The Warrior Bride (2 page)

Lachlan was the fighter.

And yet Hunter had saved him-had arrived just in time to ward off Lachlan ’s enemies and carry him to Evermyst. What did the fighter think of that? Would there be trouble? Oh aye. Lachlan had voiced his thanks. But behind the gratitude there had been something more. Curiosity certainly, but also resentment. The rogue fox did not like to be beholden. Perhaps he should have left him to fight his own battles, but-

“So you are the warrior.”

Hunter turned abruptly at the female voice, then shifted his gaze downward, for the speaker barely reached his chest. Indeed, she was as wizened and gnarled as a windblown tamarisk.

“Speak up, lad,” she ordered.

“Aye.” He glanced up once, making certain all was well. He must be cautious, for he was a fool to chance being here at all. “Some call me the warrior.”

“And I am Meara of the Fold.”

“I know who you are.” The words came unbidden and were colored with a shadow of emotion. Hunter held his tongue and said no more.

“Do you now?” she asked, and narrowed her ancient eyes until they were but slits in her furrowed face.

“Aye.” He made certain his tone was casual now, though a thousand unwanted emotions steamed through him. “You are the one who nurtured the ladies of Evermyst.”

“Nay!” Her expression changed. Perhaps there was pain there. Perhaps there was sadness and regret, but perhaps he was seeing naught but what he wanted to see. “Nay. I did not nurture them, but only Anora.” She lifted her much-folded chin and looked him in the eye. “Isobel I sent away at birth, but perhaps you know that too.”

Hunter tightened a fist, then loosened it with a careful effort and focused all his attention on this one adversary, for perhaps, if the truth be told, she was more dangerous than all the other combined. “I have heard the tale.”

“Aye.” She nodded slowly. “Aye, and so you have.” Hunter drew himself to his full height, looming over the wizened form. “Did you have something to say, old gammer?”

She pursed her parched lips and nodded. Something shone in her eyes, some emotion too deep to -guess. “Spirit you have,” she murmured. “Spirit and pride.”

Her eyes were eerie and far seeing, and he dare not let her look too deep. Thus he turned to leave, but she snagged his sleeve in gnarled fingers.

“‘Tis said you saved our Lachlan.”

He twisted toward her. “Some say that I did, but if left to his own defenses he would have rallied on his own, most like.”

“Modesty.” Her ancient voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “Aye-”

Hunter yanked from her grasp and turned to leave, but she snatched at his sleeve again. “I’ve a mind to hire you.”

He glanced back at her. “What?”

“You heard me, lad.”

“Hire me? Why?”

“‘Tis said you are not afraid to battle. Indeed, ‘tis said you are hired to kill in the name of king and country.”

“I have killed,” he confirmed.

She nodded solemnly. “‘Tis said you are a great warrior.”

“And why, pray, would you need a great warrior when you are surrounded by the brother rogues?”

“Perhaps ‘tis they what need the protecting.”

“What?”

“Trouble comes,” she murmured. “I feel it in me soul.”

“Your soul,” he scoffed, but suddenly he felt an unnatural draft of air. It drifted across the back of his neck, setting his hair on end.

The old woman glanced up as if worried. “What manner of trouble?” he asked.

She shifted her gaze toward the twins where they stood on the dais. “I know not.”

“Are the maids in danger?”

“Tell me, warrior.” She pinned her uncanny gaze on him, and it was all he could do to keep from shifting his away. “Would you care?”

“Nay,” he said. “I do not even know them.”

“And what of Lachlan? Do you care for him?”

“If you’ve something to say, old woman, do so and have done with.”

“Evil comes to Evermyst.”

“Nay,” he murmured. “Evermyst is all but invincible.”

“Invincible.”

‘Twas her turn to scoff. “Naught is invincible, warrior. Surely you know that.”

“What evil?” he asked.

“I know not. ‘Tis why I would hire you to abide here with us.”

“Here?” His stomach lurched, his muscles cramped.

If there was one place in the world that he did not belong it was here. “At Evermyst!”

“I will make it well worth your efforts, lad” Unnamed emotions burned like spirits through him, but in that instant he heard the brothers laugh. He shifted his attention. From across the room, the MacGowans watched him, and then, as if from a nightmare, Lachlan stepped toward him.

“Nay! There is naught I can do for you,” Hunter rasped and, turning, disappeared like a wraith into the crowd.

In the year of our Lord 1536

Maybe humility wasn’t Lachlan ’s best attribute. True, he was as strong as a bull, as crafty as a fox, and as silent as a serpent, but perhaps he was not quite as humble as he might be. Then again, what did he have to be humble about? He grinned as he pressed aside an elder branch.

Somewhere up ahead was his quarry. Lachlan had been following him for many hours now, and though he had inquired long and searched diligently, he’d learned little. The man traveled alone, he was reputedly a great fighter, and most called him naught but “the warrior.” Lachlan snorted silently.

The warrior, indeed! If memory served, he was not tremendously impressive to look upon, being neither tall nor particularly brawny-although the other had never stood near Lachlan for more than a pair of moments. Indeed, the warrior avoided him, had fled from Evermyst’s great hall, if not from Scotland entirely. Why? If the man had been willing to save him in battle those long months ago, why did he refuse to converse with him?

Lachlan scowled into the deepening darkness. From somewhere up ahead he caught the faintest whiff of smoke on the cool autumn air. He turned his head ever so slightly, concentrating, for he’d finally found the warrior and was not about to lose him now.

The man had started a fire of… elm wood, if Lachlan wasn’t mistaken. So Hunter, as Gilmour had once called him, was preparing to dine, and had no idea that he was now the hunted. The great warrior’s instincts were less than impressive, for despite the darkness that had settled in around him, Lachlan knew just where his quarry was. He knew just where he had left his steed, still saddled in the wee dell not far away, and he knew… Lachlan canted his head ever so slightly and closed his eyes.

Aye, he knew what the other would eat-mutton and cheese-crowdie, perhaps. He opened his eyes and smiled into the darkness. There was a reason Lachlan was called the fox and it certainly was not for his lithe form. Nay, he’d been blessed with the build of a bullock, but that did not mean he was unable to slip like a shadow through the heather.

Straightening silently, he did so, taking a pair of steps before stopping to listen again. No sound issued from the warrior’s camp, but Lachlan knew just where his prey was.

‘Twas lucky for this Hunter fellow that Lachlan meant him no harm. Indeed, he planned the very opposite, for even though his brothers had taunted him relentlessly about the battle of Evermyst, he hoped to finally repay the warrior, to even the score, so to speak.

True, the warrior had been less than appreciative of Lachlan ’s thanks, but that didn’t lessen the debt. Hunter had attempted to help Lachlan; Lachlan would help Hunter. It was as simple as that. And perhaps in the meantime the other could learn a skill or two. After all, there was none in the Highlands who could match Lachlan ’s ability as a tracker. Barely a sound whispered up from beneath his feet as he stepped forward, and he smiled at the absence of noise. Aye, perhaps he would teach the warrior how to walk so silently. Perhaps he would teach him how to track. And perhaps, if he were an apt student-

Lachlan wasn’t certain whether he felt the point of the blade at his neck, or the fingers in his hair first. But two facts were indisputable, there was a blade and there were fingers.

“Who are you?” The voice was unknown, deep and low and deadly. The knife was sharp enough to draw forth a droplet of blood with the slightest nudge.

Lachlan dare not swallow lest another drop follow the first. He raised his hands and swore in silence. “Put away the blade and I’ll not harm you, friend. I’ve no quarrel with you.” He had tried to learn diplomacy from Gilmour, but perhaps he’d not been the most gifted student, for the other seemed undeterred.

“Then why do you sneak into me camp like a flea-bitten cur?”

Silence stole into the woods. “Your camp?” Lachlan asked.

No answer was forthcoming.

“You are the warrior called Hunter?”

“Aye.”

Damnation! “Then you’ve naught to fear from me,” Lachlan said.

There was a moment of quiet, then the other laughed and slipped his knife harmlessly away. “That much is pitiably apparent,” he said, and turned back to his fire.

Lachlan watched him go. ‘Twas said the man had carried him to Evermyst. ‘Twas said the man had saved his life, but perhaps gratitude was not Lachlan ’s primary virtue for even now he could feel his temper rising.

“What say you?” Lachlan asked, and followed the other through the darkness.

Not a word was spoken for some time, but finally the warrior glanced up from his place on a log. From beneath the curved visor of his dark metal helm, his eyes were naught but a glimmer of light tossed up from the fire now and again. His nose guard shadowed his face, and the fine metal mesh attached to the bottom of his helmet did naught but continue the mystery.

“Why have you come, MacGowan?”

Lachlan scowled. So Hunter had recognized him.

Perhaps this warrior was not so poorly trained as he had assumed. Indeed, perhaps he was somewhat adept. “In truth,” Lachlan said, remembering his mission with some difficulty, “I have come to return your favor.”

The fire crackled, and although it was difficult to see past the fine chain metal that hid the warrior’s cheeks and neck, Lachlan thought he caught a hint of a smile. “Something amuses you?”

“Rarely,” said Hunter, and carved a slice of mutton from a bone.

“Then why do you smile?”

Silence again. Lachlan tightened his fist. Indeed if he hadn’t come to save this fellow, he would be well tempted to give him a much-deserved pop in the face.

“Leave me,” said the warrior and stood.

“Perhaps you did not understand me,” Lachlan said, his tone stilted even as he did his best to smile. “I wish to repay your favor.”

“Are you so bored, MacGowan?” Hunter’s voice was little more than a murmur in the darkness.

“What’s that?”

“Why else would you come but for boredom’s sake?” Lachlan straightened his back, but he was quite certain his smile had slipped a notch. “I have come for chivalry’s sake,” he said. “To repay you for-”

But his words were interrupted by laughter.

“For a man who is rarely amused…” Lachlan began, then shrugged, as much to relieve his tension as to finish his thought.

“You have come for vanity’s sake,” said Hunter. “Vanity?”

“To prove yourself me equal.”

Perhaps Lachlan was more vain than he knew, for he had never considered a need to prove his equality. He smiled. “I assure you, you are wrong.”

Hunter watched him for a moment. The fire flickered between them. “I have made me a rule, MacGowan.”

Lachlan waited, but if the other planned to continue, It was a hard thing to prove. And perhaps patience was not MacGowan’s stellar characteristic. “What is that rule?”

“I do not kill a man whose life I once saved.”

The sliver of anger that had wedged into Lachlan ’s system expanded a bit. “You think you could best me?”

There was not the least bit of mirth in the man’s smile only arrogance mixed with a bit of blood-boiling disdain. “Run home to your father’s castle, lad. I have no time to teach lessons that should have been learned long ago.”

Lachlan flexed his hands. “It has been some years since I have been called a lad.”

“Has it?” “Aye.”

Hunter laughed quietly, as if he shared some private jest with himself. “And therefore you assume you are a man?”

“Would you like to test the theory in battle, mayhap?”

“And here I thought you came to save me.”

“Aye, well,” said Lachlan and tilted his head at the strange twist of fate. “That was before you spoke.”

The warrior grinned, as if savoring his amusement. “I will allow you the choice of weapons.”

Firelight danced across Hunter’s teeth. They looked tremendously white in the darkness. “Will you now?”

“Aye. What will it be? Claymores? Broadswords? Fists?”

“Did you not hear me rule, MacGowan?”

“Aye. I did. You vowed not to kill any man you once saved. But I assure you… You need not worry on me own account.”

“Such an impressive combatant, are you?”

“My opponents have said as much.”

“Any that were not your maidservants?”

“It surprises me that someone has not taught you better manners long ago.”

“Aye. At times it surprises me as well.”

Lachlan nodded. “What do you choose then?”

”Choose?” he asked, and poked leisurely at a burning faggot. “I choose for you to leave off and find another to amuse you.”

“The warrior,” Lachlan said, as if musing to himself.

“I have heard a good many rumors about you. Me brother Gilmour has a host of interesting theories, but none mentioned your cowardice.”

“Go away, lad, before I lose me good humor.”

“It would not be a fight to the death.” Lachlan assured him. “I would not wound you unduly.”

“Truly? How noble of you.”