The Warrior Bride Read online

  The man had started a fire of… elm wood, if Lachlan wasn’t mistaken. So Hunter, as Gilmour had once called him, was preparing to dine, and had no idea that he was now the hunted. The great warrior’s instincts were less than impressive, for despite the darkness that had settled in around him, Lachlan knew just where his quarry was. He knew just where he had left his steed, still saddled in the wee dell not far away, and he knew… Lachlan canted his head ever so slightly and closed his eyes.

  Aye, he knew what the other would eat-mutton and cheese-crowdie, perhaps. He opened his eyes and smiled into the darkness. There was a reason Lachlan was called the fox and it certainly was not for his lithe form. Nay, he’d been blessed with the build of a bullock, but that did not mean he was unable to slip like a shadow through the heather.

  Straightening silently, he did so, taking a pair of steps before stopping to listen again. No sound issued from the warrior’s camp, but Lachlan knew just where his prey was.

  ‘Twas lucky for this Hunter fellow that Lachlan meant him no harm. Indeed, he planned the very opposite, for even though his brothers had taunted him relentlessly about the battle of Evermyst, he hoped to finally repay the warrior, to even the score, so to speak.

  True, the warrior had been less than appreciative of Lachlan ’s thanks, but that didn’t lessen the debt. Hunter had attempted to help Lachlan; Lachlan would help Hunter. It was as simple as that. And perhaps in the meantime the other could learn a skill or two. After all, there was none in the Highlands who could match Lachlan ’s ability as a tracker. Barely a sound whispered up from beneath his feet as he stepped forward, and he smiled at the absence of noise. Aye, perhaps he would teach the warrior how to walk so silently. Perhaps he would teach him how to track. And perhaps, if he were an apt student-

  Lachlan wasn’t certain whether he felt the point of the blade at his neck, or the fingers in his hair first. But two facts were indisputable, there was a blade and there were fingers.

  “Who are you?” The voice was unknown, deep and low and deadly. The knife was sharp enough to draw forth a droplet of blood with the slightest nudge.

  Lachlan dare not swallow lest another drop follow the first. He raised his hands and swore in silence. “Put away the blade and I’ll not harm you, friend. I’ve no quarrel with you.” He had tried to learn diplomacy from Gilmour, but perhaps he’d not been the most gifted student, for the other seemed undeterred.

  “Then why do you sneak into me camp like a flea-bitten cur?”

  Silence stole into the woods. “Your camp?” Lachlan asked.

  No answer was forthcoming.

  “You are the warrior called Hunter?”

  “Aye.”

  Damnation! “Then you’ve naught to fear from me,” Lachlan said.

  There was a moment of quiet, then the other laughed and slipped his knife harmlessly away. “That much is pitiably apparent,” he said, and turned back to his fire.

  Lachlan watched him go. ‘Twas said the man had carried him to Evermyst. ‘Twas said the man had saved his life, but perhaps gratitude was not Lachlan ’s primary virtue for even now he could feel his temper rising.

  “What say you?” Lachlan asked, and followed the other through the darkness.

  Not a word was spoken for some time, but finally the warrior glanced up from his place on a log. From beneath the curved visor of his dark metal helm, his eyes were naught but a glimmer of light tossed up from the fire now and again. His nose guard shadowed his face, and the fine metal mesh attached to the bottom of his helmet did naught but continue the mystery.

  “Why have you come, MacGowan?”

  Lachlan scowled. So Hunter had recognized him.

  Perhaps this warrior was not so poorly trained as he had assumed. Indeed, perhaps he was somewhat adept. “In truth,” Lachlan said, remembering his mission with some difficulty, “I have come to return your favor.”

  The fire crackled, and although it was difficult to see past the fine chain metal that hid the warrior’s cheeks and neck, Lachlan thought he caught a hint of a smile. “Something amuses you?”

  “Rarely,” said Hunter, and carved a slice of mutton from a bone.

  “Then why do you smile?”

  Silence again. Lachlan tightened his fist. Indeed if he hadn’t come to save this fellow, he would be well tempted to give him a much-deserved pop in the face.

  “Leave me,” said the warrior and stood.

  “Perhaps you did not understand me,” Lachlan said, his tone stilted even as he did his best to smile. “I wish to repay your favor.”

  “Are you so bored, MacGowan?” Hunter’s voice was little more than a murmur in the darkness.

  “What’s that?”

  “Why else would you come but for boredom’s sake?” Lachlan straightened his back, but he was quite certain his smile had slipped a notch. “I have come for chivalry’s sake,” he said. “To repay you for-”

  But his words were interrupted by laughter.

  “For a man who is rarely amused…” Lachlan began, then shrugged, as much to relieve his tension as to finish his thought.

  “You have come for vanity’s sake,” said Hunter. “Vanity?”

  “To prove yourself me equal.”

  Perhaps Lachlan was more vain than he knew, for he had never considered a need to prove his equality. He smiled. “I assure you, you are wrong.”

  Hunter watched him for a moment. The fire flickered between them. “I have made me a rule, MacGowan.”

  Lachlan waited, but if the other planned to continue, It was a hard thing to prove. And perhaps patience was not MacGowan’s stellar characteristic. “What is that rule?”

  “I do not kill a man whose life I once saved.”

  The sliver of anger that had wedged into Lachlan ’s system expanded a bit. “You think you could best me?”

  There was not the least bit of mirth in the man’s smile only arrogance mixed with a bit of blood-boiling disdain. “Run home to your father’s castle, lad. I have no time to teach lessons that should have been learned long ago.”

  Lachlan flexed his hands. “It has been some years since I have been called a lad.”

  “Has it?” “Aye.”

  Hunter laughed quietly, as if he shared some private jest with himself. “And therefore you assume you are a man?”

  “Would you like to test the theory in battle, mayhap?”

  “And here I thought you came to save me.”

  “Aye, well,” said Lachlan and tilted his head at the strange twist of fate. “That was before you spoke.”

  The warrior grinned, as if savoring his amusement. “I will allow you the choice of weapons.”

  Firelight danced across Hunter’s teeth. They looked tremendously white in the darkness. “Will you now?”

  “Aye. What will it be? Claymores? Broadswords? Fists?”

  “Did you not hear me rule, MacGowan?”

  “Aye. I did. You vowed not to kill any man you once saved. But I assure you… You need not worry on me own account.”

  “Such an impressive combatant, are you?”

  “My opponents have said as much.”

  “Any that were not your maidservants?”

  “It surprises me that someone has not taught you better manners long ago.”

  “Aye. At times it surprises me as well.”

  Lachlan nodded. “What do you choose then?”

  ”Choose?” he asked, and poked leisurely at a burning faggot. “I choose for you to leave off and find another to amuse you.”

  “The warrior,” Lachlan said, as if musing to himself.

  “I have heard a good many rumors about you. Me brother Gilmour has a host of interesting theories, but none mentioned your cowardice.”

  “Go away, lad, before I lose me good humor.”

  “It would not be a fight to the death.” Lachlan assured him. “I would not wound you unduly.”

  “Truly? How noble of you.”

  “But if you will not choose a weapon I fea
r I shall have to do so for you.”

  Hunter turned toward him, his face barely illuminated by the crackling fire. “And if I choose a weapon as you wish, will you vow to leave me be?”

  “Aye. If you do me the favor of a battle it will be me own pleasure to refrain from speaking with you ever again.”

  “Very well then.” Hunter rose languidly to his feet.

  Lachlan tensed and placed one hand on the· hilt of his sword. “I choose wits.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Me weapon.” said Hunter, “is wits.”

  Perhaps it wasn’t too late to strangle him and be done with. “Wits,” Lachlan said, “is not a weapon.”

  Hunter shrugged. “Maybe not for a MacGowan.” Anger cranked up a notch in Lachlan ’s gut. “Wits it is, then.”

  “And you vow to leave at the contest’s end” “Happily.”

  “Very well then, MacGowan, if you answer this riddle correctly, you may tell all your wee friends that you have bested the great warrior called Hunter.” He said the words strangely, almost as if he were mocking himself. “But if you answer wrongly, you shall act as if you were not bested upon the battlefield. You were not at death’s very door, and I did not save your life.”

  Lachlan gritted his teeth, but he managed to nod. After all, if the truth be told, he had already tried to do just that. But the memory kept eating him like a canker, though he was not sure why.

  “Then here is your riddle.” said Hunter. “What has neither tooth nor horn nor weapon of any sort and yet has caused more deaths than the most fearsome of brigands?”

  Lachlan scowled at him as he ran the riddle around in his mind. What creature was he referring to? The Lord God had given them all defenses of some sort, so perhaps he was referring to a person. Was this some manner of religious debate? Perhaps he had best look deeper. Aye, that was it. The answer was something that could not be seen even with the keenest eye.

  Something like… the wind or the cold of winter.

  Cruelty, perhaps.

  But nay, they were not quite right. Lachlan glanced at Hunter, but the other was prodding a log into the fire with distant unconcern, as if he had entirely forgotten the contest, as if time held no-

  That was it then. Time. It destroyed all things and yet it did not bite nor tear nor pierce.

  “The answer is time,” he said. “It causes more death than any other.”

  Hunter glanced up from his idle task. ”Time,” he mused. “‘Tis a fine answer and better than I hoped to hear from you, MacGowan.”

  Lachlan ’s nerves cranked up. “It has no weapon.”

  “You are wrong,” Hunter said. ‘Tune’s weapon is a man’s own age. The answer is vanity.”

  “Vanity.” Lachlan repeated the word, his voice a rumble in the darkness.

  “Aye,” said Hunter. “Surely you have heard of it.”

  “Are you suggesting that I am vainglorious?”

  “Nay, I am not suggesting, I am stating it outright.

  You are vain and you are foolish.”

  Lachlan took a step toward him, but the other did not back away. Nor did he reach for a weapon. Instead he raised his chin slightly. “What now, MacGowan? Do you hope to kill me for stating the truth?”

  He stopped in his tracks. “I am not foolish.”

  “But you admit to the vanity.”

  “Because a man knows his value does not mean he is vain.”

  “And you know your value?”

  “Aye, that I do.”

  “‘Tis good,” Hunter said. “Then let that be of solace to you on your way to your father’s castle.”

  Lachlan drew a cleansing breath. “Mayhap we should begin anew,” he suggested. “I assure you, I did not come to harm you.”

  The warrior shrugged. “To harm or help-it matters naught, for you are capable of neither. Now, if you possess the slimmest scrap of integrity, you will honor your vow and leave me in peace.”

  Lachlan remained where he was.

  Hunter stared at him. “It is not that you are afeared of the dark, is it? Do you need a guide to find your way from me camp?”

  “I admit,” Lachlan mused, “that keeping you safe may well be a near impossible task.”

  “‘Tis good to hear you finally admit your shortcomings.”

  “Not at all,” argued Lachlan. “I could keep you safe if I but set me mind to it, but surely there is not a person with whom you have conversed that does not wish to see you dead.”

  “Luckily for you, it is not your concern.”

  “Nay. It is not,” agreed Lachlan, and, turning into the darkness, vowed never to do another good deed.

  Chapter 2

  Vainglorious! Him. Lachlan of the MacGowans. Hardly that. ‘Twas that Hunter fellow who was vain. And why? If the truth be told he was probably afeared of fighting. That is why he had refused a battle.

  Of course, Lachlan could not blame the warrior. After all, Lachlan thought grimly, watching the sun break over the eastern horizon, Lachlan ’s reputation as a warrior had surely preceded him. ‘Twas really quite clever of the wee fellow to suggest a riddle instead of a test of arms. One couldn’t blame him for being cautious, but it certainly would have been satisfying to hear the little weasel admit his fear.

  Vain! Him! Well, perhaps he was, but at least he had a reason for his vanity, while Hunter…

  Lachlan snorted. He could best that warrior fellow with one arm disabled, but perhaps beating him into mash would not be considered Christian. Thus he would refrain from that particular pleasure. Still, it would soothe him considerably if he could scare the other a bit. But there again, that too might be considered less than kindly.

  On the other hand, thought Lachlan, rising restlessly to gaze back in the direction from which he had just come the night before, humility was surely a godly attribute, so if one looked at the situation in a certain light, perhaps it was his Christian duty to show the warrior the way to humility. Aye, he decided, and smiled into the dawn. Humility may not be his most notable quality, but he was not opposed to helping others find that same saintly attribute.

  It was a simple task for Lachlan to find the warrior’s campsite from the previous night, of course. Following him thereafter, however, was not as easy as he might have expected. But then, Lachlan had never liked an easy course. It was the challenge that made a victory rewarding. And too, it was good to know the man had felt it necessary to be somewhat cautious after their meeting.

  Lachlan smiled into the darkness. Aye, the warrior was doing his best to cover his tracks now. Indeed, he had ridden his mount down a narrow, swift-flowing bum for some ways, but Lachlan had still managed to find the spot where he’d turned his steed out of the water. Aye, he had found it and he had followed the tracks, and soon he would see his quarry again. Not to exact revenge for the other’s sharp tongue. Nay, that would be churlish, and though he may not be as charming as some, Lachlan liked to believe he was a thoughtful sort.

  Content with his thoughts, Lachlan tied his stallion to a rowan that grew beside the bum and glanced upstream.

  Aye, the irritating warrior had returned to the rivulet’s edge, but not to ride through it again. Nay, this time he had stopped to water his mount, but he had also made a terrible mistake. He had stopped for the night-beside the bum. It was foolish, for though Hunter had anticipated Lachlan ’s approach once, it would not happen again. This time Lachlan would be prepared. He would use all his considerable skills, and he would prove himself the better man.

  Unfortunately, it would almost be too easy this time.

  After all, the campsite was quite near the stream and the sound of the water flowing would cover any slight noise Lachlan ’s footfalls might make. But that was Hunter’s mistake.

  Easing through the woods, Lachlan held his breath.

  He was close now, within a furlong for sure, an eighth of a mile, and not too far to use the utmost caution. Thus, he tested the direction of the scant wind and circled noiselessly about so
that the breeze trickled into his face instead of onto his back. Not a frond whispered as he passed through the bracken, not a stone was misplaced. Aye, he had been cautious before, but now he was beyond silent as he slipped through the night.

  And then, not thirty rods in front of him, Lachlan spotted his prey.

  Hunter. He was there, and the situation was even better than hoped for. The warrior was bending over the rushing bum. By the fickle glow of the moonlight, Lachlan could see the man reach into the water. Aye, even though the other was turned away, Lachlan could tell he was washing up. Indeed, his back was bare as he scrubbed at his torso, and what a scrawny back it was!

  Lachlan stared in disbelief. Without the padded leather jerkin, the man was as narrow as a sapling. His skin was pale in the deepening darkness and even now, with the moon well hidden again, it was clear that his arms were no brawnier than a strapping lad’s.

  Sweet mother Mary, he was pitifully lanky. It was almost a shame to frighten the poor waif, and yet… the fellow was disturbingly conceited and Lachlan had made a vow to do his Christian deed and teach him humility.

  Thus, quiet as a shadow, Lachlan stepped from the woods. The night was silent but for the rush of the bum. Not a sound issued from his footfalls, and he smiled as he stepped up within inches of his quarry. Ahh, how sweet reven-Christian duty felt, he amended.

  “So here- ” Lachlan began.

  In that instant the warrior spun about. His sword flashed in the moonlight.

  Lachlan leapt back. Snatching his own blade from its scabbard, he parried desperately. Their weapons clashed and clashed again. Sparks flew like shooting stars. Lachlan ’s sleeve was tom asunder. Pain streaked up his arm, but he hesitated not a moment. Heaving upward, he twisted sharply to the right. Catching the other’s sword near the hilt, he dipped and dragged, and suddenly the warrior’s weapon was spinning into the darkness and Lachlan ’s was poised at the other’s throat.

  Lachlan paused, breathing hard. “Perhaps a game of draughts would have better suited-” he began, but at that moment the moon broke free of the bedeviling clouds and shone with ethereal light on his opponent’s breasts!