The Warrior Trainer (12 page)

   He frowned. "What do you mean?"

   Scotia watched his eyes. She could always tell how a person would react by watching their gaze. "You claim you want to lead your people."

   "Aye." He pushed away from his horse. His gaze sharpened, but with interest, not ill intent. "I want what should be mine."

   "No man, or no woman, can live another's fate. But you can prepare for your fate by sacrificing your hostility toward Ian for the good of your people."

   His eyes darkened and she tensed, waiting for him to react. "What do you mean?"

   "Train with me. Let go of the anger you feel for your brother."

   "Ian's not my brother, not by blood."

   "We are all brothers and sisters, Griffin." Memories of her conversation last night with Ian sprang to mind. He had admitted to being an outsider even among his own people. "We are all Scots, regardless of rank or bloodlines."

   Griffin narrowed his gaze on her as though assessing her words for the truth. "You would train me after my behavior last eve?"

   "As Warrior Trainer, it is my duty to do so." Scotia stepped back and waved a hand toward the arched doorway leading back into the heart of the keep. "Will you join me?"

   He nodded. "I accept."

   Scotia called to the young boy cleaning out the stables, "Jacob, please see to this horse." The stable boy bobbed his head, then led the horse toward the timber and straw shelter.

   "We will break our fast, then train. You, me, and Ian." As she spoke, an idea formed in her mind. She would train them both, that much she knew. But perhaps during her training she could also try to find some common ground between the two brothers, reconcile the differences that separated them and kept Ian from feeling he belonged. With a renewed sense of purpose, she hurried into the keep.

   With her back turned, Scotia did not see the smile of satisfaction that crossed Griffin's face as he followed her dutifully back into the tigress's den. Nor did she see the satisfied gleam that entered his eyes while he rubbed the hilt of his sword.

Chapter Ten

   With Griffin by her side, Scotia strode into her hall with as much enthusiasm as reserve. A different type of training would take place here this morning, with two very different sorts of warriors.

   Griffin's arrogant stride faltered at the doorway when his gaze lit upon Ian. "I should have known where the lady led you would not be far away."

   Before she could continue into the chamber, Ian's sword flashed as light caught the polished edge. He did not strike Griffin, his action merely a warning. "You decided to stay, Griffin?"

   "Aye."

   "I cannot like that your presence here leaves the clan vulnerable. But perhaps there is advantage to you training with Scotia, then returning to the clan to train the others."

   "And what of you, brother?" Griffin asked, his gaze sharpening.

   Scotia waited for Ian's answer with an interest she was incapable of explaining. What did Ian plan to do once he left here? He had alluded to training his clan with the skills she taught him, yet some instinct told her that was not the truth. So what did he mean to do with his knowledge?

   Ian broke his gaze from hers. "I say we return to the training." His hand tightened around the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword. His grip was personal, deadly, and dangerous.

   "Weapons are not part of our training this morning." Tamping down her irritation, Scotia stalked past Ian to take her usual seat at the head table. She would not be party to a feud between these two. They were here to learn. "May we begin?”

   "As you wish." Griffin reluctantly moved to join them at the table.

   "Warring is about more than wielding a sword. Strategy is a warrior's most effective weapon." She'd spent hours compiling information from her warriors about the Four Horsemen, interspersing it with the strategies her ancestors had used to defeat their enemies since their arrival in Scotland centuries ago.

   Scotia reached for one of the scrolls she had removed from her vault earlier. She untied the leather cord and stretched the scroll across the table.

   She watched as both men's faces filled with bewilderment at the sweeping lines, mathematical equations, and notes etched across the parchment. On the page lay details about the military strength and weakness of her army, the surrounding territory's effect on movement, and the detailed strengths and weaknesses of the enemy.

   "I have never thought of battles or fighting in this manner." An intensity filled Ian's expression she had never seen before.

   He approved. The thought brought an odd jumble of pleasure and warmth to her chest.

   Griffin leaned forward, his interest now fully engaged. "So how do we best the Four Horsemen?”

   Encouraged by Griffin's reaction, she reached for a second scroll and unrolled it over the first. "Science, mathematics, and history."

   She watched Ian's reaction as he studied the parchment. What did he think of the details she had added to the notes her mother had made from her experience with these men? The lists were long since they were constantly updated, detailing each warrior's strengths and weaknesses.

   "The Green Horseman has great strength at the onset of a battle," Griffin read, "but he tires easily and then favors his left side over his right." His gaze came up to meet hers. If she was not mistaken, satisfaction shone in his eyes before he dipped his head, studying the parchment once more.

   "The White Horseman's list is the shortest," Ian said with a frown.

   "Aye. The man has very few weaknesses." A chill crept over her at the thought before she could steel herself against it. She would not give in to her fear of that man. The day would soon come when she would confront him. There could be no vulnerability in her when that time came.

   "The best way to defeat these men is to separate them. In isolation, they are not as strong."

   Griffin leaned back. "Impossible. They always travel together."

   "My own warriors are among Scotland's clans, working to do what you say cannot be done." She pulled out a third scroll and unveiled the reports her men had sent to her of their progress.

   "I dispatched half my best warriors to fight with the Bruce in the lowlands. The others are grouped into scouting parties and feed me information about the Four Horsemen."

   Understanding filled Ian's face. "That is why the warriors who remain at your castle are either very young or very old." He frowned. "They are not adequate protection for you."

   Why did he care so much about her household? "I can protect myself."

   "Perhaps. But what about everyone else in your castle?"

   His question hit its mark. She knew the castle was no longer as well guarded as it once had been, just as she knew her current army was comprised of young men filled with more enthusiasm than skill, despite her efforts to accelerate their training. "I shall find a way to protect them." She turned her attention back to the scroll.

   Ian's gaze lingered on her; she could feel it as though it were tangible. She ignored him, continuing with their previous conversation. "My warriors are trying to create doubt and insecurity among the Four Horsemen, trying to get them to break themselves into smaller fighting parties."

   "Nay. I need them together if I am to find the White—" He broke off his words, and that same moment intense determination filled his eyes.

   "Why do you need them to stay together?" Scotia asked, with growing unease. "You cannot fight all of them alone, at least not fight them and survive." Is that what he planned to do? Was that the destiny he spoke of? How did he expect to do what no one had done before, even with her training?

   "A pattern is emerging as to how the Horsemen strike. My men are out there, anticipating the Horsemen's moves with the intent of evacuating the villages before the villains strike. Their frustration and lack of success will force the Horsemen to separate."

   "If the Four Horsemen separate, how will the clans know where they will strike next?"

   "We will not know for certain. But the risk of not knowing their exact locations is the only way to defeat them once and for all."

   "It is too dangerous for the clans," Ian said, his voice hard.

   "All battles have risks," Scotia said, hiding the hurt his dismissal caused. She snapped up the top scroll, rolled it with overly precise movements, then returned it to the basket. "Some will die before we finally succeed. It is the inevitable price of war." She reached for the second scroll.

   Ian covered her hand with his own. "I did not mean to sound so critical," he said, his voice softer now. "It is just that our people have already suffered so much at the hands of these men."

   Irritated by his move to pacify her, she pulled her fingers away. "I feel the same, but that does not change what must be done."

   "Enough of this talk." Griffin stood. "If we are to defeat the Horsemen, we must do it with swords. When do we battle
?”

   Scotia was glad of Griffin's impatience this time. She, too, felt the sudden need to wield her sword. Ian once again did not agree with her methods. The first time, when he attacked her training techniques, he had been right about how arcane her methods were. But this time he was wrong. Dead wrong. Strategy was her strength. And she refused to back down.

   Scotia secured the last scroll, then stood. "We battle now." Without waiting for her students to follow, she headed out of the great hall and down the long corridor to her training chamber.

   "You first, Griffin." Inside the empty room, she waited for Griffin to ready himself before she drew her sword. "Let us see if you can defend yourself."

   Ian wanted to protest. He would welcome the physical challenge of a battle with her right now. But the dark look that suddenly shadowed Scotia's features changed his mind. Anger burned her cheeks. If the two of them battled now, she would likely spear him through the heart. But would Griffin fare any better?

   Yet after Griffin's challenge to Scotia last night, perhaps a bit of her anger would put his brother in his place. Ian knew from experience where Griffin would end up— at the base of Scotia's feet.

   Ian stood off to the side, studying the two warriors. His brother clutched his heavy claymore, a feral gleam in his eyes. It was a look Ian was familiar with, a look that had often brought nothing but trouble between the two of them.

   In preparation for the sparring, Scotia held her lighter broadsword in one hand before her. Her other hand stretched behind her as a counterbalance. She appeared composed now, no longer allowing their previous disagreement to affect her. It was almost inhuman the way she shielded her emotions from others. But he knew her to be all too human, indeed.

   The battle began as Griffin lunged forward. His movements were hard, short, aggressive. Scotia avoided his blows with quick and fluid movements. She made fighting appear so simple. Like a mere dance, but with a lethal partner.

   High color filled her cheeks as she wove her way about her enemy. Griffin did not stand a chance against her.

   Four passes later, Griffin lay on the floor. With one booted foot on his chest, Scotia held him captive, as did her sword at his neck. Ian tried to suppress a smile at the memory of his and Scotia's first battle. It had taken her six passes to bring him down.