A Warrior's Heart Page 6

  No, for a woman such as her, there were only two options: nun or whore. Both were equally unappealing.

  But how could she explain that to him? How could she expect a man to understand what it was like to have no choices? That the only way she could hope to survive with her virtue and spirit intact was to use her size and cunning to pretend to be a boy and play upon their assumptions until she could put her demons to rest once and for all?

  Brighid looked into Roran’s face as he released his rage, felt his damaged pride like a blade to her belly. She had never wished to shame him. God help her, she had gone and fallen in love with him.

  When he had finished his rant, Roran stalked from the tent.

  Sean gave Brighid an unreadable look. “He is, at heart, a reasonable and fair man.”

  “Aye, I ken it.”

  “He needs time to process it all. I suggest that for the time being, you make use of your ability to go unheard and unseen.”

  Brighid nodded soberly. Sean took two steps toward the entrance, then turned around again. “I also advise that you - ” He stopped mid-sentence. There was no sense in continuing with what he was going to say. The squire was already gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What will ye do with her?” one of the boys asked that evening over a rather disappointing meal of overcooked rabbit.

  Roran sat back, somewhat surprised at the boldness of the question. He shot the boy a scathing glance, and found seven pairs of eyes – eight, including Sean’s – looking at him expectantly. Chances were his squire was listening, too, wherever she might be; he had seen neither hide nor hair of her since his uncharacteristic tirade earlier.

  As it was, he had spent most of the day asking himself that same question. The answer was not as clear-cut as it should have been. “This is no place for a woman.”

  Several moments passed by in silence. “Weel,” said Rhys slowly, “what if she still pretended te be a lad?”

  Roran shot him a disbelieving look. The others, however, didn’t seem at all surprised.

  “You wish her to remain?”

  The boys exchanged glances. It was Lachlan who spoke, his voice nearly as a deep as a man’s. “Aye. We do.”

  “Since the beginning of this journey, you have all made it a sport to torment the lass by any and all means.”

  “Aye, but that was when we thought she was a lad,” explained Cameron logically. “Now that we ken he is a lass, it all makes sense.”

  “What does?”

  More glances were exchanged, as well as a few reddened cheeks. “Weel, the fact that she is such a good cook.”

  “And she is verra clean and neat.”

  “And delicate of form. Prettier than any lad should be.”

  Their faces assumed even a darker flush, and Roran began to understand. They had been questioning themselves, just as he had.

  And that made his decision clear.

  “Which is exactly why she cannot remain. Tomorrow morning I shall take her to the village. When I return, I expect you all to be packed and ready to move on the moment I return.”

  Roran stood and tossed the remains of his untouched meal on the fire before heading back to his tent.

  *

  “Time to go, lass.”

  It was Sir Sean that raised his voice to the trees where she had perched throughout the night. The first light of dawn was yet several hours away, but she could make out his form in the moonlight well enough.

  Brighid dropped silently to the ground a few paces to his left, wearing the same clothing she’d left Donatirim in weeks earlier. With a heavy heart, she placed the floppy hat once more upon her head, hiding her hair and face beneath the dusty brim.

  She’d been hoping Roran would have a change of heart and agree to see her through to Scamallhaven; but apparently, that was not to be.

  “I can find my own way,” she told Sean quietly.

  “I’ve no doubt of that,” Sean said with what might have been reluctant admiration. “But Roran’s conscience will not allow him to leave you by the wayside. ‘Twould not be knightly.”

  She nodded. “I ken it.”

  Brighid followed him around the outskirts of the camp. Any thoughts of saying a last farewell to the others were quickly dashed; the lack of clamor and activity meant they were still sleeping.

  Chances were, they would not know of her exile until they awoke much later. She understood that, too. It was probably for the best, though she had become somewhat fond of them. Truth be told, she would miss the tom-foolery and raucous brawling that had become everyday occurrences. They were the closest thing she had to a family at the moment.

  “I am sorry I deceived ye and the others, but ye must ken, there was no other way.”

  Sean paused. For several long moments, he looked as though he wanted to say something, but then he simply nodded and began walking again.

  Roran was waiting for them at the far edge of the camp, already sitting high in saddle. He held the reins of the smaller mount beside him. Draighean snorted softly and turned toward her approach, but Roran kept his gaze forward. The barely visible clenching and unclenching of his jaw was the only greeting they received.

  With a sigh, Brighid allowed Sean to help her onto the smaller mount. They both knew it was unnecessary, but she took it for what it was – the only assistance he could give her.

  The moment she was settled upon the mare’s back, Roran kicked his heels and took off toward the village. He kept the pace hard and fast, which accomplished two things, in Brighid’s opinion: it made any attempt at conversation impossible, and allowed him to be rid of her as quickly as possible.

  When they arrived at the small hamlet, Roran dismounted from Draighean and was already stomping into the church by the time her feet touched the ground. Unsure what was expected of her, but not wanting to dishonor Roran any more than she already had, Brighid bided her time by watering the horses.

  Before too long, Roran emerged with a priest and a matronly-looking woman. Roran pulled a small purse from beneath his tunic and handed it to the man.

  “Come along, child,” the woman said, eyeing her apparel with blatant disapproval, “and we will introduce you to a bath and appropriate clothing.”

  Brighid opened her mouth to say something when Roran’s intense gaze warned against it. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut and followed the woman. They’d barely cleared the yard when she heard the thundering hooves. Despite telling herself she would not do so, Brighid turned around, her heart sinking further as Roran’s retreating figure grew increasingly smaller against the horizon until only a dwindling cloud of dust remained.

  “Come, come,” the woman said, grabbing Brighid’s arm and hauling her roughly toward the well. “‘Twill not do to repay the good father’s kindness by dallying about.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask exactly what kindness she was being afforded, but she bit down and withheld the words. She found out quickly enough, anyway. For a place on the stone floor in the communal room of the local laird’s house and a daily bowl of porridge, she was allowed to work in the kitchens and tend the gardens.

  *

  “A bit harsh, don’t you think?” Sean commented when Roran returned to the camp holding the reins of the now riderless mare.

  “Necessary,” Roran countered, back to his single-word replies.

  It was the first he had spoken since final meal the day before, but the others had no qualms extolling her skills at length, including her unnerving ability to masquerade as a male child. Unwilling to spend the rest of the evening discussing her and her former place among them, he sought the privacy of his tent and the solace of the wineskin Sean had so conveniently left for him.

  Doing so did not remove her from the forefront of his thoughts, but at least he was not forced to listen to their ramblings. It amazed him how they seemed to have done a complete turnabout where she was concerned. With the shocking revelation of her true nature, the most reviled among them had sudde
nly elevated to near adoration.

  Hell, he could not help but feel a grudging respect for the woman himself. Female or not, she had shown a remarkable strength of spirit and as much heart as any man.

  Beyond that, the truth afforded a great sense of relief. For a while he had been questioning himself, finding his eyes drawn to the squire. At least now he knew it was because everything was working exactly the way it was supposed to, and not because he had developed some kind of unnatural desire.

  There was nothing for it, though. She could not remain among their ranks, no matter how skilled or useful she was. With her bindings removed, she had proven to be quite the opposite of a skinny lad. In just the few moments he had seen her, her image was forever etched into his mind. Full, found breasts. A narrow waist. Lush hips and an arse a man’s fingers itched to grab on to. The lads had seen it, too.

  And been quite affected. Far too much so to allow it to continue.

  At least he had been assured by the priest that the local laird was a generous man, and that she would be safe and well-cared for. She’d be fed, sheltered, safe ... and away from him and his libidinous thoughts.

  “Aye,” Sean agreed on a great exhale. “I daresay the lads would not have been able to concentrate on a damn thing knowing that was in their midst. Hell, I only glanced her for a few moments and I can’t get her out of my mind - ”

  Sean never saw the fist that made sudden and direct contact with his jaw. Luckily, Roran pulled his punch at the last minute and only barely refrained from breaking it.

  Sean took the subtle hint and said no more on the subject.

  ––––––––

  Roran had never been a particularly jovial man, but after the fiasco with his squire, he had the demeanor of a bear with a thorn in his paw. He worked the lads harder than ever, devising brutal practice drills that had them sinking into their bedrolls at nightfall.

  He felt a complete and utter fool. How could he have failed to realize that his squire was a comely lass? He would never forget how Sean had come to him that day, or how he had roared with laughter at the suggestion. How everything in his world had come to a screeching halt the moment Sean ordered her to disrobe before him, and there it remained – solid. Immovable. Heavy.

  And yet, he had known, hadn’t he? On some level, hadn’t he recognized her for what she was? Those blue eyes, haunting his dreams. The delicate feet and hands. The way she moved with an economy of grace so unlike any lad he’d ever seen.

  If that hadn’t been enough, shouldn’t her cleverness and cunning have given him a clue or two? The way she had poisoned the stew to exact revenge upon her attackers? What kind of male would think of that? Females were notorious for that sort of thing.

  When he looked back now, he felt shamed by missing so many tells. Put together, the pieces completed a blaringly obvious and logical puzzle. She had refused to bathe or disrobe before the others. Frequently snuck off by herself to tend to her needs.

  It had been there, all along. At first he thought his squire was overly shy, or perhaps embarrassed. Afraid to give the others more fodder for taunts and jests. But now, he knew that her reasons had been much more serious than that.

  And, sweet Jesu, he now also understood her reaction when she had first seen him nude. Roran had thought nothing of it at the time, stripping to his skin to bathe. He had felt her eyes as keenly as if she had reached out and touched him. Yet when he had turned, she had been facing the other way. Roran had chalked it up to curiosity, nothing more than perhaps a young lad’s awkwardness toward what might become of his own body someday.

  He wondered idly what she had thought of him that day, then cursed vehemently, covering his face in his hands as he realized what he was doing.

  After several days, however, as some of Roran’s anger began to wane, there was some relief to be found. He no longer had to pray for forgiveness at night for the strange and wholly inappropriate urges he sometimes felt in his squire’s presence. Nor was he forced to expend valuable time and attention on her safety among the lads, allowing him to give the young warriors his undivided focus.

  It was also about the time he came to realize something else: he missed her.

  Male or female, she was a hell of a squire, seeing to all of his personal needs and quite a few of the others’ as well. And, male or female, she would have been a great asset. Too small for battle, of course. But with her uncanny ability to sneak around unheard and unseen, to climb like a squirrel and run like a deer, she would have made an excellent scout.

  For weeks she had been his shadow until he had become so acclimated to it that he hardly even noticed. But he felt her absence acutely now.

  The lads weren’t happy, either, as evidenced by their grumbling and sullen looks. They didn’t like doing all the chores his squire had done quietly and without complaint. And their cooking left much to be desired.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A week passed, then two. Brighid crawled up into the tree and settled herself upon a thick branch to rest. After only one day in the village, she’d snuck out under cover of darkness. The laird, as it happened, expected further services performed in exchange for his hospitality, services she was not willing to provide.

  She felt only marginally sorry for stealing the clothes, but there was simply no way she could stomach the long, scratchy dresses they had shoved at her. Leggings and tunics might not be considered proper feminine attire, but Brighid preferred them. How could one fight or climb or hunt in those silly things?

  Following the king’s men hadn’t been difficult; they weren’t exactly trying to cover their tracks. Still, she made sure she stayed a good distance behind them. It wasn’t quite as easy on her own as it had been travelling with them, but her ultimate goal was still the same – to make her way to the seat of the kingdom. There was no way to know if the images she saw in her head at night were dreams or memories, but they were very clear. She could only hope that she would find the answers she so desperately sought.

  Concealed above layers of leafy coverage, Brighid settled back against the thick trunk and brought a few ripe berries to her lips. She had been fairly adept at survival before she had been taken on as the knight’s squire, but now she was even more so. It was amazing how much she had learned simply by watching.

  Sometimes, she had seen too much.

  The male form was not completely unknown to her; she had lived with Coinin and Finn for a long time, caring for them since they were little more than babes. The lads taken into training may have been a wee bit older and larger, but they were not so different.

  But Sir Roran...

  The image of him in all his glory would forever be etched into her mind’s eyes. Broad, powerful arms and shoulders covered in ancient symbols. Chest and abdomen rippling with lean, honed muscle, covered in a dusting of dark, masculine hair that arrowed toward powerful legs, and, sweet Jesu, those most manliest of parts, hanging heavily betwixt his thighs.

  She shook her head in an attempt to dispel the image before her body started aching again. No man had ever instilled such a sweet ache inside her before, but Sir Roran did. And not just because of what she had seen that day, spectacular though it was. It was also because of his honor, his kindness. In the way he watched over her. In his gentle touch.

  Somewhere along the line, Brighid had fallen in love with him.

  It was rather unfortunate, really. As a female of nearly nineteen summers, she was well into her womanhood. She knew plenty her age who were married and already had a few bairns. Not her, though. A woman grown, she was not the daughter of a merchant or a craftsman; she came with no dowry. Nor had she time for things like courting. Her blossoming years had been spent caring for other lost children, learning to survive by whatever means necessary.

  Thankfully, Fate had gifted her with a small frame and a youthful countenance. With Coinin’s aid, she had been able to effect a believable enough disguise. As a young female with no male guardian, she would have attracted only
one type of attention – the kind she did not want. But as a boy, no one tended to notice. Or care, sadly.

  No one except one remarkable knight that she had forever turned against her.

  Before long, Brighid discovered she was not the only one following the warriors. There was another band that was about half a day ahead of her. At first she thought perhaps it was coincidental. It was not unheard of for roving bands to make their way along such a plentiful stream, rich with fish and the game that came to drink of it. But Brighid had a bad feeling about this particular group. Before long, she realized they were quickening their pace, and so she quickened hers.

  She finally caught up with them several days later. Brighid used her stealth to get close enough to learn more about them. A closer inspection confirmed her suspicions. They were not the ragtag band of scoundrels she had first thought. Their tattered clothing and unkempt appearance was nothing more than a ruse.

  Brighid watched from her perch near the stream. As far as she could tell, there were at least a dozen of them, but no more than five or six were visible at any given time. They spoke little and moved with the same kind of precision as Roran and Sean.

  Were they also warriors then? None of them wore the king’s colors. And when they came to the stream to bathe, Brighid saw none bearing the same crest she now wore upon her left arm.

  If she had any remaining doubts, they were dispelled when she saw several of them polishing their broadswords around the campfire. A snap to her left had her holding her breath. One of the men passed directly beneath her, moving away from the others.

  She dropped down silently and followed him. Her worst fears were realized when the man led her directly to Roran’s camp. The scout moved around the perimeter of the temporary encampment; Brighid moved with him. She followed him back to his own men, retaking her perch as she listened to him recount position, numbers, weaponry.

  Not long after the scout reported, the others broke camp silently and with purpose.