The Warrior Trainer (41 page)

   Ian placed the torch against the burial pyre that held the body of one of the Ranald warriors. Night had fallen, and the sky filled with millions of stars that welcomed the warriors as they went to their eternal reward. The air had turned crisp, and a light breeze teased the flames that devoured the warrior's remains. In his mind, Ian repeated the ancient Celtic blessing that would send the great warrior on his way. Despite his will to keep going, moving steadily until the work was complete, he swayed on his feet.

   "You are exhausted." Scotia's voice came from behind him.

   "Aye." He turned to face her and had to refrain from pulling her to him. "I have slept little in the last three days."

   "Then you must retire now. The others and I shall finish what remains to be completed. You have already done twice as much as any other man here."

   "I would do the same, a thousandfold. These are my people as well as yours. Just as we united in marriage, our countrymen united in battle."

   "Our marriage was a mistake. You could never love me if you knew—"

   "Scotia—"

   "Nay. Say no more. I had thought on our way back here that there was hope for us." She shook her head in true remorse. "Now, things are different."

   Ian narrowed his gaze on her, searching for a way to reach her before she did something they would both regret forever. With every breath he drew he believed she loved him.

   Scotia averted her gaze. As she did, her unbound hair brushed her pale cheek, then fell in a wild tumble about her shoulders in luxuriant waves. He remembered another head of reddish brown hair, and he knew the reason she had changed her mind. She did not fear him. She feared the taint of her own blood.

   He knew the feeling all too well.

   He brought his arms around her and held tight as she struggled against him. When she finally stopped, he waited until she brought her gaze to his.

   Fragile love stared back at him from the depths of her green eyes. He smiled to himself as he faced her. "Listen carefully to me, Scotia, because I am not going to let you do this to us. You gave me your love without hesitation the night of our handfasting, and I shall not let you take it away, all for the sake of your wounded pride. The harder you try to deny that there is something between us, the harder I shall fight you, and without the use of our swords."

   She struggled within his arms, but without the same intensity as she did before. "I—"

   "I shall haunt your dreams each night," he interrupted, "just as you have haunted mine since the moment I first saw you. You will lie awake in your bed wanting me, knowing that I am lying in bed wanting you. And finally, when you are ready, you will come to me because you will have no choice."

   She flinched, but did not move. Instead of the anger he had expected, her eyes reflected pain. "It is not possible."

   He continued as though she had not spoken. "And when you do come to me, I shall be waiting with open arms."

   Scotia drew a shaky breath. He ignored her attempt to speak, driving his point into her heart as best he could. "I hurt you when I left. I understand that now. But I swear on my life I shall never leave you again. I have spoken to my father, and I have relinquished all rights to lead my clan."

   Surprise filled her eyes.

   Ian laughed. "Father had no arguments for me when I gave him the news. He said leading the clan was never my destiny—you were. And if that is so, Scotia, I am here to embrace that destiny with all my heart and soul."

   "There are things about me you do not know," she said in an aching whisper.

   "Perhaps those things will not matter to me."

   She shook her head. "Nay. You would leave me for certain if you knew the truth."

   He released her abruptly. "Love bears all things, Scotia. When you realize that, you will come for me. And I shall be waiting," he said before he walked back toward the keep.

   She would come for him, he told himself. She had to.

  
Hours later, Scotia headed straight for her bedchamber and the steaming bath that Maisie had no doubt left for her there. The thought of soaking away the grime and blood in the heather-scented water was more than she could resist. Without hesitation, she took off her armor, dropping it on the floor next to the tub. She pulled her shift over her head and paused at the sudden realization of what she had done.

   Scotia eyed the pile of discarded garments. A hysterical sob rose up inside her. For years she had been frightened, terrified even, to remove her armor. Now, with Ian nearby, she did not even consider her actions, merely threw off her garb without a second thought. The chill air of her bedchamber skittered across her bare flesh. Did she feel so at ease with him and his presence in her household that she no longer felt the need for such extreme measures of protection?

   Scotia tore her gaze away from the reminder of how much he had changed her life as she slipped into the heated water. Weary from exhaustion, she leaned her head back against the copper tub, wanting nothing more than to forget the events of the day. The images of the battle would eventually fade from her mind. Even the conflict with her father would soon recede into the realm of unreality.

   But she would never be able to forget the expression on Ian's face when he charged the White Horseman and sent him to his death. The primitive anger, the revulsion that etched itself across his features spoke louder than words his feelings for his enemy.

   Knowing the truth of who had sired her, how could he ever look at her again with love in his eyes? She had committed to him for a year and a day. As a warrior she would honor that commitment. Savoring each day, each moment, storing them all up for the time when they would be apart. Because even though she wanted a lifetime with him, he would never willingly join himself to her forever if he knew the blood of that horrible man flowed within her veins.

   How could he ever love her?

   Scotia closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind of everything, but images of Ian pressed in on her instead. She saw Ian battling with her for the first time, staring up at her from the floor with genuine surprise in his eyes; Ian dancing with her in her great hall; Ian gazing up at the stars with her and sharing stories of his past; Ian holding her tight, demanding she hold on to life when she was so sick; Ian standing before her covered with soot and blood proudly proclaiming:
I shall haunt your dreams each night, just as you have haunted mine since the moment I first saw you. You will lie awake in your bed wanting me, knowing that I am lying in bed wanting you
.

   He had been wrong about one thing: even away from her bed she would think of him. With a sigh of regret, Scotia finished her bath, then changed into the soft linen nightrail she had worn when she was ill. She crept into her bed and pulled the covers up tight against her chin.

   For what seemed like hours but was probably more like minutes, Scotia stared at the unadorned ceiling of her room and waited. But even sleep refused to claim her. Finally, she pushed the bed linens back and got out of bed. The only way she would ever be able to sleep was if she worked herself into blessed exhaustion. And she knew just how to accomplish that.

   Taking the candle with her, she stopped at the pile of discarded clothing and armor to retrieve her sword, before quietly slipping out of her bedchamber and down the stairs. When she stood at the doorway of her training chamber, she paused to clear her mind as she always did. But the serenity that usually filled her did not come.

   Edgy and off-balance, she stepped into the room, ready to begin a grueling routine. Halfway across the room she froze at the sight before her. On the floor near her feet lay Ian's sword with his plaid coiled around the weapon. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as Scotia knelt beside the cloth. A pang of longing tugged at her heart. With trembling fingers, she lifted the edge of the fabric up to her face and pressed her cheek into the woolen warmth. Ian's minty scent lingered there. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened, but they spilled past her barricade anyway.

   He had known she would end up here, in her training chamber this eve. And he had left his sword and his plaid for her to find, to give her a reason to come to him if she could not do so on her own. The sweetness of his words came back to her: When you are ready, you will come to me because you will have no choice.

   Defying all logic and reason, she was ready to go to him. The question was would he be ready to receive her when he knew the truth? Suddenly, it seemed paramount that she find out.

   Before she could think about what she was doing, Scotia slipped her nightrail off and wrapped Ian's plaid tight around her body, allowing the length of the fabric to drag on the floor. With a sword in each hand, she hurried down the corridor before she could change her mind.

   After a breathless moment, she placed her hand on the door to the bedchamber he had taken for the night. The door swung open with a slight creak of the hinges. She paused in the doorway and drew a shaky breath. The light of a fire in the hearth cast a reddish glow about the room. The light beckoned her forward, toward the bed.

   Halfway across the room she paused to lay their swords down upon the floor. There would be no need for weapons between them tonight. She stepped across the swords and continued toward him. Ian lay on his back, one arm draped over his face, the other flung across the bed. His breath came softly within the quiet of the chamber, slow and even. He had kicked off the covers to reveal one naked foot, one long, lean thigh, and the exposed planes of his chest lightly furred with crisp blond hair.

   Scotia swallowed, transfixed by the sight of his big, muscular body. He was hers, her husband, for the asking, for the taking. But would she be brave enough to take what she wanted now that she knew who she truly was? Could she take the last step and bare herself to him?

   "If you would take one step forward, you could nestle in my arms." He stretched his hand out to her as if doing so would have the power to keep her with him.

   She took the last step that separated them and caught his hand in her own. She brought his fingers to her lips. "Hold me, Ian."

   His opposite hand snaked out from the bedside. Before she knew what had happened, she found herself beneath him, the softness of her breasts colliding with the unyielding strength of his chest. A moment later he shifted her on her side and cradled her in his arms, tenderly brushing his lips against her forehead. She trembled in response, and his arms tightened around her. "I would hold you forever if you would only let me."

   With an effort, Scotia dragged herself back from the mindless swirl her senses had become the moment he touched her. She had to tell him the truth. Now. Before this went any farther. She propped herself up on one elbow and gazed into his eyes. "Ian, I must tell you something, something that could change everything between us."

   He continued to rain kisses across her jawline and down her neck. "What could you possibly say that would change the way I feel about you?" His mouth left a scorching trail of kisses across her shoulder and down her arm. "I like your choice of garments this evening. Very fetching." He slipped one hand inside the opening at the front of his plaid to caress the rounded Softness of her hip and thigh. "You wearing my plaid makes me want you all the more."

   "Are you sure you would want me if I told you my father was the White Horseman?" Scotia shuddered from the combination of her confession and his bold exploration of her body. Without a pause, his hand slid along the side of her breast, his fingers splaying wide in a bold, possessive caress.

   "I know," he said in a gentle voice. "I heard him say so on the tower."

   Startled, Scotia pulled back to stare into his face. "And still you can touch me like this?"

   He cupped her face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over the soft curve of her mouth. "One thing you have taught me since my arrival here is that it is not your background that matters or what makes you great, it is who you are inside. Does that rule apply only to your students and not to yourself?"