Page 7 of Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe #3)

S COTIA SAT JUST inside the mouth of the main cave, wrapped in her blanket, but unable to sleep after the eventful and surprising day, when she watched first Jeanette, then Rowan, casually leave their places by their husbands and follow Duncan into the council circle.

She knew what was happening even though she could not hear their voices, and could barely make them out against the dark forest background.

She knew Rowan and Jeanette were about to interrogate Duncan on what he had learned of Scotia’s activities this day.

Doubt sprang alive in her, gnawing at her confidence and whispering betrayal in her heart.

Rowan and Jeanette always got their way, and Duncan would be no match for the two of them if they really wanted to make him tell Scotia’s secrets.

She knew better than to believe anyone would be on her side, an ally in her quest for vengeance.

Even Duncan, the one person she could always depend upon to defend her, even when he was himself chiding her for whatever her latest debacle was, couldn’t stand up to the clan’s Guardians.

She wouldn’t be surprised if, when the women were done with him, she ended up in shackles, taking away her freedom and leaving her helpless to defend herself or anyone else, on top of all the other losses she had suffered.

Scotia rose slowly and made her way out of the cave, slipping almost silently through the night-black shadows at the edge of the clearing and into the wood, heading carefully through the darkness for her cache of weapons, as if a beacon lit her way.

If they came for her with shackles, at least she’d be ready to defend herself, even if it meant fighting off those she loved.

She hadn’t made it far when a man jumped out of the wood not far in front of her.

She stopped, tried to make out who it was in the near total lack of light, then took a few steps backward, the memory of just such an ambush with Myles fresh in her mind.

At least this time there was no one else with her to be murdered.

She almost tripped over a thick dead branch. Quickly she caught her balance, then dropped her blanket and picked up the branch, brandishing it in front of her, though it was so heavy it wobbled in her grasp.

“Put that down, Scotia.”

The voice disoriented her for a moment. It wasn’t English, as her mind had been prepared for. ’Twas familiar.

“Put it down, Scotia. If I meant you harm, running and hiding would serve you far better than standing to fight with that. I can see we have a lot of training to do.”

“Duncan?”

“Of course.”

She threw down the branch, barely missing her toes when it bounced unexpectedly back toward her. She stomped down the barely there trail to where the man stood his ground.

“You told them, did you not?” It was both question and statement.

“I did not.”

She was ready to throw insults at him about his manhood, his integrity, his ... wait. “What?”

“I did not tell them of your secret, and instead I secured their promise not to demand to know where you are going when you leave the cave site, and also that they no longer send lads, or anyone other than me, to follow you.”

“And they agreed to that?” She tried to quash the hope that surged within her.

“They did. ”

She took a step closer to him. “And you believe them?”

“I do,” he said without hesitation.

Scotia tried to understand what he’d done. He’d stood up to the Guardians and he’d gotten promises from them.

“You did not trust me to keep your secret, did you?” he said, and she could hear the disappointment in his voice.

She considered telling him she was only going for a walk, but he would know it for a lie, and she did not want to repay his good faith with anything less than her own. “I did not think you were strong enough to stand against both Rowan and Jeanette.”

“Then we have both learned something new of the other this day. Where were you going?” he asked.

“I thought they would throw me in shackles to keep me from my training.”

“So you meant to fetch your weapons and fight your own kin?”

When he said it like that she realized how shameful that would be. She did not want to fight her family. She wanted them to take her seriously, to respect her. Fighting them would never gain her that.

She rubbed her face with both hands, as if she could scrub the daft idea right out of her head. Where did these ideas come from? And why did she never question her own thoughts before she acted upon them?

“Scotia?”

“You will make me admit yet another mistake in judgment?”

“Nay, I only want you to recognize it so that the next time your fears and anger drive you to action, you might take a moment and think through the consequences, or talk to me so that I might help you see them, before you take action. Can you do that?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “This is part of my training, aye?”

“An important part. A warrior cannot fight with emotion. A warrior must fight with clear eyes and a calculating mind. I am confident, if you really want to be a warrior, that you can learn to do that. ”

“And if I do not?” She stepped closer, looking him in the eye, searching for his doubt, his disappointment, his belief that she would fail in this training. But she saw only determination.

“Then I will not allow you into any battle of any sort, for an emotional warrior is a dead warrior, and I do not want your death upon my conscience. Can you agree?”

She closed her eyes again and knew that what he asked was for the best, though her pride ached at the admission. “More than anything, I want to fight with my kinsmen, so aye, I agree.”

Duncan’s fingers grazed her cheek, startling her with his warm touch in the chill night air. “And now you surprise me again.” His voice was soft and for a moment she thought he leaned closer. For a moment she thought he meant to kiss her, but then he dropped his hand, and the moment was gone.

“’Tis time we both got some sleep.” He scooped up her discarded blanket and headed back up the trail toward the caves.

Scotia watched him disappear into the darkness of the forest. She looked over her shoulder in the direction of her weapons and sighed. Becoming a warrior was a trickier business than she had imagined.

T HE NEXT FEW days were challenging, to say the least, both for Duncan and for Scotia, but they fell quickly into a pattern.

Scotia would rise early, though Duncan was usually already at the cookfire, eating his morning porridge, when she made her way out of the main cave.

She ate, and then took off into the wood.

Duncan would give her a few minutes’ start, then quietly slip out of the cave site, as if he were only trailing after her, keeping an eye on her.

Every day she took a different route to her stash of weapons, Duncan keeping a discreet distance, ready to lead anyone astray who might decide to follow them.

Duncan was all too aware that he had received promises from Rowan and Jeanette, but not from the men who led the clan.

Still, no one gainsaid a Guardian, and now there were two to stand between Duncan and his charge and the leaders.

But he would not allow the sudden truce between him and Scotia to be threatened by someone taking it upon him or herself to follow them, so he was even more vigilant than usual as they made their way to her weapons cache.

They worked on swordplay, but they also worked on strengthening her body.

He devised obstacle courses for her in the wood that tested her speed, agility, and her endurance.

In the afternoons they had taken to exploring the glen, with Scotia showing him places she had discovered over the past weeks: passes, other caves, a lochan halfway down the ben at the foot of a waterfall—a wee loch just big enough to bathe in.

While they trekked up and down the ben he began to teach her the art of strategy, the art of reading her opponent and the terrain.

He also challenged her tracking skills by having her follow animal tracks, teaching her things he had learned in the years since he’d first shared his tracking lessons with her.

The parallel was not lost on him—he had taught her tracking to keep her from wandering off on her own and getting herself and the other weans, who inevitably tagged along with the charming and fearless lass, into trouble.

She might be ten and eight now, but her fearless streak remained, and unfortunately that still got others into trouble with her .

.. only now that trouble included loss of life.

Each day with Scotia made Duncan see her with fresh eyes. She was fierce, determined, focused, as he’d never seen her before. She was driven by something other than the next lad she fancied. And she was turning out to be a talented warrior.

“Once more,” Duncan said, knowing he was pushing Scotia past her endurance, expecting her to snap and turn on him, wagging a finger in his face and calling him names only Scotia could devise .

But she didn’t.

Her breath was ragged, and sweat streamed down her face.

Her hair, once neatly contained in a thick braid, wafted about her face in strings.

She pushed it out of her way and took a few slow, deep breaths as he’d taught her to calm her heart and steady her mind.

She swallowed, pushed her sleeves back above her elbows, made sure her skirts were kilted up securely, and went back to the beginning of the line of obstacles he’d set up in the wood to challenge her.

Duncan tried to hide a smile, but from the glare Scotia sent him he didn’t think he was successful.