A Warrior's Heart Read online

  Roran could only guess at what happened next. Somehow the beautiful young princess and the handsome apprentice fell in love. If it was anything like what had happened between him and Brighid it had been sudden and almost violent in nature and intensity. They had probably tried to deny it, but as Roran now knew firsthand, the heart cared not for such things as rank, station, or bloodlines.

  According to the old man, McKinnon left suddenly about a week before the big wedding, abandoning his apprenticeship to return to his clan.

  The more he pondered the possibilities, the more they made sense. Roran was convinced that the princess had decided to follow McKinnon. Whether it had been planned out before hand, only those involved knew for certain, but Roran guessed not. McKinnon probably had the same misguided ideas that he’d had – that Aibhilin was too far above his station, and that by stepping out of the picture he was ensuring a continued life of privilege, something a silversmith could never provide. If Aibhilin was anything like his Brighid, he thought with a pang of heartbreak, she would have followed him anyway.

  Given the timing of the princess’s disappearance and her arrival at the convent, Aibhilin was probably already pregnant when she made her escape from the castle. The thought made Roran’s blood run cold. He could see so many parallels between Aibhilin and Brighid. Had history once again repeated itself? Was it possible that Brighid was pregnant with his child?

  Roran shook his head as he quickened his pace south. He’d been keeping it relatively easy, knowing that McKinnon would follow, but a sense of urgency built within him. By now Brighid surely knew he was gone; she had probably known within minutes of his departure. That had been what – three, four weeks ago already? Dear God, what if she had tried to follow him like Aibhilin had once followed McKinnon?

  No, that could not have happened, he tried to rationalize. Sean was keeping an eye on her. Aedan had Guards posted around her all the time. She would not be able to slip away so easily.

  Then his mind flew to the images of Brighid’s lithe body scaling the castle walls. Of the way she slipped in and out of the training dormitories like a shadow. Of the ability she had to transform herself from a beautiful princess into a scruffy lad who no one would give a passing glance.

  Fear and certain knowledge gripped his heart and squeezed until the pain radiated throughout his limbs. If Brighid had made up her mind to leave, there would have been no one capable of stopping her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brighid always thought she knew what she wanted. She was a simple woman with simple needs. Enough food to eat. Clothes on her back. A sheltered place to sleep when the weather turned ugly. She had learned to provide all those things for herself. She didn’t worry about them anymore. She was a skilled hunter and accomplished thief, so the first two were never an issue. Finding shelter wasn’t much of a problem, either. The raw, rugged land offered plenty of forests, mountains, and caves with which to shield herself from the elements and gaze of interested eyes, if one knew where to look.

  It was other, less tangible things that gave her trouble. Things she had once wished for when she lay awake at night, gazing up at the star-filled skies. Things she now wished she had never wished for, never dreamed of at all.

  Finding out who she was, for example. Learning her roots. The solitary journey gave her plenty of time to think, and the more she pondered the facts and possibilities, the harder it was to deny the raw truth of it. Chances were, she was exactly who everyone thought she was, and no amount of self-denial would change that.

  One might think that learning she was royalty was a good thing, but Brighid couldn’t see it that way, because that same lineage was what would cost her the things she cared about most. Her freedom – and the man she loved.

  Another thing she never should have wished for: to know true love. Roran had become the other half of her soul. It was ironic, really, that her fears had been realized. She had worried so much in those last few weeks that in her quest for answers that she would lose Roran, and she had. Not because she was so far below his station, but because her bloodline placed her far above it.

  In the end, it mattered not at all, because he had still washed his hands of her.

  That hurt more than anything, the fact that he could relinquish her so easily. Had their places been reversed, she could not have done the same. No matter what Roran told her, no matter what she might have discovered about his past, she could never have just walked away as he had done. She would have placed herself by his side and remained there, no matter what, gladly relinquishing everything she had in order to do so.

  It was unfortunate he did not wish her there, preferring to never look upon her ever again.

  Her future was uncertain. Her immediate goal had been to escape the smothering confines of the castle and the constant, painful presence of the King’s Guard. That now accomplished, she would be wise to choose a new path.

  Scamallhaven was a good fortnight behind her. Out here in the wild, untamed lands, she felt free again, despite her broken heart. Perhaps she would try to make her way back to Donatirim. It wouldn’t be an easy journey, but she had learned much by travelling with the knights. She could follow the same general route, keeping away from towns and villages to avoid the problems she would face as a woman travelling alone. The thought of seeing Coinin and Finn and Elsa again eased some of the pain.

  She thought briefly about trying to discover more about her father, but relinquished that idea rather quickly. They would be looking for her in and around Scamallhaven now, not just as a woman but as a scruffy lad as well. Perhaps someday she would return and try again once things died down and she could fashion herself a new disguise.

  For now, she would have to be content spending her time trying to imagine what he must have been like, asking questions that she could not hope to answer. Had her father loved her mother? Had he asked her to run away with him, or had she escaped as Brighid did to be with him? Did he even know about her, that he had a daughter?

  Out in the wilderness, feeling more alone than she ever had, the answers no longer drove her to seek them out. They didn’t really matter. Nothing much did anymore.

  *

  By the time Roran returned to Scamallhaven, Brighid was long gone. He knew it the moment he neared the palace gates and Sean rode out to meet him.

  “She is gone, isn’t she?” Roran said.

  “Aye.” Roran expected the confirmation, yet it still felt as though someone had driven a sword through his midsection. “How long?”

  Sean exhaled, wishing he was not the bearer of such bad news. “Too long. We have had search parties out, but...”

  Sean didn’t have to finish his sentence. He knew as well as Roran that if Brighid did not want to be found, she wouldn’t be. Yet another thing she seemed to have inherited from her mother. No matter. He would find her. He would always find her.

  Anxious as he was to begin right away, he knew a few hours wouldn’t make much difference, not when she had already been gone for weeks. He needed to meet with the king and make arrangements. For now, he would have to trust in Brighid’s iron will and superior survival skills until he could get to her. A well of pride rose in his chest. Princess she might be, but his woman was a warrior through and through.

  “I must see King Aedan immediately, but I will leave ere the sun sets this eve. There is a man following me,” he said quietly. “About a league back or so. Do not harm him, but bring him to my chambers. See that he has food and drink and a chance to wash and rest. He will be accompanying me on my journey.”

  Sean raised his eyebrows, and opened his mouth to ask a question, but Roran put his hand up. “Ask me no questions, yet, my brother. Just please, do as I ask.” Sean nodded.

  *

  Brighid shivered as she stepped away from the icy waterfall. Cold water had never bothered her before. Then again, she’d never lazed in a bath of hot water before, either. She cursed Roran’s oversized washtub, right along with the scented oils and s
oaps he’d provided for her. Had she not experienced those things, she would not have felt their absence so keenly now.

  Cursing Roran was futile, but it did ease her pain a little. Anger was easier to manage than grief. If she held on to her ire over things like hot baths, soft beds, and the ecstasy to be found in his arms, then she was less likely to dwell on that which she missed most - him.

  A stronger man, she had never met. Nor one more skilled, knowledgeable, or damnably honorable. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with a rogue? Someone who wouldn’t have cared who she was, who would have been selfish enough to simply want her for himself no matter what the consequence?

  She knew the answer. Because Roran was quite possibly the only man she would ever respect enough to give herself to. The only man capable of making her weak with desire, of making her tremble with a need so fierce it could destroy her. Of making her obey his every command save one: she would not forsake him for another more suited to her newly discovered royal countenance. Ever. If she could not have Roran, then she would have no man.

  Of course he failed to understand that, certain that she needed only time to adjust.

  The king was of similar mind. In the short time she’d been around him, Brighid had grown quite fond of Aedan. While leaving the castle and her royal duties had been easy; leaving Aedan had not been. He was, quite possibly, her only living family. He would be hurt by her flight, doubly so since he had lost his only daughter and not long after, his beloved Queen. She felt truly bad about that, but not sufficiently enough to sacrifice the rest of her life.

  She dried off and pulled on her bindings and clothing. It had been days since she’d seen another living soul, but it was important to be prepared in the event someone crossed her path. She’d made good progress south, but the seasonal rains had swollen the creeks and flooded her route any farther temporarily. The only alternative was to make her way out to the King’s Road, but she’d risk too much exposure. That was all right; the small series of natural caves she’d found had proven to be quite good shelter, and Brighid was far enough ahead of anyone who might have been searching for her to comfortably afford a few days delay.

  The caves were secluded, far off the beaten path. The entrances were well hidden; she would not have found them herself had she not been chasing the hare for her supper. There was plenty of small game here, fresh water, as well as shelter from the sudden and violent storms that would be plaguing the region for the next sennight or two. Even if Aedan’s men did somehow manage to catch up to her, they would likely walk right by without even glancing up at her hidey-hole as long as she was careful.

  *

  “Yer talking out yer arse,” Kieran said, straining into the faint predawn light. “’Tis naught but fog.”

  Simon smirked at him. “’Tis smoke. Let yer nose tell ye what yer eyes cannae.”

  Even as he spoke the “fog” dispersed quickly across the ridge. Within a few seconds, however, the breeze shifted toward them and brought with it the faint scent of wood smoke and cooked fish. Kieran’s eyes lit up when he saw a small shadow move between the rocks and disappear near an obscenely large tree. “We found her.”

  “Aye,” Simon nodded with a huge grin. “We have.”

  *

  Brighid cursed as she kicked soil on the smoking fire. Stupid! One side of the log had been covered in wet moss. Instead of burning cleanly, it had created more smoke than she could disperse by fanning her big floppy hat. She’d been so careful. She kept her fires small and to a minimum, ensuring that no telltale chimney of smoke was visible to give away her position.

  Oh, there was little chance that anyone was around to see it, but Brighid was not a woman who liked to take chances, for even wee ones could prove deadly. There was nothing she could do about the aroma, but with the ever changing winds and no clear trail of smoke, no one would be capable of locating her by that alone.

  She slipped out of the back of the cave and climbed the nearest tree, though, just to ease her mind. Scanning the area, she extended her senses. Seeking. Listening. Lifting her nose to sniff the breeze. Once she thought she might have seen the briefest flash of something metallic on the other side of the swollen stream, but when it didn’t recur under her intense scrutiny, she was forced to believe it had been a trick of her overtired eyes.

  She was beginning to get restless. That meant only one thing: it was time to move on again.

  *

  Roran and his band of loyal young Guardsmen watched the side of the mountain all day from various vantage points – along the ground, in the trees, betwixt the great boulders that had tumbled down the mountain at some point. It was an excellent exercise. They made no noise. They built no fires. For all intents and purposes, they were ghosts.

  At least until night began to fall in earnest. Then they moved, as silent and skilled as the one from whom they had learned.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The dream was lovely, one of the loveliest yet. It was not unusual for Roran to appear to her in those few hours when she allowed her eyes to close and her body to relax enough to succumb to some measure of slumber, but this one was so realistic. She could actually feel the heat of his hard body behind her, the possessive way he cupped her breasts in his large, calloused hands. She could smell his delicious scent, the one that reminded her of clean mountain air, steel, leather, and warrior. Brighid moaned softly, unwilling to open her eyes. She wanted to hold onto it as long as she possibly could.

  Yet for as wonderful as it was, it hurt. Not like a cut or a sprain or a burn, but a soul-deep ache that hollowed out her insides and permeated her bones. A silent tear escaped her closed lids, trailing down her cheek and spilling upon the soft grasses she’d collected for her bed.

  “Do not cry, my sweet Brighid.”

  “Roran...” Brighid squeezed her eyes tighter. First, she believed she could feel him. Then, it was as if she could scent him. Now she heard his voice murmuring against her ear. She willed herself farther into the dream, uncaring if she ever woke up. If death chose to claim her right there, right then, in the grips of this strange fever-induced hallucination that seemed to have overtaken her, she would not fight it.

  “I miss you so much.”

  “I am here, sweetling,” he crooned softly. ‘Twas the pulse of hot breath that suggested it was more than a dream.

  Brighid opened her eyes just a little. “Roran?” she sniffed, her eyes opening wider. “Am I dreaming?”

  He smiled gently, pulling her against him. “Does this feel like a dream?”

  She snaked her arms up around his neck, burrowing into the warm spot between his jaw and shoulder, filling her lungs with the scent of him. “Aye,” she said softly against him. “For nothing real has ever felt this good.”

  “Nothing?”

  He could feel her smile against him. “Sweet and merciful Christ, woman, you make me ache so fiercely I can barely draw breath. Take me in you, loving, so that I might breathe again.”

  Dream or not, she was incapable of refusing him, for she needed him just as badly. Her disciplined knight ripped and pulled at her clothing like a man possessed, his hot mouth seeking out the pleasure of her flesh. He suckled at her breasts like a starving babe while his hands made quick work of his clothes. In the time it took her to gasp and arch to meet him, she felt the full hard length of him sliding blissfully into her sheath.

  “Forgive me, loving,” he whispered harshly, “for I have been far too long from this haven to approach with the patient reverence it deserves.”

  Brighid heard his words floating to her as if on a cloud, but she was afraid to trust them. He was making her feel the most wonderful things. The pressure of his hard, hot male body atop hers. The rocking of lean, powerful hips betwixt her thighs. The long, thick, hard part of him inside her body, filling her, stretching her, making her mindless with aching need. Already she could feel the sensations building. They encompassed her entire being, and she was not sure she would survive it.
/>   In answer, Brighid fisted her hands in his hair and wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him in farther. He drove into her like a man possessed as she clenched around him. The familiar feel of his body, the feel of his hot breath and the sound of his muted male grunts inflamed her. The last weeks faded away until nothing remained except him.

  Brighid clung to him tightly, spurring him on, drowning in the pleasure of his possession and the desperate force of his thrusts. He had never looked quite as fierce as he did in that moment. As terrifying as he was, he was also beautiful.

  In a matter of minutes she was crying his name and seizing around him. With one final, brutal thrust he shuddered and emptied fully within her. Spent, his seed oozed from her around his still-swollen shaft, overflowing from her, yet he remained tightly ensconced.

  She could only hope that this dream would never end; that as soon as he got his breath, he would be taking her again. And again. Until this awful, empty ache eased.

  “What are ye doing here, Roran?” she asked much later. Roran lay next to her, his head on her breast, his arm possessively wrapped around her, as if afraid she might try to flee.

  “I came for you, Brighid.”

  “But why?” she asked. Her voice was little more than a whisper, barely audible over the soft crackle of the small fire that kept the chamber comfortable and bathed in a warm glow. She stroked the back of his head, sated into near exhaustion, her womb heavy with his already quickened seed. “Ye made it quite clear ye didnae want me anymore.”

  Roran turned his head to kiss her tender flesh. “I never ceased wanting you, Brighid. ‘Tis like a cursed hunger that is only sated whilst I am inside you.”

  He was always inside her, she thought to herself. The man had invaded her heart, her soul, her mind until he was inextricably woven into every last fiber of her being. He had even assumed control of her womb, planting his seed and having it take root. More than two moon cycles had passed since her last womanly time. Thankfully, no one else knew that, but they would afore too long. She was too slight of frame to hide the bulk of a child for much longer. Even now Roran’s hand continued to stroke her belly as if instinctively drawn to it.