A Warrior's Heart Page 7

  They would attack just before dawn.

  Brighid had no idea why these men wanted to attack, but she would not allow Roran, Sean, and the lads to be caught unawares. It was imperative that she warn Roran and the others as quickly as possible.

  Their activity in and around the area forced Brighid to remain in her perch until they moved out. She waited until the campfire had been snuffed out and the men moved forward before dropping to the ground. She had to get around them somehow, reach Roran’s camp first and give them some time to prepare, but it would be tricky.

  “Weel, now, what do we have here? A wee spy?” said a deep voice as a large hand grabbed her by the upper arm and shoved her roughly into the base of the tree. The back of her head hit solidly, sending a trail of shooting stars across her vision. She cursed beneath her breath at her own incompetence. She must have miscounted the men leaving in the confusion, her mind distracted with worry for Roran and Sean and the lads.

  The man’s other hand moved over her in a search for weapons. He palmed her breasts and the man stilled. “No’ a lad, are ye?” The other hand groped between her legs and the man hissed. “Nae, no’ a lad. What are ye doin’ out here, I wonder?”

  It would be pointless to scream; the others were barely up ahead and she had no wish to call them back. It would be a distraction, nothing more. After they were done with her, they would continue with their heinous plan and her chance to warn the others would be lost. Brighid had to think quickly.

  The man was much bigger and stronger than she. If she could break free of his iron grasp, she could make a run for it, but not without him alerting his vile companions. Her only option was to disable the vile man and get away quietly to warn the king’s men.

  Desperate circumstances required desperate measures. She would use her most effective weapon – her femininity. Brighid allowed her limbs to tremble and forced a throaty whimper from her throat.

  “Scared, are ye?” he asked, leaning down to inhale the skin at her neck. “Christ, lass, ye smell good.”

  She writhed in his grasp, making sure she brushed across a very specific part of him. She knew she had hit her mark when she heard his quick intake of breath. “Och, lass, ye shouldnae be doing that.”

  Another whimper. She twisted her body. He wrenched her closer so that her behind moved up against his now stiff manhood. She continued to fight him, but not too hard. He groaned and rocked his hips into her.

  “Oi, Alan!” called another man from up ahead. “Where are ye?” Brighid stiffened. Overcoming one man without raising an alarm was possible; two would be more difficult. Her companion, however, was apparently not the sharing kind. He clamped his hand down over her mouth to keep her from crying out.

  “Obeyin’ the call. Go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a mo’”.

  “Doona take long. We take them just afore dawn.”

  “Aye.” He remained still until satisfied that the other had moved on. “’Twill not take me long at all,” he breathed against Brighid’s neck as he pressed her body against the tree and began to tug at her leggings. “Been far too long in this cursed country...”

  Brighid pushed back against him, making him curse. “Ah, ye cursed wench, stay still!”

  When he had bared her ass, he palmed her roughly before tugging at his own trews. “I doona know how ye came to be here, lass, but far be it from me to question such a boon.”

  Brighid took advantage of his momentary distraction as he hastily tried to release himself. She let herself go limp as if she had swooned, collapsing far enough to grasp the small blade strapped along her ankle (a small souvenir from her time as a squire). As she began to slip through his grasp, he lowered her to the ground with another curse. He had nearly mounted her when her knee jerked up hard and fast, but his warrior’s reflexes had him shifting at the last moment, sparing him the hurt she’d intended.

  He chuckled softly as he lay over her. “I am no untried lad,” he taunted, “naïve of a woman’s tricks.”

  He forced her legs open, the hard and heavy length probing against her. She tried to buck against him, but he was too strong, too heavy.

  “Alan, what the – Jesu! Where did she come from?”

  “Quiet, ye fool,” the one called Alan hissed. “Ye can have a turn with her when I’m done. Oi, wench, stop struggling! Come, hold her hands, she is a feisty one te be sure...”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brighid would not think about it. Not about any of it. Not the blood, not the stench, not the aches and pains of the deep bruises that now adorned the majority of her body. All that mattered was that she warn Roran and the others before it was too late.

  The attacking group had the small encampment surrounded, with men strategically placed to effect maximum damage once the sun broke the horizon. Brighid crawled on her belly in the shadows, silent as a serpent, until she reached Roran’s tent.

  She slipped her hand over his mouth and held a finger to his lips. His eyes opened wide.

  “The camp is under attack,” she said, ignoring the blade currently drawing blood just above her heart. “Ye must save yerselves and the lads.”

  Roran’s eyes widened as he recognized her. “There are ten of them,” she said hurriedly, “lying in wait, surrounding the camp. Warriors, all of them. They plan to move at the dawn’s first light.”

  *

  Roran had trouble comprehending everything at once. His squire had returned. Had managed to slip into his tent while he slept. She was covered in dirt and... blood?... looking like she’d been fighting a battle herself. She wore a man’s shirt, but her legs and feet had been bare.

  “Rouse the lads, but do it quietly,” she said, stepping back. He fought the instinctive urge to hold onto her. “Forewarned, ye can prevail. They are skilled, but not as skilled as ye. I will wake Sir Sean.” Then, like a wraith, she was gone.

  Roran shook off the image and tried to focus on her words. He would deal with the rest of it later. The notion that they were about to be attacked, seemed farfetched, but there was no mistaking the fear in her eyes or the urgent sincerity of her plea. If she was correct, then he could not afford the time to think long and hard upon it.

  And, oddly enough, he trusted her word.

  The battle was short but fierce. Had Brighid not warned them, it would have been a massacre, plain and simple. Ten heavily armed men had surrounded the camp of two of the king’s knight-warriors and seven young trainees, expecting to kill them in their beds. Thanks to Brighid, what they found instead was a camp of warriors waiting and ready for them in the shadows.

  “Do ye ken who they are?” Kieran asked as they dragged the last of the bodies to the pile.

  “Aye,” Roran said absently, his gaze returning to his tent. That’s where Sean was tending to Brighid. His squire had a name after all. “’Tis the mark of Scaramore. These are his men. Or what is left of them.”

  “Scaramore?”

  “Aye. The Black Prince.”

  “Why would his men attack us?” asked Ian.

  “Scaramore attacks all that swear fealty to King Aedan,” he told them gravely. “His father reigned over a small kingdom to the north, one with desirable access to certain trade routes. At one time, Scaramore was promised the hand of the princess, Aibhilin, but the princess disappeared mysteriously before the wedding could take place. Scaramore’s lands were plundered shortly afterward by a horde of barbaric Norsemen. His father was killed, and the Black Prince blamed King Aedan.”

  Simon’s youthful brow furrowed. “How was that our king’s fault?”

  “Scaramore believes King Aedan changed his mind about the match and orchestrated his daughter’s disappearance, and was directly responsible for the failed merger of the kingdoms. He feels that had the alliance been secured, their lands and ports would have been under the protection of Aedan’s mightier forces, and therefore, safe from invasion.”

  The lads asked several more questions as they continued to clean up the mess. Roran was glad for it.
It gave them a sense of relatively recent history and him something else to think about besides the injured woman in his tent.

  “How fares she?” Roran asked when Sean emerged an eternity later, looking weary. It did nothing to lighten the massive weight already pressing up his chest.

  “She will survive,” Sean said, dropping by the fire and grabbing the whiskey. He took several long, hard pulls before removing it from his lips. Roran could not bring himself to ask.

  “She saved us,” Kieran said quietly. Roran realized all the lads had come to the fire upon Sean’s appearance, their youthful expressions displaying the same concern he held so deeply within.

  “Aye,” Sean answered, rubbing his eyes. “The lass has been following us. It seems she did not take kindly to being left behind.”

  “How did she wind up with them?” Roran asked.

  The question burned a hole deep inside him; the thought of her amidst the bloodthirsty curs was enough to hollow him out. Roran’s mind could not accept the idea that she had joined their ranks after being cast out so callously from his. The lass had already proven she was willing to go to great lengths to get to Scamallhaven, but the idea that someone else would get her was a painful one. Irrationally, it felt like a betrayal.

  “She didn’t,” Sean said firmly. “She stumbled upon them, and had the foresight to sense they were up to no good. She’s been spying on them these last few nights. When she learned what they had planned, she came to warn us.”

  Roran felt a sense of profound relief wash over him. She hadn’t betrayed him! She’d risked her life to save him – them.

  “She did more than warn us,” Rhys said. “Did ye see her fighting? Like a right little Fury, she was.”

  Yes, Roran had seen. He had caught sporadic glimpses of her small, lithe figure meting out justice with the skill of a seasoned warrior and the attitude of an angry she-bear protecting her cubs. As long as he lived, he would never forget the sound of her enraged battle cries, or the look of her wielding the flashing blade that never missed its mark. She had been... magnificent.

  “Are ye going te send her away again?” Lachlan asked quietly, putting voice to the question in all of their heads. All eyes immediately fell to Roran.

  What was he to say? He looked at each of them in turn, at the intensity of their faces, dirty yet triumphant after this first test of skill; their young bodies bearing naught but a few minor injuries instead of lying lifeless in pools of blood, their throats cut from the band of deadly mercenaries.

  What did they think? Had they already forgotten that she had wormed her way into their ranks through deceit? “She lied. Made fools of you all.”

  Simon cleared his throat. “She didnae lie. Not really.” Roran pierced him with a stare.

  “She never actually said she was a lad,” reasoned Cameron thoughtfully. “And we never asked, did we?”

  Sean was no help. Even from across the fire Roran could tell he was biting back a smile as the lads’ courage fed each other.

  “An’ she did warn us,” piped in Kieran, the unspoken leader of the group. “‘Twould not be knightly te cast her out after she saved our arses, now, would it?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Despite the fact that the lads thought it best to keep her among them, Roran wasn’t so sure. When it came to his squire, he found it difficult to consider viable options with suitable clarity. He didn’t feel comfortable making a decision based solely on his own instincts either, because what his instincts were telling him had nothing whatsoever to do with reinstating his squire, and everything to do with wrapping his body around hers and marking her from the inside out as his.

  He avoided his tent for most of the day. He took two of the boys out to where Brighid said the mercenaries had camped. After seeing what was left behind, he knew he had to face her.

  When he finally worked himself up to it, he cleared his throat loudly to let her know he was there. After several moments, he lifted the flap and entered.

  Brighid was sitting on his cot, wrapping strips of cloth around her tiny feet. She was dressed in a lad’s britches and a clean tunic that was way too big for her. She lifted her face, her brilliant blue eyes stopping him as effectively as a broadsword at his throat. Whatever he had been going to say flew out of his mind instantly, the sight of her preparing to leave sending a wave of something so fierce and primal through him that he fought to contain it.

  In the stark light of day, there was no mistaking the deep purple bruises that marred her face, nor the bandages peeking out from her sleeves. Roran winced and clenched his fists at his sides.

  “Going somewhere then, are you?” His voice came out as a low growl, an indication of the strength of his emotions.

  Whether she noticed or cared, she did not show. She simply nodded in response and returned to her task. Roran frowned. He wanted to hear her voice again.

  “Why?” he asked, a sharp grunt expelled on a breath.

  She finished wrapping her feet before looking at him again. “Ye dinnae want me here. Ye made that clear enough when ye dropped me in that Godforsaken village and left me to the likes of Father Pious and Sir Lecher, the Laird.”

  Ah, there it was. That beautiful, lilting voice laced with a touch of something that he responded to so forcefully, yet it smoothed his ruffled feathers like a fine caress. That hint of arrogance, of sass. It had not been a trick of his imagination then. No female had ever talked to him that way, and it lit a fire in his blood.

  “Recent events have given me cause to reconsider.”

  She snorted – actually snorted (he wasn’t aware a woman could make that sound) – as she stood and turned to go. Roran was at her side in two long strides, grasping her arm, shoving the sleeve up to reveal his handiwork. His decision was made. She was not leaving him, not now, not ever. He wouldn’t allow it.

  “You bear the king’s mark. My mark. It is a blood vow, and I no longer wish to release you from it.”

  Brighid narrowed her eyes at him until they were sharp blades of blue. He actually felt the tingle in his groin as substantial amounts of blood rushed down to swell his cock.

  “And what of what I wish?”

  “Irrelevant. You relinquished all rights when you signed on, whether under false pretenses or not. You belong to me.” Words softly spoken, but all the more powerful because of it.

  “And what is it ye want of me?” Fire flashed in those eyes as she glared at him, and that’s when he saw it – fear. Stark, naked fear.

  It gave him pause. Surely she was not afraid of him? Not when her hands were fisting his shirt, holding on. Then he realized it was not him that she feared, but that he would send her away again.

  For all of her outward bravery, he felt the tremor beneath his fingers. Heard the soft hitch of her breath. Saw her eyes widen and her lips part in surprise as he leaned forward...

  ...and kissed her.

  Roran could not help himself. As he looked into the crystalline blue eyes, his mind filled with images of the horrors she must have faced in those woods. Of the weeks she had spent alone. Of the risks she had taken to warn them. It all amounted to one thing: he had come close to losing her before ever allowing himself to know her.

  She stiffened, but her negligible resistance lasted only a moment before her lips softened for him. Roran brushed against them once, then twice, before he accepted the truth of the words he had spoken only moments earlier. She was his.

  With a bit of coaxing by his tongue along her lower lip, she opened for him. Just a little, but it was enough for him to get his first taste. Enough for him to know he wanted more. Cupping the back of her head, he deepened the kiss until it was hard to determine where he ended and she began.

  With great effort he forced himself back and looked into her face. Her eyes were closed, her expression soft, her lips swollen and red from his possession.

  “Is that what ye wanted?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper. He barely heard her over the pounding of his he
art.

  “I want you,” he said huskily, drawing breath into his lungs. And with it, her scent. Without releasing her, he rested his forehead against hers.

  She licked her lips, tasting him. “I willnae be yer camp whore.”

  “Nae, you will not,” he growled. “’Tis my bed and my bed only you will share. During the day, you will be my squire. When your duties permit, you will train with the others.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. He didn’t blame her; what he was suggesting was madness, yet it felt right. His cock, pressed against the swell of her soft belly, jerked.

  “If I refuse?”

  Roran stood tall. “You are my squire. You will train with the others. That is non-negotiable. But if you come to my bed, it will be because you wish it, not because you are forced or feel obligated to do so.”

  Brighid stepped back, wrapped her arms around her torso and bit at her bottom lip. Such innately feminine gestures. Roran once again wondered how he ever could have mistaken her for a lad.

  She paced a few steps away from him; it was too far. He was just about to lunge forward and bring her back to him when she turned and did so herself.

  “You wish me to remain, even though I am a woman?”

  “Aye. Woman you may be, but you have a warrior’s heart. You are quick and nimble, clever of wit and possess great cunning. And you have proven your fealty, as well as your bravery and skill in battle.”

  She stood a little taller. “Aye?”

  “Aye.” Normally a patient man, Roran felt unusually anxious. “What say you?”

  *

  Brighid stepped out of Roran’s tent, feeling the intense gaze of the others. Some sat upon the ground, others upon convenient boulders or fallen logs. All nursed injuries, though she was pleased to see that none appeared to be too serious. The thought that she had almost lost all of them sent a shiver down her spine. Oddly enough, she had become rather fond of them.

  Gathering her courage, she squared her shoulders and stood tall as she walked toward them. She stopped before the fire and dipped the spoon into the pot simmering above it. Blowing on it a few times, she sipped it.