A Warrior's Heart Read online

Aedan nodded, brushing the hair away from her forehead before placing a gentle kiss there. “Is there nothing else we can do for her?”

  The physician smiled ruefully. “’Tis no physical malady that ails her, I’m afraid, Sire. Rest, food, fresh air. A walk, perhaps, when she awakens, to see the blooms in the royal gardens and lift her spirits.”

  All good suggestions, thought Aedan, but not what she needed. If he harbored any lingering doubts over the bond between his granddaughter and his best knight-warrior, they were shattered by this physical manifestation of her feelings for him. He silently prayed for Roran’s swift return before her broken heart continued to steal her vitality.

  *

  After the physician and King Aedan left, ordering a guard to be placed at her door, Brighid counted to five hundred before she slipped out of bed, eager to vacate the wet spot where she’d poured the sleeping draught while pretending to drink it. She quietly crept around, retrieving the pack of supplies she had been secretly amassing over the last week or two. She extracted the bindings and lad’s garments and began her transformation. By the time she had reached the number one thousand, she was already scaling her way down to the shadowy courtyard below.

  *

  Cavernesse was a bleak place, well named for its many caverns along the northern shores of the massive loch. The ever present dampness made it especially cold, seeping into a man’s bones until he felt he might never be warm again.

  Unlike Roran, the folk here were well-suited to the clime, mostly mariners and rugged seamen and, for those that had them, their immediate families. The past few days had left him chilled to his very marrow, and he was more than anxious to return to the sunny warmth of Scamallhaven. Even Donatirim, with its scorching heat and dry parched lands sounded enticing after a week in the likes of Cavernesse.

  But no matter how anxious he was, he could not rush his purpose. Gavin McKinnon was not a man easily found. Many of the people in this isolated and inhospitable land had chosen it in search of anonymity and a peaceful, solitary life. Sharing a common bond, few were willing to give up their secrets or the secrets of others, lest theirs be surrendered as well.

  But Roran McShane was a determined man, and could be very persuasive when his future happiness depended on the outcome.

  He finally found Gavin McKinnon working by firelight in a drafty shanty. It had taken the better part of a week and a fair amount of quietly passed coin to locate him. Even that might not have been enough without Roran’s gut instincts and a few clever guesses on his part.

  “You are a hard man to find,” Roran remarked.

  “You have gone to a lot of trouble to find me,” Gavin answered suspiciously as he peered over his thick jeweler’s lens at Roran. “I must admit, I am curious to know why you seek me out.”

  Roran met his gaze directly. Obviously Gavin was forewarned of his impending visit. He was not surprised. The locals looked out for one another here.

  “I wish to commission marriage bands.”

  Gavin sat back from his table, frowning slightly. “Any silversmith can do that.”

  “Ah, not these. For these, I need someone with unique skills.”

  A dark brow lifted slightly. In the backlight of the fire, the man’s hair was as dark as any he’d ever seen, capturing the flames in their inky depths. His eyes, a deep sea green, regarded Roran warily.

  “And what skills might they be?”

  “The skills to fashion me bands of pure silver and black tourmaline.”

  To his credit, McKinnon outwardly showed nothing more than a mild amount of natural interest. “Oh, aye? An odd combination, that.”

  “Aye, ‘tis,” agreed Roran. “There are few capable of procuring and crafting such, nigh only one for a hundred leagues or more, so I am told. Might you be the one I am looking for?”

  “I might,” said Gavin slowly. “Such a pairing is usually reserved for members of the royal family at Scamallhaven. You do not look like a royal to my eyes.” Gavin’s lips quirked slightly, but the smile did nothing to lessen the wariness in his eyes.

  Roran gave him a slight smile in return, neither confirming nor denying Gavin’s subtle bait. “That might explain why no other smith was willing to attempt such a task.”

  The corner of the smith’s lips lifted in the ghost of a smile, this one a bit more genuine. He knew as well as anyone that no one would dare such a request at the risk of inciting the wrath of the king.

  “May I ask why you wish that particular combination?”

  Roran made a point of looking around the small room, taking his time before he pinned his gaze back on the smith and answered. “Does it matter?”

  “Since it may bring the King’s Guard to my door, aye, it matters.”

  Ironic, that, Roran thought, since it already had. Then again, the silversmith had no idea he was talking to the head of the King’s Guard at that very moment. Roran played his part well.

  “What if I told you it was for love?”

  “Then I would say you are a fool,” Gavin said simply. ”But a fool who has earned a drink and my interest. Come. Tell me what it is you seek.”

  Roran grinned and did as he asked. Gavin McKinnon had a thick shock of dark hair that rebelled against tidiness; it was easy to see where Brighid had gotten her locks. And her eyes – while they were the same celestial blue shared by the royal bloodline – they had the slightest hint of an upward angle at the outside, adding to the overall effect of her Fae features. The very same angle Roran viewed in the man before him.

  When they were both seated with cups in their hands, Roran pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. “I have a rough sketch of that which I seek, if that would help.”

  “Aye, it would. Let’s see it then.”

  Roran opened the parchment and smoothed it on the table. Gavin’s smile faded, his face frozen when he looked at the rudimentary drawing of Brighid’s pendant.

  “Is this a cruel joke?” Gavin asked.

  Roran forced his features into a bemused expression. “I assure you, it is not. My betrothed has a pendant with this design. ‘Tis by far her most treasured possession. I seek only to make her happy.”

  Roran allowed the love he felt for Brighid to soften his features for a few brief moments. It wasn’t a difficult thing; she was always in his thoughts.

  “A pendant, you say?” Gavin said, trying to appear only mildly interested and failing miserably. He was obviously quite shaken by the sketch. Roran found that telling; it suggested that the man was most likely an honest one, one not well practiced in the art of deceit, despite the fact that he lived as a fugitive.

  “Aye. ‘Tis all she has of her mother.”

  “A family heirloom, then.”

  Roran gave a casual shrug. “I suppose so. She has no knowledge of her family.”

  “How is that?” Gavin asked in a strangled voice.

  Shaking his head, Roran lifted his cup and said, “Be warned, sir. ’Tis a sad tale. My Brighid was naught but a wee lass when she awoke from a fever in a remote convent. Her mother, poor soul, did not survive the night.”

  Gavin drained his cup, refilled it, and drained it again before asking, “But the lass, Brighid, she had a good life, eh?”

  “Sadly, nae, she did not. The convent saw to her needs, but ‘twas no place for a fiery sprite like my beloved. With not but a decade of summers she fled and was forced to struggle for her survival until the good Lord placed her in my path. ‘Tis but one of a thousand reasons I wish to do all I can to make her happy now.”

  Gavin stared into his cup for a long time before nodding. “I will craft your bands.”

  Roran thanked him and they agreed on a price.

  “Tell me, sir, is your bonnie bride travelling with you?” Gavin asked as he walked Roran to the door.

  “Nae,” Roran answered, giving the man a wry grin. “She knows not the true purpose of my quest. These bands, I wish to surprise her with them.”

  It was always best to stick as c
losely to the truth as possible, Roran thought as he left the silversmith’s little hideaway. Nearly everything he told McKinnon was true. Including his plans to present the bands to Brighid upon his return to Scamallhaven.

  And, right after she agreed to become his wife, he would introduce her to the man he was now certain was her father.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Slipping back into being a wraith was not difficult; Brighid wore the role like a second skin. It felt much more natural than her newfound “princess” persona - if, in fact, Aedan really was her grandfather; she still had her doubts about that. Just because she supposedly looked like her mother, and her mother just happened to resemble the missing princess – that was far from being conclusive proof of a royal lineage. Brighid could probably round up half a dozen women with similar builds, features, and/or coloring if given a chance and a few weeks. It meant nothing.

  And the fact that she was in possession of what appeared to be a royal heirloom? There could be many reasons for that as well. Perhaps the real princess had given the pendant away as a gift or as payment in lieu of coin at some point. Or perhaps there was a less honorable explanation – that the princess had been victimized, the jewelry stolen and sold or traded until it somehow fell into her mother’s hands. Or, and this was the least welcome theory, that Brighid’s mother had been desperate enough to obtain the treasure herself. Brighid knew what unseemly deeds a person could be reduced to when it came to feeding a hungry child or putting clothes on his back. She had been able to endure her own suffering much easier than she had Coinin’s or Finn’s or little Elsa’s.

  In any event, Brighid had no desire to exploit the possibility that she was the daughter of the missing princess. As far as she was concerned, living in that palace for even a few weeks was akin being in jail. Guards around all the time, watching every move. Being told what to eat, what to wear, where to go and when – it was suffocating. While there were obvious perks (plenty of food, hot baths, luxurious comfort), they could not justify the complete surrender of freedom they required.

  A beautifully gilded cage was still a cage.

  It might have been different if Roran had not abandoned her. Yes, they would have their place at the castle, but Roran travelled frequently, and she would be at his side. Brighid believed that at his side, she could suffer anything; even periods of life at the palace.

  As his squire. As his lover. As simply his.

  But that was no longer possible. Roran had made his choice, and it did not include her.

  Without Roran, there was no reason for her to stay, really. She would resume her search for knowledge of her family. Her real family. The mother who died at the convent, the father she had never known. If that somehow traced back to the royal family, then so be it, but until then, Brighid wasn’t making any assumptions. It was obvious Aedan was already convinced she was of his blood, the daughter of his daughter. King Aedan was a nice enough man, but Brighid knew desperation when she saw it. Aedan wanted to believe her mother was his missing child so much that he was blinded to other, more realistic possibilities.

  As Brighid recently discovered, fairy tales had no place in her life. She belonged among the outcasts, not royals. She was more comfortable making her home in caves, not castles. Beautiful, fierce knights, kings, and missing princesses did not make sense, not in her world.

  Hers was a hand to mouth existence, where each day was not guaranteed, not blithely expected as her due. The only safety was that which she assured herself. Her reality consisted of the freedom to make her own decisions, to make her own way in life. It was a hard path, yes. But it was all hers, and no one would take that away from her.

  She slipped into the tailor’s shop and procured some acceptable men’s clothing, as well as a few lengths of cloth that could be used as binding, leaving behind a few jewels Aedan had gifted her with as payment (she always paid when she could). Then she went to the cobbler’s and did the same, leaving with a pair of soft leather boots. With a few more quick stops, her transformation was complete.

  In the predawn hours, Brighid worked her way through the village, exiting on the far side where the land became wilder. Breathing the first deep breath she’d had in weeks, she filled her lungs with the brisk morning air and stepped back into the world of anonymity.

  *

  “Where is the Princess?” Sir Sean commanded, his booming voice waking the lads instantly.

  In the west wing of the training dormitory, seven boys jerked upright in their bunks. A few looked around, as if Brighid might be found in one of the shadowy corners. It wouldn’t have been the first time; Brighid visited them more nights than not. At least she had before Sir Roran had been called away.

  “Why are ye asking us?” Kieran asked a little too innocently.

  Sean speared him with a no-nonsense glare. “Because I know she has been sneaking down here to see you.”

  The boys averted their eyes, but no one openly admitted anything. Cameron rubbed his hand through his hair. He was the first who seemed to grasp the reason why Sean would be in their midst asking such a question. “Wait. Brighid is missing?”

  “Aye.” Sean looked at each of them in turn, studying their expressions. He saw anger, frustration, but not surprise. “She is gone.”

  “No!” Ian said, shaking the cobwebs of sleep from his eyes. “The plan was to leave upon the next full moon - ” Ian’s words were sharply cut off along with the solid smack of Lachlan’s large hand connecting with the back of his head. “Ow!”

  Simon cursed under his breath. “I cannae believe she left without us.”

  “Shut it,” Rhys warned, but he knew it was already too late. Eyes narrowed, Sean stepped farther into the room. “So. It’s like that, is it?”

  Long minutes ticked by in the heavy silence. “Well?” Sean prompted.

  “We willnae betray her,” Lachlan said quietly.

  Sean lifted a dark brow. “Sounds like she betrayed you.”

  “Nae, she didnae,” exhaled Cameron. “We always kenned she planned to go it alone. We just thought we were clever enough te keep her from doing so.” He shot an accusing glare at Simon. Judging by the fact that Simon was fully dressed, Sean guessed that he had been the one assigned watch duty over the princess tonight.

  Simon’s face turned red. “I had te take a piss! I turned away for a minute at most.”

  Sean spoke again, his voice was much quieter, but pure steel. “I think, lads, it is time for you to tell me everything.”

  *

  The silversmith was indeed a fine craftsman, Roran thought as he examined the wedding bands. Pure silver, exquisitely engraved with intricate detail and set with finely cut stones of black tourmaline. But then, Roran had expected no less from the man who had once apprenticed for the royal jeweler.

  It hadn’t been all that hard to put together, really. Roran laid atop his blankets alone each night, tired from his journey but unable to sleep without his woman by his side. In an effort to distract himself from the memory of those haunting blue eyes, he pondered the puzzle.

  There wasn’t much. The princess Aibhilin disappeared the night before her arranged wedding. She appeared a few years later at the convent with a youngling and a royal pendant.

  It was a mystery, with no obvious clues to the princess’s disappearance. The facts were straightforward. There had been plenty of people about. The Guard presence was heavy. Those on duty that night swore that no one left or entered the princess’s chambers. Inside, there were no signs of a struggle. Nothing had been taken, except the princess herself.

  Given Brighid’s natural proclivity for climbing, it wasn’t hard to believe her mother was agile as well. From everything he had heard, Brighid was much like her mother in most things. Roran thought of Brighid’s wee form scaling the castle walls with silence and skill, intent on her clandestine meetings with the lads. Perhaps her mother had done the same, sneaking away from the castle tower under cover of darkness for some secret purpose.


  The wedding was to have been a grand, much anticipated affair. But whispers and rumors abounded amongst those closest to the princess. No one came right out and said so, but an older kitchen maid, one who had been there at the time, hinted to Roran that she didn’t think the princess was happy about the marriage. The woman, a motherly type, said that the normally ebullient princess had changed in those last few weeks before the event. That outwardly, she still smiled and laughed and said all the right things, but that there had been a haunting sadness in her eyes to those who knew her.

  Roran wondered if it was the same kind of sadness he had seen in Brighid’s eyes lately. He had done all he could to avoid her, to make it easier for her, but there were those few instances where he spotted her from afar. In those moments when she was unguarded, when she thought she was alone, she wore a look of such heartbreak he could hardly bear it.

  He hurt, too. More than he ever thought possible. He believed he had been doing what was best for Brighid in letting her go, sacrificing his happiness so that she could have everything a princess should. What if there was another man all those years ago that had felt the same way about her mother?

  The only clue was the pendant. Assuming the princess had left of her own volition, why would she keep the pendant if she was so eager to leave her royal life behind? Lying there in his bed, alone, the answer came to him: Because that pendant meant something, something she could not bear to give up.

  What? Obviously not her royal ties – she had shed those quickly enough. Which meant the piece had sentimental value. Which immediately made Roran think of the man who made it.

  The royal jeweler at that time was an old man now. He lived in the village with one of his daughters. They had been surprised by Roran’s visit, but the man seemed quite happy to talk to him.

  Around the time of the royal wedding, his eyesight had already been failing, the now-blind master craftsman told the knight, so he had taken on several apprentices. One showed particular promise, an affinity for working with fine metals and gems that the jeweler had rarely seen. A young man, quiet and strong, with jet black hair. He had been the one to fashion the pendant, the jeweler told Roran. And he had been the one to hand deliver it to the castle. The apprentice’s name? Gavin McKinnon.