Defending Destiny (The Warrior Chronicles) (28 page)

Kolin Damnet sat back in the replica throne chair he’d commissioned for his vault room. Not even the Arm-Righ knew of that room, or the chair, which was a good thing. If the King knew his Second plotted to usurp the throne, then the King would have to die. He’d suffer an unfortunate hunting accident, or slip and fall in the bathroom. Damnet had ordered that one used more than once already. He smiled and rested his elbows on the arms of his would-be throne, hands entwined, index fingers forming a triangle under his chin. Bathroom falls were rarely questioned, especially if one had copious amounts of alcohol or drugs humming through one’s veins.

Kolin wasn’t ready to kill the man just yet. He needed to get rid of MacBain and MacBain’s new Second before that. It made no sense to kill a King when the man most likely to take his place in open challenge or in a call for Council votes was still breathing. It was better to have a King who could be controlled than one who could not. Kolin Damnet didn’t kid himself that James Duncan could be controlled in a complete sense—he couldn’t—but the man’s greed, arrogance, and unwillingness to control his anger knew no limits. All three vices had proven useful. Manipulate any one of James Duncan’s core attributes and he fell in line more times than not.

When it came to the fine art of manipulation, Damnet prided himself on being a master.
Every man needs a hobby. Especially one in which he excels.

In Damnet’s estimation, there were three kinds of people: those who do, those who have done to them, and those—the rare few, like him—who pull the strings of the first two and sit back silently laughing as they go about destroying themselves and their worlds. It was so much easier to let them wreck themselves and their kingdoms and then swoop in and pick up the pieces than to fight the battle oneself.

Damnet stared at the man before him. He’d used him on occasion to do his bidding as well as the King’s. The man’s connections and the ease with which he went from country to country all over the world was useful, as was the man’s ability to surveil and to dispatch people and things when necessary.

“Tell me, Mr. Butler, has MacBain followed through in making Ms. Bennett his Second?”

“He has.”

“You’re certain?”

Butler stood silent. Apparently he’d pricked the man’s pride.

Gerry Butler’s expression gave nothing away. It was a pity that the man would have to die when this was all over, Damnet thought. He could use an unrepentant killer and thief on his side. He let out a heavy breath. It had to be done. Butler knew too many of his secrets to survive. When Damnet took the throne, he intended to surround himself with fresh meat, as it were. He smiled at the thought and dropped his hands to the arms of his make-believe throne. Butler held his own counsel, always a dangerous thing in a dangerous man. Kolin would have to see to the man himself.

“I trust you sent sufficient warning to MacBain that neither he nor his Second are safe,” Damnet said, his tone light, slithering, as he watched for the slightest inkling that Butler had betrayed the cause. Butler believed he was working for the King and the Council, since he owed a debt to the King. James Duncan had come to Butler’s aide—over a woman, Kolin seemed to recall. The fool. To be indebted to a King was a very bad thing. To do so over a woman was folly indeed. Butler was honorable in his way. He’d done what was asked. To repay the King, he’d betrayed another woman and a friend.

“Trust me, Lauren got the message. So did Daisy Bennett. I left the kind of message neither of them will misinterpret or misunderstand.”

“The Arm-Righ will be pleased,” Damnet said, looking for any falsehood or sign of betrayal. Finding none, he nodded royally down to Butler from his seat three steps above where the man stood. “Good. I trust you’ll deliver Ms. Bennett to Court when it’s time.”

Butler nodded once.

“You are dismissed. You’d better get back to Kilmartin before you’re missed.”

Butler turned and left without a word.

…

The crash of steel on steel made her muscles shake with fatigue.

Daisy was dripping wet. Salt stung her eyes and made every bit of her itch. Wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm, Daisy wondered how long she could keep up that punishing pace. It was like training for a sprint by running a marathon. Sword fights didn’t last long. Not one-on-one sword fights, anyway. There was a lot of waiting around and then, after a flurry of cuts, strikes, and blocks, the whole thing was over. Usually quite quickly. The first cut usually led to the last in seconds.

That was theory, anyway. It was also true in every kendo match Daisy had ever seen.

She’d seen her share of long-sword re-enactments too, but most of those had been staged for the benefit of an audience. An audience meant a show. A show meant a clash of steel. In a show opponents aimed for the other’s sword, not for their head.

This was no show. Magnus was aiming to separate her head from her neck.

For the first three days they trained with wooden swords. Daisy learned, as she’d learned with the wooden boken and the bamboo shinai, wood stings like a son of a bitch. It hurts when it’s not deflected. And if that weren’t enough, she also learned Magnus played dirty.

He hit her wound, or tried to. He hit her ribs with the flat of his sword, knocking the wind out of her. He made her feel the blade at her throat, at the back of her neck, in the soft area right below her sternum.

He knocked her off her feet. Repeatedly.

He disarmed her more than once.

Magnus was twice her size and weight. He was also more skilled than she was and she’d been training for years. That raised the question where and how often he’d trained, and who was stupid enough to train with him?

He was brutal in his assault. He showed her no mercy and he didn’t stop after she was on the ground. After the last time, he buried his sword an inch from her face and said with a coldness she’d never heard before, “
You’re dead
.
” Daisy rolled away, got to her feet, and punched him in the jaw so hard her hand hurt.

Magnus didn’t even try to stop her. He just stood there, feet splayed wide, silver eyes as cold as pewter in snow starring at her with a raised brow. She hadn’t even bruised his ego. Next time she’d aim lower.

He continued to stare as he wiped the blood from his mouth. “That’s the most spirit I’ve seen from you since we started. You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to stay alive.”

Daisy lost it. She’d taken everything he’d dished out over the past three and a half days and she was sick of it. Training was one thing. This all-out assault was something else entirely, and she’d had enough.

She ran at him, and although he was too close for her to have as much momentum on her side as she’d like, she managed to make him grunt as her shoulder hit his stomach. His arms came around her and he held her to him for a moment before he pushed her away. He kept hold of her shoulders, keeping her at bay in such a way that she’d have to exert herself to get free. She could have done it, but not without hurting one or both of them in the process. She was angry, no doubt about that, but she wasn’t stupid.

“You’ve been riding me for days. I’ve had it, Magnus.” She looked at his face, his jaw, rigid and tight, his eyes that held only warrior and little warmth. Then something kinder, more gentle flashed in them. It didn’t stay long, but it was there. It made her feel better for a moment. He spoke and the moment was gone.

“I’ve been
training
you for days, or trying to. It takes
two
to train effectively.”

Narrow-eyed and ready to spit nails, she circled her arms around him hard, fast, and in as big of an arch as she could manage as she drew down and back, hitting his inner elbow. As soon as Magnus’ arms fell, she hit him high with her forearm at the shoulder at the same time she took his leg from behind in a scissors movement; high and low at the same time. There was nothing he could do. She took him down clean and he fell at her feet. She had her heel to his throat before he could roll away.

“Let’s get something straight here, Highlander. What you’ve been doing you’ve been doing for you, not for me. Tyr himself would be crying right now from the weight of your sword and your ego pummeling down on me. My teeth hurt from the repeated force of both. I’m done letting you rack me with your misguided need.”

Daisy heard a twig crack behind her, but she didn’t turn. Magnus’ gaze shot to the woods and hill at the back of the Kilmartin house where they were training, far from view. Magnus didn’t try to extricate himself, which he clearly could have done. They both knew there was no way Daisy would do any real harm.

Someone was behind them. Someone Magnus knew. Daisy moved her foot. The second she did, Magnus shot to his feet, an amazing feat for someone his size. Magnus moved with agility, speed, and grace. He retrieved his sword from the ground and Daisy’s from where she left it when she charged him.

“She’s right, Druid. Your training method leaves something to be desired.”

Daisy turned around, recognizing that deep voice. She came face to face with the man she’d met at the stone circle. The man who’d led her to the stone where she found her sword. Why was she not surprised Magnus knew him?

Magnus lost some of his badass demeanor, and for the first time since they started working the sword, Daisy noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He’d gone to bed after she’d fallen asleep every night and he was gone every morning before she woke.

Magnus glared at the man, but there was no real heat in his expression. “I seem to recall that you were the one who insisted I train her. I suppose now you think you could do better.”

The blond giant quirked a lip, and his eyes glistened, but he didn’t quite smile. “Indubitably.”

Magnus grunted and approached the other man. When he got about a foot away he stopped. Both men ignored her, which was fine with Daisy. It gave her a chance to catch her breath and check her temper. Now that she thought about it, she saw the weight the last few days had put on Magnus’ shoulders. She knew him well enough to know that he meant well even when he didn’t do well. She wasn’t sorry she hit him, though—not much, anyway.

The blond man enveloped Magnus in a quick hug and mutual backslapping that would have left her black and blue. No wonder all of her hurt. There was no way she could go toe to toe, blow after blow with someone Magnus’ size or even someone fifty pounds lighter and six inches shorter. She needed to learn how to take a blow, that was true, but she needed to be quick. Lethally quick, to prevail over even equally matched opponents. She’d been told she was not Kolin Damnet’s equal in cunning or in skill, so she needed to learn to be lethal with one strike. Quick. Deadly. From the first time.

The men pulled away almost as quickly as they came together.

The blond man put a hand to Magnus’ shoulder. “She named your sword. It’s a good name. You should thank your woman for that.” The man paused and winked at Daisy before turning back to Magnus. “You can take her over your knee later for that cheap shot to the jaw.”

Nothing cheap about that shot, buddy. It was well earned.

Magnus shot her a glance that said he was thinking about doing just that. Daisy’s face flamed and she sent back a look that said
try it
, no longer remotely sorry for her actions.
He looked at her like he just might, then he mouthed the word
later
, before dismissing her in favor of his friend. If there was any spanking to be had, she would be the one doing it.

“What name do I have to thank her for?” Magnus raised his voice. “Assuming I’m in a grateful frame of mind.”

“She said your blade would make Tyr cry. Tyr’s Tears. It’s a good name. Strong, powerful.” The man’s voice became a whisper, “And it was given by the only creature on earth that could bring both a god and a man to tears.”

Daisy didn’t know if she wanted to scream at man for calling her a creature who could engender tears or be honored for her sex on principle since this man believed man and gods could be brought to tears by a mere mortal woman. She chose to be honored.

She also chose to walk away before she got the urge to throw another hook at another jaw.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Magnus watched Daisy walk away with a heavy heart. He knew he’d been riding her, pushing her harder than he pushed anyone other than himself, but the thought of losing her now when they had a future together made him mean. Fear did that to a man. Most of the time he could separate himself enough from the fear to respond appropriately, but not this time. This time the fear had ridden him like a horse from hell. He was full of blinding, hot fury.

And he’d taken it out on Daisy.

That was something he hoped to make up for in the many decades he planned to spend with her.

If she lived that long.

Just like that, the fear took him again. He clashed Tyr’s Tears with Rowan’s sword, the impact reverberating through him, making his teeth hurt. He now knew what Daisy was talking about. Even realizing he’d been too hard on her, he couldn’t be entirely sorry for pushing her as hard as he had. If it kept her alive, it was worth any cost, even having her walk away from him. That thought twisted his gut like a well-worn washcloth. He banished it as soon as it came. He was no martyr for the cause. He would make sure Daisy continued to love and want him. Even if it killed him.