A Warrior's Promise Read online

  A Warrior’s Promise

  Donna Fletcher

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  An Excerpt from Wed to a Highland Warrior

  About the Author

  By Donna Fletcher

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  Charles 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 done nothing to ease 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 had heard, they jumped into action and run 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 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 dove for the solid mass sliding along the ground and coming to rest on his belly between the two limbs that stood rooted to the earth. 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 others’ 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.

  Charles 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 Charles. It was one thing to look the mighty warrior in the face, but standing beside him, the top of his head was level with the top of the Highlander’s chest.

  This Highlander warrior was the hero of legends that Charles’s 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 Charles had no problem with filling his belly, 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.”

  Charles stuck to the warrior’s side as he made a hasty round of the market, slipping Charles a hunk of cheese he traded for. He devoured 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.

  Charles 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 he 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 had 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 Charles rescue his father and see them settled in a safe place.

  Suddenly, Charles 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 him with a warning. “Eat, but do not show your hunger. It demonstrates vulnerability.”

  Charles 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, he 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, not to realize 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 Charles’s mind and spilled rapidly from his lips. “What do you want with me? How long am I beholden 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!

  Chapter 2

  Bryce walked them a good distance into the woods, finding a secluded spot where no sooner did the lad’s small bottom hit the ground than his fingers dove into the sack and grabbed a hunk of bread. Chomping away, he again reached in and grabbed a sizeable chunk of cheese, breaking it apart and hastily offering Bryce the heftier portion.

  Bryce took it, watching the lad devour the food. That the lad was starving and undernourished was obvious. Both his worn, green wool tunic and brown linen shirt beneath were a size too large for him, as was the patched gold wool vest he wore. His brown leather boots were well past worn, a small end toe peeking out from one of many holes.

  He had wide, inquisitive, dark eyes with long lashes to match, a pert nose, and a round face that held not a scar or trace of ever having been in a fight, though it was smudged with dirt. His hair was a blend of colors from soft brown, to rich gold, to a deep honey color. And the length varied just as much as the colors, sticking out here and there and falling just below his small ears. It looked as if the lad had taken a knife to it in a fit of fury, yet somehow the crazy results fit him.

  In spite of his skinny stature, the lad had been brave though foolish, his mouth speaking when it was better kept shut. But then, he was young and had much to learn, like all young lads. Bryce had been impressed by his courage and the common sense to latch onto someone larger than himself rather than try to outrun the king’s soldiers. They surely would have caught him and treated him to a severe beating. And no doubt the woman who had accused him of thievery would have encouraged such an unfitting punishment. She had played the injured party well and seen a chance to be compensated; otherwise, she would have gladly seen the lad suffer.

  “Where do we go from here?” Charles asked in between bites.

  “That’s a good question,” Bryce said, thinking on what to do since the lad had unexpectedly happened into his life. He had a mission to accomplish, an important one. He and his three brothers, not by blood though as close, had been working and planning to see that the true king of Scotland was seated on the throne. They were growing ever closer to achieving that goal, and this mission Bryce was on could very well prove the turning point.

  Did he continue on with it? Could he trust the lad enough to help him? Or would he prove a hindrance? The only way to find out was to learn more about the lad.

  “Tell me of your family or where you come from,” Bryce said.

  “Why? What does that have to do with where we’re going?”

  He was a bold one, especially since he by no means had the strength to defend himself. Bryce reached out and snatched a chunk of bread from the lad’s hand. “It will determine where we’re going.”

  “Wondering if I have the wit and strength about me to keep up with you?”

  If the lad was larger, Bryce would have reached out and wiped that quirk of a smile off his face. But he restrained himself, reminding himself that he was a skinny thing a good wind would blow away.

  Instead, he confronted the lad. “Do you?”

  “I have enough sense to know when to avoid things, when to meld with the shadows, and when to hold my tongue.”

  Bryce chuckled. “You might want to practice that last one.”

  “And listen to those bigger than me sprout stupidity and ignorance?”

  Bryce settled a cold, hard stare on him. “Do you think me stupid and ignorant?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Bryce could not believe the audacity of the lad, and he had to smile though his response reflected otherwise. “You will do well to watch that tongue and answer me rather than question.”

  “Or what?”

  Bryce leaned forward, his voice low with a hint of warning. “Do you truly wish to find out?”

  The lad swallowed hard, his wide eyes growing ever wider, and shook his head.

  Bryce leaned back to once again rest against the boulder. “Good. Now tell me, where do you come from, what of your family?”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Charles said reluctantly. “I’m on my own.”

  Bryce ad
mired his caution. No doubt he was doing the same as Bryce, trying to judge just how much to trust. Besides, there were too many lads like him forced on their own for various reasons, some having lost one or both parents, others a bad situation driving them away to survive on their own. He could continue to pry, but he doubted it would do any good. What he did learn, or rather confirm, was that the lad was a fighter, a survivor, and he just might be worth taking along.

  “Your age?” Bryce asked, concerned he might be too young for such a risk though it seemed that past events and experiences might have matured him well beyond his years.

  “Five-and-ten years,” Charles replied with haste.

  Bryce didn’t believe that for a moment. “More like two-and-ten or three-and-ten years.”

  The lad’s eyes blazed with anger, and he looked about to retaliate, but snapped his mouth shut though not for long.

  “And you?” the lad asked boldly. “How many years are you?”

  Once again the challenging smile surfaced, and Bryce suddenly realized that Charles reminded him of his brother Reeve. Not in stature, but in nature. Reeve believed himself always right and was quick to defend or fight, and fight he could, taking down more men alone than with his brothers’ help. Charles had Reeve’s confidence, and it made Bryce like the lad even more.

  “My age is no concern to you,” Bryce said, thinking it seemed like yesterday he was the lad’s age, though lucky to have family who loved him. Now he was seven-and-twenty years, his family as strong as ever and growing. His brother Duncan and his wife expecting their first child anytime now, Reeve and his wife Tara happily wed. Trey having lost the woman he loved and vowing never to love again, and Bryce the only sensible one, avoiding love until their mission was complete.

  “Forgot how old you are?” Charles asked with a chuckle.

  Bryce ignored the jab. There were more important matters to discuss. “I’m more interested in your age and experience. Can you handle a horse? Are you skilled with weapons?”

  “I sit a horse better than most, and while I can wield a sword, my skill lies with a bow.”