The Warrior Trainer (4 page)

   "I give you my word. I am here only to train."

   Again, the unexpected. Why did he not just draw some hidden weapon from his person like all the others? "What good is your word?"

   "As good as the MacKinnon name," he said with a confidence that belied the sudden shadows in his brown eyes.

   Hope started to unfurl within her, but she stopped it before it could flutter into full array. She had to be certain. So much was at stake—things even more precious than her honor or her life. She searched through her memories and recalled hearing from one of her scouting parties of the recent devastation many clans had suffered. Was his clan one of those who had been affected? Could what he claimed be true? And if so, was Ian MacKinnon's presence here a sign that some small measure of faith in the Warrior Trainer's ability to help them had returned to the clans? "Why come to me?"

   His gaze remained focused, intense, determined. "My foster father is convinced our clan needs your help to save our people from the Four Horsemen."

   "Your foster father. But not you." Perhaps he was not so different after all.

   A flicker of challenge ignited in the cool depths of his dark eyes. "I... need your help." A silent moment passed between them. "Please."

   The simple word hit her like a blow through her armor. Others who had come to challenge her had bullied, leered and demanded her help, but none had said please. She took a step back, retreating from sudden vulnerability, then froze as he dropped to one knee before her and bowed his head.

   "I beseech you." Though his face remained impassive, his words sounded thick, as though spoken with some of the same deep emotion that flowed through her. "I humbly beg to be taught by the Warrior Trainer. I swear on the life of my foster father and the honor of my clan that I speak the truth."

   Scotia looked away. She no longer deserved such respect, had not since her mother's failure to help the country fend off Edward I's invasion of Scotland. It was a time the Scottish people had yet to recover from, and the reason she believed her countrymen stopped coming to train with her. And perhaps why only challengers came to greet her now—challengers eager to steal from her the only thing she had left: her title as the best fighter in all the land.

   At least no one had yet discovered her true secret. The Stone was safe, hidden away, the connection between the Warrior Trainer and Guardian of the Stone lost in the obscurity of the past twelve years.

   Slowly, carefully, she met his gaze. It was her duty to train warriors, as her ancestors had done before her. Mindful of her true obligations, Scotia nervously pulled down the edge of her brigandine, then stifled a wince of pain from the gash her latest challenger had inflicted on her shoulder. Refusing to give in to the injury, she adjusted the leather gauntlets at her wrists. Shoulders back, assuming her warrior stance, she said, "I shall train you, MacKinnon."

   "Ian." Relief filled his gaze, but so did pride as he stood. "I am here to learn. But I shall warn you now, this is the only time I humble myself before you."

   Scotia bristled. She had not asked him to kneel before her. No one ever had before. "There is more than one way to be humbled." Turning her back on him and the odd jumble of emotions he set off in her, she pulled the hemp cord near the door. The bell had barely begun to chime before Maisie and Burke stumbled into the room. It was obvious by the chagrined looks on their faces they had been listening at the door.

   "The MacKinnon will be staying with us for a while."

   He interrupted. "I shall learn quickly."

   Scotia ignored him. "Please show him to the back chamber." She turned around, grateful that her usual control had settled over her once more. "We begin on the morrow."

   "We begin now." He took two steps toward her, then stopped when her hand moved to her sword.

   "We train when I am ready, or we do not train at all."

   Incredulity flared in his expression, then it was gone. His gaze hardened, but he offered her a small bow. "As you wish."

   "Come with me." Burke motioned toward the door.

   The MacKinnon spared her one last searching glance before he turned and followed Burke from the room.

   Scotia kept her spine stiff and straight as her mother had taught her, as she taught her own men. Meet your enemy with fearlessness. Never show your feelings. She thought about her own advice. Nothing about her had changed physically in the last few moments, but inside something felt different.

   She only wished she knew what it was.

   "At last someone has come to train, not battle ye for yer title as the best fighter in the land." Maisie picked up the weapon the MacKinnon had disentangled himself from, then handed it back to Scotia. "Is it not a day to celebrate?"

   "Not yet," Scotia answered, finally allowing herself to relax as she wound the weapon into a loop and attached it to the belt at her waist. "I do not trust him yet."

   Maisie frowned. "Ye would refuse to train him?"

   "Nay, I cannot and stay true to my name. But there is something about him, Maisie, something I do not yet understand. He seems overly impatient to learn. Does he not understand these matters take time, patience, and practice. "

   " 'Tis his age and his desperate situation, I fear. They used to send the young 'uns to yer mother for a reason. They were easier to mold, easier to tame." Her gaze moved toward the door. "This one has already tasted success on the battlefield. 'Tis a wound to his pride that he is here."

   Scotia moved to the wall where she had found the MacKinnon. With a sigh she reached out and removed her mother's sword from its mount—the sword he had almost taken. "Then why did he come? He said his father sent him, but there has to be more than that."

   "I'm certain he has his reasons," Maisie said as she joined Scotia near the wall. "Just as ye have reasons to rejoice in his presence here."

   Scotia spun to face her castellan. "Just what do you mean by that?"

   "Do ye not find him handsome
?”

   "He is as handsome as any other man." Even as she said the words she knew they were a lie. The image of his brown eyes—hardened and knowing one moment, the next searching and troubled—tugged at her in a most disturbing way. She shook her head in disgust, willing the feeling away.

   "
'Tis providence that brought this man to yer door, love."

   Scotia stilled, as did her heart. "What are you saying, Maisie?"

   "That he is here to father yer child. That ye should take advantage of this situation that may never present itself again."

   Scotia refused to allow her face to reveal her shock, though it reverberated through her entire body. Summoning a composure that had been ingrained in her since childhood, she replaced the sword on the wall without even the tiniest betraying clink of the metal.

   Produce a child to continue the line. She knew her obligations. The words alone had the power to slice right through her, raising up the guilt that had festered inside her since she had come of age. How could she bear a child? How could she willingly open herself up to the vulnerability pregnancy would demand? Her body could never support a child when the whole of her life was filled with conflict and aggression that was even more violent than her predecessors had experienced. Nor did she possess the warmth and patience necessary in a mother. Apart from all of that, she could never force a child to endure the same aloof and loveless existence in which she had grown up.

   Yet sometimes she longed for a babe to hold, wished her life could have another purpose besides training. At the thought, she stilled. Such desires were not for her.

   "How can I have a child, Maisie? What kind of destiny would I leave to her?" Scotia asked with a hitch in her voice. The armor that shielded her emotions slipped, leaving the usual hollow, desolate sensation that always followed.

   Maisie's gaze filled with compassion, and quite suddenly her age sat heavy on the features of her usually carefree face, deepening the lines that shadowed her eyes and forehead. She had weathered many changes since the reign of Scotia's mother as the Warrior Trainer. Now, in this uncertain age, Maisie had slowly fallen victim to the inexorable crush of time.

   "A girl-child must be conceived. The legacy of Scotia must continue with ye bearin' a female child just as yer mother did and her mother before her. The Stone must have a new guardian, or the soul of Scotland will crumble beneath us all," Maisie said with a mixture of sadness and exasperation.

   Scotia longed to turn away, to ignore the plea as she always did. Yet she forced herself to remain strong as she boldly met Maisie's gaze. How could she communicate all the uncertainties she had about her inability to love or be loved by another? "Give birth to a child only to have her slain by those who challenge me? Nay. I could never be so cruel."

   The old woman's gaze softened. "I understand yer fears, love. But doona ye realize ye have no choice? Scotland is dependin' on ye."

   Scotia closed her eyes, willing the darkness to erase the hurt the words brought. She had spent her whole life performing her duties for her country. Her love for Scotland was the one emotion she had never been forced to block. Knowing her obligations, yet knowing just as well she could never fulfill them, was a slow-bleeding wound.

   Yet somehow she had managed to continue on despite the incredible burden of her own sense of failure. Even so, her efforts had cost her much. Gone was the curious, mischievous girl of her youth. In her place was a cool, remote warrior who never lost her temper and rarely smiled. But control and bravery could not keep the despair at bay. Hope for the future—a future where she could once again be for Scotland all that her ancestors had been before her—seemed lost. She could not bring a child into her world with its heavy responsibilities and loneliness. But if she did not, who would carry on as the Warrior Trainer?

   Refusing to bow to despair, she spent her days continuing to hone her already flawless skills. She forced herself to train harder, building muscle in her arms and legs that would help her outmatch her male opponents. She had learned how to hide herself and her femininity behind the plated armor she always wore, never removing her battle gear even for sleeping, even for bathing. It was the protection, the edge she must keep. If challengers caught her unprepared, it could be the end of her.

   All because of the Stone. Perhaps it was time to reveal the Stone's location and let the entire country take over the responsibility of protecting the priceless artifact. Scotia opened her eyes. That kind of thinking would only cause further warring with England.

   A better choice for the safety of the clans might be to hide the Stone in some secret cache unknown by even Burke or Maisie so that when she died the location would disappear along with her.

   Scotia groaned. Why did everything have to be so complicated? "A tempest rages inside me, Maisie. I need more time to consider the possibilities."

   Pain flickered across Maisie's face. "That young man may not stay long. Besides, I promised yer mother—"

   Scotia held up her hand, cutting Maisie off. "Some promises are meant to be broken."

   Maisie shook her head. "Nay, child," she said in a stern yet gentle voice. "In this ye are wrong. The forces of Mother Nature are stronger than ye can imagine, claimin' her victims no matter how hard they resist."

   Scotia released a heartfelt groan. "I shall never be such a victim, of that you can be sure. I can protect myself against anyone and anything. Forces of nature ... Truly, Maisie, do you not understand me at all?"

   A hint of a smile sparkled in Maisie's tired gray eyes. "At times, I know ye, love, better than ye know yourself."

   Scotia crossed her arms over the plated metal of her brigandine and winced at the pain the motion brought. "I came down here to try to loosen the muscles in my shoulder, not to discuss a baby." She extended her arm, then rotated it in small circles forward. "Your herbs helped the bleeding, but the stiffness remains. That challenge against Brodie Haldane cost me some of my agility."