Once a Warrior (18 page)

“So this entire masquerade has been put on for my benefit,” he drawled.

“Yours and Gavin’s. Once you left, I could return to being myself. If a stranger came to the castle, I would change back into Rob.”

Malcolm clasped his hands behind his back and watched the sunlight shimmer across the loch, contemplating everything she had told him. MacKendrick’s daughter was alive. The terrible weight of her death had been lifted from his shoulders, but another burden had taken its place. Roderic could return at any moment, deciding he would assume control of the clan with or without Ariella. Or he could boast of his exploits to another, sending a new army to see what they could plunder. Either way, the MacKendricks were in imminent danger and needed a laird who could protect them.

The recognition that he was not that man cut his pride deep. But he was realistic enough to recognize that he had neither the strength, the stamina, nor even the respect to consider assuming such a position. Not that he wanted it, he reminded himself harshly. He had been a laird, and he had failed his people, resulting in scores of deaths.

He could not endure the possibility of such an agony again.

“Like it or not, the MacKendrick clan is not strong enough to repel another attack for long. You will have to make alliances, at least until you find this mythical laird and army you are waiting for. I am experienced in this kind of negotiation, so I can help you. Perhaps I can limit the reciprocal nature of the agreement. I will also stay and continue to make your clan as strong as possible, either until your new laird is in place, or until I have secured sufficient alliances that I believe you safe.”

“How much gold will you expect for these services?”

Her question was insulting. “For no more than we initially agreed upon.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“I am in a generous mood,” he muttered tautly. “And now that I know who you are, there is no reason for you to crawl into the hearth every morning for my benefit. You will wash and resume dressing like a woman immediately—in something that covers your legs,” he added, frowning with disapproval at the smooth curve of her grimy calves.

“But if a stranger comes—”

“If a stranger comes, you can put on whatever ridiculous disguise you feel most comfortable in,” he snapped impatiently. “Until then you will resume your role as Ariella MacKendrick and conduct yourself accordingly.” He began to limp toward his horse. “Which means no more training with the men,” he added, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Why not?” she demanded. “I was doing very well.”

“I will not have you wrestling with men,” he growled, appalled that she had been doing so for over two weeks. “In a bloody plaid, no less.” He hoisted himself onto Cain. “It is most unseemly.”

Ariella cast him an exasperated look. Although anxious to rid herself of these wretched clothes and be clean again, she had begun to enjoy her daily training. “And how unseemly will it be, MacFane, if I am attacked by a man and don’t know how to defend myself?” she challenged.

“No man will ever get that close to you, Ariella,” he swore, his voice low and harsh. “Not while I am here.”

His expression was ruthless, causing a shiver of fear to ripple through her. She was suddenly reminded of the warrior who had boldly thundered into her campsite, his sword swinging with merciless accuracy at the thieves who had tried to kill her. She was well aware of the extent of his physical weaknesses—yet as he sat upon his magnificent black mount, towering over her, she was convinced that were it only one man MacFane faced, he would surely win. In moments of fury the limitations of his broken, abused body no longer seemed to matter. She found that thought strangely comforting as she watched him turn his horse and ride away.

Until she remembered: If they were attacked, it would be by an army, not by one man.

C
HAPTER
8

Clutching the sheets close to her chest, Elizabeth took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Oh!” she gasped, feigning surprise at seeing Gavin seated by the window. “I didn’t know you were in here. I was going to change your bed linens, but I will come back later.”

“Do it now, if you like,” said Gavin as he continued to polish Malcolm’s sword. “You aren’t disturbing me.”

Her mouth curving into a smile, she closed the door behind her.

“Perhaps you should leave the door open, Elizabeth,” Gavin suggested. “Your father might not approve of your being in here with me alone.”

“Agnes and Meagan are sweeping the corridor, and the dust is terrible. I would not want it getting into your room. Besides, I won’t be but a moment.” Not waiting for him to argue, she went to the bed and began to strip off the blankets. “You know, I’m sure I could get one of the lads to do that sharpening and polishing for you,” she offered, nodding at the other sword, ax, and dirks lying on the floor.

He shook his head. “A warrior is responsible for his own weapons. Besides, I’ve been doing this for so many years, I could never be satisfied if another did it for me.” He sighed. “When you get to be my age, you become set in your ways.”

“So you’re as ancient as all that, are you?” teased Elizabeth.

“Old enough to be your father.”

“You’re not!”

“I am,” he assured her. “Forty-two, and starting to feel every day of it.”

“Well, I’m twenty-two, so you would have had to wed as barely more than a lad to be my father,” she scoffed, pulling off the sheets. A startling thought occurred to her. “You’re not wed, are you?”

He became intently absorbed with some mark on the blade. “No.”

“Were you?” she prodded, sensing he wasn’t telling her everything.

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“She died.” His tone was abrupt, indicating he did not want to discuss it.

“I’m sorry.” She turned back to her task. “Was it recently, then?”

“No.”

“Do you have any children?”

“Elizabeth, did you come in here to change the bed, or to interrogate me?”

“Why, of all the rude things to say!” She dropped the sheets to plant her hands on her hips. “It just so happens, Gavin MacFane, that we MacKendricks believe in making polite conversation with our guests. But I suppose after spending so much time fighting with MacFane and his army, you don’t know anything about that.”

“Forgive me,” Gavin apologized, enjoying the flush that had risen to her cheeks. What a delightful creature she was, with her honey-gold hair falling in thick waves over her shoulders, and her pale-blue eyes sparkling with indignation. “I did not mean to insult you. Please continue with your quest—conversation.”

“There’s nothing more I wish to know,” she assured him tartly, snapping the sheet over the mattress.

The room fell silent except for the whisper of the bedclothes being spread and tucked under the mattress. Gavin suddenly wished he hadn’t offended her. In a moment she would be finished and leave. Which was for the best, he reminded himself. He was not there to indulge in a dalliance with a girl nearly half his age, regardless of how tempting the thought might be. He and Malcolm would be leaving in a few weeks. He did not want their departure complicated by Elizabeth MacKendrick’s tender feelings.

Or Gordon MacKendrick’s wrath.

Still, he could not help but admire her as she leaned low over the bed, smoothing the ripples in the covers with her pale, slender hands. Her thin summer gown clung to her as she bent to adjust one corner, accentuating the fullness of her breasts. She was barely more than a girl, at least to him, who was so much older and battle worn and weary, and had already loved and buried both a wife and an infant. But as her fingers expertly caressed the fabrics on his bed, she seemed every inch a woman, all lush curves and soft skin, and brimming with laughter and life. He could not understand why one of the MacKendrick lads had not taken her as his bride. He smiled as he recalled the night she had boldly stood before the clan and announced she wanted to learn to fight. Not even her father had been able to stop her. A woman like that would need a strong man to match wits with her. A man experienced enough to understand her needs, and wise enough to let her explore them. He quickly considered the eligible MacKendrick youths, and just as quickly dismissed them.

“There, now,” she huffed, gathering the old linens into a bundle. “I’ve finished.” She started for the door, her hips swaying gently beneath her gown.

“Thank you, Elizabeth.”

She stopped. “The next time you’re needing your bed changed, Gavin, I’ll be sure to send Ada. I can see you’ll be more comfortable being tended by a woman nearer your own age.” The door was almost closed as she sweetly added, “Of course, she’s well past seventy, but you’ll find she’s as spry as ever.” The door slammed shut.

Gavin smiled, his amusement tempered with regret. There was no one there, he suspected, who would make a suitable husband for Elizabeth MacKendrick.

Malcolm watched as the MacKendrick men cautiously practiced fighting each other with their gleaming new swords, shields, and axes. Their movements were tentative, making it easy for their opponents to anticipate the next point of attack.

“Faster,” he commanded impatiently. “God help me, I’ve seen old women fight with more spirit.”

“You’re right, lad,” agreed Angus. “Do you want Dugald and me to go in there and show them how to do it?”

“Thank you, Angus, that won’t be necessary,” said Malcolm. “I would prefer they learn to do it on their own.”

“If you change your mind, we’re more than willing to oblige,” Angus assured him. “I brought my father’s sword.” He patted the ancient weapon propped against his chair.

“Mine is heavier,” boasted Dugald.

“Doesn’t make it better,” retorted Angus.

Alpin regarded them curiously. “Where is your sword, Dugald?”

“I left it in my chamber,” he admitted. “It’s far too heavy to carry around for no reason. But I could get it if we needed it,” he hastily added, not wanting MacFane to think he couldn’t participate in the training if he was asked.

“By the time you dragged it out here, training would be over,” scoffed Angus.

“I could go and come back before you had time to climb off this platform,” Dugald assured him testily. “After all, I’m three years younger than you.”

“Two and a half.”

“Three.”

“I remember very clearly that it’s two and a half.”

“It’s
my
age,” pointed out Dugald, “so I think I know it better than you—”

Malcolm shook his head and turned his attention back to the men. The MacKendricks were progressing well, but they were still no match for a trained army, or for anyone who was not overly disturbed by the prospect of hacking off an arm or splitting a head open with an ax. If Roderic decided to return, these people had no hope of defeating the brutal warriors he would bring with him.

His jaw tightened with frustration.

Since learning over two weeks ago that it was Roderic who had attacked the MacKendricks, Malcolm had intensified the level of training for everyone. The wooden swords and shields were abandoned, and the men had begun training with real weapons. To prevent injury, they had started by slicing and thrusting into the air, so they could learn the weight and balance of their newly forged instruments. But Malcolm did not indulge them in this activity for long, ordering them to face each other as soon as they seemed capable. Unfortunately, training with real weapons had made them all terrified of hurting each other again. When he saw how timidly they clinked their swords together, he was forced to put them back to charging the sack figures once again.

He also asked Duncan to extend the hours on which the clan worked on the castle’s fortifications. The work had been progressing at a reasonable pace, but that was no longer good enough. The new portcullis was still not completed, the parapet was only about two-thirds finished, and archers’ slits had not been cut in all the towers. If attacked, the castle must be sufficiently secure that the invaders could be kept out for as long as possible. That would give the MacKendricks time to shoot as many of them as possible before they breached the curtain wall.

He did not want to contemplate what would happen once they were actually inside.

“Could we speak with you a moment, lad?” asked Dugald, interrupting Malcolm’s thoughts.

“What is it?”

“We were thinking it might be a good time for you to order a feast,” said Angus.

“Why?”

“To celebrate.”

Malcolm looked at them blankly. “Celebrate what?”

“Why, the return of our Ariella,” Dugald replied. “It’s already been over two weeks.”

“But she has always been here,” pointed out Malcolm, “and everyone knew.”

“The clan is pleased their mistress has been able to abandon her disguise and resume her rightful position as MacKendrick’s daughter,” explained Alpin. “They would enjoy some kind of festivity to mark this event.”

“Of course, if that doesn’t seem reason enough, there are other things we could celebrate,” allowed Angus. He drew his white brows together, thinking. “We could celebrate the marvelous progress the clan has made in its fighting skills.”

“God’s ballocks!”
bellowed Ramsay from the courtyard. “What the hell are you trying to do, Graham,
kill me
?”

With great effort Malcolm refrained from pointing out that the MacKendricks had not yet reached a level that merited celebration.

“Then there is the work on the castle,” added Dugald. “The lads have been laboring hard, and even though the parapet now blocks the view, the stonework is impressive.”

“Really first-rate,” agreed Angus enthusiastically.

“And the harvest is promising to be a good one,” said Dugald, grasping for other reasons.

“And I just developed a particularly effective cure for stomach ailments,” added Alpin. “One that works even better than boar droppings—”

“Fine,” said Malcolm, not wanting to hear any more. “Order a feast if you like. As long as it doesn’t interfere with training or work.”

“Excellent,” Angus said, beaming. “All you need do is tell Ariella, and she will organize it.”

“Why can’t you tell her?” demanded Malcolm.

“Why, we thought you might like to, lad,” said Dugald.

MacFane turned abruptly to watch the clan. “I don’t have time for that.”

Angus looked surprised. “It will only take a minute—”

“I don’t have time for it,” he snapped. “If you want a feast, tell her yourselves.”

“Very well, MacFane,” agreed Alpin calmly. “We will tell her.”

Malcolm knew they must think his behavior strange, but he did not care. The day he had discovered Rob was actually a girl, he had still been able to talk to her, because in her filthy, tattered, shapeless state, she retained the appearance of a thirteen-year-old lad. But that night she had appeared in the hall, bathed and dressed in a gown of forest green, which poured over her slim curves like water, leaving no question this was a woman he beheld. Her skin was radiant, her red-brown hair spilling like fire over her shoulders, its shorn length a bitter reminder that she had been forced to cut it because of him. And he had been overwhelmed by her. By her extraordinary beauty, which surpassed that of any woman he had ever known. By the knowledge that beneath that beauty was a woman of tremendous courage and strength, who had put her own pain aside to risk herself for her people. By the memory of the woman trembling in his arms as he had pulled her against him and felt desire surge through his veins.

And by the unbearable knowledge that she could have been his, if only he had not failed her so absolutely.

“And so the kelpie took the little girl to live in the sea with him, where they made a home in a cave of pink and white rock, and they slept on beds of feathery-soft water weed.”

“What did they eat?” prodded Catherine, not ready for the story to end.

Ariella rinsed her gutted salmon in the bucket of cold water beside her. “They ate fish.”