A Warrior's Heart Page 5

  A small hand clutched at his arm. Roran looked down and right into the eyes of his squire, still dusted with sleep but looking worried and fearful. “Get out!” he bellowed irrationally, swinging his arm.

  The small squire, not expecting the blow, was thrown clear across the space landing heavily against the cache of training weapons. In the heavy silence that followed, Roran feared he might have killed the boy, but a moment later the squire was scrambling to his feet. With a single backward glance, the lad dashed out of the tent.

  “Roran!” Sean said, appearing at the entrance and looking around, clearly expecting some threat. “What the devil is going on?”

  Roran ran a shaking hand down his face. “A nightmare,” he answered, his voice rough.

  Chapter Ten

  “Oi. Is there te be nothing te break our fast this morning?” Kieran grumbled as he joined the others around the remains of the barely smoldering fire.

  “Simon went to fetch some more kindling, and Cameron is on his way with the water,” Ian said irritably.

  “Where is the runt?” For as much as he tormented the squire, he, like the others, had become accustomed to a warm and hearty breakfast upon rising.

  “That is the question, isn’t it?”

  Something in Ian’s voice captured Kieran’s immediate attention. The bigger lad fixed his gaze on him as he eyed the pot of cold and uncooked porridge unhappily. “What did I miss?”

  Ian glanced around, and seeing neither knight within hearing distance, lowered his voice. “Rhys says he got up in the middle of the night te take a piss, swears he saw the squire streaking past him like the devil himself was on his arse.”

  Kieran raised an eyebrow and looked to Rhys. “Aye, ‘tis true,” Rhys confirmed somberly.

  “And did ye not think te follow?”

  “Of course I did,” Rhys said, looking slightly affronted. “But ye ken the little bastard is nigh invisible when he wants te be. I lost his trail about a hundred yards inte the forest.”

  “And no one has seen hide nor hair of him since,” Simon added, tossing some dry branches along the fire.

  “What of Sirs Roran and Sean?”

  “Sir Sean is looking for the lad, I think. Saw him heading into the woods earlier. He stopped only long enough te tell us te see te our own morning meal. And there has been nary a sign of Sir Roran, though Rhys swears he heard him roaring last night.”

  Rhys nodded. “’Twas a God-awful sound. ‘Tis what woke me, I think.”

  “What happened, do ye think?” Kieran asked quietly.

  “I doona ken,” Cameron said, returning with the pails and setting them beside the fire, “but I doona have a good feeling about it.”

  “Aye,” agreed Simon. “Nor do I.”

  “There is something not right about that squire,” Kieran said.

  “Nae. He is far too bonnie te be a lad.” Everyone looked at Lachlan, startled by both his words and the fact that he had spoken. “Och, tell me ye were no’ thinking the same thing. Put that lad in a shift an’ he could be a lass.”

  *

  In his tent, Roran was on his knees, his eyes closed tightly. He had not said prayers like this since he was a wee lad, but he was desperate, fearing that his very soul was in mortal peril. He sent up fervent pleas for divine guidance, certain that some demon had possessed him, for what other reason could an honorable man dream such things?

  “Help me, dear Father,” he murmured. “Please, give me some sign that all is not lost, that I am not the depraved wretch I think I am...”

  *

  Several hours later, after a disappointing first meal, some of the boys were half-heartedly sparring around the campsite. As far as anyone knew, Sir Roran was still in his tent, and Sir Sean had yet to return.

  Rhys loped out of the woods, a smug grin on his dirty, scratched face. “I found the squire,” he said triumphantly, laying down his bow and arrow. “He’s downstream a ways.”

  Heads popped up and turned toward him in interest. “How did ye find him, Rhys?”

  “Through no skill of my own,” he admitted. “I was fixing te snare us a hare or two, waiting in the bushes, when he just dropped down out of a tree and started heading toward the water. He was limping a bit, too.”

  All else forgotten, the lads followed as Rhys led the way.

  *

  Brighid winced as she leaned over the rock and splashed some cold water on her face. The water moved too much to cast an accurate reflection, but she didn’t need to see herself to know that she had looked better. Her cheekbone and jaw were sore and stiff, and her eye was nearly swollen shut.

  It was her own fault. She should have known better than to approach a man obviously caught in the throes of a nightmare. She had only sought to calm him, for whatever it was he saw in his mind’s eye must have been bad to make a brave warrior such as Roran fash so.

  She didn’t think he meant to hurt her, though in truth, she had never witnessed Sir Roran in such a blind rage before. He was a stern man, but on many occasions, he had shown himself to be a fair and compassionate man as well. And, perhaps, Brighid admitted to herself, she had a tender spot in her heart for him, one that did not want to believe that he would purposely hurt her.

  Still, the way he had looked at her when she touched him, like she was the seed of the devil himself...

  Maybe he hadn’t recognized her. Maybe he had been too caught up in the throes of whatever terrible visions gripped him, she told herself. He might not even realize any of what happened, and was, at that moment, cursing her for failing in her morning duties.

  Yet if she really believed that, why was she still out in the woods, hiding and dreading the thoughts of going back to the camp?

  Because she had to clean herself up, she reasoned. Her nose had long since stopped bleeding, but it had made a terrible mess. The icy water might help with some of the swelling, too. If she rinsed out her hair and tugged it down a bit and could manage to present only the non-injured side...

  “There he is.” The whispered voice was little more than air, but it was enough to alert Brighid to their nearness. She stilled, listening.

  Brighid poised to flee. Fortunately, she had not yet completely stripped down and managed to don her leggings and tunic just in time. She was already backing away from the bathing hole when they arrived.

  “Come on, then, Squire,” coaxed Ian. “Doona let us stop ye from yer bathing.”

  Unfortunately, they had her surrounded, and Brighid realized it had been a well-planned effort. Clearly they had been paying attention to Sir Sean’s lessons on attack strategy. It was yet another foolish mistake on her part, allowing herself to be distracted and believing that no one would look for her here.

  “Aye, doona be shy about it,” sneered Kieran. “Do ye think ye have something we’ve nae seen?”

  They had no idea.

  Brighid was quick, but not quick enough. She managed to dodge two of them before Lachlan’s strong arms wrapped around her torso. His upper arm was bigger than her waist, and held her easily against him.

  She kicked out as he lifted her off the ground and the others rushed forward to pull off her leggings. She landed a few accurate hits, managing to bloody a nose and bust a lip or two, but as long as Lachlan held her, she didn’t have a chance of escape.

  Leaning over, she bit down hard on his forearm. Lachlan roared and released her. Brighid dropped to the ground and started scrambling away, but Simon unexpectedly leapt up and took her down in a full-bodied embrace. All of the air whooshed from her lungs as his substantial weight landed on top of her.

  Unable to draw in breath, she swatted blindly as the multitude of hands ripped at her clothing. “We’ve got ye now, ye little bastard,” one of them said.

  And then... the taunts ceased as her secrets were revealed to one and all, replaced only by the sound of heavy breathing as Brighid tried desperately to curl herself into a ball.

  “What’s going on here?” Sir Sean yelled. Drawn by t
he ruckus, he appeared behind them. Fearing that the boys had finally snapped and really hurt Roran’s squire, he pushed his way through their tight circle.

  “Sweet Jesu!” he breathed as his eyes struggled to make sense of the sight before him. Immediately he stripped off his shirt and tried hurriedly to cover the young woman. “Get back to the camp, all of you!” he yelled.

  *

  “Reveal yourself!” Sean commanded.

  Roran was sure the other knight had lost his mind when he looked back at the violently trembling figure trying to hide in the shadows of his tent. When the squire shook his head, Sean dragged the lad out into the open and yanked at the blanket he had wrapped around himself.

  Nothing could have prepared Roran for the sight that met his eyes. Tiny hands futilely attempting to cover lush breasts and a triangular nest of curls at the vee of her thighs. A tiny, narrow waist flaring into full hips. He stopped breathing entirely. Was he dreaming again?

  His first coherent thought was to thank God for answering his prayers, for this was surely the sign he had been praying for. What else could it be when the lad that had been serving as his squire turned out to be a voluptuous little female sprite? His heavy frame sagged in relief. He was not one who lusted after a lad, but a healthy man subconsciously drawn to a beautiful, Fae-like woman.

  Before that thought was even fully realized, the anger came fast and hard for exactly the same reason that he was relieved – his squire was decidedly NOT a lad. Which meant that this sprite – whoever she was – had been playing him for a fool.

  The next thing he knew, he was throwing the blanket over the shaking figure. It was impossible to think past his fast-hardening cock when she was naked like that, her form even more alluring than he had dreamed.

  “You found her like this?”

  “Nae,” Sean shook his head. “I was looking for him – her – since daybreak, but ‘twas the lads that caught her down by the creek,” Sean said carefully. “I came upon them before they were able to do anything more than discover her secret.”

  Roran didn’t realize how much he needed to hear that until Sean spoke. “Where are the lads now?”

  “Eavesdropping outside the tent, I imagine,” Sean said, raising his voice slightly. The sudden scurrying of feet told him he’d been correct.

  Chapter Eleven

  Roran paced back and forth in his tent, clearly agitated. Brighid sat shivering in the corner, trying in vain to become invisible. Roran had tossed some of his clothes at her, barking at her to get dressed and then sit her arse down while he and Sean dealt with the lads.

  Unable to cinch the trews tightly enough, she donned his shirt and tunic, drawing them close to her body with a tie about the waist. Both fell down below her knees, affording her a modicum of privacy, at least. The sleeves had been rolled up several times to allow her to hold the cup of ale Sean had shoved into her shaking hands.

  Roran’s predominant thought – she never looked more like a pixie.

  “I suppose you can speak then, too?” he said, pausing long enough to glare at her. Those big blue eyes unnerved him, as did the repeated reminder that he now knew exactly what she looked like beneath his clothes. His clothes. That idea had clearly not been one of his brightest, because the sight of her in them was doing nothing save give him the urge to pounce upon her lithe little body and assume full possession. She bore his mark, wore his clothes. Why not sheath his cock as well?

  She nodded.

  “Well, let’s hear it then,” he said, surprised at how deep and husky his voice had become. “You can start by telling me what you hoped to accomplish by this farce.”

  When she did not answer right away, he stalked over to her and caught her chin roughly in his palm, forcing her to look at him. It was only when he turned her head to the side that he noticed the bruising. The sight of one eye nearly swollen shut sent fresh waves of rage through him.

  “Who did this to you?”

  His first assumption was that the damage had been done when the lads captured her, but the way she averted her eyes even as he gripped her chin made the truth hit him full-on: he had done this. The memories of backhanding his squire who was only trying to help him through his night terror came back to him in lurid detail. Of course then he had believed that his squire was a boy and the source of his unnerving dreams.

  The knowledge pushed him even farther, allowing rage to irrationally overpower his disgust with himself. He would dwell on many things later when he could think again with cool logic, but that was impossible when she was looking at him like that, bruised and bloodied and naked beneath the oversized clothing.

  “Tell me why this farce!” he roared, pounding his fist down hard on the small writing table beside her.

  She jumped, startled by the sound, eyes flicking nervously toward Sean as she licked her lips. Roran’s eyes latched onto the movement. “Scamallhaven,” she said finally. “I need te get te Scamallhaven.”

  Roran wasn’t sure what struck him more at the moment. The sheer, haunting beauty of her voice and the way it reached inside him and tangled itself up around his innards, or the fact that a woman would go to such lengths to get somewhere. He decided to focus upon the latter.

  “You could not conceive of a simpler means?”

  “Without purse or coin and no desire te whore myself, nae.”

  Her bold honesty startled him.

  “Why masquerade as a lad?” he asked. Knowing what he now knew, seeing what he had seen, he found it unfathomable that he had ever believed her to be a boy.

  She gave him a scathing look, one that clearly told him he was being obtuse. “Ye wouldnae have let me come along as a woman, now would ye?”

  “Of course not! We are knights of the King’s Guard, not an escort service.”

  “Aye,” she agreed. “But ye are the next best thing, arenae ye? As a woman, ye wouldnae think upon it, even if I did have the coin te pay my own way. But as a lad who earns his keep? ‘Tis mutually beneficial, ye ken.”

  “Clever lass,” Sean murmured. Roran shot him a scathing glance. At that moment, Roran did not care to think upon just how clever she was, nor how lithe, stealthy, or quick with a blade. He wanted an explanation. Something logical that would make sense and relieve some of the burn in his chest.

  He was a warrior. He would not allow her big blue eyes surrounded by crystal-saturated lashes to sway him in the least.

  No matter how much his chest ached with the desire to wipe them away and ease her fears.

  As he strengthened his resolve, he stood taller and hardened his features until they resembled stone. Sean, who knew Roran better than anyone, saw the impending storm approaching.

  “Roran...” Sean warned.

  Roran spewed forth a string of oaths amidst a torrent of words the likes of which were not spoken in mixed company. In truth, he was unable to stem the flow once started, speaking of trust and honor and a decided lack of respect, not to mention idiocy and stupidity and a total lack of common sense. And those utterances were complimentary when compared with some of the other things he said.

  Through it all, Brighid remained still and unmoving, only her eyes following his form back and forth as he paced off the worst of his impressive tirade. By the time he was finished, there was not a soul with several leagues that had not been scorched by the heat of his anger and the sharp blade of his tongue.

  Roran exhaled heavily as the last vile curse left his lips and shot a scathing look at her. “Well? What have you to say for yourself?”

  *

  Brighid knew there was nothing she could say to ease the sense of betrayal he felt. In Roran’s eyes, she had played him for a fool. His pride was wounded, perhaps mortally, and nothing she said now would matter.

  She regretted that. Roran was a good man, and behind the rage and fury she saw something else – hurt. That had never been her intention, just as she had never intended to become fond of him. Her only wish was to find the answers to the questions that had p
lagued her her entire life. Who was she? From where had she come? And what had happened to her family?

  Brighid knew she was different; had known from the first moment she’d awoken in that convent all those years ago. What she didn’t know was why. The only personal history she’d been able to glean was that she had been left there one night during a storm, found by the Sisters of the Most Blessed Virgin the next morning, wet and shivering and hot with fever. There was no clue to her identity or where she had come from except the small medallion around her neck, an intricate cross upon which a dragon had curled itself protectively.

  But she’d had to come from somewhere, hadn’t she? Short of a divine conception, she would have had a mother and a father, wouldn’t she?

  The Sisters were no help. No matter how many times she asked, she always received the same unsatisfactory answer in response: her arrival at the convent had been God’s will.

  Perhaps that was true, but it wasn’t good enough. Brighid needed more, and had set out to find the answers the Sisters were unable (or unwilling) to provide. She’d had little success until the knights, Roran and Sean, appeared one day in Donatirim, their cloaks bearing the same symbol she wore around her neck.

  It was the same symbol etched into every man in the king’s service. The one she had only recently learned was the mark of King Aedan, now permanently scribed in her skin, as well. When she had first seen the symbol upon the knights as they rode into Donatirim, one thing became crystal clear: following them back to Scamallhaven was her best chance of finding the answers she sought.

  Without them, she had few options available to her. Brighid had no wish to marry, to become nothing more than some man’s housemaid by day and whore by night. A woman she might be, but a woman with the heart of a warrior.

  Had she been a female born to a better station, one capable of catching the eye of a man like Sir Roran, perhaps she might have viewed her options differently. But as it was, she was nothing, a bastard child cast to fate for as long as she could remember. For her, there would be no dowry, no arranged marriage to a good and decent man.