A Warrior's Heart Page 10

  “Mayhap ‘twould be best if I pulled out my bindings again,” Brighid mused sleepily. “And wear that big floppy hat ye are so fond of.”

  Roran chuckled, silently appreciating the fact that Brighid always seemed to understand. “Aye, perhaps it would be best, at least for the ride in.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Scamallhaven was everything Brighid had dreamed it would be – big, beautiful, clean, and thriving. And green. So very green, with lush vegetation that was as much a part of the city as the structures and the people.

  People bowed their heads respectfully as Roran and Sean led their band through the streets. Peering out from beneath her floppy brim, Brighid tried to take in as much as she could. This is where she would find her answers, she knew it in her soul. Even the pendant she wore seemed to warm and vibrate softly beneath her lad’s clothing, as if it sensed it, too.

  They followed the main road through the village. Shops and businesses lined both sides. Delicious smells from the spice shops and bakeries assaulted her nostrils, reminding her how hungry she was. Judging from the quiet murmurs of the others, she wasn’t alone.

  The town was old and beautiful, dating back several centuries at least. Along their journey, Sean had recited much of its grand history, knowledge that every member of the King’s Guard was expected to burn into his mind and heart. A Guardsman who understood their history was more likely to preserve and protect it, he’d said.

  By the time they reached the palace gates, there was not one among them who didn’t already begin to feel the responsibility and honor seeping into their very beings.

  As beautiful as the outlying areas and village proper were, nothing could have prepared her for the palace itself. The courtyard alone was nearly the size of Donatirim proper, with smooth cobbled roads, beautifully landscaped trees and exquisite gardens. The castle was built right into the mountain, crafted from the same dark gray and black marbled stone. Brighid tried to count the levels, but there were too many – terraces and stories and turrets and towers! Her eyes saw, but her mind was having trouble comprehending.

  Roran chuckled at the look of pure awe on her face, remembering how he had felt the same at one time. “A bit overwhelming at first,” he murmured. “But you will grow accustomed to it.”

  Brighid doubted that. Several years wouldn’t be enough to learn her way around all that, let alone the precious few days she probably had. Roran hadn’t come right out and told her so, but she had the distinct impression that she wouldn’t be able to remain with him for long. She was smart enough to know that he was in a lot more than the “wee bit” of trouble he’d alluded to. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she’d been working through a multitude of possibilities in her mind, devising plans of action in each.

  Unfortunately, none of them would leave her with her heart intact.

  *

  “Why is it that my most honored knight returns and I am the last to hear of it?” King Aedan said cheerfully in his deep, booming voice, clasping forearms with Roran as if they were brothers.

  “My apologies, Sire. After several months away from civilization, I wished to be a bit less offensive when I greeted you.”

  Aedan let out a hearty laugh, laying his hand upon Roran’s shoulder. “As if you could ever offend me, Roran. You are like a son to me.” Inwardly, Roran felt a sharp pain, as if a knife had been thrust into his heart and twisted.

  “So. Is it true what they say? You have taken a squire?”

  “Aye.”

  Aedan’s blue eyes sharpened with interest. Brighid’s eyes. How Roran had not spotted the similarity immediately, he would never know.

  “I must admit, I find myself intrigued. Where is the boy?”

  “Cleaning up.”

  “He must be exceptional for you to take him on,” Aedan said carefully.

  “Aedan,” Roran said heavily, knowing his honorable heart would not allow anything else, “we must talk.”

  “Sounds serious, my friend.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Aedan looked at him closely, his expression concerned. “That which puts fear in the eyes of my bravest warrior cannot bode well, and anything that does not bode well is better discussed over meat and mead. We are in no imminent danger, I presume?”

  “Nae.”

  “Good. Take a few hours to wash away the dust from your long journey. Bathe. Shave. Change. Then meet me in my private quarters where we will speak of that which troubles you so.”

  Roran nodded somberly, his expression unreadable. “You are a fine king, Aedan, but an even better man.”

  Concern further etched the king’s strong, handsome features. “Do not take too long, Roran, eh?”

  ––––––––

  Under Aedan’s watchful gaze, Roran dutifully speared the succulent bit of roasted meat and brought it to his lips, but he tasted none of it. Even Sean was having difficulty enjoying the meal, the heavy weight of the unspoken laying upon their shoulders like an iron mantel.

  Finally, Aedan ordered the remains of the meal taken away and they settled in front of the roaring fire, mead in hand. “Now tell me what has my two best men acting like younglings who’ve been caught sneaking my finest ale?”

  It was a reference that had both knights reddening, for when they were still beardless lads in their first year at court they had done exactly that. As punishment, Aedan had made them each drink huge tankards of the stuff, reasoning that if they were old enough to sneak into his cellars and take a nip, then they were surely old enough to drink like real men. Neither one of them had been able to stomach that particular ale since.

  Roran shook his head and blew out a breath. “Where to begin...”

  Aedan smiled patiently. “I find the beginning a good place to start.”

  With a nod from Roran, Sean began, telling of the disappointing trials in Donatirim, and one particularly filthy, pint-sized urchin who had so skillfully managed to elude Sean’s blade (Aedan laughed heartily at this point). Then Roran explained how he saw potential in the lad’s heart and skill, and felt compelled to offer a position as his squire. The king looked slightly surprised (Roran was not a man known for his compassion) but accepted it as reasonable under the circumstances, saying the lad reminded him of the young whelp Roran had once been.

  They both described various aspects of the journey; how the other boys resented and tormented the squire, but how the squire usually outwitted, outran, or outmaneuvered them (Aedan thought the tainted stew was brilliant). Roran explained that he thought his squire had earned a reward for his endurance and dignity under duress, and opted to grant him with a marking as well.

  It was just about there that both men hesitated. “So far I have heard nothing to justify anything other than congratulations on your foresight, Roran,” the king said. “I am very much looking forward to meeting the lad.”

  At this point, Sean took up the tale. He drew a deep breath and described the events that had occurred after the marking ceremony. He quite tactfully avoided any mention of improper thoughts – his or anyone else’s – and skirted over some of the finer points, but still managed to convey the gist rather succinctly.

  “A female?” Aedan said, his mouth agape, leaning forward in his chair to stare at the two of them as they fidgeted under his gaze like the hellions they’d once been. Both nodded stoically, but neither was prepared for the rumble of the king’s thunderous laughter. They exchanged looks as the king slapped his knee and rocked back and forth in great gales of mirth until tears ran down his cheeks and his face was red with exertion.

  “Ah, Jesu,” he said finally, wiping the tears from his eyes. “’Tis the best laugh I have had in many years!”

  “You are not angry?” Sean blinked in surprise.

  “Angry?” King Aedan said, smiling and shaking his head. “Anyone who can get the best of you two is a welcome addition to my Court, male or female.”

  Aedan’s support, as unexpected as it was, was most welcome.
At that moment, Roran wished that there was where the story ended – with a clever, resourceful lass who managed to not just infiltrate their honored training program, but prove that she belonged there as well.

  “Bring her to me,” Aedan commanded.

  “Now?”

  “Aye, right now. I really must meet this amazing lass.”

  “It has been a very long journey.”

  “Nonsense. Where have you hidden her?” He grinned. “I am assuming that if she was among the others I would have had a distressed quartermaster pacing in my chambers and demanding an immediate audience.”

  There was truth in that; Sir Phillip would not have handled the discovery of a female among the all-male population well. He insisted that females were the bane of men’s existence.

  “My private quarters,” Roran answered.

  Aedan raised his brows, then his expression became one of comprehension. “Ah, of course,” he mused thoughtfully. “I suppose I will be able to contain my curiosity for a few more hours. But I expect you to bring her before me first thing in the morning.”

  Roran felt a little relief. It was just a postponement of the inevitable, but it would give him at least one last night with Brighid.

  After bidding a good night to Aedan and Sean, Roran made his way back to his private chambers. His feet carried him quickly, wanting to get back to her as quickly as possible, craving her touch.

  He breathed a great sigh of relief when he entered his chambers and felt her presence. He found her humming softly in the bath, her delicate form buried beneath mounds of bubbles. With her head thrown back and eyes closed, such a look of pleasure on her face, she was a vision.

  He watched her for a moment or two before slipping quietly out of his clothes and joining her. She moaned softly, warm and pliable as he repositioned her between his legs, pulling her heated, slick body back against his chest.

  “Are you enjoying your bath?” he hummed in her ear, squeezing the sponge over her shoulder and watching the droplets cruise lazily down her arm. The tattoo stood out clearly, a blatant physical indication of possession that pleased him. She wore his mark, and always would, no matter what the future held for them. Perhaps he could find some small measure of solace in that when all was said and done.

  “Aye,” she said dreamily. “I’ve never had a heated bath before. ‘Tis glorious.”

  Her words shouldn’t have surprised him; he knew she had been on her own for a long time. He would have hoped she had known some comfort at some point in her life, though. The thought that she hadn’t had even the simplest of pleasures grated against this recent and powerful need he had to care for her.

  “You did not bathe at the convent?” he teased.

  “Oh, aye, but they were always cold. ‘Twas all about denying physical pleasure, ye ken. The baths were cold, the beds hard, the food nae more than gruel.”

  His hands, rough and calloused from so many years brandishing a blade, stroked and petted. “It sounds horrible.”

  “’Tis not so bad when ye ken naught else. But the suffering kept us pure and penitent. ‘Tis too easy to forget the Lord when ye are warm and yer belly’s full, or so they reasoned.”

  “Is that what you believe?”

  “Nae,” she said with a decidedly feminine smirk, melting into his body as his large hands caressed her belly and skimmed the underside of her full breasts. “I doona ken how ye can even ask me that. Didnae ye hear me calling te Him several times last night?”

  Roran chuckled, recalling her soft and repeated cries as he made love to her. “Aye, sweetling, that I did.”

  Brighid turned in his arms to straddle him, taking him deep inside her. With his hands around her hips, he guided her in a slow, easy rhythm gentle enough not to flood the chamber floor. With her arms around his neck, her breasts rubbing against his chest, they looked into each other’s eyes until she clenched around him and felt his answering warmth filling her.

  “There is definitely God in that,” she breathed into his neck as she descended from her climax. Roran couldn’t have agreed more.

  When the water cooled, Roran dried them both with soft cloths, then carried her to his bed. He made love to her again, slowly and thoroughly. When Brighid remarked on the much more relaxed pace of his lovemaking, Roran laughed and kissed her nose, explaining that privacy and sanctity of his chambers allowed him to do so without fear of interruption or eavesdroppers.

  He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that his intent was to savor every moment he could, should this night turn out to be their last together.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I am yer squire,” Brighid said stubbornly, pulling on the leggings with a firm tug. “I will dress as such.”

  Roran frowned. He no longer considered her his squire. In truth, he had already begun to think of her as his wife. She cared for him in all the ways a woman cares for a man, plus she was skilled in so many ways of the Guard. A more perfect mate he could not envision.

  She pulled the white top over her head, her delicate fingers making quick work of the lacings in front. Atop that she wore a buttery soft leather tunic. Without the stiff bindings muting her curves, the overall effect was the impression of a woman with a dangerous and forbidden air.

  Roran carefully released the breath he’d inadvertently sucked in. “You do not look like any squire I have ever seen,” he commented, the husky tone of his voice broadcasting the surge of lust he felt just watching her. She smirked at him, a relatively new skill she’d seemed to have acquired along with other exquisitely feminine ones.

  “’Tis because I am nae. I am yers.” Her eyes glittered with enough possessiveness to rival his own. ‘Twas a heady feeling to know that she felt the bond between them as acutely as he did.

  “Aye, you are mine,” he breathed, losing the battle he fought against crushing her to him and demanding her mouth. He tugged at her hair, now shiny and framing her face in soft, feathery black layers as it grew out from that choppy lad’s cut.

  There was a part of him that dreaded bringing Brighid to meet the king, afraid of what might happen. Roran was not the kind of man who worried or feared much of anything. Failure was never an option. In battles as well as life, he planned carefully, prepared for every eventuality, and never lost.

  Never could he have foreseen the likes of Brighid, however. And ever since she appeared, his perfect, organized, and highly disciplined world had tilted on its very axis.

  “Brighid, sweetling, no matter what happens, you should know that I ...”

  He wanted to tell her that he loved her. That a part of him wanted to toss her over his shoulder and run far and fast away from whatever the next hour would bring. But it was a selfish wish, one that might only serve to further complicate an already difficult situation.

  She looked at him then, and he was once again struck by the fierce love in her eyes. It gave him hope that once she discovered the truth – there was little doubt in his mind now that she was born of royal blood – she might still hold a tender place in her heart for him, no matter what he was forced to do.

  “Ye what, Roran?”

  “That I ... think you are a damn fine squire. And I... cannot imagine one better.”

  She grinned and went up on her toes, pressing her lips to the underside of his jaw. “Aye, I am at that.”

  They found Sean waiting for them in the corridor, pacing like a big, lazy cat. His eyes lit up when he saw Brighid.

  “You look lovely, lass,” he murmured, then winked at Roran. “Shall we?”

  *

  Brighid’s eyes were wide as they walked the halls of the great castle. Flanked between the two large knights as she was, she found herself leaning forward and backward quite a bit in an attempt to catch a glimpse of some of the finery.

  They passed through arches of hand-hewn stone, carved with scenes of centuries-old battles. Intricately detailed tapestries hung over the window openings, brilliantly colored and embellished with cold and silver threads. Sc
ulptures. Portraits. Hand-woven rugs. Brighid had heard of such things, of course, but hearing about them and seeing them with her own eyes were quite different.

  When they came to a halt before the king’s private reception chamber, Brighid slipped her small hand into Roran’s and gave it a squeeze of reassurance. “’Twill be alright,” she said bravely, hoping he did not feel the contrary tremble.

  They were ushered in promptly. A small feast was laid out awaiting their arrival; Brighid’s eyes grew even wider at the sight of so much food. “Och! Is the king expecting the whole squad?” she asked.

  A deep, hearty laugh sounded behind them as Aedan entered from a hidden side chamber door. Brighid turned around to see the source of the laughter, and that’s when time stood still.

  Aedan’s laughter ceased abruptly, his expression grew stricken as he stared at the small figure between the two towering knights.

  “Aibhilin?” he breathed.

  Somewhere deep inside, Aedan knew it wasn’t his daughter. The dew of youth was too fresh upon her face; her hair was as black as a raven’s instead of his only child’s honeyed gold. But her eyes – clear fathomless pools of pale blue were familiar. As were the slight, delicate frame and fae-like features.

  “Brighid,” she corrected innocently, cocking her head slightly to the side before remembering that she was supposed to bow.

  A large male hand appeared beneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his. He held her gently but firmly in his grasp, his eyes piercing and searching. “What devilry is this?” he asked in a whisper, looking to Roran for answers. “Do you seek to destroy me?”

  It was Roran’s turn to gasp. “Never, my king.”

  “Roran is a good man,” Brighid said suddenly. She didn’t understand what was happening, but she sensed that it was something bad. “A brave and loyal knight te ye. Ye are the king, arenae ye?”

  Aedan looked back at her, stunned, as if he couldn’t believe she was real. Sean nudged her warningly as Aedan narrowed his eyes.

  “Aye, I am King Aedan.”