Once a Warrior (5 page)

It was an illusion, she reminded herself bitterly. He was a drunk, and under those clothes he was slashed with scars, and if he took a few steps, he would betray the weakness of his back and leg. But in this moment, with the sun shining warmly upon him, she found herself captivated by the glorious figure he presented.

“Well? Do I finally meet with your approval?” he demanded sullenly.

She turned, suddenly aware of her own filthy clothes, her tangled hair, and her grimy skin. Because of him she had no choice but to look this way. Because of him her home had been attacked, and she was no longer free to be Ariella MacKendrick.

“You’ll do,” she snapped, mounting her horse. “Let us be off.”

She dug her heels into Shena’s sides and galloped away, feeling a need to have distance from him, lest her hatred surface and drive him back to where she had found him.

It was nearly dusk when they reached the MacKendrick border. Warm anticipation swelled within her as Ariella neared her lands. She had never been away from her clan before, and on this journey she had been gone nine endless days. Her desire to see her home made her race ahead of the others, seeking solitude as she caught the first view of her beloved castle and the cheerful cottages surrounding it.

She saw the bodies first.

They were lying in the low grasses that grew in the meadow beside the woods. She would have missed them, if not for the bright flash of yellow that suddenly caught her eye. Curious, she slowed her horse and moved toward it, wondering if someone had lost a cloak while hunting. As she got closer, she realized the yellow cloth was a shirt, and that it covered the back of a man who lay facedown upon the ground. He had been brutally stabbed, and the condition of his body indicated he had been dead for some time. Horrified, she tore her gaze from him, only to see another man lying a few meters away.

Guy and Marcus.

She wheeled her horse about, then slid to the ground and pressed her forehead against Shena’s neck, fighting to stifle the sobs rising from the back of her throat.

“What is it?” demanded Malcolm, thundering forward. He reached her and dismounted as fast as his body would allow. “Are you ill?”

She swallowed and shook her head. Without looking she pointed in the direction of the bodies.

Malcolm was joined by the others as he went to investigate.

“It’s Guy and Marcus,” said Duncan, shaken. “The messengers Laird MacKendrick sent to speak with you.”

“They have been dead for some two months,” Malcolm observed grimly. “Perhaps as they returned, they came upon the band of warriors about to attack your clan. They were killed so they could not warn you.”

Fresh hatred surged through Ariella. Two more deaths at the hands of Roderic.

“We must bring them with us,” said Andrew. “They will need a proper burial.”

“No.”

All four looked at her in surprise.

Torn by her decision, she tried to make them understand. “We are returning to our clan with the mighty Black Wolf, who has agreed to help us. It is a cause for celebration, and our people have long awaited this moment. We cannot arrive bearing the evidence of more savagery and death.”

“But we can’t just leave them here like this,” protested Duncan. “Shall we bury them?”

She shook her head. “Marcus and Guy deserve the decency of a burial in the presence of their clan and their priest. We will cover them with a cloth and leave them to sleep under the stars a final night. Tomorrow you and Andrew will return here to fetch their bodies. That will be soon enough to let the clan know of this atrocity.”

Duncan and Andrew nodded and went to fetch a blanket.

She turned to Malcolm. “It is best we do not tell my clan you are no longer laird of the Clan MacFane. It will invite too many questions and may undermine the respect you will need to train them.” She disliked the idea of lying to them but knew she had little choice.

Malcolm shrugged. “You are paying for my services. Tell your clan whatever you like.”

“I will ride on ahead, to announce our arrival.” She mounted her horse and galloped across the meadow toward her home, hatred and loss weighing heavily upon her.

If MacFane had maintained his position as laird, this would never have happened, she reflected bitterly. He would have accepted her father’s proposal, gathered a force of warriors, and ridden back with Guy and Marcus, keeping them safe. He would have slain Roderic, driven away his men, and continued on to her castle as the mighty Black Wolf, just as Alpin had foreseen it.

Blaming him could not ease the despondency that gripped her as she realized what she had done. She had set out to find the magnificent Black Wolf and bring him back to her people as their new laird. Instead she was returning with this drunken, pathetic, broken warrior, who was to train them in return for gold.

The moment her people laid eyes upon him, they would question her right to bestow the powers of the sword.

C
HAPTER
3

“They have returned!”

The announcement echoed through the air as Ariella burst through the cover of the woods. Her people waved at her as she flew past their cottages, then quickly gathered their children and hurried up the green slope of land toward the castle, eager to welcome the mighty Black Wolf.

Ariella did not stop, so anxious was she to warn Alpin and the elders of MacFane’s condition before he arrived. She clattered into the courtyard to find her castle in an uproar. People were pouring out of every door, hastily adjusting their best gowns and plaids, while a line of children were being given a quick washing by the well. A wooden dais had been erected in the center of the yard, upon which five young men were blowing loudly into bagpipes trimmed with lengths of colorful plaid. Trying to be heard above the racket, a crowd was shouting directions at a group of men on the roof who were struggling to lower an enormous gold banner. A rope fell and the fabric unfurled prematurely, revealing a fearsome black wolf standing guard over a delicate white lamb. Women rushed back and forth carrying platters piled high with bread, meat, and fruit, and great casks of wine and ale were being rolled across the yard to a corner where dozens of cups were being assembled on tables. There were entertainers everywhere, some juggling brightly colored balls, some reciting poetry, and others tumbling and walking on their hands. No one took any notice of her as they hurried past, fully preoccupied with practicing their part in the upcoming ceremony.

She spied the eldest member of the council pacing back and forth, his white head bent studiously over a wrinkled leaf of paper. “Angus!” she called, dismounting.

“No time to talk now, lad, no time,” muttered Angus. “The Black Wolf will be here any moment, and I must memorize this speech.”

“Angus, it is Ariella.”

He lifted his gaze in astonishment. “What are you doing still dressed like that? Your betrothed will be here any moment. Hurry and put on a gown, there’s no need for you to pretend to be a lad anymore.”

“MacFane doesn’t know I’m alive, Angus,” Ariella said urgently. “I must speak with Alpin and the rest of the council. I have to make them understand—”

“Ariella, is that you?”

Niall was striding toward her, his face lit with relief. At the mention of her name everyone suddenly stopped.

“Ariella!” burst out Elizabeth, waving happily from a second-floor window. Her smile fell as she took in her appearance. “Oh, my, you must change! Hurry and come inside!”

A group of women began to usher her toward the castle. “No, wait,” she protested. “I must speak with you first—”

“How long until MacFane arrives with his army, lass?” demanded Dugald. “The men in the towers have not sighted them yet.”

She turned to the second-eldest council member. “That is what I need to talk to you about—”

“Why are you still dressed like that?” asked Niall, frowning. “Does MacFane not know who you are?”

A flurry of eager questions stifled her attempt to answer.

“Is he as mighty as they say?”

“Do his warriors number a thousand?”

“Did he perform feats of great strength during your journey?”

“Will you grant him the sword right away, or will you wait?”

Her people crowded around her, unable to contain their excitement as they sought more information about their next laird.

“Let me see her.”

The softly spoken command had the silencing effect of a mighty crack of thunder. The crowd surrounding her parted, creating an opening for Alpin.

“Come to me, child.”

Ariella obediently went to him. The ancient man leaned heavily against his cane and studied her, his black eyes sharp and assessing.

“So,” he murmured after a moment, “he is not what you expected.”

She shook her head.

“And you think my vision was flawed.”

She did not answer, reluctant to disparage MacFane in front of her clan. It didn’t matter. Alpin could read her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them.

He nodded. “Let us see him, then,” he said quietly. “This injured beast.”

“They’re coming!” cried young Colin from the tower. “Duncan, Andrew, and two others. They have ridden ahead of the Black Wolf’s army!”

“Listen to me,” Ariella pleaded urgently, gazing round at her people. “MacFane does not know who I am. He believes I died in the fire, and he must continue to believe that. You will treat me as the boy Rob, do you understand? And when you see him, you may notice—”

“They’re here!” shouted Colin excitedly.

Everyone began to talk at once, cutting off Ariella’s words as they surged forward to look.

Duncan, Andrew, and Gavin rode into the courtyard first.

Then Malcolm slowly entered.

He sat tall upon his magnificent horse, his enormous stature dwarfing the other riders. He calmly regarded the hushed crowd assembled before him, exuding confidence and power. In that silent, expectant moment he seemed every inch the mighty warrior her clan had so anxiously awaited. Ariella did not speak, afraid to break the spell that had fallen over her people. She knew this initial impression of MacFane would be fleeting.

The realization filled her with dread.

“Pipers play!” ordered Angus, waving his hand.

A grand bellow of sound filled the air. The musicians had composed a special piece in honor of MacFane’s arrival, and the crowd seemed to enjoy it so much, they played it twice. When they finally finished, Angus stepped up onto the dais.

“I, Angus MacKendrick, eldest of the council, bid you welcome, MacFane, chief of the mighty Clan MacFane.” He squinted at his paper. “We MacKendricks are deeply honored by your presence. As you know, our troubles have been many of late. The deaths of our beloved laird and fellow clansmen have left wounds that cannot easily heal. We are relieved you have finally come, to protect us, to lead us, and most important, to marry our beloved—”

“Pipers play!”
shouted Duncan.

The musicians instantly repeated their exuberant composition, effectively drowning the rest of Angus’s speech. The elder continued to talk anyway, but several times he raised his eyes in confusion, wondering how his audience could possibly hear him over all that racket.

The music eventually ended, and Dugald slowly climbed onto the dais to recite a seemingly endless poem he had written about the history of the clan, beginning some four hundred years ago. When he finished, Elizabeth’s father, Gordon, joined him on the platform to deliver yet another poem about the legendary exploits of the Black Wolf. When that was over, four jugglers and two tumblers crowded onto the platform beside the council members and began to demonstrate their skills. Their feats became increasingly more frenetic and impressive, until finally the pipers and poets were forced to step down to avoid being struck by a wayward ball or foot. The crowd applauded wildly, encouraging them to continue, which they did. The pipers then resumed playing yet another rendition of their new composition, and Dugald waved at the men standing on the castle roof. The magnificent banner unfurled once again, revealing the image of the ferocious black wolf standing guard over the little white lamb. The crowd cheered.

Ariella looked uneasily at MacFane.

At first glance his face seemed a mask of tranquillity. But on closer inspection she could see his body was taut and his hands were tightly clenched. It looked as if he longed to turn his horse and thunder away. She should have warned him, she realized miserably. She should have known her clan would prepare a spectacular welcome for the man they believed was their new laird.

Angus climbed once again onto the platform and raised his hands, finally silencing the cheering and music. “Perhaps MacFane would like to say something. Come, milord, join me on this platform and tell us how soon we can expect the arrival of your mighty army.”

MacFane shifted his gaze to Ariella. Fury smoldered deep within the blue of his eyes.

You tell them.

“MacFane’s army is presently engaged elsewhere,” Duncan quickly explained. “It will not be coming for some time.”

Her people gasped in dismay.

“And, unfortunately, he has other obligations that prevent him from accepting the chiefship of our clan,” he continued, glancing uneasily at Ariella. “But we have told him of our troubles, and he has kindly agreed to help us.”

“How?” called out Helen, Gordon’s wife.

“By training us to fight,” said Ariella. “We don’t need an army of outsiders to come and protect us. We must learn to protect ourselves.”

This statement was met with murmurs of disbelief.

“We are not a clan of warriors,
Rob,”
retorted Gordon adamantly. “What you are proposing is impossible.”

Dugald nodded in agreement. “We need to find ourselves a great army, and soon, before we are attacked again.”

The crowd grumbled in agreement.

“An army is not such an easy thing to find,” countered Ariella. “And we cannot wait. We must learn to fight and protect what is ours, before someone else tries to take it away. MacFane has led one of the finest armies in all of Scotland. He has trained over a thousand men. He has much knowledge about the use of weaponry and fortifications. Until we find a new laird with an army, we will place ourselves under his guidance and let him show us how we can better protect ourselves.”

Her proclamation was met with uneasy silence. It was obvious her people disagreed with her, but they had no wish to insult the Black Wolf by debating the issue in front of him. They would save the matter for discussion by the council instead.

“Well, MacFane,” said Angus, recovering his composure, “we’re grateful to you for generously offering your assistance. Join me up here, milord, and let us raise a cup of wine to toast your stay with us.”

Malcolm hesitated. He had not expected this outpouring of adulation. But after such a flattering welcome, he found himself suddenly loath to reveal his weaknesses in front of these people. The crowd applauded politely as Angus accepted two cups of wine from a serving boy and gestured for Malcolm to join him. He had no choice, he realized. Steeling himself to the inevitable reaction, he awkwardly dismounted and began to limp slowly toward the platform.

A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. The applause died, and puzzled whispers filled the air. Malcolm ignored them and continued his plodding, unsteady gait. He never should have come, he realized furiously. These people had expected the mighty Black Wolf to arrive with his army and save them. Their disappointment when they learned he had no army with him had been humiliating enough. But as he clumsily stepped onto the platform, their aghast pity was so profound, he did not think he could endure it.

Angus was staring at him blankly, too stunned to offer the cup he held in his hand. Malcolm turned and raked his gaze over the crowd, returning their scrutiny with apparent calm. He would not let them see the depths of his mortification, he swore darkly. To do so would unveil yet another weakness, and in this moment he felt exposed enough.

“No, Catherine!” called a plain-looking woman suddenly. “Come back!”

A pretty chestnut-haired child of about seven was threading her way through the crowd. She ignored the command and continued toward Malcolm, her brown eyes wide and grave. When she reached the platform, she thrust out her hands, demanding assistance to climb up. Not knowing what else to do, Malcolm drew her onto the dais beside him.

“My name is Catherine MacKendrick,” she announced. “I made this for you.” She pressed a crumpled scrap of cloth into his hand.

Malcolm opened the wrinkled fabric. A crudely embroidered wolf, stitched in black thread, lay beneath a scattering of gold stars. Beneath the wolf, in childish lettering, was the word
Welcome
.

“This is beautiful,” he murmured.

Catherine nodded in immodest agreement. “The letters were the hardest part,” she informed him, pointing with a dainty finger. “I had to do the last
e
twice, because it turned out much larger than the first one.” She studied it a moment, then frowned. “You do think they look the same now, don’t you?”