Warrior’s Redemption

by Melissa Mayhue

  “Because I’ll no allow you to waste yer Magicks on holding that damn spell or glamour or whatever you want to call it when you need yer energy to heal yerself.”

  “Allow?” Elesyria’s voice pitched up a full octave. “And since when are you in any position to tell me what you will and won’t ‘allow’ me to do? I could blast you from the saddle where you sit with one look. Allow, indeed!”

  “There’ll be no blasting done here today,” Malcolm intervened. “Besides, you’ve the look of someone who’s doing well to remain upright in her own saddle let alone threatening to unseat someone else.”

  Men. Totally lacking in anything even remotely resembling tact. At least these two men, anyway. Dani pulled on her reins to circle her horse back around beside Elesyria’s.

  “Your healing is more important than the disguise you wore for them. What if we invent a new story? Something that allows you to give up constantly staying on your guard. To just be yourself. More or less.”

  “More or less?” Though Elesyria’s face was drawn and pale, a spark of interest glimmered in her expression.

  “You could be Elesyria’s niece.” Dani invented as she went, calling on her imagination and years of reading good books. “We could say you brought word to your aunt that she was needed at home and she sent you to stay with me as my companion.”

  “Or she could just go home,” Malcolm suggested sourly.

  “No,” Elesyria countered. “All things considered, I think it best I remain here for a time. I suppose dropping the disguise might not be so bad.”

  “We’d need a new name for you,” Dani added. That should make her happy. Faeries had a soft spot for deception, or so her study of them had told her. “Is there a name you’ve always liked?”

  “Elesyria has always appealed to me,” her friend responded.

  “No, I meant . . . never mind. What about a nickname? Is there a name people call you? Other than Elesyria, that is?”

  “Elf,” Patrick interjected, almost allowing himself a grin as he said it.

  “Absolutely not!” Elesyria glared at him before turning back to Dani’s question. “My father used to call me Syrie, but that’s a child’s name.”

  “That’s perfect since you’re playing the part of your own niece. You could be named Elesyria after your aunt, but you go by Syrie so we allay any suspicions. How’s that?”

  “The Fae do not name their children after living relatives,” she grumbled.

  “But the part yer playing is no that of a Fae, but a plain, simple Mortal. So much the better, then.” Malcolm’s eyebrow lifted as he turned to face them. “Or, if that’s no to yer satisfaction, you could go home.”

  Elesyria shook her head to reject his suggestion once again. “Not a good idea right now. For the time being, I will agree to your suggestion. Syrie it is.”

  Dani silently wished all their problems could be so easily solved.

  The castle walls were visible now and growing larger with each step their horses took. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the castle gates.

  “Dispatch the first riders as soon as possible.”

  Patrick acknowledged Malcolm’s instruction, pausing before he answered as if it was territory they’d already covered. Likely it was. Dani had witnessed their hushed conversations over the past couple of days and had no doubt that they’d been over this ground repeatedly.

  “Men will be hard to come by, with our empty coffers,” Patrick began, relenting with a sigh. “I’ll have riders on the road before sundown.”

  And then they were there, the big iron portcullis creaking as its weight was drawn upward allowing their horses entrance through the wall.

  They crossed the bailey, stopping near the entrance stairway. Malcolm was at her side to lift her from her perch before she’d even realized he’d dismounted. She held her breath against the aches and pains of the bruises she’d received in the battle against Torquil, resting her forehead against his chest when he set her on her feet.

  “Have Eric bring the families of the men we lost to my solar. I’ll break the news to them, though I’m sure they’ve already guessed, since we’ve returned alone.”

  His voice rumbled in his chest, physically comforting though the words he spoke to Patrick speared her heart.

  “I should be there with you when you speak to them since I was there when . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence. The memory was still too raw.

  “No. You’ll take Ele—” He caught himself and started again. “You’ll take Syrie to her aunt’s old chambers and see that she’s settled in. This is no a place for you to be.”

  “I understand that I’m not the mistress of Castle MacGahan and so it’s not my official place to be there, but I was there when Torquil hanged those men. I should speak to their families.” No matter how much it hurt to do so. Their men had died because they had accompanied her to Tordenet in order to protect her. She owed their families.

  “No.” Malcolm’s refusal brooked no argument. “And no because yer no the wife of the laird but because the memories you have of their men’s last moments are no memories their women need to share. Leave their families the solace that their men died in glorious battle, no strung up helpless like beasts to slaughter. Now go. See to yer friend.”

  Dani went to Syrie, slipping an arm around the Faerie’s waist to help her up the stairs.

  Malcolm was right. Of course he was right. She was being selfish in wanting to try to rid herself of the guilt she carried over the deaths of Eymer, Guy, and Hamund.

  But the time for selfishness was over. The time had come when she would have to consider the needs of others over her own.

  Forty-two

  SHE SIMPLY COULDN’T do this.

  Dani stood in the center of her bedchamber, at a loss as to what she actually could do. But whatever it was, it wasn’t this.

  She loved this room, from the delicate table and chairs near the fire to the intricately carved fireplace itself. It felt like she belonged here.

  Only she didn’t.

  This was the chamber belonging to the laird’s wife, connected directly to the laird’s chamber. And very soon, there would be another woman who should occupy this room, a thought that made her physically ill.

  She’d made the decision to move while they were still a day away from Castle MacGahan. Her challenge now was to follow through on that decision. The room next to Syrie’s was open. That would be the logical choice.

  But logical didn’t make it feel right. The more she considered Malcolm’s having a wife, the more she realized she couldn’t do this.

  No matter what room she lived in, Malcolm would be with another woman and she simply couldn’t handle seeing that day in, day out.

  As she’d helped Syrie settle in after their journey, she’d suggested that they both might leave here and go to the Faerie’s home, but her friend hadn’t been the least bit receptive. In fact, after mumbling something about using Magic she shouldn’t have used, she indicated she’d be staying here for the foreseeable future.

  That left Dani with only one real option: to return to her own time. Granted, it hadn’t worked when she’d tried before, but, honestly, how hard had she tried? And that was before Elesyria had told her about the rowan wood and its supposed Magical powers.

  And yet here she stood, dithering in the middle of the room, no closer to making up her mind than she had been an hour ago.

  A knock at the door separating her room from Malcolm’s interrupted another round of indecision and she went to answer it.

  “I thought perhaps we could take our evening meal together, in my chambers.”

  He was freshly shaven and his dark hair was damp where the ends lay upon his shoulders, leaving little wet spots on his untucked shirt, as if he’d just bathed and hurriedly dressed. He held out an arm, clearly inviting her to cross into his room.

  One step inside the door and she knew she’d made a serious mistake.

  Candles burned everywher
e. They lined the mantel, sat on tables and chairs and even on the floor near the walls. A tray of food waited on the table, surrounded by more candles and, next to the table, in front of the hearth, a huge wooden tub. From here she could smell the herbal fragrance of the steam wafting off the water.

  “Oh, Malcolm.” She felt as if her heart would truly break. “You’ve done all this for me?”

  He shrugged carelessly, though a wicked grin crept over his face. “Maybe not entirely for you. I’m expecting I’ll take a wee bit of pleasure in the evening myself.”

  Taking her hand, he led her over to the tub, where he began to slowly unlace her overdress. It pooled at her feet, quickly followed by her shift.

  He ran his hands down her arms and grasped her waist. His fingers trailed lower, pausing when she winced as he touched the bruise on her hip. He lifted his hands to inspect her injury, leaving her feeling unaccountably vulnerable and embarrassed by his scrutiny.

  “He deserved to die at my hand for what he’s done to you,” he growled, looking up from his examination to meet her gaze. “I wanted to kill him for this.”

  “I know,” she said simply. “I felt the same way when I saw him attack you. I guess I was just lucky you’d made my fork from the wood of a rowan tree.”

  He bent, one arm behind her knees and one at her back, and lifted her off her feet to gently immerse her in the hot water before gently kissing her lips.

  “Why is that?” he asked as he rolled a bar of soap between his hands and then began to massage her back and shoulders.

  Lord, but it felt wonderful.

  “Elesyria says it’s likely the Magic of the wood that stopped him when a regular weapon might have had no effect. She told me the rowan wood is powerful enough that it alone might have been able to have sent me here.”

  Dani waited to see if he might make the connection with the wood also being able to send her home.

  He didn’t.

  “I’ll carve you another soon to replace the one you left behind.”

  He didn’t make mention of where she’d left the little fork, sticking out of Torquil’s neck.

  She shivered as he leaned close, his hair brushing against her shoulders as his hands moved from her lower back upward, to her neck and over, down onto her chest.

  Large and warm, they covered her breasts, massaging still until his thumb and forefinger closed around her nipple, rolling the skin gently.

  She laid her head back against his shoulder and he pulled her toward him until her back fit snug up against the wooden wall of the tub. His hands molded her breasts once more before moving down to stroke across her stomach.

  “Your shirt is getting wet,” she protested, but he covered her lips with his.

  “Yer right,” he whispered as he broke the kiss. “I’ve no need for a tunic, have I?”

  A moment later, his shirt and plaid were on the floor and he was lifting her to fit her in between his legs as he climbed into the tub behind her.

  When she lay back this time, it was his wet, heated skin rather than the rough wood that cushioned her back.

  His hands again covered her stomach, skimming their way down to her thighs. Over and under he rubbed until at last his fingers parted the folds between her legs and found the sensitive nub centered there.

  In tiny circles, he rubbed round and round, slow at first and then speeding up as if his hand attempted to keep pace with her rate of breathing.

  His erection, grown large and hard, pressed into her back and, when one of his fingers slipped inside her, she began to rock against him, stopping only when her muscles exploded in a tremor of ecstasy.

  HER BODY TIGHTENED around his hand in breathless little spasms until at last her full weight lay back against him, her beautiful breasts heaving as she panted for air. Her eyes were closed, but a satisfied little smile curved her lips.

  He’d done that. He’d put that look on her face. Not for the first time and not for the last. She was his and he would never give her up.

  He kissed her neck, her ear, her cheek, before lifting her forward and entering her from behind. She was warm and welcoming and fully ready for him as he rocked his hips against her perfect round buttocks.

  Once, twice, a third time, reveling in her moans until he realized he held her hip over the large discolored area.

  “Have I hurt you?” he asked, withdrawing and pulling her close, making sure he didn’t touch the spot again.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she answered breathlessly.

  “It does to me.”

  He stood, lifting her in his arms, and climbed from the tub, fastening his lips over hers again. She tangled her fingers in the hair at his neck, driving him wild, convincing him the bed was too far away.

  Dropping to his knees on the fur next to the fire, he put her down, pulling her on top of him as he lay back. With her on top, he wouldn’t have to worry over putting pressure on her bruises. They would go at her pace.

  She needed no encouragement.

  As they entwined their hands she lowered herself onto his erection and began to move in a sensual dance of bend and sway that forced his release much sooner than he would have chosen.

  “We’re good at this, are we no?” he asked when he could speak again, needing to hear her confirmation of what he’d seen in her face.

  “We are,” she said, her head tucked against his neck.

  “I canna live without this,” he confessed. “I canna live without you.”

  She leaned up on one elbow, tracing her finger over the mark of protection on his chest, taking her time before she spoke again, obviously choosing her words with care.

  “But you will. You must in order to save your people. We both will do what we have to do, but it makes it easier knowing you love me as much as I love you.”

  That knowledge made nothing easier.

  “I will speak to the MacKilyn. I will explain. It’s as simple as that. Yer the one I want to wed. You and no other.”

  She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his cheek before she withdrew. “We’ll both do what we have to do,” she repeated, one lone tear tracking down her cheek.

  He wiped it away with his thumb, realizing as he did so that, in spite of all they’d been through together, it was the only one he’d ever seen her shed.

  “Dani,” he began, feeling the need to question what was on her mind, but a pounding at his door prevented his asking.

  With a curse of frustration, he rose to his feet, picking up his plaid and winding it loosely around him as he crossed the room.

  Eric waited on the other side of the door.

  “Yer pardon, my laird, but the MacKilyn and his party have arrived. He sends his apologies for the hour of his arrival, but insists upon speaking with you now. He awaits yer audience belowstairs in the great hall. Him and those what travel with him.”

  “A moment.”

  Malcolm closed the door, stopping to retrieve a dry shirt from the chest by his bed before he crossed back to where Dani sat.

  She’d already slipped into her shift when he reached her, her eyes as closed off from him as her body.

  “You’ll wait for me here, aye? I’ll deal with this and we’ll have it over and done with.”

  “You’re the laird of the MacGahan, Malcolm. You don’t have the luxury of dealing with it as you might like. You’re responsible for an entire clan. Their welfare comes before yours. Or mine.”

  “I’m no going to argue the point with you now. You wait here. When I return we’ll have time for all yer blether.”

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead before heading back to the door, tucking in his shirt as he went.

  “Malcolm?”

  He turned once again to see her smile.

  “We both do what we must. I just want to make sure you know that I’ll always love you. No matter what. No matter when.”

  He returned her smile, easy enough since she brought such joy to him. Closing the door behind him, he followed Eric down to
the great hall.

  Forty-three

  NOPE. THIS DEFINITELY was not going to work.

  Dani tied the last lace on her dress and moved around the room, blowing out candles as she went.

  Oh, she had no doubt that Malcolm had honestly meant what he said about refusing to marry the MacKilyn girl. But once he got downstairs in front of all the clan, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. She knew him too well. He would never be able to put his own interests ahead of those who depended on him. He had too much honor.

  And if he did, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

  This evening with him had convinced her of what she needed to do. There was no way she could stay. All he’d have to do would be to crook his little finger and she’d be in his bed again. She didn’t have the ability to refuse him now any more than she would have that ability when he was married.

  And sleeping with some other woman’s husband was something she could not do and live with herself.

  Besides, hadn’t Christiana warned her that life would be challenging? Only in letting go will you hold on. She understood the meaning now. She had to let go of Malcolm so that she could hold on to her sanity.

  “So there you go,” she said aloud as she stepped back into her room, closing the door to Malcolm’s chamber.

  Her cloak was where she’d left it, folded neatly on the bed. There was really nothing else she needed. Once she had it on, she picked up a candle and headed out into the hallway.

  She chose to go the back way. There’d be too many people in the main hallway and probably even in the kitchen since guests had just arrived.

  Guests. The word squeezed at her heart. Malcolm’s new wife and her father.

  Quietly she made her way through the narrow halls, passing only one young girl on her way outside. She kept her head turned and her cloak pulled low around her face so it was unlikely the child had any idea whom she’d passed in the hallway.

  The cold bit into her exposed hands when she stepped into the night, so she blew out her candle and left it on the ground, freeing her to wrap her hands inside her cloak. The moon gave plenty of light to find her way.