, his gaze strayed upward to meet Diana's. An expression Roan could only describe as wonderment blanketed his adopted brother's face.

  Then as if burned, Stephen pulled back and stalked away, flinging expletives at her actions, saying women did not belong in the lists, but in a man's bed, where their energies were best spent. Diana's parting comments had not been flowery to say the least. Their hostile relationship had begun and had remained for the last three months.

  * * * *

  He assigned Stephen to train Diana in their fighting ways, hoping Stephen could help her temper her passion and master her senses. She battled more with her tongue than with her weapon.

  Stephen had refused to allow her to fight in the last battle against the Scots and her anger was evident when she challenged her trainer to a combat of swords. If she won, she would be allowed to fight in the next engagement.

  Stephen had laughed at her challenge, saying she could never best her trainer. So that's what they were doing now. The other men had been ordered to go about their training as Stephen and Diana clashed swords so hard they drew sparks. He and Ian watched them. Diana's skills had bettered under Stephen's hand, but she was still too passionate and that passion would be her undoing.

  "I think they're fiercely in love with each other, aye, I do.” Ian's Irish brogue broke into his thoughts.

  He sighed. “I sense you are correct."

  Diana parried one of Stephen's blows, going down to one knee, which was not a move Stephen had taught her. She brandished her weapon, then kicked out with her other leg, trying to swipe his feet from under him. He was too quick, and jumped back. He lowered his sword then and yelled at her. Pulling her sword from her hand, he threw it to the dirt. It was the worst kind of insult for a knight, especially on the field with others watching. Roan was sure he was counseling her on her unskilled move. How low it had been. How it was not what he had taught her. How it had no honor.

  She stood and started yelling back, her hands swirling around to emphasize her point.

  Stephen was an attractive man, and his long blonde hair had come loose from its queue. The only item detracting from his looks was a battle wound, a long scar running from his eye down his cheek.

  His muscular chest heaved under his exertion. He had donned his chain mail and wolf tunic instead of the heavy armor like Roan.

  Diana, in contrast, was beautiful in her anger. Her long, black hair swirled about her head, creating a halo of dark loveliness. Her cheeks were flushed, and her ice blue eyes were staring Stephen down. She was stunning. She was the female equivalent of him.

  Roan tensed as Stephen advanced on her, his finger jabbing her chest to make his point. She grabbed his finger and pushed it off her. Raising her own, she jabbed him back. Roan relaxed. He truly knew Stephen would never hurt her intentionally. He also knew how Diana purposely taunted Stephen. It was as if she made his anger rise just to provoke emotion from him.

  Stephen grabbed her finger, but this time instead of pushing her away, he pulled her body into his. His expression angry, he bellowed directly at her face. Diana stood tall and straight, her chin lifted high. Stephen wrapped his arms around her and held her steadily. Diana's chest expanded, as if she breathed heavily. Stephen moved closer, a hairsbreadth away from her face. Yelling, his hand released hers, and he waved it in her face. His other arm remained locked around her body so she couldn't move. Roan saw Diana squirm against Stephen in an attempt to escape his ironclad hold.

  "Uh-oh, laddie, I smell trouble a brewin'."

  Roan smiled for the first time in months. He leaned his arms against the wall to watch the drama. These two were the best entertainment since he had returned to the keep.

  At Diana's squirming, Stephen became silent. His hand locked on the back of her head as he aligned his lips with hers and gave one final command Roan could hear from the battlement. “God's blood, woman, stop squirming."

  Diana froze. Both stood still and motionless. Like Diana's, Stephen's chest heaved. Roan saw his arms slowly move up, tightening his hold around Diana. Her free hand crept up Stephen's chest to move gradually over his shoulder. She buried her fingers in his hair.

  Roan straightened, intently aware of what was about to happen. He saw Stephen stiffen at her caress. His eyes closed. Then, as if he had lost the battle within himself, Stephen's hand grasped her hair and crushed her mouth to his. His lips ate her up, devoured her, his hand fisting in her hair. It was a long kiss, but it ended abruptly.

  Before Roan could shout out Stephen's name, his adopted brother tripped back and released his sister. She raised her hand to her lips. Suddenly, her hand snaked out and she slapped him, the clap of palm against cheek ringing through the courtyard. Stephen's head snapped to the side but he didn't move. Diana stood there, and Stephen turned back, his eyes meeting hers.

  She raised her hand and laid it against Stephen's cheek in an obvious apology. Stephen's hand came up to overlap hers on his face. He leaned closer to whisper something into her ear. Roan assumed it wasn't a pleasant comment. Diana jerked back. With a cry, she whirled around and rushed away. As though in shock, Stephen remained, his hand still on his cheek. Finally, he dropped his hand. Picking up Diana's sword, he surveyed the area.

  Roan pointed to him, catching his notice, and saw Stephen's eyes widen and his shoulders drop. Motioning with his hand, Roan directed him to the keep. Stephen nodded and practically dragged himself off the field to meet Roan.

  Ian's hand fell against his shoulder. “Go easy on him, laddie. They were meant to be from the first moment they met."

  Roan nodded and ran a hand through his hair. Ian's statement made him remember the first time he had met Serena, when they too had experienced instantaneous heat. Straightening his shoulders, he slapped Ian on the back. “I know, Ian, I know."

  Roan reluctantly left the battlements to meet with Stephen and wondered, what do you tell a man who is in love with a female Wolf Warrior?

  Chapter Twelve

  Roan steepled his fingers under his chin and regarded Stephen. He had changed out of his armor, and they had retired to the room off the great hall, which he used to administer the duties of the keep. He frequented the room as a refuge, closing himself off from the castle activities. He had been using the room a lot since his return.

  Stephen began running his hand though the length of his hair.

  "What are your intentions toward my sister?” Roan's voice was nonchalant but his manner was far from calm.

  Stephen rose and began pacing back and forth, clasping and unclasping his hands before him. He seemed to be attempting to choose his words carefully, but he finally fisted his hands and waved them in the air. “She is the most maddening woman.” He stopped, realizing to whom he was speaking.

  "Are you in love with her?"
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  Stephen finished pacing and stood directly in front of him. His face registered shock at Roan's question.

  Had he never considered this possibility?

  Slowly, he sank back down on the chair before the hearth and put his head in his hands. “More than my own life,” he finally admitted. “Roan, I cannot control her. I cannot let her go into battle. I fear for her. I cannot...” He put his head back in his hands and groaned. “I cannot lose her."

  "So you intend to marry her?"

  Stephen's head snapped up. “She will not—she is so stubborn. I cannot even think what she would say if I were to ask."

  Roan regarded him over the top of his fingers. “So woo her."

  Stephen responded to Roan's advice with another groan and his head fell mournfully back into his hands.

  Movement from the door caused then both to glance toward the whirlwind who sailed in, skidding to a stop when she saw Stephen. Of course it was Diana in all her stunning glory, flushed, angry and arresting.

  "Brother, I know what this is about and you may cease directly.” Her cheeks blushed red, her breathing rapid. Her eyes fluttered back and forth between him and Stephen.

  Stephen rose, heading straight toward her. “I do not need you fight my battles for me, woman, nor do I need you in my list.” His heated words were charged with energy.

  Roan sensed the passion between them. They were like a fire not yet ignited.

  "Where I come from,” she said, her eyes fiery, “women are welcome in battle, not scorned."

  Stephen moved very close to her and she squared her shoulders. He meticulously stepped in one inch at a time until his face was pressed close to hers. Diana's eyes ran over his face as if trying to see what he was about.

  "Then why don't you go back to where you came from?” The statement Stephen uttered so carelessly was like an arrow in Roan's heart.

  Diana's outraged cry tore at his stomach and he stood.

  "Yes, perhaps leaving would be best.” Her stammered words left an even worse ache in Roan's gut. Tears formed in her eyes as she waited for Stephen to answer. At Stephen's clearly resigned nod, she gulped for air and ran from the room.

  Roan strode forward immediately. Grabbing Stephen, he shoved him against the stone wall. “That,” he jerked Stephen up higher on the wall, “is no way to woo a woman.” He released Stephen and watched him slide down the wall.

  "If she leaves here I will hold you solely responsible,” he concluded, his fist clenching. He stomped away from Stephen to stand in front of the fire, hoping to calm his anger toward his brother. His thoughts drifted to Serena. Diana so reminded him of her. He ran his hands through his hair and along the back of his neck.

  Would this wanting never end?

  "It is for her own protection I seek to drive her away."

  He turned toward Stephen, his arms crossing in front of him.

  "How so?"

  "She will not stop until she is next to me in battle. It is where she feels she was meant to be, watching my back. Do you understand why I seek for her to leave? No matter my feelings, I will not see her die at my side.” His voice rose to a yell. “I will not!"

  Roan understood Stephen's frustration. He had felt the same way about Serena. Alas, he knew he could not hold her from what she was born to do. He had decided he would much rather have her at his side than not. He waved Stephen to the chair by the fire.

  "Sit.” It was time to tell him a little about where Diana came from. “Have you seen her mark, the one resembling mine?"

  Stephen shifted in the chair. He looked at Roan with an expression of hopefulness. “Aye, I've seen it."

  Roan sighed. It had been necessary to ask, but he did not like what Stephen's answer implied.

  Stephen sat back in the chair and seemed to be reflecting inward.

  Roan wondered if he was reliving the moment he first saw Diana's mark.

  * * * *

  They had been practicing all day, Stephen driving Diana hard. He had hoped to discourage her from continuing in her training. He had paired her with one of his strongest knights, not realizing she would fight so determinedly. He had been strolling the battlements, overseeing the training. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Diana drop to the ground, clutching her shoulder. He sucked in a breath, his heart pounding in his chest when he saw the blood soaking through her tunic. Her partner immediately dropped his sword and leaned down to assist her.

  "Jesu!” he screamed from the battlement, an immediate reaction to his sudden terror. She had been injured. He almost tossed the contents of his stomach as he watched the blood soak through her shirt. Wounded and bleeding, she struggled to throw off the arm of the knight trying to help her. At Stephen's yell, her eyes rose to the battlement. He saw fear in her expression before it was quickly schooled, replaced by anger.

  Stephen's fear also turned to anger. “Get off the field!” he shouted.

  He pointed toward the keep, leaving no room for argument. Her training required her to obey his every command. He was the Captain of the Guards, and his knights were required to obey him whatever the cost. It was good training for the battlefield, which was no place to question his order.

  She pulled herself up off the ground. With one fierce look, she jerked around and stalked off the field. Stephen, attempting to appear casual, slowly turned to walk away from the battlement, but when he knew he was out of visual range of his knights, he ran down the stone steps toward the keep.

  Reaching the bottom step, he tried valiantly to appear relaxed. He walked across the field toward the door Diana had entered, returning the salutes of his men as he passed. When he finally reached the door, he sighed with relief, then quickened his steps toward her room. He knew she wouldn't ask anyone to help her. She would want to dress her wound in private.

  Winding his way through the never-ending stone hallways, he placed a hand on his heart as if doing so would slow its rapid beating. God's blood, when he had seen her go down and watched her blood flow through her shirt, he had wanted to leap off the battlement and take the blow for her. He growled as he hurried along. He could not have her fighting anymore. There was too much risk of losing her.

  Stephen asked himself when losing her had become such a dreadful fear.

  Why would I rather die than watch her get hurt? Blowing out a heavy breath, he continued his path. His fate was set from the first moment his angry eyes had met her defiant ones, when she had challenged him by stepping into his dagger, drawing her own blood. He admitted he had fallen head over heels in love with her when her blood had seeped over the edge of his blade.

  Head over heels.

  Reaching her door, he hung back and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down so he wouldn't show her how much her injury affected him. He had no need to get involved with her. Besides the fact she was Roan's sister, there was no room in his life for a female. He was a skilled knight, responsible for the safety of the lives of his men and the people of the keep. He couldn't be distracted by needless emotions such as love, or by the woman who brought forth the annoying emotion.

  Diana's door was ajar, so he quietly pushed it open. She sat unmoving, her legs dangling over the side of the bed, her head lowered in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she cried into her cupped hands. He was grateful she didn't look up. Had she seen his face, she would have seen his love.

  His heart clenched in his chest.

  Without knowing why, he somehow felt her pain. He watched blood dribble down her arm and off her elbow to the floor. She had removed her outer tunic and wore only a strange leather halter. With his emotions clamped down, Stephen rubbed his chest and nosily cleared his throat, acting as if he had just stepped in the door.

  "Stephen!"

  Her annoyed exclamation was met by his own anger. He strode to her. Grabbing the discarded tunic, he turned it inside out. He steeled himself to put his hands on her and not reveal his need. Gritting his teeth, he rotated her on the bed, then applied the cloth to the bleeding c
ut on her shoulder. She sucked in a breath. To hold her still, his hand gently curved over her other shoulder.

  "What goes on that you cannot dress your own wound? Have you a death wish?” She didn't reply, and his irritation grew. He gently dabbed the small gash, applied pressure, then dabbed again. He repeated the procedure until the bleeding slowed. His jaw clenched as he worked.

  "It was a small cut,” she said, her voice husky, “hardly worth my time. At home I would have continued to practice. Of course I would not have an arrogant Captain screaming at me from the battlement, embarrassing me in front of all the other warriors.” Fury rang in her voice and she raised her hand to her face.

  He assumed she was brushing back more tears of rage. He felt rage too. What was the matter with this woman's people? Who let a woman practice while wounded?

  "I...” He was about to make a cutting reply when he noticed an incredible mark on her other shoulder. It was extraordinary in its detail. A wolf overlapping a sword woven between two interlocking Celtic linked circles, it was fascinating.

  He ran his fingers over the mark. He slid in closer to inspect it. “What...?” His hand still resting lightly on her shoulder, his thumb reached out and ran over the mark.

  Her head swung around and she watched him with obvious uncertainty.

  Completely taken with the dark-colored mark adorning her skin, Stephen barely noted his touch was causing her to shiver. His hand ran over the mark again.

  "What in God's name is this?” Stephen whispered against her back. When she tried to pull away, he locked his hand on her shoulder.

  "Stop,” he demanded as he shifted the makeshift bandage on her other shoulder.

  For a moment Stephen had lost his purpose, but now he remembered why he'd come to her room. He removed his hand from her uninjured shoulder. Anchoring the bandage, he tore several strips of cloth from his under tunic. Working efficiently, he placed one hand on the wound. With his other hand, he wrapped the cloth around her arm and shoulder to secure the bandage. He had doctored many men on the battlefield and he moved with practiced certainty.