A Warrior's Promise (30 page)

Read on for an excerpt from

the fourth and final book in

The Warrior King Series,

WED TO A HIGHLAND WARRIOR,

coming November 2012

from Donna Fletcher

and Avon Books

Highlands of Scotland, 1005

B
liss waited, not sure of her fate.

She often wondered why she could see the providence of others, yet, when it came to her destiny, she was blind. At times it made sense to her. After all, it was a burdensome lot to unwillingly peer into the future and see not just happiness, but pain and sorrow. Certainly, if she saw that for herself, life could possibly become unbearable. Even knowing the destiny of others brought a burden—one that, at times, Bliss would much rather not carry though she had no choice.

This gift, as her people, the Picts, called it, or curse as others often referred to it in whispers, had been part of her as long as she could remember. There had never been a time she had been without her knowing, and while she could see small, incidental moments in her future, she could not see the whole of it, the important moments in life that had others seeking her knowledge.

If her knowing wasn't enough, there was also her ability to help heal. Her touch held power; not that she understood it, but she did not question it. Like her knowing, it had always been a part of her, and she had always willingly shared it with those in need.

At the moment, though, her instincts warned her that this was where she must stop and wait. Why, she did not know. She truly had no time to dally. There was an ill woman in need of healing, and she was still a day's journey away. But to ignore fate's warning could prove unwise.

Bliss hugged her dark blue wool cloak more closely around her. Winter's bite was sharp in the air, leaving no doubt it would be a bitter one. She wished, however, this year she need not spend the cold days and dark shivering nights alone. Being one-and-twenty years, she had thought for certain, though she had never foreseen it, that she would have a husband and children by now. She didn't, and she worried that she never would.

Respected for her abilities by her people, she also found it a deterrent to finding a mate. Most men feared her knowing, one fellow being adamant about it, saying, “There would be nothing I could keep from you—nothing.”

Bliss realized then that she wanted no husband who would hide things from her. She wanted honesty and trust from the man who would be her husband, or she would remain alone.

The crunch of leaves alerted her to heavy footfalls, and it was easy to tell that more than one person approached. In an instant, she knew that soldiers headed her way. Normally, she would detect their presence much sooner, giving her time to flee to safety.

Why had she been cautioned to wait for those who could very well do her harm? Could they possibly be in need of healing? Or had she been mistaken? She dismissed the foolish thought as soon as it entered her head, reminding herself that fate knew well life's course, and she need not fear.

Three king's soldiers broke past the trees and into the clearing where she stood. Apprehension fluttered her stomach, but she remained confident that all would be well.

“We've found ourselves an angel,” one young soldier said with a grin.

“She is a beauty,” remarked another with a sneer that warned that his thoughts bordered on carnal.

All too often, men remarked on her beauty so much so that the words no longer meant anything to her and certainly not from this lot. Someday, she hoped to find a man who would look past her features and see her true worth. But at the moment she needed to wait, for she sensed that these soldiers were not why fate had her linger.

A sudden ill wind blew around them, scooping up leaves and twigs and swirling them in the air before carrying them off on a rush of wind. A fast-moving mist followed, sweeping in along the ground. It would not be easy to take a step or find one's way if it grew any thicker.

Gray clouds rushed in overhead, warning of an impending storm, or was it a portent of someone's arrival?

Bliss shivered, sensing someone's approach, someone of great power and strength, someone who would stand before these soldiers with courage and someone she was destined to meet.

“What is a beautiful lassie doing out in the woods all alone?” the youngest soldier asked, inching closer.

“I wait.” Bliss let her cloak casually fall away from her arms to reveal the drawings on her wrists.

Another soldier gasped. “She's a Pict.”

“We don't mix with pagans,” said the older soldier, who had remained a distance from the other two.

“Why?” the young soldier asked boldly.

The older soldier slowly shook his head. “They are strange ones.”

Bliss sensed that the younger soldier would not pay heed to the wisdom of the older one. He was brash in his bravado and intent on proving his courage. Warnings from the older soldier, to him, were nothing more than fear and old superstitious nonsense.

“Because they paint symbols on themselves?” the young soldier asked with a shake of his head and a laugh. “There will be no more Picts soon enough.”

Bliss's fair cheeks flared red, and her pale blue eyes darkened ever so slightly. “Mark your words wisely, young lad, for Picts have walked these lands far longer than you know and will continue to claim these lands long after you're gone.”

“Is that a threat?” the young soldier demanded, his chest expanding as he drew his shoulders back and approached her with swift steps.

He didn't in the least intimidate Bliss. She stood firm, her head up, her pride and courage evident. “It is the truth.”

“And I say with as much truth that the likes of you and your kind will be no more,” the soldier challenged, his comrades encouraging him with cheers.

“You can say or claim all you wish, but the truth is written and cannot be erased,” she said confidently.

“She's a seer,” the older soldier said with a shiver. “Stay clear of her, or she will steal your soul.”

The young soldier scurried away then, tripping over his feet as he went, his pretentious bravado failing him.

“What do we do with her?” the other soldier asked, taking several cautious steps away.

“She might prove helpful to King Kenneth,” the young one suggested.

“Fool,” the older one spat. “The king has his own seer, and he keeps his distance from the Picts; being pagans, they cannot be trusted.”

Bliss felt a sudden catch in her stomach though she moved not a muscle. It intensified as the unknown man continued his approach. From how palpable his strength, he was no doubt a warrior. They were an easy lot to sense, their potency far-reaching. Though there was a force about this particular one that caused her to shudder. Passion tickled at her flesh, and a heady scent soon followed, wrapping around her like a lover's strong embrace.

This was the man she was meant to meet, and why fate had her wait. A tingle of anticipation ran through her and, without warning, as was the way of it, a sense of knowing struck her like a mighty blow. Only this time it was about her.

She could foolishly doubt it, but it would do no good. The sense of what was about to transpire was much too strong, too rooted in her knowing. Still, it was difficult to believe, and yet she knew without a doubt that fate had her wait here—she took a deep breath, not sure if she was ready—to meet her future husband.

“What do we do with her then?” the young one asked anxiously.

Her answer spilled from her lips, shocking her. “My husband has come to get me.”

He walked out of the mist then, as if summoned, emerging slowly, the fog dissipating around him with each confident step he took. He was a formidable figure: tall, his shoulders broad, his body lean, his eyes intense, his long auburn hair blown wild by the irate wind and his long, slim fingers resting heavily on the hilt of his sword. A Highland plaid, the colors a near match to his dark hair, draped proudly around him, and a black wool, fur-lined cloak hugged his wide shoulders.

The three soldiers shuddered, and a shiver ran through her.

Trey MacAlpin.

Bliss knew this man, had helped heal him and kept the secret that he and his three brothers shared—one of them was the true king of Scotland and would soon take the throne.

“Husband of mine, finally you arrive,” she said, walking over to him though her legs trembled. She stretched her hand out, knowing he would not refuse her.

His hand reached out, taking hold of hers tightly and drawing her intimately up against him as only a husband would. The vision came swiftly and left with the same haste. There was no time to consider it. She had to pay heed to the present, and so she tucked it away to examine later.

The young soldier wanted more confirmation, and asked, “This Pict is your woman, your wife?”

Trey didn't hesitate. “Bliss is my wife.”

Bliss spoke the words that would seal their fate. “Trey is my husband.”

“You are on MacAlpin land,” Trey warned.

“King Kenneth owns all land,” the young soldier challenged. “And all on the land serve him.”

“I serve the true king,” Trey boldly announced.

The young soldier stepped forward, his bravado regained and his hand going to the hilt of his sword. “There is only one true king, and perhaps it is time you served him.”

“Take another step, lad, and it will be your Maker you'll meet and be serving,” Trey warned with a cold, hard stare that froze the fellow in his steps. “Go back to your king and tell him that the time draws near, and soon he will be king no more.”

Anger had the young soldier taking a hasty step forward as he shouted, “There is only one of you and three of us.”

“Unfair odds for sure, but I have no time to wait for you to fetch more soldiers,” Trey said without a trace of a smile.

Bliss marveled at his confidence and courage. But then his bravery wasn't foreign to her; she had felt the heart of it pulsing through her when she had helped heal him. She knew then the strength of this man and what he was capable of; but there had also been a moment when a shiver of fear had run through her. He was also a man heavily burdened, and it had troubled her heart to feel his sadness.

Now it troubled her that she had not sensed the connection between them sooner, but then Bliss had learned at an early age that fate often worked in mysterious ways, and it wasn't for her to question.

The young soldier looked quickly to the other two soldiers, his hand already beginning to draw his sword from its sheath.

“MacAlpin warriors are superior swordsmen,” warned the older soldier.

“I heard tell that one took ten soldiers down on his own, without an ounce of help,” the other said.

“That would be my brother Reeve,” Trey said proudly.

“And another brother survived wounds that would have killed most men,” the older soldier said. “Some say he cannot die.”

Trey nodded. “That would be me.”

The two soldiers took a step back, and the young one spat at them. “Cowards you are. Death claims everyone, and it will claim him today.”

Bliss raised her voice before the soldier took a step. “Death will claim someone this day, but it will not be my husband.”

Her prediction caused all color to drain from the young soldier's face, and his sword slipped down into its sheath as his hand drifted off the hilt.

“Now be gone, and take my message to your king,” Trey commanded.

They obeyed, disappearing into the woods without a backward glance.

Bliss smiled when he turned his attention on her. “It is good to see you have healed well.”

“With your help,
wife,
” he said, smiling.

Her heart gave a catch, as if his smile had stolen a beat. Certainly, Fate had had a hand in his defined features, making him the handsomest of men. But it was his eyes she found the most compelling, for she could not be sure if they were blue or green. They seemed to change from one color to the other right before her eyes.

She shook her head. With more important matters at hand, she had no time to be musing over her husband's good looks.

Husband.

How did she explain this to him?

First, she had to take a step away from him. His arm around her waist felt too intimate. It made her want to step closer to him, rest her body to his, run her hand across his chest, feel his heart beating as rapidly as hers, and wonder if love could truly come from their strange joining.

Bliss slowly slipped out of his embrace, and she thought she detected his reluctance to let her go. “I should explain—”

“Not necessary. You followed your instincts, and it worked well.”

“Yes, though—”

“I am honored to be your husband, if only for a short time.”

“And I am honored to be your wife.”

“We still pretend then?” Trey asked, stepping closer.

Her thoughts turned foggy. She had spent time healing him and had not felt a tug, a pull, a tingle of interest in him. But then she had no visions of him as her future husband. She couldn't help but wonder why now it was different? Why had fate chosen this moment and this way to bring them together?

She sighed and rested her hand on his arm.

He placed his hand over hers, his warmth not only running through her but his strength. He was a man of great courage and conviction and a man who loved deeply—and a man who was still recovering from the loss of a love.

Whatever was Fate thinking, sending her a man who still loved another woman?

“You are upset,” Trey said. “You tremble.”

She stared at him a moment, for she did tremble, but inwardly, and he had felt it. “I must explain.”

“No need. I understand how difficult this incident must have been for you. I will see you safely home.”

She shook her head.

“I insist.”