In Love With A Warrior (Gunn Guardsman (Book 4)) (2 page)

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said, hoping they’d move aside. But neither did so.

“Aye, there is. I understand you don’t wish to be a farmer, James, but you should at least go and see your father, on his own land. Allow him to make reparations.”

“I disagree,” Duff said. “He left James to his own, and committed a heinous act against his clan. Why should James allow him to make amends and aid him now? After all these years.”

James nodded at Duff. “That is exactly my thought, Duff. And can you honestly see me as a farmer? I wouldn’t last a day.”

Grey and Duff chuckled at his jest.

“Don’t let your duty to me ruin this opportunity, James. I vow you are the most devoted of all my guardsmen, but I wouldn’t want that to stop you from going after your own pursuits.”

“My pursuits have nothing to do with this, Laird. I cannot forgive my father for what he did. There is no honor in him.” James leaned against the wall, hoping this conversation would end. His hand tightened on his sword, knowing hacking at a few opponents would relieve him of his aggression.

His laird grew solemn then. “James, what your father did … My father and I spoke at great length about it. They were both angry and encouraged by their own father to best each other. Neither were at fault for what happened. My grandfather was a harsh man and pitted them against each other. He did it on purpose. Those were troubling times. My father died before he could remedy the row with his brother.”

Duff folded his arms over his chest. “Every man has a say in his own actions, Laird. Your father was more than generous by gifting him those lands, lands the Gunns never reaped the benefit of. Joseph chose his path. Why should James be punished for it?”

James took a deep breath, for bringing up the past greatly affected him. “Your father, Grey, spoke of it with me before he passed, too. I know what happened. Laird Mikal saved me from the stigma of being born from a traitor, and I am grateful. It doesn’t matter now. My father did what he did, and my involvement ended with him the day he dropped me off on your father’s doorstep. Now let us forget this nonsense. It bothers me not.”

“Nay? Seems to me it does bother you. Och if you wish, I won’t bring it up again.”

“We’ve a war to ready for. How long before we leave?” James wasn’t thrilled by the news they’d received from their king, directing them to aid the Iorwerth clan. He didn’t trust the Welshmen, for they were just as passionate about battle as the Scots. They were just as battle weary as well.

Warring with the English was a beguiling task, for they were often wily in their war practices, and the Scots liked nothing better than going against their enemy. That was at least something they had in common with Wales.

“We’ll leave in a few days for Sean’s land. I’ll meet with the king and find out exactly what his message entails.” Grey moved aside, and Duff led the way out of the barracks.

James had recently returned from his comrade’s keep near the border of England and Scotland. He’d gone with Sean to the Hume clan, where they were both astounded by the inheritance of lairdship given to his friend by Lord Hume, Sean’s uncle. James stayed on after troubles arose and Sean needed his protection of his family.

Now that all had been settled, he returned to his normal life. Only that normalcy was intruded upon by his father’s visit. Family matters were inconsequential to what they were about to face. James wanted to put it as far out of his mind as he could.

If only that was possible.

Chapter Two

Garth Celyn, the royal House of Gwynedd

North Wales

With all the force she mustered, Emlyn hacked and advanced on her adversary. He was the best of all her father’s soldiers, and he’d boasted he wouldn’t hold back during their fray. Though they were only testing their skills, they both gave it their all effort, and appeared to want to kill each other. Emlyn would not be defeated.

Rhun advanced and caused her to take a step back. Cheers arose around her when she deflected his strikes and advanced upon him in return. Her breath rasped and her arm waned a bit from the force of his sword, but she wouldn’t concede to the tall, angry soldier. Her eyes took in the form of her father watching the fight nearby. Emlyn had something to prove and she wouldn’t give up until she accomplished her goal. This day was long in coming and she wouldn’t disappoint her father.

She tired and needed to put an end to this round. It had gone on long enough for they’d been at it for nearly a half an hour. He continued to strike her sword with his, lending to her exertion and exhaustion for he was much stronger than she. But Emlyn was quicker on her feet. She pulled a mace from her belt and threw it at Rhun’s feet, causing him to sidestep and become unbalanced. Then she ran at him, forcing him backward with the heels of her hands until he fell. The point of her sword pricked his neck.

“Do you give?”

“Aye,” he mumbled. “Aye.”

With his acceptance of defeat, she removed her sword and turned to face her father. The crowd cheered and then quieted when he stepped forward.

Her father, the mighty chieftain of their land, stood taller than any around them. He wore a simple bronzed crown on his head, which made him appear regal even though it wasn’t ornate. Emlyn was pleased with the look of pride in his eyes. She was wont to have his approval, and unfortunately for her, she’d been born female.

That was the only reason she’d taken to arms at such an early age. Her father’s prideful words were oft given to her brothers for their ability with the sword and bows, but he’d had no such words for her. Why would a great warrior chieftain such as he be proud of a lass’ ability to sew a tunic?

“Do not berate yourself, Rhun, for the lass has been under my guidance since she could walk. You’ve been beaten by my heart, and aye, should be as proud of her as I. All of you shall be proud of the lass’ accomplishment this day.” Her father set a hand down to help Rhun from the ground.

Rhun glared at her and then grinned. “How can I be angry by being beaten by such a lovely opponent? Next time, be sure to tie up that red fire, lass, for I could’ve easily gripped your hair and had you succumb.”

Emlyn chortled, for he was a bear of a man, and almost as hairy. She scrunched her blue eyes at him and twitched her nose as she was wont when she teased. “You would have paid dearly if ye tried to grip my hair. But well done, Rhun, for you’ve given me quite a challenge this day. Shall we meet again on the morrow? Say around noon?”

Those around them laughed and Rhun sheathed his sword. “If that is your wish, fair Emlyn, I shall concede to it.”

She was ready to call her training day an end and had worked up an appetite. Hopefully the kitchens still served supper for she’d missed the bell. As she began to walk away, her father called to her.

“Emlyn, come, for I must speak with ye, lass. Walk with me.”

She found it peculiar that her father wanted to talk to her. He was usually too busy to spend time with her these days. War with the English had him tending to maps and strategizing against his latest enemy, William Marshall.

She walked beside him until they reached the wall. He continued to lead her along, and she tucked her sword away while waiting for him to speak.

“I received word that Bevan has died. I’m sorry, lass, for your betrothed is dead.”

Emlyn’s heart tensed and she looked into her father’s eyes. “I am … sorry to hear that. I assume he died at the battle?”

“Aye, my soldiers were tricked and led into the fray unarmed. Only a few men returned with the news. The rest perished. I must go, lass, and prepare for we must be ready to face Marshall’s army if he comes. You understand?”

“Of course, Father.” Emlyn pulled off her helmet and tucked it beneath her arm. Her wavy hair hung in damp ringlets. She’d gotten overheated from the workout as well as from the news her father imparted.

He stopped and set a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I deem ye weren’t pleased with the betrothal. Are you upset at all by this news?”

Emlyn frowned, not realizing how unaffected she appeared. “A warrior does not show emotion.” That was the expected answer, and she wouldn’t disappoint him. She’d given him one of the cardinal rules of being a warrior. There were five in all and she’d remembered them by heart at the age of four summers.

Her father shook his head. “Aye, she does when the man she was supposed to love was killed. Warriors do hold emotion, lass, deep within them. There are times when such display is warranted.”

“I’m sorry, Father. I am saddened by your news, even if I wasn’t as pleased with the betrothal as Bevan was. He was a good man and if I had to marry, he would have suited. I am sorry he died.”

“He was honorable and worthy of your hand, which is the only reason I gave my consent. I thought he’d be capable of handling your … ways. Alas it was not meant to be.” Her father touched her hair before turning and making off for the keep.

Emlyn stood by the wall for a few minutes, watching the late day activity. Several soldiers walked by on their way to the garrison. A few maids held baskets, filled to overflowing with launder. None of them looked her way.

She wished with all her heart she could be despaired by the news, but she wasn’t. Relief overwhelmed her, for she was a warrior and warriors did not love. Nor did they care about such matters as a betrothed, having bairns, and tending to a man’s needs. There was far more excitement to life, especially when one had a talent with a sword.

There was no love in her heart for Bevan, even though he’d professed such to her. She considered she might come to love him in time. He was handsome and kind. A sorrow built in her stomach.

“There you are.”

She turned and saw her dearest friend approaching. Branwyn looked upset, and she realized her friend must have heard the news about her brother’s death.

“Good day, Bran. I was just speaking with my father and—”

“I’ve been looking for you all day. You were supposed to come and help me with my wedding entails. You promised and because you didn’t come, I had to contend with my mother and her ardent remarks. I vow I’ve a headache to rival all headaches. You know how excited she gets.”

Emlyn approached and wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders. “Forgive me. I’m sorry.”

“And well you should be. I realize you enjoy training, but you shouldn’t promise you’ll come if you won’t. This is the last time I’ll believe you.” Branwyn pulled away.

Emlyn watched her face for a sign of her grieving, but her friend gave none. She looked beautiful with her sable brown hair tied up in braids, and her deep brown eyes lent with a sparkle.

She doesn’t know.

“You’re angry.”

Branwyn set the back of her hand on her forehead and glared. “Aye, I am. You always make promises, but never keep them. I vow I don’t know why I am your friend. You would do well to befriend any of the soldiers, for you spend more time with them.”

“I was distracted and forgot. This day I got to fight Rhun and you know how much I’ve wanted to test my skill against him.”

Branwyn grinned. “And did you at least win?”

She nodded. Emlyn tensed for she did not want to be the one to speak of Bevan’s death. For it would wound her friend, and that was something she definitely didn’t want to do. Especially given she’d already broken a promise to her this day.

“I shall go home with ye and sup, and spend the night. You can tell me all about your wedding feast plans and we shall have a wonderful time.” But that wasn’t to be, because as soon as her friend reached home, the news would be given and their night would not be spent in merry leisure.

“That sounds like a fair idea. I hardly see you since you’ve been on the field more than in the keep. I suppose that makes your father pleased.”

“I believe he is. He praised me and I thought never to hear him do so.” She tried to hide the smile that came upon her, knowing the dismay her friend was about to encounter.

“And I suspect your mother full of wrath?”

“She’s always full of ire no matter what I do to please her.” But she didn’t want to speak of her parents. Emlyn’s mouth turned down at the thought of Bevan being gone.

When she’d been betrothed to him, Branwyn was delighted. It wasn’t every day that your best friend would wed your brother. And they’d made great plans to be near each other which was the reason her friend had agreed to be betrothed to Cranog. He lived near Bevan’s cottage and they were comrades. Much to Emlyn’s dismay, Branwyn had their entire lives planned out, down to what they’d name their children.

“You’re so brave to want to use the sword and go against men. I deem I wouldn’t ever have the courage to do so.”

Emlyn clasped her hand and decided to change the subject. She didn’t like discussing warrior pursuits with Branwyn, because she never understood her desire. “I hope your mother made something delicious for supper, for I’m hungry enough to eat an entire roe.”

“You probably could. Where do ye put it? Your body couldn’t hold that amount of food.” Branwyn laughed and walked beside her.

“Training helps keep me slender, Bran, and hungry, too.”

They reached the cottage and before they entered, she heard weeping coming from within. Voices rose in despair from Bran’s brother and father.

Emlyn stopped and tucked her arm with her friend’s. “You shouldn’t go in there. Come, come away with me to the keep.”

“Why? I want to find out why my mother is crying. Something is wrong. I’ve never heard such pitiful weeping from her.” Branwyn dislodged her arm and opened the door.

She could only follow and hope her friend’s heart wasn’t broken. Emlyn stood behind Branwyn and watched the news being given. Branwyn’s mother sat weeping, being comforted by her youngest son. Her father spoke the news bluntly, and Emlyn regretted not being the one to tell her friend the sorrowful news. She, at least, would’ve broken the news in a gentler manner.

“Nay! Nay, I won’t believe it.” Branwyn, without a glance to anyone, ran from the cottage.

Emlyn faced her friend’s parents and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.” She quickly followed Branwyn and left.

When she exited the cottage, her friend was nowhere in sight. Emlyn knew all of her hiding places, and went in search of her. She looked everywhere, until there was only one place left to search. As she approached the waterfall, she spotted Branwyn sitting in the grass by the bank of the lake. Without saying a word, she sat beside her and took her hand, clasping it in a grip that bespoke her sorrow.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

She nodded, but remained silent.

Her friend’s brows furrowed and her eyes darkened to almost black. “Why did you not speak of it? How could you let me go in there, knowing you knew what they would tell me?” Branwyn twisted her hand until she released her.

“I’m sorry, Bran. I didn’t want to cause your heartbreak.” Emlyn kept her eyes on the water’s gentle waves caused by the waterfall. The noise of the water hitting the surface usually soothed her, but not this day.

“My heartbreak? But you aren’t heartbroken at all, are you? You never wanted to marry my brother, and now your fondest wish came true. I vow I shan’t speak to you ever again.”

Emlyn felt wretched, because even though she’d wished with all her heart not to wed Bevan, she didn’t wish any ill upon him.

“You’ve nothing to speak of? No apologies for any of it?”

She fisted her hands in rejection of her friend’s hurtful words. “I have nothing to apologize for. I didn’t kill him. Nor did I wish for his death. You make it sound as if I was at fault. He died in battle, Bran, akin to many men.”

Branwyn stood. “Aye, you are verily right. Now you are free to do your will. Go and practice swords with the men, act as if you have a right to be on the field with them. I care not. If your father allows ye to go to war with his soldiers, you will end up like Bevan, dead and lying on a field.” She marched off, not giving Emlyn a chance to retort.

Emlyn sat by the waterfall, miserable and full of woe. She hated being the cause of her friend’s dismay, even if indirectly. Although her friend was distraught and meant not a word of which she spoke. She would have to go and see Branwyn later this eve, after she had time to calm.

When Emlyn reached the keep, she tried to avoid seeing her mother, but as with everything this day, she was thwarted. Her mother stood near the entrance seemingly in wait for her.

“I heard what you did this day and I am not pleased.”

Emlyn stood watching the disgruntlement on her mother’s usually lovely face. She wouldn’t speak for she knew she’d be punished if she did.

“I bid you not to take to fighting with your father’s men and you disobey me yet again. And now the only thing I have coveted in the last few months has been torn to tatters. Aye, your betrothed is dead and I deem you are well pleased with yourself.”