Warrior’s Redemption

by Melissa Mayhue

  “I concede yer point, my . . . Dani.”

  He tugged at his reins, starting his horse forward, and she followed his lead, staying close to him. She wasn’t finished yet. In fact, she was working her way through a mental list. She might have missed the perfect opportunity for the next item, but oh well. His ego would just have to deal with her apology.

  “Good. Second thing is, I feel bad about that bruise on your jaw. I’m sure it was just a lucky punch and had everything not been so . . . weird, I never would have been able to hit you that hard.”

  His fingers stole up to his jaw and when he turned to look at her this time, his face broke into a grin that took her breath away.

  “You’ve a good arm, Dani. A fine, strong hit that would have surprised any man.”

  Maybe he wasn’t so arrogantly alpha as she’d thought. She was on a roll. Two down and one to go. Saving the hardest for last.

  “Okay, so, I know you’re not happy about having me here, and I’m sorry that I’ve caused a problem for you.”

  She paused for a breath and he slipped into that space.

  “I told you before, you’ve no blame on that count. You canna control what actions the Magical Folk take. They’ve their own way of thinking and their own intent. Yer but a pawn in whatever game Elesyria thinks to play. You’ve no call to apologize to me for being here.”

  It would be so easy to leave it at that. So easy to let him believe as he did rather than to confess what she suspected to be the truth. But easy now would lead to complicated later on, and she would not be responsible for starting her new life off on the wrong foot.

  “No, I am sort of to blame. Not sort of. I am. Remember Elesyria saying something about not being able to reject a boon and you asked who had requested something?” She waited for a response, picking back up when he said nothing. “That would be me. You see, I’ve always believed in the Fae. Always believed they had some higher purpose for me. I’ve been waiting forever for some sign of what that purpose is. So when I called on the Queen at Samhain, I asked her to send me to do whatever it was the Faeries wanted of me.”

  Again she waited, holding her breath that he wouldn’t just ride off and leave her here.

  “Fifteen years, aye?”

  “What?” She kicked her mount, forcing it to reach Malcolm’s side.

  “It’s how long you told Elesyria you’d been waiting for them. Fifteen years.”

  “That’s right. Since the summer of my eighth birthday, when I read my first book about them.”

  His eyebrows drew together, but he kept riding, staring straight ahead.

  “You’ve no call to take this responsibility on yerself, lass. Waiting fifteen years should tell you that. It’s of no matter that you asked the Fae to set you on yer path. They’d have ignored you for another fifteen years lest they had good reason of their own to send you now.” He turned toward her at last, his gaze an intense blue framed by his dark hair and whiskers. “Of that you can be sure. I give you my oath on it.”

  It could be truth. After fifteen years of hearing absolutely nothing from the Fae, it certainly wouldn’t surprise her.

  “And what do you think their reason is?”

  He shook his head, turning away to stare into the distance before he answered. “I suspect it’s Elesyria’s way of punishing me for what happened to her daughter. You’ve no part in it, other than getting snared in their spiderweb of schemes.”

  His accusation felt like a punch to the stomach. Here she was spending her nights battling some physical obsession with this man, and he viewed her as nothing more than punishment from the Fae. Having him angry with her couldn’t have been any worse.

  He sighed, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his eyebrows. “If yer to stay, I suppose we’ll need to find something to do with you. Have you any skills?”

  “Skills,” she squeaked, clenching her teeth together to keep in what she actually thought. Skills. Like sleeping on dirt floors? Or riding around in the wilderness? Or putting up with arrogant, thoughtless men?

  “Aye. Any abilities or talents we could use?” He spoke calmly, as if he had no clue as to her real feelings.

  Which, obviously, he didn’t.

  “I’m a pretty good cook. I could do that. I’m also a waitress. I could do what your serving girls do.”

  “Castle MacGahan has a cook and yer a wee bit long in the tooth to be a serving lass.”

  “Long in the tooth”? She’d seen that phrase before, in the historical books she loved to read. He was calling her old! Again she clenched her teeth together. She was actually sorry she’d bothered to apologize for slugging him. In fact, if given the chance right now, she’d kind of like to punch him again.

  “Dinna fash yerself over it. We’ll find some use for you.”

  No “probably” to it. Definitely. Her fist actually ached just thinking about it.

  Their conversation ended, they rode for some time in silence while Dani fumed.

  “It’s true, then, you come from seven hundred years in the future?”

  After such a long silence, the question seemed to wing in out of left field. “Yes.” Freaking-scary true.

  “In that case, perhaps we could take advantage of yer knowledge to aid my people. You can tell me if we need to prepare for the English to invade again, or if Edward will be satisfied with having his man sit on our throne.”

  It took a minute for Dani to realize what he was asking. He wanted the history of his country. At least, what to her would be history. To him it would be foreknowledge.

  And that, somehow, didn’t feel right. Her aunt Jean had always cautioned about people who knew just enough to get them in trouble. This seemed like a perfect moment for that adage. The idea that she might be responsible for somehow changing what was to come rattled her.

  Fortunately, at least to her way of thinking, she didn’t know all that much.

  “Who’s your king right now?”

  “John Balliol sits on the throne of Scotland.”

  Not ringing any bells. Good. She could be honest in her response.

  “I’m guessing you’re in for more changes.” Everything she’d ever read certainly pointed to it. “But, in fairness, pretty much all I know about the history of Scotland I learned off the trivia notes printed on the napkins in the diner where I worked.” She’d actually learned a lot of useless information off those napkins.

  “What are these napkins of which you speak?” He’d reined in his horse, once again waiting for her to catch up, a spark of curiosity in his expression.

  “They’re paper things that people use to wipe their hands and mouths on when they eat.”

  “Paper . . .” He repeated the word, his brows drawn together in confusion. “And this paper is . . . ?”

  “Paper.” Dani struggled to find a good explanation. “Like what you write on, or like they print books on. You know, paper.”

  “Parchment, you mean?”

  “Like parchment, I guess,” she agreed. Unbelievable. She was so far out of time, they didn’t even have paper, for crying out loud.

  “This I find hard to believe. Parchment is too costly for wiping one’s face and hands.” He shook his head from side to side, in obvious rejection of her information as he set off again ahead of her. “How careless the people of your time must be to waste in such a manner.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at Malcolm’s back. If he thought using napkins to clean your hands and face was wasteful, she couldn’t help but wonder what he would think of toilet paper.

  Fourteen

  THE SUN, BLESSEDLY warm on this day, hung high in the sky by the time Malcolm reined in his horse to wait for Dani to reach his side. One look at his face told her something was wrong.

  “What is it?”

  “Riders approach.” He pointed ahead of them. “You’ll stay behind me, aye? And if there’s trouble, you’ll break for the trees and follow a straight line toward the setting sun, riding as hard as you can. You’re no
to turn back or slow for anything.”

  She stared into the distance, squinting to make out the tiny figures.

  “You expect trouble? There’s only two of them. Maybe I could help.”

  She wasn’t completely worthless if it came down to it. All she’d need was a weapon of some sort—a branch, a rock. Surely there was something on the ground she could find.

  “You’ll stay behind me, Danielle. Out of harm’s way. The course I’ve set will lead you straight to the gates of Castle MacGahan if need be. I’ll no brook yer arguments on this point.”

  Ride away and let the bad guys chase her down? Not freaking likely. Dani shook her head but said nothing; Malcolm’s attention was already focused on the little figures in the distance. No, she’d feel safer staying right here with him and taking her chances.

  Malcolm pushed back the fur he wore, allowing it to pool on the saddle behind him, revealing a sword and scabbard strapped to his back. His hand briefly caressed the hilt, a move Dani would bet was more instinct than conscious movement. He looked back at her and held out a knife he’d pulled from the belt he wore at his waist.

  “Take this.”

  Dani accepted his offer, grateful to have something to concentrate on other than the approaching men. The knife was small, but it looked wickedly sharp. Sharp enough to do some real damage.

  She only hoped she didn’t have to test that theory.

  As Malcolm had instructed, Dani dropped back behind him, but tried to keep no more than a horse-length between them. Everything she’d ever known about fighting said you didn’t get separated from your partner. You closed ranks. Kept your backs together. Of course, all she knew came from books and movies. Scripted and well choreographed.

  This, on the other hand, was real.

  Tension knotted in her stomach as they continued forward, each step on their path carrying them directly toward confrontation with the mounted figures.

  Only when the riders drew close enough to see their faces did Malcolm seem to relax his guard. Patrick led out in front, followed by a younger man Dani hadn’t seen before.

  “Thank Freya!” Patrick pulled his animal to a stop in front of them. “What happened to you? Even the Elf was worried when you dinna return.”

  “Faerie,” Dani muttered under her breath, completely ignored by both men.

  “We delayed too long at the circle and lost our light. Spent the night in one of the high country shepherds’ huts. Any word of Eric?”

  Patrick opened his mouth to answer but stilled as the younger man arrived.

  “Where have you been, Colm? The whole castle was in a tizzy last night. And who’s this?” The new arrival jerked his head toward her, his face riddled with curiosity.

  “This is our guest, Lady Danielle. She’ll be staying with us for a time, under my protection. Lady Danielle?” He turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable. “This is my brother Dermid.”

  Another brother. This one she never would have guessed belonged to the same family. While Patrick and Malcolm were obviously related, this young man looked nothing like either of them. Somewhere in his late teens, he was the exact opposite of his brothers. A soft, fair-haired cherub bookended by two hard, dark-haired devils.

  Genetics in action.

  Their parents must have been an interesting match, a pairing of light and dark, much as she and Malcolm would be.

  Not that that was ever going to happen.

  Suddenly uncomfortable, she straightened in her saddle to find three sets of eyes turned on her.

  With all three staring her direction, she discovered the one feature that betrayed the blood connection between them—their eyes. Each a blue so oddly deep in hue that if she were in her own time, she’d have sworn they all wore the same colored contact lenses.

  “Is that where you’ve been, then? Off to collect her?” Dermid’s head swiveled between Malcolm and Patrick. “Why dinna you tell me that was the case, Paddy? You ken I was worried, did you no?”

  Patrick shrugged, his face returning to its usual emotionless mask. “It’s Colm’s place to tell you what he will of his own personal business, no mine.”

  “Personal, is it?” Dermid looked past Patrick, fixing his gaze on her again. “Am I to be the last to learn yer bringing home the woman who’s to be our new sister?”

  Sister? Surely he didn’t think that she and Malcolm . . .

  “Hold on there a minute.”

  “Mind yer manners, lad!” Malcolm snapped, cutting off anything else she might have said. “The good lady is to be a guest in my home. I expect you to treat her as such, no to badger her with yer blether. Is that clear?”

  “But . . .” Dermid’s face hardened into a stubborn frown, as if he intended to pursue the discussion in spite of Malcolm’s rebuke.

  “Best you ride on ahead, lad,” Patrick intervened, likely preventing an argument. “Carry word to those who wait at the castle that we’ve found our laird.”

  “But I’ve no had a chance to speak with Colm for any length since I arrived.” Dermid’s expression quickly flickered from stubborn frown to innocent distress. “And I’ve certainly no had a chance to acquaint myself with her.”

  Patrick held firm. “You claimed you want to be one of the men defending Castle MacGahan, did you no? A soldier in our ranks? If yer to find yer place here, Dermid, you’d best be about following orders when they’re given. Without question.”

  Distress morphed to anger, and with a snap of his reins to his horse’s rump, Dermid galloped back in the direction from which he and Patrick had traveled.

  “You ken I’ve no desire to risk our brother’s life to the ways of soldier, aye?” Malcolm set his horse in motion, holding it to a walk even as spoke over his shoulder. “And I’ll certainly no have him take his first battle against Torquil’s men. He’s too young.”

  Patrick drew his mount up beside his brother’s. “Need I remind you, we’ve call for every man who can wield a weapon? And our brother is years beyond what either of us was when we left for our first battles.”

  Dani dropped back behind the two of them, not wanting to eavesdrop on their conversation. It wasn’t her fault they spoke so loudly she could hear everything.

  Almost everything.

  She moved a little closer.

  “I want him kept out of this, Paddy. All of it. I task you with that responsibility.”

  “You ken it’ll no be easy. Dermid’s curiosity is no small thing. Already he questions the activity at the keep. His groomsman acts like a deerhound on scent.”

  “Bollocks,” Malcolm swore, lifting a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Then we need a way to put both him and Dermid off the scent.”

  “A distraction.” Patrick nodded to himself as if considering the idea.

  None of her business. This was most certainly a conversation she should stay out of. And yet, they were both missing the obvious.

  “What about me?”

  Malcolm glanced over his shoulder, irritation evident. “We’ll find a spot for you, lass. I’ve told you that already. You’ve no need to fash yerself over it. We’ve time to figure out what useful skill you have.”

  Oh, good lord. Arrogant one-track alpha brain on display. If it weren’t for the both of them trying to keep their younger brother safe, she wouldn’t even bother.

  But they were and, grudgingly, she admired that.

  “I don’t mean what to do with me, Malcolm. I mean what about using me as the distraction you need? Your brother already thinks there’s something going on between us. What if you were to let him continue to think that, without ever actually confirming it? You wouldn’t be lying to him, but it would give him a mystery to search out to keep him busy. Perhaps he’d even suspect the activity at the castle was because I’ve arrived.”

  “She’s a good point,” Patrick conceded. “Give him a trail to follow. A trail we don’t mind having him pursue.”

  “Since there’s naught there to hurt him. Aye.” Malcolm nodded
, a corner of his mouth lifting in what threatened to be a grin before it faded away. “It could work. Do you think Elesyria would go along with us in it? There’s no a need to burden him with the knowledge that the Magical Folk have had a hand in any of this.”

  “You leave the Elf to me.” Patrick’s face broke into a full-fledged grin. “I can deal with her.”

  “It’s settled then.” Malcolm slapped his brother on the back and urged his mount into a trot.

  Dani didn’t bother to correct Patrick’s misuse of Elf versus Faerie this time. She was too busy wondering what she’d just gotten herself into.

  So that was what she’d “do” in this time. She’d be a fiancée. Sort of. A mystery fiancée.

  Apparently, she’d discovered a useful skill all by herself.

  Fifteen

  ERIC HAS RETURNED.”

  Three simple words that sent a chill to the depths of Malcolm’s soul.

  Patrick’s expression gave no hint as to whether his captain of the guards carried good tidings or ill.

  “He awaits you in the stables. I’ve informed him of the need for discretion in this matter.” A simple cough and Patrick almost imperceptibly tilted his head toward the entrance doors of the great hall.

  Malcolm traced the direction his brother indicated, spotting the object of Patrick’s interest immediately. Their younger brother stood just inside the room, back to the wall, his groomsman a shadow at his side. Dermid’s gaze scanned the great hall, reminding Malcolm of a hawk in search of prey.

  It was Dermid’s presence here that forced his need for caution. If it were to come to war with his elder brother, Torquil, he would not have Dermid involved. He would not put his younger brother’s safety in jeopardy.

  “Best you go before he makes his way to yer table and yer forced to come up with some excuse for leaving.”

  “Aye. It’s as you . . .”

  Whatever he’d intended to say, the very thought itself diffused into the air around him. His feet refused to move, the wisdom of his brother’s words lost in the vision stepping through the door and into the great hall.