The Warrior Trainer (36 page)

   She shivered, fear suddenly making her limbs feel heavy and weak. Age-old terror now seemed fresh and vibrant, coursing through her with the same intensity it did twelve years past. Scotia tensed, every instinct within her fighting the memories she had yet to let rest. She was older now, wiser, and stronger. Any match between them would be on equal ground this time.

   The thought acted like a tonic to her system, revitalizing her body with not only strength, but determination. She drew herself up in her saddle and kept her gaze trained ahead of her, both watchful and prepared.

   This time she would be ready to fight.

  
When dawn gave way to the morning tight, and the crenellated towers of Glencarron Castle came into view, Scotia's determination faltered at the stark reality before her. Even at a distance, she could see the deep groove in the earth they had tracked all night continued right up to the gatehouse.

   The pounding of her heart drowned out all else as she scanned her castle, searching for clues as to what had happened in her absence. The outer bailey walls were undamaged, but the portcullis stood open, suggesting that at least one of the Horsemen had found his way inside.

   But more distressing than the open gates was the fact that neither her guards nor any of the Horsemen's army were anywhere in sight. Desperate to discover the fate of her people, Scotia kicked her horse into a run, speeding toward her home.

   Ian followed beside her, his presence a welcome comfort. As they reached the gatehouse he slowed his horse, forcing her to lag behind him. The unconsciously protective gesture warmed her icy spirit and she allowed him to take the lead. They dismounted. The warriors and villagers who had traveled with them gathered behind them.

   At the sight of red droplets of blood against the rock strewn ground, Scotia stumbled, then caught herself. The smell of blood, with its cloying, metallic sweetness, came to her nose and raked the back of her throat. She bent down to touch the sticky substance. Her finger came up wet. "It is fresh." She was unable to say anything more. A wave of guilt and powerlessness crept upon her before she could stop it. She should have put a stop to the fighting years ago. If she had only known...

   Ian's hand settled upon her shoulder. Gently he turned her to face him. Understanding and compassion reflected in his gaze. "It is what we do now that matters. Come," Ian said, as though reading her thoughts.

   Rising to her feet, Scotia drew her sword, ready to battle whatever evil stood in her way. No one harmed her loved ones and got away with it.

   "Prepare yourselves for anything," Ian warned the crowd that stood loosely grouped behind him. "Stay together. There is safety in numbers." He reached for his sword as he brought his gaze back to Scotia's. "Is there any way I might convince you to stay out here and allow me to fight this battle alone

   "Never," Scotia said in a tense voice. "This is my battle as much as yours." She would put an end to anyone who threatened her family. Maisie, Lizbet, even Griffin—she loved them each in a special way.

   Ian nodded, and a glimmer of admiration reflected in his gaze before he turned away. "Then stay near me. I want you in my sight at all times."

   She opened her mouth to object, then stopped herself at the realization he only wanted to see her safe. Warmth filled her at the thought. She wanted the same for him. "Agreed." Together they stood a better chance of succeeding in battle than they did fighting alone.

   Yet as they headed toward the open gate, Scotia paused.

   Ian slowed to a stop beside her. "What is it? What is wrong?"

   "I had a thought. It might be nothing, but I cannot shake the feeling that this is all too easy. The trail here was so deliberately set."

   "What are you thinking?" Ian asked.

   "I find it difficult to believe the Horsemen would come so close to the village of Cullin, yet not attack. Then, when we learned of Griffin's capture, the Black Horseman left blatant clues for us to find, even in the dark. When we got here, the trail of blood made us assume it was Griffin who had been injured or killed... and yet..." Scotia hesitated, reasoning things out as she talked. "Why would he go to such extremes to see us come through the front gate of the castle unless—"

   "It is a trap," Ian answered.

   Scotia nodded. "We need to find another way inside— something that will give us the element of surprise."

   "The tunnel in the cliffs," Burke said from behind her.

   Scotia turned to look into Burke's gray eyes. In fragmented bits and pieces her memories coalesced. The arrow arching toward her. Her feet refusing to carry her forward. The evil grin on the White Horseman's face. A young girl, her hands red with her own blood, guided over the jagged rocks below to a boat that had taken Maisie, Burke, and herself to safety that fateful night.

   The tunnel.

   For years, even thinking about entering the tunnel brought on an irrational fear that left Scotia fazed and weak. She had not been near the place for years, not since she had rigged it with a system of thin ropes that triggered bells inside the castle walls. A shiver of dread tried to creep across her flesh, but this time she was ready for it. No more. The man did not merit her fear. "Follow me. I shall show you the way inside. But we must act quickly, before they discover our change of direction and trap us beneath the castle with nowhere to go."

   With Ian by her side, Scotia lead their small group of warriors down to the shoreline, up the rocky cliff, and into the tunnel. The soft sound of the surf hitting the rocks muted the sound of their footsteps as they made their way up the rocky passageway. She stopped the group along the way to disengage the ropes of her warning system.

   The cloying scents of earth and salt hung heavy on the air as the group continued on. Finally they reached the end. With as much stealth as possible, Scotia gathered her small army into the cramped chamber at the top of the tunnel. The few torches they had brought with them turned the darkness into a hazy light, illuminating a door off to the left.

   When the others crowded into the narrow space, Ian leaned into the small wooden door. "Ready?" He met her gaze squarely, with no hesitation.

   "I am ready," she replied, and raising her sword, she prepared to meet whatever surprises awaited them.

   For a brief moment, Ian's expression softened as he leaned toward her, to brush his lips against hers. "To the future," he whispered against her cheek before he pulled away. Then, with his sword poised, he gave the door a mighty heave. Wood splintered as it hit against the stone wall. Together, they charged into the open air and came to a swift halt. Ten men with bows drawn and aimed at them stood atop the garden wall.

   "I see our honored guests have finally arrived," the White Horseman jeered as he towered over them, a hulking barbarian.

Chapter Twenty-nine

   Scotia searched the garden area. The Black Horseman and the Red Horseman stood behind their leader on the wall. Behind them a sea of soldiers spilled across the rest of the garden area, crushing beneath their boots the fragile sprouts her gardeners had sown so carefully. So many men—too many.

   Scotia's gaze snapped to the White Horseman's face, to the wrathful intensity that burned in his eyes. This time she could not stop the shiver of cold fear that moved through her. The old, familiar terror she had felt the night he had slain her mother began to hammer in her mind, bringing a tremor to the fingers wrapped tightly about her sword.

   "Impossible," she breathed above the sound of the villagers murmuring and shuffling behind her.

   "Nay, it is possible indeed. I set a trap to push you into a better trap. Brilliant of me, would you not say?"

   Scotia could feel a bead of moisture dampen her temple as she realized her mistake. She had judged the White Horseman's actions by her own thinking. And she had allowed her own fears to overshadow the lunacy of this man. A stupid error. One that could cost them their lives.

   "Do not blame yourself." The White Horseman's voice grated against her taut nerves. "I would not be so foolish as to insult your intelligence by believing you could fall for so obvious a trap as that first one I set." His mouth quirked into a terrible smile. "You are the mighty Warrior Trainer. The very same clever young girl who led me to believe you were dead for the last twelve years, or this day would have come much sooner indeed."

   Scotia tried to bury her emotions deep within herself, refusing to let them betray her again. She had to stay on the edge of her control. "Your ploy will not work."

   "It already has." A triumphant look beamed from the White Horseman's face.

   Ian took a step forward, but Scotia stilled him with a hand on his arm. "Nay, Ian." Fear slipped past her guard and into her voice. "He will kill you without a thought." Her plea must have penetrated the haze of his fury because he stopped, but his sword did not come down.

   Scotia trembled despite her attempts to stop. Her breathing came in rapid bursts as the years since their last meeting melted away and she saw the White Horseman as she had then. He was still a hulking figure, his muscles honed by brutality instead of training. Villainous and ruthless.

   Drawing on years of training and practice, she inhaled a slow, calming breath and forced the memory away. There were differences in this man now, just as there were differences in herself from that time so long ago. The morning sun brought out the deep lines of age that had settled near his unearthly pale eyes. His eyes had changed the most. Instead of steady and strong, they now appeared overly bright and unfocused as his gaze darted between Ian and herself.

   The White Horseman smiled mockingly. "Are you going to stare at me or give me what I want? I am not a patient man. Any further delay on your part will only cause your friends an earlier death." He jerked his head to the side, and her gaze followed. Rows of his army stepped aside to reveal three battered prisoners.

   Instantly, Scotia's fear dissolved into rage. Griffin, Maisie, and Lizbet were tied to stakes that had been driven into the soft earth of the garden. Their hands were secured behind them, their legs bound as well. Angry red welts showed on their faces and arms. Lizbet hung limp against her bonds. Scotia's heart cried out to go to her. The poor child had already suffered enough at the White Horseman's hands.

   Maisie glowered at her captor's back, ready to slay him with her gaze if given the chance.

   Then there was Griffin, whose body appeared swollen and bruised. Blood oozed from cuts on his face and legs. From beneath the swollen blue lids of his eyes, Griffin offered her a look of outraged sympathy. I am sorry, he mouthed, though no words came forth.

   Scotia looked back to her enemy. She once again tried to subdue her anger without much success. "How dare you treat them this way."

   The White Horseman curled the hand that held his sword into a white-knuckled fist, and a feral gleam sparked in his light eyes. "I'll dare that and more until you give me the Stone."

   Beside her she could feel Ian tense. She turned to him. His fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his raised sword. His aim, the White Horseman's heart.

   As if sensing the danger he faced, the White Horseman brought his blade against Maisie's throat. "One move from you, Ian MacKinnon, and she breathes no more."

   Ian's face became a mask of control, but icy fury burned in his eyes, so cold, so deadly, that Scotia could almost feel his wrath chill the blood in her veins.

   "Where is the Green Horseman?" Scotia asked, knowing the answer, yet stalling for time while she scrambled to formulate a plan.