A Warrior's Perception

by Stevens, Spring

  “Ye remember when we met?” She smiled, “I assumed ye were'na wholly impressed with what ye found.”

  Kagan growled, “Get off me woman or I'll show ye how impressed I was!”

  Andra did not move and laughed when he rolled her over off of his lap. He stood and stomped to the door, “Ye were mine from that night on. I will ha'e ye in my bed and ye will be beggin' for my touch.

  Andra leaned down upon her elbows and sat her chin into her palms. She smiled as she slurred, “I am'na the one lea'ing in a fit of passion.”

  Kagan gritted his teeth and grabbed the door handle, “Would ye rather me take ye without ye permission? In my fit of passion?”

  “Would take a better man than ye without dyin',” she laughed.

  Kagan swung the door open and it bounced off of the wall inside her room, “Sooner or later, ye will come crawlin’ to me.” All women did.

  “Ye can wish all ye want McKregan, I'll na fall at ye feet,” Andra replied with a broad grin across her face, exposing the dimples in her cheeks. She was enjoying his dismay and stretched across the bed like a playful kitten.

  He watched her body twist, knowing full well she was teasing him with every ounce of pleasure in her body and he was enjoying every second of it. She smiled as she slid her hands down her sides and licked her lips. Her mind was becoming rather sluggish as she held her hand out to him and pointed her finger. The scotch eased around her heart and flared her desires into full bloom.

  Kagan stepped to her and tried not to grin at her drunkenness, “Perhaps, I should lock ye in this room. I can'na ha'e ye tryin' to seduce me or my men with ye wanton body.”

  Andra's giggle of delight sent tiny goose bumps up his arms and his nipples became erect along with his pulsing shaft. Her words had a different effect and his chest tightened against his lungs, “Tryin' to? How many of 'em do ye think will fall for my charms? Two, six, ten? Think they will like to ha'e a romp with this body?”

  “Ye would fare well to keep away from 'em all. Make na mistake, that body belongs to me,” Kagan replied as he caught her hand in his.

  “I donna belong to ye McKregan and I will let whoe'er I wish to touch my body whether ye like it or na.” She prayed the room would stop spinning and her face etched with sickness. Her stomach burned and rose up her throat as her lips became numb.

  “Do ye forget? Ye will soon be a McKregan and na man has the guts to cross me,” he growled as she rolled over onto her side groaning.

  “Shhhh. Stop ye growlin',” she closed her eyes, “the room is spinnin' and my head...”

  “Yer drunk and I am tempted to take advantage of it,” he whispered as she clutched his hand harder in her misery.

  “Would take a better...” Her words were unintelligible and slurred against her groans.

  “There is none better than me,” he whispered to her ear as he leaned closer.

  Andra's senses came back and she jerked her hand away from his. She urged her voice to be clear and firm, “Ha'e ye lain with so many, ye now claim to be...an expert. I would as soon let a frog touch me this night as ye.”

  Kagan stood and gripped the bed post until his knuckles turned white, not out of anger, but out of white hot desire. Ell'andra Duncan was driving him out of his mind and pushing his body to the brink of utter madness. He quickly gathered what restraint he had left and stalked to the door.

  “Then his death would be on ye head,” he whispered as he closed the door to her soft snore.

  Chapter 9

  Kagan returned to his bed hours later to find Andra curled up asleep with a soft smile on her lips. Her beauty was devastating and his arousal returned as he slid the sheet up around her shoulders, slid into the bed, and curled his arm around her body. In her sleep, she nestled closer to his warmth but did not stir. He held his breath as his body melted to hers. It felt natural, right that she be in his arms. He held her until the morning sun gently rolled into the room.

  He pulled free from her body and stood, his body ached and his eyes sagged with his lack of sleep. What was he going to do with her? How could he not break his oath if she tortured him every night? He needed to get as far from her as possible for a little while and decided to visit the eastern villages for a few days. He smiled as he left the room, he would give the guard explicit orders to watch her. The gypsies in the villages would have potions to control his hunger and he planned on bringing crates of them home.

  Andra stared blankly at the two guards who stood a few feet from her position at the stone bench. They had followed her all morn and she was in no shape to argue. Her head pounded and her stomach burned. She had been unable to eat and slowly was trying to choke a mug of ale down. It was bitter and burned her raw throat.

  Shrinking back into the shade, Andra closed her heavy eyes, if Dagma was kind, he'd let her die in her sleep. She slumped forward and rested her forehead on the cool stone table, her hair spilling over her shoulders and dragging the ground. She had not bound it or braided the mess of curls; she had barely been able to brush it. Her body ached and she silently swore that if she survived, she would never drink so much scotch again.

  As Andra drifted off to sleep at the bench, Kagan was riding hard and fast toward the gypsy villages with ten of his warriors. He would first stop to see an old friend, Haggart the Horrid. He was something of a medicine man, a bit senile and always stank of engorged spice and rum. There was naught that the man did not have a cure for and the man always had something to say about any subject that was mentioned in his presence.

  He grinned as he remembered sitting at the old man's feet as a boy. The old goat could tell a story like no other and make men believe they could fly through the air like birds and swim seas like the nautical beasts of legend.

  It was rare that the gypsies allowed a foreigner, such as Haggart was, to live and breathe among them. It was never a question; they had accepted him as one of their own the same day he had arrived. Kagan's father, Laird Kain, had placed a large portion of trust in the man, whom he had insisted Kagan call uncle and treat as such.

  The sun had sunk below the horizon when Kagan arrived at the first house before reaching the village of Geldamar. Demon trotted along the dirt path to Haggart's stone block house. The wrinkled old man leaned on his gnarled cane as Kagan leapt from Demon's back. Kagan waved a hand toward his men and they trotted past him towards the village over the hill.

  “How be me horse?” he lisped in foreign accent, “He carried the gal with plenty curves yet?”

  Kagan frowned; the man had a third vision that often perplexed him. He flung the quilt off of Demon's back and hung it on the stone wall beside of Haggart, who was grinning rather archaically.

  “Aye, he has,” answered Kagan, “I ha'e come for…”

  “Me thinks me knows what ye come fer,” he chuckled cutting Kagan’s sentence off, “but me thinks not to give it to ye just yet.”

  Kagan gripped his hilt and stared at the man's long narrow face, “And pray tell why na?”

  “Me thinks that the beauty needs ta know ye want her else she may flee ye side and find another,” he pointed his long finger up to the sky, “And that is not the way the gods see ta ye future. She be ye mate that ye be waitin' fer all these years.”

  Kagan paced before Haggart, “I can'na resist her temptations much longer.”

  “Ye be resisting her fer four long years now, what do weeks matter now?”

  Kagan shook his head as the old man’s outlandish accent echoed in his mind. He had known Haggart all of his life but there were times that he seemed like a complete stranger.

  “I did ‘na ha'e to be confined so close to her 'fore,” he growled, “She seduces e'ery inch of my body and teases me beyond reason and sanity.”

  “So much like her ma she is,” Haggart's bright eyes dimmed, “Has the fire of gods coursing through her tender veins and the sweetness of orchids upon her lips.”

  “She is arrogant and self-centered and independent and seductive and,” he gru
nted, “and she is more than any woman should be. Her spirit is strong and damn near untamable.”

  Haggart laughed, “Met ye match have ye?”

  “How can I hope to break her if I can'na touch her?” he asked in frustration.

  “Touch her heart ye foolish boy, that is where her love lies,” he whispered. “Once ye win her heart, ye will win her body and soul.”

  “Nay, her heart is stone and her eyes are torturous orbs of fire,” he replied as he ran his hand through his thick black hair, “She comes to me in my dreams and I always loose the battle.”

  Haggart smiled and nodded in mute understanding even though Kagan himself did not comprehend what his subconscious had been trying to tell for the last year. Kagan took a deep breath and walked into the house behind Haggart. He dumped his large body down into the high backed chair at the round granite table in the middle of the dark warm room.

  “Tell me old man, what does my future hold?”

  Haggart eased into his cushioned chair and smiled as he placed his hand onto the giant pearlized orb in the center of the table. He closed his eyes and his nostrils flared. Kagan had never asked to see his future nor had he ever wanted Haggart's advice.

  “Ever man has two futures, two roads that he must choose between, but occasionally there is born a man who has to let someone else choose his path. His destiny is not his own, it lies in the palm of another. Tis good ye know me, fer I know who holds ye future and it is she who will decide which road ye take.”

  “Old man, ye talk in riddles...of things that can'na be, I will decide my own future! I am Laird and warrior, I let na man decide for me what is to be done,” he growled in denial, “My path is clear, I will marry and ha'e babes to fill the halls of McKregan Keep!”

  Haggart leaned back into his chair and wrapped his fingers around the orb, “Ye will bow to another and ye stubborn back will bend to destiny’s design or ye shall suffer consequences that will tear ye heart asunder!”

  Kagan’s dark laughter filled the room, “I bow to na man, na e'en the King of Scotland!”

  Haggart stood and slammed his fist down onto the table, “Ye will bow and ye future will be blessed, ye foolish boy!”

  “Tell ye gods I will make my own destiny,” he chuckled at Haggart's agitation, “That Dagma guides my sword but na my path.”

  “Ye be stubborn and arrogant,” his eyes twinkled as a devilishly knowing grin spread across his face, “Time will be ye enemy and soft trails of honey hair will be ye undoing.”

  “Ye were always a thorn in my father's side, now I understand why,” Kagan commented, “Ye battle with words 'stead of steel, a great feat for few men who stand 'fore McKregan flesh.”

  Haggart roared in laughter at his young friend, “Prepare ye McKregan, best ye learn how ta battle words in ye current predicament. Me thinks ye will not win with the woman whom springs from Vacrey Isle.”

  Kagan silenced as he stewed upon Haggart’s words. Vacrey Isle was a legend, nothing more, a yarn spun to children to lighten their hearts at bedtime. An island run by women, beautiful lush women, with ill will towards men and the strength of bears upon their chest. As a youth, Kagan would fantasize finding the island and ravishing all those beauties, as most young men did. Kagan grinned; Andra would surely fit among the woman he had filled his fantasies about.

  “Ye think it a myth?” Haggart asked as he eyed Kagan.

  “Women of that nature could'na exist unprotected and isolated from the world,” he answered, “Tis a Fae tale that women tell children at night when the wind howls.”

  Haggart chuckled, “Tis not myth me friend. Me have often lain upon Vacrey shores and indulged rare fruit from the hands of such women.”

  “Then by all Dagma could offer, show me where this isle is!” Kagan joked as his friend reached into the folds of his long tunic.

  Haggart handed Kagan a small circle of gold and silver, engraved symbols ran around its surface and a unicorn pawed at the air in its center. It was a charming piece, meant to be worn around a woman's neck or sewn onto a woman's bodice as an adornment. Kagan turned it over and examined its intricate details. The back was etched with butterflies and orchids. A very skilled metalworker had taken great pains to highlight the soft rolling hills and flowering trees in the background.

  He tossed the trinket back to Haggart and smiled, “Proves nothin’.”

  “Where do ye think Demon came from?” He asked in amusement. “Think ye he fell from the arms of Dagma, noticed not he is a rare specimen? Where have ye ever seen a horse like him? Ye will not unless ye step upon Vacrey Isle where he was bred from the tallest, mightiest, and smartest of his breed. Vacrey women are drawn to their strength and intelligence and have an uncanny ability to read the creature's mind.”

  “Ye words fall on deaf ears, I will'na belie'e in such fae tales, bah! Women breedin' horse flesh and rulin' o'er others. Ye are mad in ye old age!”

  “Think to ye oath, tis it not possible more like her live,” Haggart chuckled, “Think she not bred from Vacrey soil.”

  Kagan laughed, “She is a Duncan. Strong blood from her father courses her veins!”

  “True, but her mother, JaQuay, was Queen of Vacrey Isle and she passed her bloodline to ye woman.”

  Kagan grinned, “If she was a queen's daughter, she would'na stand to ha’e been treated so unjustly and would defy all...” His words were lost as his thoughts took over.

  Haggart raised his long bushy brow, “All men's will? She would make men bend ta hers? She would serve punishment at the end of a sword's blade with unwavering hand? She would make a proud strong man take an oath, knowing he would break it, to conquer him in his act of dishonor? Would she not even defy your god?”

  Kagan stood and growled, “How is it ye know such things? How is it ye reach into my mind and pull my thoughts out like blades of grass? Is there na secret safe from ye old man?”

  Haggart turned to the door and gracefully took his leave of the bewildered laird, laying a bracelet on the granite table as he passed it on his leave. Kagan picked it up and held it to the light of the orb. It was etched with horses and butterflies. It was small, a child's bracelet.

  Inside on the sleek surface it read Ell'andra Jaqualine Duncan, born this day to Queen JaQuay and Adalie Duncan on Vacrey Isle in presence of fae court, blessed be this child of strength.

  Kagan placed the bracelet into his sporran and followed Haggart outside. He was whispering to Demon and Kagan was eerily thrown back through time to the stable at Shinonoble. Honey and vanilla filled his nostrils and his knees trembled. Kagan cursed and grabbed the quilt.

  “Ell'andra tis a strong strand in destiny's web and me have been overlooking her stay in hopes she would return ta Vacrey Isle,” he sighed, “But her father refused ta let that piece of JaQuay slip through his fingers.”

  “Keep ye distance from her old man, least I should put my sword through ye ancient heart!”

  Haggart laughed merrily, “Which sword do ye speak of, the one on ye side or the one she possesses?”

  Kagan mounted Demon and frowned down at the old man who was still laughing, “Ye humor does ‘na fit ye nature!”

  As Kagan trotted off, Haggart said, “In the morn, six days from now, me takes pity on ye flesh, a cask of potion will await ye.”

  Kagan's frown deepened as he continued on to Geldamar. The mulched road seemed endless as he pondered Haggart's words. The crazed old fool was a bit perplexing to say the least. He always found a way to rile Kagan, even when he was a youth; the blasted man knew all his secrets.

  Kagan did not fear Haggart nor did he loathe the man. Kagan felt a bond with him like he had with his mother, the bond was deep and Kagan respected Haggart's wisdom. He grinned. He would never admit that to the old man nor would he tell another man how his emotions sometimes bested his brain. He sighed knowing Haggart would already know due to his third eye, an eye his mother also had. His heart faltered at thoughts of his mother, but he refused to relive the pain of her de
ath. He choked the memories down and urged Demon onward.

  By the time he arrived at the inn, he was in a grim mood and stalked inside to find his men. They loomed in the far right corner around a battered old table. In the dim light, their alarming presence frightened the inn's guests. The dozen onlookers watched with wary eyes as the calm foreboding warriors drank deeply from their mugs. They cast fearful eyes upon the leader as he walked to the table and laid his sword on the mantle above the cold fireplace. He leaned into hearth and spit with vengeance and power. The guests shrank into their chairs as his voice raked across their cowardly ears.

  “Station on the outskirts of Fendenbriar and wait my arrival. I ha'e reason to belie'e all is'na as it should be. I will join ye at daybreak.”

  The men stood and turned on heels of loyalty and promptly left the inn. A barmaid, clad in green striped garb glided to his side with a seductive smile on her lips. Kagan sat down and thumped an empty mug on the table. The woman filled his cup and slowly bent to reveal the promise of naked fleshy breasts and smiled as she brushed his hand. Kagan ruthlessly surveyed all she had to offer. Her breasts were nice, but too small. Her chin and jaw were weak and unintelligent. Her waist was thin and her visible leg was shapely and strong. She was pretty and her dark hair was wavy and silky even in the dim light. Had he been in the right mood and unencumbered with his betrothed, he would have taken her offer and pleasured himself with her body.

  He swallowed the brew and bit back an ill complaint. He shoved the chair back and stood, frowning and glaring at the would-be-temptress. Guilt washed over his conscious as Andra's green eyes bore into his head. He cursed under his breath and left the woman to her work.

  Chapter 10

  Over the highland mist and across the waters around Scotland, the island of Vacrey lay hidden and concealed in frothy fog and surrounded by dangerous reef. The sandy shores led to thick vine burdened forest. Miles of entangled dense jungle stretched inward and sloped upward to the plateau that rested above the fog. The sound of crushing waterfalls hung in the air and the scent of wild orchids intoxicated the entire isle with its seductive fingers.