The Warrior Trainer (39 page)

   Chunks of mortar and sand sprinkled upon the floorboards as he rattled the Stone, trying to wrest it from its hiding place. Her grip on her sword became steady once again, as her intentions solidified in her mind. "You might have used me to your advantage once, but I am wiser and more experienced now."

   As the sound of the Stone scraping against the rocks that held it in place increased, so did the tension in the air between them. The White Horseman simultaneously pulled on the Stone while narrowing his gaze at Scotia. "Put that sword down. Does the fact I am your father mean nothing to you?"

   A momentary pang of regret crept through her resolve. The man was her father; but he was also vile and ruthless. And he had to die or no one in her country would ever be safe from him. She took a step forward. "You might have been responsible for my birth, but you are no father to me."

   Suddenly Scotia realized all too clearly what Ian had been trying to say to her on the night of their handfasting—the reason he wanted to bind himself to her, despite the fact he did not love her. To father a child was easy. To guide that child through life with discipline and love was the true measure of a man.

   "
Scotia
."

   Scotia closed her eyes against the sound of Ian's voice in her imagination. All she had to do was think of him and he appeared so vibrantly alive in the depths of her mind. She drew in a slow, even breath, trying to focus her thoughts.

   "Scotia."

   She half-turned toward the wall walk that connected this tower with the others. "Ian." A surge of tenderness swept through her. Framed by the doorway with his blond hair tousled, his muscles flexing, and his sword boldly before him, he looked like an ancient warrior rising out of the mists.

   "Isn't this touching?" The White Horseman's mouth curved into a lethal smile as he staggered to his feet with the heavy Stone clutched against him like a shield.

   Fear tightened Scotia's chest at the realization that she had just given away her feelings for Ian in her words, her actions.

   Ian looked to her, then the White Horseman. Scotia's muscles locked with tension. Did Ian see what she feared? A resemblance between them? Or did his speculative look mean something else entirely?

   The White Horseman pulled her from her thoughts. "Perhaps we are not so much alike after all, my dear. I learned long ago that attachments only get in the way." He turned to Ian. "Allow me to rid you of this handsome distraction." The White Horseman held the Stone of Destiny to his chest with one hand, his dagger poised to strike Ian in the other. Just a flick of his wrist and he could send the weapon arching toward Ian's chest before either of them could stop it. "Perhaps in your grief, you will decide to join me yet."

   A sudden cold sickness settled in the pit of her stomach. "Nay. Take the Stone. Do not harm him." The words were more challenge than plea.

   The White Horseman gravely studied Ian's face before he shook his head. "No," he said. "I think I shall enjoy killing this Scot far too much for even you to turn me away from the deed."

 
 
 Anger and hatred replaced her fear. "What will it take for you to spare his life? I shall do anything you ask, even go with you if that is what it takes."

 
 
 The White Horseman's brow wrinkled in thought. She used his hesitation against him. She cleared her mind of all thought until all that remained was her goal.

 
 
 Protect Ian.

 
  With the slightest effort, she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. She let herself feel nothing as she prepared to kill her father.

Chapter Thirty-one

   Ian's skin grew clammy and wet. He had looked death in the eye before and had never been afraid. But now, a fear both hideous and painful gripped him. It was a fear not for himself, but for Scotia. He knew what she planned to do. He could see it in the positioning of her body. Her weight had shifted to her toes, ready to strike.

   Before he could stop her, she sprinted forward, a burst of energy set in motion.

   The White Horseman's eyes flared as his head snapped toward Scotia.

   In that beat of a moment, Ian surged forward. He was closer to their enemy. If he pushed himself to the limit, he might reach the target first. A cry began deep in the pit of his stomach. "
MacccKinnnonnn
." The war cry of his clan, a sound as old and untamed as the hills that gave it birth. The warning poured from his throat as his stride swallowed up the wooden planking beneath his boots. He hit the White Horseman hard, his momentum carrying him forward, pushing them toward an opening in the crenellations, toward certain death.

   Even death would be a welcome price for Scotia's safety.

   Ian's gaze moved to hers as he fell backward with the White Horseman. Her eyes filled with wild, panicked fear. Ian tried to reassure her, to let her see in his eyes a fraction of the peace and serenity that filled him now.

   The White Horseman screamed in rage as he tumbled through the open space with the Stone still clutched to his chest.

   "Ian!" Scotia cried. The word echoed all around them, filled with horror, grief, and longing. She pushed forward, the motion slow, slower than the rate at which he fell.

   "I love you," Ian said, the words filling him with an awesome sense of wonder, power, and satisfaction as he hit the edge of the tower and the vastness of the sky rose up to greet him. The emptiness at his core vanished, replaced with a fullness, a completeness he never dreamed possible.

   His gaze captured hers as he gave himself over to the pull of his destiny. And he wished he had kissed her one last time.

   His body lurched to a stop.

   Blinding hot pain radiated across his midsection as his belt cut into his flesh. He sucked in a gasping breath and tried to fight the sudden dizziness that assailed him. He twisted toward the castle's ledge. Scotia, braced against the castle wall, clutched the leather of his belt in her bloodied hands.

   The White Horseman fell past Ian, past the castle wall to his death.

   Ian kept his gaze on Scotia. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Don't you dare die on me, Ian MacKinnon." Purple veins stood out at the sides of her neck as she struggled to pull him back to safety.

   The muscles of her arms began to tremble beneath his weight. The pain in her injured shoulder must have been agonizing, yet she bore his weight. He loved her all the more for her efforts even though they were in vain. "Scotia, I am not afraid to die. Save yourself."

   "You cannot tell me you love me, then disappear from my life." She set her teeth and pulled, hard.

   His body inched toward her. He could not let her suffer on—he would do what he could to help her. He grasped her hands with his and planted his feet against the walls, giving her as much leverage as possible. As she drew him back, he walked up the wall, speaking words of encouragement and promise. But he doubted she heard anything, so intense was her concentration. His body inched upward with excruciating slowness, each moment bringing him back to the woman he loved.

   When the edge grew near, he stretched his fingers until they gripped solid rock. The rough texture bit into his palms as he hoisted himself over the tower's edge. He collapsed onto the floorboards, panting, trembling, and filled with relief. "We... did... it."

   Scotia dropped to the ground beside him, her body shaking. "Praise the saints. I thought—" Her voice clouded with tears.

   "As did I." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "Thank you," he whispered, feeling his breathing slow and his heartbeat returning to normal.

   She remained silent. Curled against the warmth of his body, her tremors slowed, then stopped, as did his own.

   "Scotia?"

   She shifted in his arms to face him. "Hmm?"

   "This battle is not over yet."

   "I know." She studied his face. Her glorious green eyes were strong and clear once more. "Before we go back into battle I want to ask you something."

   "Anything." He brought a finger up to brush a wayward tendril of hair from her cheek.

   "Will you say that to me again?" she asked.

   "That?"

   "Did you only speak the words because you thought you were going to die?" A raw ache sounded in her voice, and he instantly knew what she wanted to hear.

   He cupped her face with his hands. "I love you," he told her with all the joy in his heart. "I love you." He bent his head, covering her mouth with his in a slow, sensual kiss. "I love you."

   She kissed him back, holding him fiercely. What started out as a slow, gentle celebration of life became an urgent plea. With an effort, Ian dragged his mouth from hers. "As much as I am enjoying this moment, we really must stop now before I am hopelessly lost."

   "You have the same effect on me." She pressed her face to his chest and drew a shuddering breath.

   "Our duty is not yet complete." His gaze shifted from Scotia to their swords. Their weapons lay on the wooden planking inches from them. "Come," he said as he stumbled to his knees. "We must yet fight."

   He held out his hand to help her up. She put her fingers in his. With his free hand he retrieved her sword and handed it to her before grasping his own.

   "Do you wish to see him?"

   Scotia nodded. Together they moved to the side of the tower and peered down at the crushed body of the White Horseman, the Stone he had desired above all in his life now weighing down his chest in death. Waves slammed against the rocks, shifting his broken body with their advance and retreat. Soon, both the man and the Stone would be lost.

   Scotia stepped away from the tower's edge. When she did, the wind picked up the ends of her free-flowing hair, setting it into motion about her face and shoulders. Her cheeks held a rosy flush and a soft glow breathed life into her timeless green eyes. With the backdrop of the wild Scottish hills behind her, she looked as though she had stepped out of legends of old and into this very moment.

   "Ready ?” He took her hand in his.

   A shadow crept over her face.

   "What is it, Scotia?"

   Her fingers shook ever so slightly as she raised her gaze to his. "Nothing. Let us proceed."

   They made their way down from the tower. Each step brought them closer to the nightmare the White Horseman had left behind. When they entered the courtyard, Ian released Scotia's hand.

   Fire had devoured the bakehouse, the stables, and the stacks of hay not used during the winter. Flames of red and orange swept hell across the outer perimeter of the courtyard. Smoke and ash hung heavy in the air, but not thick enough to hide the bodies of the dead and dying. The sounds of battle rang in the clash of swords, the shouts of men, and the cries of the wounded. The castle could be rebuilt, but the lives taken this day would never be regained.

   "Before we fight here, we must release Griffin and the others."

   Scotia nodded and followed him to the gate leading into the garden. Inside the confined area, Ian squinted through the thick haze of smoke.

   "Ian?" a familiar voice called out, and a dark shadow appeared from behind the door, sword in hand.