In Love With A Warrior (Gunn Guardsman (Book 4))

by Griffin, Kara

  “You’re so brave to want to use the sword and go against men. I deem I wouldn’t ever have the courage to do so.”

  Emlyn clasped her hand and decided to change the subject. She didn’t like discussing warrior pursuits with Branwyn, because she never understood her desire. “I hope your mother made something delicious for supper, for I’m hungry enough to eat an entire roe.”

  “You probably could. Where do ye put it? Your body couldn’t hold that amount of food.” Branwyn laughed and walked beside her.

  “Training helps keep me slender, Bran, and hungry, too.”

  They reached the cottage and before they entered, she heard weeping coming from within. Voices rose in despair from Bran’s brother and father.

  Emlyn stopped and tucked her arm with her friend’s. “You shouldn’t go in there. Come, come away with me to the keep.”

  “Why? I want to find out why my mother is crying. Something is wrong. I’ve never heard such pitiful weeping from her.” Branwyn dislodged her arm and opened the door.

  She could only follow and hope her friend’s heart wasn’t broken. Emlyn stood behind Branwyn and watched the news being given. Branwyn’s mother sat weeping, being comforted by her youngest son. Her father spoke the news bluntly, and Emlyn regretted not being the one to tell her friend the sorrowful news. She, at least, would’ve broken the news in a gentler manner.

  “Nay! Nay, I won’t believe it.” Branwyn, without a glance to anyone, ran from the cottage.

  Emlyn faced her friend’s parents and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.” She quickly followed Branwyn and left.

  When she exited the cottage, her friend was nowhere in sight. Emlyn knew all of her hiding places, and went in search of her. She looked everywhere, until there was only one place left to search. As she approached the waterfall, she spotted Branwyn sitting in the grass by the bank of the lake. Without saying a word, she sat beside her and took her hand, clasping it in a grip that bespoke her sorrow.

  “You knew, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, but remained silent.

  Her friend’s brows furrowed and her eyes darkened to almost black. “Why did you not speak of it? How could you let me go in there, knowing you knew what they would tell me?” Branwyn twisted her hand until she released her.

  “I’m sorry, Bran. I didn’t want to cause your heartbreak.” Emlyn kept her eyes on the water’s gentle waves caused by the waterfall. The noise of the water hitting the surface usually soothed her, but not this day.

  “My heartbreak? But you aren’t heartbroken at all, are you? You never wanted to marry my brother, and now your fondest wish came true. I vow I shan’t speak to you ever again.”

  Emlyn felt wretched, because even though she’d wished with all her heart not to wed Bevan, she didn’t wish any ill upon him.

  “You’ve nothing to speak of? No apologies for any of it?”

  She fisted her hands in rejection of her friend’s hurtful words. “I have nothing to apologize for. I didn’t kill him. Nor did I wish for his death. You make it sound as if I was at fault. He died in battle, Bran, akin to many men.”

  Branwyn stood. “Aye, you are verily right. Now you are free to do your will. Go and practice swords with the men, act as if you have a right to be on the field with them. I care not. If your father allows ye to go to war with his soldiers, you will end up like Bevan, dead and lying on a field.” She marched off, not giving Emlyn a chance to retort.

  Emlyn sat by the waterfall, miserable and full of woe. She hated being the cause of her friend’s dismay, even if indirectly. Although her friend was distraught and meant not a word of which she spoke. She would have to go and see Branwyn later this eve, after she had time to calm.

  When Emlyn reached the keep, she tried to avoid seeing her mother, but as with everything this day, she was thwarted. Her mother stood near the entrance seemingly in wait for her.

  “I heard what you did this day and I am not pleased.”

  Emlyn stood watching the disgruntlement on her mother’s usually lovely face. She wouldn’t speak for she knew she’d be punished if she did.

  “I bid you not to take to fighting with your father’s men and you disobey me yet again. And now the only thing I have coveted in the last few months has been torn to tatters. Aye, your betrothed is dead and I deem you are well pleased with yourself.”

  “Nay, Mother, I am not pleased. I am saddened by this news.”

  Her mother put her hands on her hips, flattening the material of her gown against her body. She was in a mood and all Emlyn thought of was escaping.

  “We shall add that falsehood to the list of grievances you’ll speak with the priest. Aye, for disobeying me, ye shall spend the morrow on your knees, praying for your soul’s redemption. Why can you not do as I ask?”

  “I’ve no need of redemption, Mother. I’ve done nothing wrong. Why does everyone accuse me of Bevan’s death? I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t there. He died in battle. I wish everyone would just leave it be, for it matters not now.” Emlyn marched away with angry steps. She made certain her mother heard the thumping of her feet on the wooden stairs and didn’t give a care whether it was childish or not.

  When she entered her chamber, she found herself unaccompanied. She was grateful her sisters were not in their bedchamber, for all she was wont was to be alone. Emlyn reached for her pillow and wept. She wept for the sorrow of Bevan’s death, for her friend’s anger toward her, and her mother’s disapproval.

  Nothing had gone right this day except for the earlier training session, which was the only thing that brought her joy. If only she could focus on battle tactics and not worry over the insignificant matters of womanhood, she’d be the merriest of all the Iorwerths.

  Chapter Three

  The Gunn clan only wanted peace and to exist without being embroiled in King Alexander’s political endeavors. Since receiving the king’s missive instructing his laird take as many men to aid the Wales warlord, Llywelyn Iorwerth, the followers trained day and night. All suspected the implications of being given such a directive from the king.

  James returned from the Highlands to his friend’s holding by the English border only a sennight prior. There they awaited Grey’s return from meeting with the king to find out exactly what their mission would entail. Before they would engage with the rest of the armies in mid-August, they were given time to get their affairs in order.

  James didn’t have any affairs to see to, but there was a woman he wanted to say farewell to. He waited until most sought their beds before trekking to the village where the healer lived. None knew of their liaison, and that’s exactly how James wanted it. For one thing, the woman was feared by the clan, and secondly, short of their diversions in bed, they didn’t really get along.

  When he’d first met Muriel, she abhorred his medicinal practices, and still she scoffed whenever he recommended a different way of healing. The woman was of an ancient culture whose practices bordered on barbaric which had been handed down from one generation to the next. He was more astute in his thinking and discerned there were better ways of dealing with such issues.

  In battle, he’d tended many a wound. How many times had they quarreled about a certain remedies, he wasn’t certain, and lost count. He didn’t mind their differences when it came to medicinals, because it was in bed where they were compatible. And Muriel damn sure amused him.

  James entered the cottage quietly so as not to disturb her, and saw her standing by the hearth. Her red hair glowed from the many candles lit within the small cottage. She’d set them around the two-roomed domain and it was bright. So much so it hurt his eyes.

  “The rumor wasn’t false … you’ve returned,” she called over her shoulder, continuing to keep focused on her task. “I heard you came back. What took you so long to come to me?”

  “Aye, but I’m here at last. I had duties.” He approached her tables where a good many volumes had been left open. James spied some of the words before she banged them
closed. She never allowed him to read the ancient text.

  “Not for your eyes.”

  He would’ve laughed, but she remained serious. James was comfortable in her abode and made himself at home. Hastily, he removed his garments and pulled off his boots. He kept his braises on for now, not that he was modest, but Muriel was working, and he’d keep the distractions to a minimum. Never would he disturb her when she toiled at her tables. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, because she’d given him a what-for when he had. The woman could be a harridan when she was angered.

  James decided to close his eyes for a wee rest until she joined him in bed.

  Before he could take rest, he noticed she mixed something. “What are you concocting?” It was rare that she used herbs, for she wasn’t one to use them, and then only in dire situations. He’d caught her a few times and when he’d asked about the remedy, she practically rebuked his interest. James reasoned the woman practiced the dark magic of her ancestors, and decided against judgment. For who was he to do so.

  She didn’t look up when she answered, “A salve for the warriors. A good many came throughout the day with bruises and abrasions. Training must be serious for them to inflict such wounds on each other.”

  “Aye, we need to strengthen our skills. I’ve a wound you can try it on.”

  When she inspected his cut, she gasped. “You should’ve came to see me when it happened. ‘Twill become infected.”

  James shrugged his shoulder. “It is but a paltry cut, Muriel, no need for ministrations.”

  Duff, his opponent on the field this day, was intent on testing his skill to the limit. If Sean hadn’t called him, he would’ve been paying attention, and easily thwarted his attack. He was wont to draw the wound in his parchments, but it was at an inaccessible spot behind his bicep.

  “Don’t move.” She used her fingers to scoop out a good amount of salve from the mixing bowl. With a gentleness he didn’t know she possessed, she applied it to the four-inch gash on his arm.

  “Might need the needle.”

  He shook his head. “It is not that deep. And besides, your hands shake too much.” James grinned for he hoped she wouldn’t be irked by his jest.

  “They only shake around you. Lie on your stomach and let it dry,” she ordered. She went back to her chores, measuring herbs and tapping them into the bowls to make more salve.

  James crawled upon the small bed and settled on his stomach, careful not to disturb the salve on his arm. With his eyes closed, he listened to her moving about the cottage. After such a long day of training, he was wont to fall asleep and get as much rest as he could. He’d heard his laird had returned and knew they would leave soon. Before he succumbed to his will, he needed to say farewell.

  Upon completing their excursion, he would not return to Sean’s holding. He would return to the Gunn keep and his position as guardsman. If his father had his way, he’d be knee-deep in manure. James had gotten such an anomalous feeling all day about his father’s request. He’d been able to disregard it until now. His honor would not allow him to reject his father’s legacy outright. Since his father’s visit, he’d been unable to put it from his mind and regretted not hearing his father’s side of the confrontation.

  Never would he see the fair Muriel again unless he visited Sean, which was highly unlikely since he was bound and had a position of esteem within his clan. And if he returned to his father’s lands, he’d rarely see any of the Gunns. Until he returned, there was no sense in ruminating about it. He had to focus on his last night with Muriel and then war.

  After waiting for several hours for her to finish her tasks, she finally joined him. The midnight hour had long since passed and the window casement appeared its darkest.

  The bed groaned with her weight. Her hands stroked his aching muscles. When her spry fingers pressed his shoulders, he moaned.

  “You are quiet this eve. Is there a reason?”

  James rolled onto his back, and noticed her serious expression. “Mayhap there is a reason.” As much as he wanted to speak of his intension, her bonny face and exposed breasts distracted him.

  “What might this reason be?”

  James groaned as her fingers kneaded his sore muscles. “My departure.”

  “You’re to leave? So Soon? You’ve only just returned.”

  “Aye and when our task is done …” James drew in a deep breath for he expected he’d anger her. “I won’t be returning here.”

  “I wish you safe travels then and a joyful life.”

  “Aye, you’re irked, as I knew you’d be.” James grunted and squeezed her hand to acknowledge her words. He detested making a woman angered, for there was too much pleasure to be had. And a cross woman was unpredictable. He knew so from experience.

  She realized she’d not see him again and regrettably, he didn’t know how to come out and tell her that. This was the end of their wee liaison. He would have had to end it soon regardless of the fact that he was off to war.

  “I do mean it, I want you to be content and you’re not here, even if you pretend.” She trailed a finger over his chest and then smoothed her palm over his abdomen.

  “I am pleased with you, but aye, you’re right. This is not my home, not where I belong. There is no contentment. I have no sense of purpose here.” James closed his eyes, not willing to sleep though for this was the last night she’d lie in his arms.

  “My bed is not purpose enough,” Muriel said quietly. She sat up and glared at him. “Verily, James, I should never have allowed you in my bed. Go then. For you shall rue the day you ever crossed my path.”

  “Why are ye angry? You knew I would leave eventually. I never promised anything.” James frowned when he realized she meant those words. Would he rue the day? He already regretted it.

  She pressed the tips of her fingers against her forehead. “I did know you would leave, but you don’t have to sound pleased by it.”

  “I’m neither displeased nor pleased. You knew what we shared was just a …” He couldn’t continue, when he noticed her eyes scrunched in abhorrence of what he was about to say.

  “You should leave now. Be gone.” She flicked her hand at him as if he was nothing but a nuisance.

  “I wanted to stay with you on our last night. Will ye deny me the … pleasure?” James should’ve known she’d be spiteful.

  Muriel got off the bed and stood naked before him. “Aye, you’ll gain no pleasure from me. Find your pleasure elsewhere. Be gone. And before you go,” she said, waving her hands madly in the air around her. “I will speak these words … . Diligo mos victum quod evinco vos!” She muttered and spoke, but James couldn’t understand her.

  “What are you saying?”

  “Love will conquer and defeat you. One day you’ll meet a woman who will be what your heart desires, but you shan’t have her. For there will be no love for you, James Gunn.” Muriel laughed in an oddly wicked way, and tugged on a robe, covering up her lovely body.

  James lay back, dumbfounded by her words. “Are you hexing me? Aye, I always thought you were a …” He closed his mouth because he didn’t want to cause her affront.

  Some women took it as disparaging being called a witch. Who knew what such a woman was capable of? He didn’t want to upset her and had planned an evening far different. All he wanted was to spend his last night pleasuring her and she ruined it.

  “I promise ye, James. You will not be content. If I cannot have you then none shall.” She raised her voice and practically shouted at him.

  James detested anger in a woman, and that was the last thing he’d hoped to do. “Muriel, I bid you to calm. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She scoffed. “I see her. Aye, and if you deem for one moment you will be happy with the woman, you shall be duped. She will cause you nothing but heartache. And then ye shall know what it feels akin to what I feel.”

  He got off the bed and tugged on his tunic and tartan. “Who do you see? What are you speaking of?” James couldn’t make
sense of her words.

  “Her. She will vex ye and I shall care not.”

  James reached out to her, but she pulled away. “I don’t know who you speak of, for I am not involved with anyone. I do care a great deal for you, Muriel, but you know we were not destined to be together.”

  “Ever since you returned from the north, I sensed it. You would rather be anywhere but here, hence your delay in coming to me. I bid ye farewell then.”

  Before he strode toward the door, he touched Muriel’s cheek. “I’m sorry, lovely, for causing your ire. You know that is not my wish. I had duties. That was the only thing that kept me from you. But I do hope you forgive me.” James lifted a tress of her red hair and set it upon her lovely bosom. He didn’t wish for an emotional farewell, but that’s exactly what he got. “Fare thee well, my bonny lady.”

  When James exited the cottage, he bumped into Sean, who had just shouted his name.

  Near dawn, his friend spoke with such vigor, loud enough to wake the dead. James muttered a few curses under his breath, for his friend’s lack of manners.

  “Cosh! Sean, people are sleeping. You’ll awaken your entire clan with your shouting. How’d you know I’d be here?” James grumbled.

  “I figured it out. Aye, you tried to be elusive, my friend, but I saw the way you’d looked at Muriel upon your return. I knew it.” Sean raised a brow. “How long has this been going on? Ah, never mind. We must hasten.” He chuckled loud enough to wake those in the adjacent cottages. “Best get your arse moving. Grey wants to meet when the cocks crow.”

  “God Almighty, has he no sense? Just because he likes leaving his bed when it is still dark, doesn’t mean we all do. Why does he want to meet so early?”

  James hastily led the way, and shoved Sean’s shoulder irritably when he passed by. His friend had an annoying smirk on his face and that bothered him for he was not cheerful in the morning no matter what time he arose. And this night he hadn’t slept a wink.