The Warrior Trainer (17 page)

   "My plans do not matter." He turned away, but she caught him by the arm. Instead of angry and hard, her fingers were soft, comforting.

   "They matter to me. You matter to me."

   He swallowed hard, blindsided by her admission. No one had ever said such a thing to him before. No one had accepted him for who he was, expecting nothing more.

   He swallowed again, breathing too hard, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. He did not want her to care. He had other plans for what remained of his life.

   With difficulty, Ian pulled away from her touch. "I am honor-bound to avenge the murder of my brother, Malcolm. And I am not afraid of that destiny, Scotia. By my sword, I shall see that revenge is mine."

   Scotia watched him with gentle understanding. "I do not intend to fight the Four Horsemen alone. Not unless I have to. My warriors will separate the Horsemen, in time. And when they do, I shall be ready."

   She made it sound so easy, so effortless. But it wasn't. To fight the Four Horsemen brought only death and destruction. It would bring death and destruction to her unless he did something to intervene.

   "We are so alike, you and I," she said as a look of tender sadness crossed her face. "Do you ever wonder why we were given the gift to fight like we do?"

   He tensed, disarmed by the quick change in tactic. What was she up to? "Your meaning?"

   "Do you wonder why we were given such a wonderful and yet horrible gift? We kill people, Ian. One swipe of our swords and our opponent can lay dead before us."

   "We fight against the evils of this world."

   "That may be so. But do you ever think beyond the revenge? What is to come of you after the battle, after your revenge is spent?"

   After the battle ... He had never allowed himself to consider such a possibility before. Fighting injustice wherever he found it had always been enough for him.

   Until coming to this castle. Until meeting this woman. Until now.

   He clenched his fists at his side, willing his old ways to rush back to him, to fill the spaces inside him with the burning need for revenge. Nothing came. His old ways had incinerated at his feet the moment he agreed to train with Scotia.

   She had opened his eyes to another way to fight. She had changed him. Damn the woman
.
In less than a fortnight, she had changed the very nature of what drove his actions.

   He should walk away from this place now while he still could, and seek his revenge without hesitation. She had been about to release him earlier. If he pushed, she might do so again. "Release me from my promise."

   Was it his imagination, or did he detect the lightest sheen of tears in her eyes? Before he could be certain she looked away. "Will you stand alone against the fury of the Four Horsemen and their army?"

   "I
shal
l."

   She looked at him then, her gaze shuttered once more. "If you face the Four Horsemen alone, you might be able to take down one before the others kill you. But there are no guarantees. You could die for nothing."

   "I must try—for my family, for Scotland. Whatever happens, I
sha
ll accept my fate."

   She straightened, tugged down the edge of her armor. "Then go. I release you from your training and your duty."

   She stepped past him on her way to the door. Halfway there, she turned back. "May you find whatever it is you seek, Ian. But remember this: The course of our lives is not written in the stars. You make your own destiny, just as I make mine. The choice is ours." She vanished a moment later, leaving him alone.

   Her footstep faded until all he could hear was the painful thundering of his heart. His destiny could have no other course.

   For him, there was no other choice.

Chapter Fifteen

   Two days ago she had released him, and still Ian did not leave. Scotia paced the length of her great hall in long, irritated strides, gathering worried glances from the members of her household who worked near the hearth along the far wall.

   Each moment he delayed only tormented her further with memories of feeling safe in his arms, protected in his presence, and an awakening of passion in his kiss.

   Scotia scowled as she launched into yet another trek across the rushes strewn about the floor. She needed something to take her mind off him. She needed a distraction. Yet training held no appeal for her this day.

   "Wearing a trench in the floor, I see." Scotia turned to find Maisie and Lizbet regarding her with curiosity.

   Scotia returned a distracted frown, then knelt before the young girl. "Lizbet. It is good to see you." Scotia glanced up at Maisie. "Is she well enough to question?"

   " 'Twas why I brought her to ye." Maisie scooted Lizbet forward with her hands. "Go with Scotia. I'll be at the hearth if ye have need of me."

   The girl nodded and Maisie disappeared before Scotia could demand she stay. Scotia hesitated before the child, feeling the old fears and uncertainties creep over her. Liz- bet must have read something in her expression because she held out her hand.

   Scotia stood, then felt for the small hand. Confidently, Lizbet placed her hand in Scotia's larger one. "Let us be seated."

   Shortening her stride to accommodate the girl's smaller legs, Scotia led Lizbet to the head table. For two days now the child had only had enough strength to eat and sleep. Yet today, a rosy pink brightened her cheeks.

   When they reached the table, Scotia lifted the girl up onto the bench, then sat down beside her. "Lizbet, do you know how you got here?"

   The little girl shuddered, as if remembering a bit of what she had endured. "I ran from the big man on the white horse. He killed my ma, and that's when I ran into the woods and kept running until I ended up here. I don't know why, but this is where my legs told me to go."

   A surge of protectiveness welled up in Scotia. She curled her hands into fists at her side, fighting the urge to reach up and stroke a wisp of the child's blond hair away from her wide, frightened eyes.

   Scotia pressed her lips together. If Ian were here, he would not hesitate to comfort the child. But any attempt on her part to provide a similar kindness would probably just frighten the girl more. Scotia knew she was awkward when showing affection to others, had always been so. Why would that change now? Yet, as tears welled up in Lizbet's brown eyes and spilled down her cheeks, Scotia lost the battle with her reserve and reached a hand out toward the girl.

   It was all the invitation Lizbet needed. She thrust herself against Scotia's armor-clad chest and nestled into her body as though she were dressed in soft feather down. Her arms hung at her sides, open and useless. But the girl did not seem to mind as she wept silently and snuggled ever closer. Feeling helpless and uncertain herself, Scotia wrapped her arms around the girl in an embrace, such as Maisie had offered when Scotia was a child. She rocked back and forth, not knowing what else to do. The motion seemed to calm Lizbet, because she stopped crying.

   A slow warmth curled in Scotia's stomach, and the hollowness that always existed there seemed to vanish. She stared down at the little blond head against her chest. Her heart wrenched at the sight. Lizbet had needed comfort, yet it was Scotia who felt her muscles relax and her mood soften. Who would have thought she, a hardened trainer of warriors, was capable of giving comfort and feeling content in return? Was this what motherhood would feel like?

   Images of Ian's lean, muscular body and his dark, soulful eyes filled Scotia's thoughts. Heroic yet kind, forceful yet compassionate, he would make the perfect mate....

   Scotia stilled. She had no right to think such thoughts of Ian or any man. It was madness to want things she could never have, things she could never pursue.

   Lizbet sniffled, then sat back, staring up at Scotia, her gaze filled with innocence. Scotia patted the child's head, because she had seen Ian do something similar. "Do you want to play for a while with the other children in the castle, or Mistress Maisie and Master Burke?”

   "I want to play with you." The girl's small hands moved to the hilt of Scotia's sword. "Can we play with this?"

   Scotia twisted in her seat, moving the sword out of reach. "Nay. You must be much older to learn to use a real sword. But I could teach you to fight with a wooden prop."

   Lizbet smiled and leapt down from Scotia's lap, seeming to have forgotten her pain. Scotia marveled at the change in her emotions. The child stood before her with her arms stiff against her sides, her chin up, her spine straight. "I want to be brave and strong like you."

   Scotia did not know what to say. No one had ever said such a thing to her before. She knelt before the child. "If you still feel that way when you are older, I would be honored to train you with a real weapon, Lizbet."

   The child's lip came out in a pout and her eyes pooled with tears. "That will take forever."

   "Not as long as you think." Scotia ruffled the young girl's hair, then jerked her hand away, surprised that she could do something so spontaneous.

   Lizbet did not seem to mind. In fact, the tears vanished from her eyes.

   "Would you like to go out into the lists with me to find a wooden sword?"

   With a nod of the little girl's head, doubts assailed Scotia. What had possessed her to offer such a thing? She had never played with a child before, not even when she was a child. She did not have the faintest clue of what to do. Scotia frowned. Swordplay suddenly seemed an inappropriate activity for a young child, but it was all she knew.

   Two days had slipped past with agonizing slowness while Ian stalled, trying to reconcile his compassion for Scotia with what he had to do. Another one of Scotia's scouting parties had returned that morning with the news the Four Horsemen had attacked the village of Glenfinnon a second time.

   They were turning south. Back toward his village. If he were to help his clan, he had to leave now.

   The Four Horsemen. He had to keep his mind on his goal. Destroy the Four Horsemen before they destroyed anyone else he cared about. Thoughts of Scotia assailed him—her strong body pressed intimately against his own, her cheeks flushed, her lips pursed and ready for his kiss, the heady scent of heather coiling around his resolve, drawing him nearer to that place of no return.

   He forced his concentration back to the task before him as he wove his way through the castle, methodically searching each room. He had to find her. He had to say good-bye.

   Ian hastened his pace through the empty great hall, heading outside. With any luck, by this eve he would meet his destiny head on.

   Instead of finding Scotia in the outer bailey, Ian found Griffin. His brother sat with his back against the castle wall, staring mindlessly into the courtyard, twisting a single blade of bright green grass between his fingers. It would not have surprised Ian if the grass turned brown beneath the intensity of his brother's scowl. Clearly something was on his mind.

   "Care to share such dark thoughts?" Ian asked as he settled himself on the ground next to Griffin.

   "I am merely out to enjoy the fine scenery," Griffin replied.

   Ian gazed toward the castle gate. Nothing grew, nothing stirred, nothing existed but rocks and dirt in this section of the outer bailey. "Cease the pretense. I can tell when something is wrong."