Loved By a Warrior (32 page)

Tara smiled. “He's always right.”

Chapter 35

T
he day finished with a joyful feast, the brothers having started it in Trey's bedchamber, letting him know all that had happened. They taunted and laughed with each other and regaled the women with stories of their younger days, Mara often correcting their memories.

When Trey had grown tired, his eyes closing, Willow chased them out and offered to sit with him so the family could continue feasting.

It wasn't until late that everyone retired, happy and content. Reeve and Tara, while eager as always to make love, found themselves talking first.

In bed, wrapped in each other's arms, Reeve said, “So now you finally realize that I'm always right.”

Tara laughed. “I'll concede to that.”

Tara had hurried to tell Reeve everything Stone had told her. His family had heard as well, and Mara had declared it was time to rejoice. Tara was free of the curse and Trey was healing nicely and Mercy was feeling good and even Willow was finding peace here. All was well, and a celebration was called for.

“Please tell me there is no impending mission,” Tara said, “that we will have time together before you must go off to serve the true king.”

“There are no missions presently planned,” Reeve assured her. “I'm all yours. You may grow tired of me.”

She shook her head. “Never will I grow tired of you.”

He kissed her, a soft, lingering kiss.

She ended it, easing away, her brow scrunched. “I've been thinking about something.”

“Tell me.”

“For some reason the prophecy about the true king kept ringing in my head this evening. I don't know why, but it wouldn't leave my thoughts.”

“It is a myth many people find comfort in repeating,” Reeve said. “It gives them hope of a better day, a better future.”

“It does more than that,” Tara said. “It gives a hint as to the identity of the true king.”

That had Reeve sitting up. “What do you mean?”

Tara sat up beside him, the soft wool blanket dropping away to reveal her lovely breasts, but she noticed that Reeve didn't pay any heed to her breasts as he usually did. Anytime they were in front of him, he couldn't keep his hands or mouth off them, and here he was ignoring her bosoms. His wide eyes were focused on her face, and that was an indicator that what she had been thinking might just prove true, and so she proceeded to find out.

“It's very visible. Anyone could see it,” she insisted.

“What?” he snapped. “What could they see?”

“Listen. Hear it yourself,” she said softly, and began to recite. “When summer touches winter and the snow descends. The reign of the false king begins to end. Four warriors ride together and then divide. Among them the true king hides. When he meets death on his own. That is when he reclaims the throne.”

Reeve shook his head. “I see nothing that hints at the true king's identity.”

“Nothing?” she asked, shaking her own head.

“Nothing at all,” he confirmed, falling back against the pillow and taking her with him to cover him.

Tara frowned, resting her elbow on his chest and her chin in her hand. “It seems so obvious to me.”

“Forget it. There's nothing there,” he said, his hands beginning to explore her.

“But there is,” she said, her soft tone suddenly changing to a forceful one as she repeated. “
Four warriors
ride together.”

His hands abruptly stopped exploring, and he stared at her.

“Want to tell me something?”

“There's nothing to tell,” Reeve insisted.

“Then let me tell you what I think.” She didn't wait for him to agree. “Four men were raised as brothers to protect the true king and to help him claim the throne. What better way to make certain that the true king was protected than to raise him in the bosom of loving and protective brothers? They would not only fight for the king, their brother, they would also die for him. And so four young lads were raised together, the true king among them. The four warriors are the four lads raised as brothers. The four brothers are you, Duncan, Bryce, and Trey, which means . . .”

She waited to see if he would finish it, and when he didn't, she did. “One of you is the true king.”

He groaned and shook his head.

“Don't try to deny it. I know I'm right.” Her smile grew.

“You know nothing,” he said.

“I know, but I will
say
nothing, or don't you trust me?” she asked with a tinge of disappointment.

Reeve's arms went around her. “I trust. It's just that it's a difficult burden to carry.”

Tara laughed. “I carried a far heavier burden.”

“Precisely, I don't want you to carry another.”

“We carry it together as you did with mine,” she said.

He nodded. “I see the wisdom of that, and it would be nice to finally share it with someone I can trust as Duncan did with Mercy.”

“She knows who the true king is?”

“No, and neither will you,” he said. “What you do know that others don't is what you have already surmised. One of us—me, Duncan, Bryce, or Trey—is the true king of Scotland.”

She grinned. “You mean I actually could be married to a king after all?”

“It's possible,” he said. “Would you mind?”

“Mighty warrior or powerful king, I love you no matter.”

“That is good to know,” he said, and brushed his lips over hers. “You can say nothing of what you have learned to anyone.”

“I understand. The king must be protected at all cost,” she said. “Did you know since you were young?”

“I can discuss no more with you,” he said firmly, “for your safety as well as his.”

She nodded and then grinned. “So I could be sleeping with a king tonight after all.”

“You're going to be doing far more than just sleeping,” Reeve said, and with his arm around her waist, he swung her off him and under him.

She gasped, startled, when she came to rest beneath him.

“But first I have something to say, I've been aching to say to you. You refused to let me say to you. And now I am free to say it to you.” Reeve brushed his lips across hers and whispered, “I love you, Tara. I will always love you.”

A smile burst across her face. “Tell me again.”

And in between kisses, he did.

A special preview from the next book in the

Warrior King
series

Coming 2012 from Donna Fletcher and Avon Books

T
he little urchin ran like the devil was after him. His worn boots pounded the dirt, leaving a wake of dust in his trail. He couldn't let the soldiers get him. He couldn't. They would give him a thrashing for sure and then? He shivered as he ran, not wanting to think of what would happen if they discovered his secret.

He hadn't been able to help himself. Hunger had gnawed at his gut until it had pained him. It had been two full days since he had eaten, and he had to have food, even if it was a stale piece of bread cast carelessly to the ground by a noblewoman.

No sooner had he scooped it up than the woman had started screaming, “Thief! Thief!”

It had been little more than a crumb and had done nothing to appease his pain. While the woman looked like she had not suffered from missing a meal in some time. It mattered not. Once the trio of the king's men heard, they jumped into action and ran straight at him.

He barely had time to put distance between them, and fright gave his bone-tired body the strength to flee. He dodged and darted in and around the marketgoers and ware-barterers, slipped under makeshift tables, jumped over barrels and yanked free of the hand that grabbed at the back of his wool vest. His skinny legs pumped as fast as they could to avoid the soldiers gaining on him, perhaps even toying with him, making him believe he'd escape them when he truly didn't have a chance.

His dark eyes darted in panic, desperate to find an avenue of escape. At the last minute, he spotted it: big, broad, and solid. Surely, he could take shelter beneath it. With all the strength he had left, he hurled himself at the solid mass, sliding on his stomach between the two limbs that stood rooted to the ground. Then he hurriedly wrapped his arms around one thick leg and held on for dear life.

A quick tilt of his head had his eyes settling beneath the Highlander's plaid, and he gulped. Good lord, he was a big one, which meant he was strong and could protect, and the lad needed protecting.

“Please
. Please, help me,” he begged, peering past the plaid to the giant Highlander, who stared down at him with a look of bewilderment.

“Hand him over,” one of the three soldiers ordered, while almost colliding as they came to an abrupt halt.

The urchin hid a smile, relieved at their reluctance to approach the large man.

“And what will you do with him?”

The urchin liked the sound of the Highlander's voice; it confronted and dared all in one breath. He was not a man to argue with, but one to fear and respect.

“That doesn't concern you,” the soldier said with trembling bravado.

“Why wouldn't it?” the Highlander demanded sharply.

“He stole from a woman and must pay the price,” another soldier spoke up, not daring to step from behind the soldier in front.

“What is the price?” the Highlander asked.

“A good whipping and service to the woman to pay off his debt,” the soldier in the front said, a bit more daringly.

“It was nothing more than a crumb off the ground,” the urchin snapped. His dark eyes glared menacingly, while his arms clung tenaciously to the Highlander's thick-muscled leg.

“It wasn't your crumb to take,” the soldier snapped.

“The lad looks in need of more than a crumb,” the Highlander said, much too calmly.

From the way the three soldiers took several steps back, each tripping and trying to get out of the other's way, the urchin knew that the Highlander must have sent them a menacing look.

“He broke the king's law,” one soldier said from behind the other two.

“The king wants his subjects to go hungry?” the Highlander asked, his voice rising in anger.

Before the soldiers could respond, the woman whose crumb the urchin supposedly had thieved came upon them with laborious breath. Her large bosoms heaved, and she fanned her flushed face with her hand.

“That dirty little lad”—she stopped for a breath—“stole from me.” She took another needed breath and stopped fanning. “Now he owes me, he does.”

“What will you take for him?” the Highlander asked.

The woman stared down at the urchin. “He's worth a good amount.”

The Highlander lurched forward, causing the soldiers and woman to retreat in haste and huddle closer together. While the urchin, having no intention of letting go of the intimidating Highlander's leg, was dragged along with every step he took.

“Don't think me a fool, madam,” the Highlander snarled. “He's a skinny lad not fit for most chores. He isn't worth a pittance.” And with that said, he tossed a meager trinket at her feet. “Take it and be satisfied.”

The one soldier was quick to pick it up and hand it to the woman. She took it and, with a snort and toss of her head, stomped away.

“We're done here,” the Highlander said.

The urchin heard the tight anger in his tone, and as the soldiers turned and walked away, he grinned. That is until the Highlander's large hand reached down, grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and lifted him clear off the ground to dangle in front of his face.

“Have you no sense, lad?”

A shiver ran through him. It wasn't only the breadth and width of the Highlander that intimidated, but his features as well. His long, dark hair the color of the deep rich earth was swept back away from a face with defined features. Wrinkles ran across a wide brow and at the corners of his light blue eyes. He had a solid chin that no doubt could easily deflect a hefty fist, and a nose so finely shaped that it proved he had been the victor of many a fight, for it looked to have never been broken.

“Answer me,” the Highlander demanded, giving the lad a quick shake.

“I'm starvin', I am,” the lad snapped.

The Highlander put him down, and fear crept over the lad. It was one thing to look the mighty warrior in the face, but standing beside him, the top of the lad's head was level with the top of his chest.

This Highlander warrior was the tale of legends that his father had told him about. Suddenly, his hunger didn't seem important, and he choked back tears. He had to find his father and set him free. His father had told him not to worry about him, to run and stay safe, but he was his da, and he loved him with all his heart. He had raised him alone since he was barely five years, his mother having passed in childbirth along with the babe. He was a good, loving father. He would never leave him to suffer the king's torment. He would find him and set him free and then together they would go as they had planned to join those who supported the true king's return.

“I'll feed you,” the Highlander said, casting an anxious glance over the marketplace grounds. “We'll get what we need and be gone. I don't trust the soldiers. They'll find more of their kind and be after us soon enough.”

The Highlander was right about that, and the lad had no problem with filling his belly and then taking off on his own. He had a mission to accomplish, and he intended to see it done.

“Don't wander off,” the Highlander warned. “Stay close to me.”

The lad stuck to his side as the warrior made a hasty round of the market, slipping the lad a hunk of cheese he traded for. He ravished the piece in seconds and hungered for more, but didn't ask. They would be done soon enough, and soon he'd be feasting, the Highlander having gathered more than enough food.

The lad had a feeling that the warrior was acquiring more than simply food. Whispers and mumbles were exchanged at most every place he stopped. Something was afoot, and the lad wondered if perhaps the Highlander was in some way connected with those warriors who fought to see the true king take the throne. A prophecy has been circulating for some time now about the true king, the king who possessed the inalienable right to the throne of Scotland. It was a prophecy his father had recounted many times to him until he could recite it by heart.

When summer touches winter, and the snow descends, the reign of the false king begins to end, four warriors ride together and then divide, among them the true king hides, when he meets death on his own, that is when he reclaims the throne.

His father had believed strongly in the prophecy and had claimed that the true king would one day appear, and his reign would bring peace and prosperity. Perhaps if the warrior was connected with those who fought for the true king, he could help the lad rescue his father and see them settled in a safe place.

Suddenly, the lad was glad for his near brush with danger, for it had provided him with an introduction to the Highlander and a better chance to free his father.

The Highlander dropped a sack to the lad with a warning. “Eat, but do not show your hunger. It demonstrates vulnerability.”

The lad understood, and, though anxious to devour what food staples were in the sack, he reached in and tore off a hunk of bread. With hunger that crawled up and out of his mouth, the lad managed to eat slowly as he walked beside the Highlander, taking two, sometimes three steps, to the Highlander's one.

“Your name, lad?” the Highlander asked, as they approached the end of the marketplace.

“Charles, sir.”

“Call me Bryce.”

“Thank you, Bryce, for helping me,” Charles said.

“Help you? I bought you, lad.”

Charles stumbled, and Bryce grabbed hold of his arm. “Watch your step.”

The Highlander kept a firm grip on his arm until the market was far behind them, and they entered the woods lush with fresh spring growth.

What a fool he was, forgetting that the Highlander had purchased him. He was now the warrior's property. And the strength of his grip had only served to remind him of the invisible shackle that duty-bound him to Bryce.

Questions assaulted the lad's mind and spilled rapidly from his lips. “What do you want with me? How long am I beholding to you? Where will you be taking me? Will we be going far from here—”

“Stop!” Bryce snapped. “You're a bit of a thing that not only needs feeding but help in growing into manhood.”

“And what?” Charles halted in his tracks. “You expect to make a man out of me?”

Bryce peered down at him. “That's exactly what I intend to do.”

He kept walking, and Charles had no choice but to follow, with only one thought in mind.

There was no way this mighty Highlander would ever accomplish making a man out of Charles. And for a very good reason.

Charles was actually Charlotte, a woman!