Read Mary Reed McCall Online

Authors: The Maiden Warrior

Mary Reed McCall (6 page)

Concern and love were not for one such as she. She was built to fight and kill. That was all.

But this…this remembered touch…

As if coming out of a dream, she wrenched herself free of Aidan’s grip, quelling the waves of almost painful sensation his touch had evoked. She didn’t trust herself to speak, her throat felt so tight, but she forced herself to anyway, knowing that he’d not let her escape to the cleansing ritual of her training until she answered him.

“I’ll think about it,” she managed to say, her voice gone as husky as his had been. Then she shoved harder to push past him, desperate to get away from the confusing feelings sweeping through her. He let her go, and she took in deep breaths as she stalked away down the path in the direction that Owin told her. As she tried to will calm and focus back to her frazzled senses.

“Tomorrow morning, Gwynne. We’ll begin your other training then,” Aidan called out softly after her, and she held herself stiff as she walked, to stop herself from flinching at the gentleness in his tone. “Do not fail me.”

 

Less than a quarter hour later, Aidan stood outside the old tack chamber and watched through a knothole in the wall. He’d chosen this place for Gwynne’s training, knowing that no one would come out here. It had been empty for more than two years, ever since they’d built the new tack room closer to the stables.

When they’d first cleaned out this chamber, he’d meant to have the walls torn down and put the space to use in some other way, but now he was glad he hadn’t gotten around to it. ’Twas a perfect place for Gwynne to have privacy for her exercises—and with its knot-riddled walls, a perfect way for him to keep an eye on what she was doing.

He stood now, stunned as he watched her, amazed anew at the strange motions and exercises she practiced over and over, until her breath came in heavy rasps and her shirt dampened with sweat. He’d had glimpses of these very moves in action during his battle with her on the field, but it had been a fleeting glance at best, and mitigated by the shock he’d felt when he’d discovered who she really was.

Now he had the chance truly to study her, and her abilities astonished him. He’d not have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

She was using her sword, feinting and jabbing through a series of moves with a speed and strength worthy of any of his best warriors. But she’d added several of the strange, twirling jumps he’d seen her use on the field, her long, lean form tucking and spinning around before she landed on both feet again. Then she’d jab close and hard at her imaginary opponent who, had he been real, would have been preparing himself to slash at her two full
sword’s-lengths away, making his death an almost forgone conclusion.

Aidan narrowed his gaze, watching her practice the series of motions again and again, her movements quickening in pace. He exhaled his breath slowly, shaking his head in wonderment at her sheer endurance. How in hell did she keep it up—and how many hours of grueling training had it taken her to master a skill like this?

After a few more minutes of fierce activity, she finally slowed, gasping and letting her arms fall limp; the point of her sword dug into the hard-packed floor. When she let go of it, the heavy weapon thudded on the dirt, and she sank down cross-legged next to it, sides heaving, before burying her head in her hands.

She looked so vulnerable sitting there. The curve of her back revealed the toll such rigorous training took, and Aidan watched in silence for a while, listening to her ragged breathing, longing to yank open the door and go to her.

But he knew better than that; if she had the slightest inkling that he was here, that he was watching her in secret, she’d never trust him, and he needed her to if he hoped to complete his mission to make her remember. It was all locked inside her, he knew it. All the memories of their time together, of what they’d felt for each other, and of what the Welsh had done to her—to them—that day. He’d seen glimpses of it flutter to the surface before quickly fading away. But the memories were there.

He just needed to find the key to unlocking them for her.

Suddenly, a broken cry echoed through the chamber, making Aidan’s heart wrench as he shifted to press his eye closer to the tiny knothole. Gwynne was crouched over now, arms wrapped around herself and rocking against whatever strong emotion held her in sway. Her breath no longer rasped, though her entire frame shook, as if she
held back sobs. Aidan fisted his hands, reminding himself yet again of why he couldn’t intervene. Why he couldn’t go inside as every fiber and sinew of him demanded, and soothe away whatever caused her pain.

A moment later, she abruptly ceased her rocking movements and lifted her head, swiping her hand across her mouth before jerking to her feet. Her back was to him as she reached down to lift her sword, her spine and shoulders tense. As if she’d done it a thousand times before, she wearily widened her stance, beginning to swing her blade through a new series of motions, more like the kind he and his men practiced when they ran through their own exercises.

Though her face was still concealed from him, Aidan imagined he could see the stoicism of her expression, the rigid determination etching cold, hard lines over her features. And the knowledge of it ripped him apart inside.

God in heaven, what had happened to turn her from the sweet, laughing creature he’d loved so many years ago into this hardened warrior, who drove herself beyond the limits of endurance? What other punishing experiences were behind the impervious front that she worked so hard to maintain, forcing her to keep the truth of her past and the memory of his loving her locked so firmly away?

Aidan swallowed and stepped away from the wall, deciding that he’d better go now before she discovered him spying. But as he made his way back to the castle, one last thought hammered through his brain, swirling around to tempt and prod him, leaving him no rest…

Because he couldn’t help asking himself just how far he’d be willing to go to bring all her memories of loving him back again.

D
iana stood up carefully, checking as she did to make sure she was still alone in the corridor. The dull gray light of morning had proved too weak to aid her attempts to peer beneath the chamber door. Undaunted, she leaned in with one ear to the cool wood, keeping very quiet to see if she could at least hear what was happening inside the room.

The Welsh stranger had been in there with old Alana since breaking her fast. Though Gwynne had been considerably more civilized during this morning’s meal than she’d been the evening before, Diana still didn’t like her. Aside from her strange appearance, there was something about her that sent warning tingles up Diana’s spine; something else that just wasn’t right.

Holding her breath now, Diana pressed her ear closer, straining to catch any hint of sound or conversation from within the chamber.

What in blazes could she be doing with Dunston’s most
trusted servant? Aidan never let old Alana take on extra work. Never. He treated her like a grandmother, allowing her only the easiest of tasks, and those only because she insisted on doing something for her keep.

Alana was a fixture in the castle. Though her condition had worsened over the years, she’d remained with the family through everything. ’Twas she who’d found Aidan in the woods, bleeding and confused after he’d been attacked by the Welsh rebels. And it was Alana who’d stood by them through the horrible nightmare of Father’s arrest and execution. She’d stayed through it all, unbroken by the disgrace, even after many of the other servants had left. Even after Mama…

Diana bit her lip and frowned.
Mama
. Dear, sweet Mama. What would she think of her daughter lurking in the hallway to eavesdrop? Guilt sent a rush of warmth into her cheeks.
Oh, Mama. How I wish you were still here to hold me. To keep me safe.
But that could never be. Never again.

The day the soldiers had come for Father, Mama’s sweet embrace and her comforting lavender scent were all that had kept Diana from screaming aloud. She’d buried her face in Mama’s neck, feeling her world spin apart and hearing her mother’s soft cries as the soldiers had loaded Father into that horrible cart and driven him away. She’d finally broken away from Mama’s arms and run after them, begging them to stop. To give her Papa back. But it had been too late. The gate had shut. He was gone and she’d never seen him again.

And then everything had changed. In the weeks after Papa’s execution, Lady Sutcliffe had slowly sunk into a world of her own making, becoming distracted and then distant, holed up alone in her chamber. Her once beautiful hair, a shade darker than Diana’s own, had become tangled and unkempt, her spotless gowns ripped and stained.

And then had come that horrible morning…the misty dawn when Diana had gone to the pond to gather up some of the pretty swamp iris that grew there, to make a bouquet for Mama—and found a bloated, unrecognizable thing floating in the water. A thing with billowing auburn hair.

Diana grimaced with the memory. The thing hadn’t looked like Mama at all. For a long time she’d even refused to believe it was her. But eventually she’d been made to accept the truth. That Mama was dead, just like Father. All Diana had left now was Aidan—and she’d chew nettles before she’d let some backwoods relative come between them and upset their plans.

A crashing sound from inside the room sent Diana skittering into the shadows. Breathless, she slipped behind the edge of the tapestry hanging on the wall and held very still. Suddenly, the door to the chamber was yanked open from inside. Gwynne came stalking out, looking like a thundercloud and mumbling under her breath. She glared once over her shoulder at the open portal, not seeing Diana’s hiding place, praise the saints, before she reached the stairs and turned to thump down them into the gloom below.

A moment later, old Alana emerged, her form perpetually bent by her crippled joints, but with a half smile on her lips as she looked in the direction of the retreating figure. She shook her head and began to go back into the chamber, then stiffened.

Without turning around, she murmured, “’Tis poor behavior from you, lass, to be sneaking about and prying into business that’s not your own. Get on wi’you now. If I catch you at it again, your brother will be hearing of it.”

Shuffling back into the room, she shut the door firmly behind her.

Diana flounced from behind the tapestry, cheeks hot
with an odd mixture of annoyance and shame. It was all Gwynne’s fault. She was to blame for forcing Diana to creep about like this. There’d been no choice.
Someone
had to save Aidan from the trouble the Welshwoman was going to bring. No one else seemed worried, but Diana knew better. Gwynne was dangerous—she could feel it. An unplanned hazard to their plans. Taking a deep breath, Diana smoothed her hands along the golden girdle slung low on her hips and headed down the stairs on the same path Gwynne had taken moments earlier; she was determined to do whatever it took to lessen the damage. Aye, she would do everything in her power to get Gwynne ap Morrison out of Dunston Castle before the duke learned about her, or God forbid actually met her—and found reason to call off his daughter’s wedding to Aidan for good.

 

Gwynne sat on the steps to the main hall at Dunston, trying to take deep breaths while at the same time avoiding the curious gazes directed at her from the people going about their business around the castle. The sun beat down on her, soaking into the infernal bliaud and smock she was wearing and inspiring a renewed burst of annoyance. She tugged at the neck of the blue linen, trying to catch a bit of breeze, while angry thoughts swirled through her head.

Curse it, but this morning’s humiliation with Alana had sapped all her patience, and the day wasn’t even half over. Aidan would be meeting her here in a few more minutes to start the process all over again, only with who knew what torturous activity.

She shuddered and gave up tugging at her neckline to lift surreptitiously the ends of her skirt. Part of her wanted to run and hide—or better yet, to rip off this absurd gown, jump astride her steed, and gallop like the wind until she reached the mountains of home.

But she couldn’t do that, she knew. ’Twould be the coward’s way. She’d faced blood, death, and destruction countless times on the battlefield, dealing the same to others more often than not. Having to face her buried femininity by pretending to be a lady should seem easy by comparison. But it wasn’t. It was blasted hard, making something deep inside twist and ache. Something she wanted to forget altogether.

Yet aside from needing to protect herself and her men from the danger of discovery, she knew that her people were counting on her for the three months of truce with the English to restore their strength. That, combined with de Brice’s gold, would give them the boost they needed to strike at the heart of their enemy in a way that would not soon be forgotten. A way certain to garner victory.

Trying to calm herself with that thought, she concentrated on folding her hands in her lap as Alana had instructed this morning, checking to see that her knees were at least partway together. She could hear the old woman’s rusty voice in her mind, coaxing her to sit like a lady.

Of course, having her own tunic and leggings on under her gown made it harder to remember such niceties, not to mention that it added to the stifling feeling she experienced in the heat, but wearing the skirts alone wasn’t an option; the very idea of having her legs bare beneath, of the naked feeling that it would cause, especially when Aidan de Brice directed his prying gaze on her, made her break out in a sweat.

Nay, she’d make due with the leggings on.

She was just getting ready to get up and find her men, de Brice be damned, when Aidan came whistling around the corner of the gatehouse. He stopped when he saw her, his gaze locking with hers; the whistle died on his lips and his eyes lit up, his entire face creasing with a smile.

Gwynne swallowed hard against the warm rush of
pleasure that swept through her. Curse him, but he was handsome when he looked at her like that. She bit the inside of her cheek, the metallic taste of her own blood helping to bring her back to reality, reminding her of her purpose here. He was the enemy, and she couldn’t allow herself to forget it.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he said, still looking pleased as he approached.

She managed to calm the thudding of her heart, restoring enough order to her senses to shrug and offer, “I’ve nothing better to do for the next three months—no attacks to arrange, no pillaging or massacres to plan.”

Rather than chilling his mood, as she’d expected, her flippant answer only made him grin more deeply.

“Are you ready to go?” He gestured to the gate.

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Pursing her lips, she got up to follow him, clumping down the steps in her usual manner before she remembered to try to walk more genteelly. She glanced at him, catching the twinkle in his eye that told her he’d noticed her efforts. Irritation lanced through her again, and she fisted her hands.
Lugh
, but it was difficult to handle her constantly changing mood where de Brice was concerned. One moment she was angry with him, the next, tingling with a strange sense of excitement.

“I want to know where you’re taking me,” she demanded, as much to maintain her own sense of control as to find out his plans for her.

“To the wood beyond the castle,” he answered, quickening his pace.

She slowed, uncertain about accompanying him alone without her weapons. Noticing her hesitation, he turned and gripped her hand in his to tug her along with him, smiling again and murmuring, “’Tis not too far, and I’ve
nothing sinister in mind, I promise. There’s just something I want to show you.”

The shock of his touch raced through her, as it had when he’d gripped her shoulders outside the stables last night; yanking her hand away, she decided to take her chances. She could always just knock him senseless if he tried anything. She sped up to keep abreast of him, hiding the tingling in her fingers by twisting them in her skirts as they made their way out of the castle yard and to the meadow beyond.

Soon, they approached the edge of the woodland. As when they came through this area on their arrival at Dunston, Gwynne felt an odd nagging sensation at the back of her skull—a feeling of familiarity she couldn’t quite place. They ducked into the cool shade of the trees, the branches all around them having long since unfurled their sweet green splendor under the force of the June sunlight.

The prickling sensation in her brain increased the deeper they went into the woodland. Uncomfortable, she started to tell de Brice that she’d go no further, when he suddenly slowed, then stopped altogether.

“We’re here,” he announced. Putting his hands on his hips, he breathed deep and gazed around the little clearing as if it were as spectacular as a king’s throne-room.

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking cautiously around, half expecting a hidden army to come charging at her from the trees. She saw nothing but two large woven baskets resting against one thick trunk. “All right. What exactly is it that I’m supposed to be seeing?”

“Strawberries.”

“Strawberries?” She stared at him in disbelief; his dark eyes sparkled at her, stunning her with a flood of heat deep in her belly and leaving her with that same breathless feeling as always. Then he grinned, looking supremely pleased with himself.

He walked over to the thick foliage that blanketed most of the clearing, pushing aside some of the leaves to show clusters of succulent red fruits hanging beneath. “Look—there must be a thousand of them, just at the peak of ripeness!”

Gwynne rubbed her nose, staring askance at him. It seemed she’d have to go gently with him. “That’s lovely, de Brice, truly it is. But why in God’s name have you brought me here to see them?”

“Because you’re going to pick them,” he answered, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. He bent over and plucked one of the berries from a nearby plant, popping it in his mouth and straightening to chew it with his eyes closed, in obvious bliss. “Delicious,” he murmured, not seeming to notice her pointed gaze.

“Ah, de Brice?” she called out, trying to pull his attention to her again. When he didn’t respond, she repeated herself more loudly until he finally looked at her, another berry halfway to his mouth, his brows raised in innocence.

“Aye?”

“I told you when I agreed to leave Wales with you that I wasn’t going to be your servant. If you want berries, you’re going to have to pick them yourself.”

He shocked her again by grinning like a fool. “Aye, that I will,” he answered. “But you’re going to help me.”

The afternoon was turning stranger by the second.

“Why would I do that?” she managed to sputter. “Berry picking isn’t a skill that you can claim I need to develop. God’s blood, ’tis most often a task for little children, not ladies!”

Faint giggling suddenly seemed to echo in Gwynne’s ears, and she jerked to look behind her, scrutinizing the woods. All was empty and still, save for the waving of the branches in the breeze. Just a trick of the wind, no doubt…

“I think you’ll pick them, because I have a wager for you,” Aidan said, stepping closer with a soft smile and muddling her senses anew. “Knowing how partial you are, after all, to making deals,” he added, offering her a berry and then eating it himself when she refused with a scowl.

“What kind of wager?” she asked grudgingly, willing herself to avoid his gaze in a desperate attempt at self-preservation.

“A contest of sorts. We pick for half an hour; whoever has the most berries at the end of that time wins.”

“Wins what?”

“Well, that part is open for discussion,” he said, rocking back on his heels and feigning deep thought as he rubbed his chin. “I was thinking of something physical, perhaps.”

When he directed his twinkling gaze on her again, she could resist no longer; she met his stare, and the warmth in his eyes made the melting feeling in her belly swell tenfold. Without warning he stepped even closer, and she suddenly found herself unable to breathe. Mesmerized, she watched as he reached out to drag his fingertip lightly down the side of her cheek, leaving behind a path of tingling pleasure.

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