Silver Eyed Warrior

By Cait Perez

Fifteenth century Scotland has its share of intrigue and adventure. Varlen MacRae, his brother, and two friends are swords for hire. They have the unfortunate duty of escorting a young lady to her final resting place just to have the lass scrape her way out of her coffin.

Mariel's previously betrothed has greed on his mind, and a mistress in his bed, but still believes that as second born son, he deserves to wed the lovely maiden; she is, after all, the sole heir to her father's estate.

Mariel Cormac is just ready to get on with her life as a free young woman, no longer betrothed to a man she does not want. Her former betrothed, his mistress, and her uncle have other plans for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Byron Rider
• Release date: Feb 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310925368

Cait Perez

About Cait Perez. That is a big story. Born in the 1960's, she was taught to be a housewife and mother. She was creative most of her childhood, although her talents lay in visual art, painting, coloring, and drawing. By the time she was a teenager she read everything she could get her hands on. She also found out she was quite the convincing storyteller. Writing has never been a problem for Cait. She was quite good at putting words together on paper. She loves different styles of writing, from adventure, to academic, to fantasy and historic. Using her vast tastes she decided one day "What the heck?" and wrote a book. From there another and another. Currently she has completed many books and has been told she is prolific if nothing else. Her life is full of change and diversity,too. As a shy and understated child, she kept to herself and was only pulled out of corners by others who wished to spend time with her. Low self-eseem made her think very low of her own value, but it seemed that other children and adults saw something in her that she didn't see in herself. No matter her own low self-image, Cait understands how intelligent and capable she is. She is kind of an oxymoron in that way, bu it's alright--it works for her. She enjoys history so much that her genre is Historic fiction adventure with a bit of love and romance. She tries to use historically correct landmarks and names as much as is possible, but of course with the literaray license she can use. Scotland is her love. She has never been, but one day will go, only because she's never been. The Highlands, with the rough mountains and rougher people,compels her. Writing books is now something she does a lot. She gets up and writes. Comes home from work and writes. She takes most of her time reading for ideas and then writing. Her hope is that you will enjoy what she writes. After all, Cait is a giver, above all things.

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Silver Eyed Warrior

An Historic Romance Novel

Text copywright © 2015

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this e-book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Dedication

To my very patient, albeit persistent, husband. You are an inspiration, and my love.

Also, to one of my very best friends from Jr. High School: ‘Goat-Roper’ Karstina (Bergquist) Poff for liking what I write, and giving me fantastic support, security, and self-confidence those many years ago. I’m glad I found you again.

Table of Contents

Title

Dedication

Prologue

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

Epilogue

To my Readers

About the Author

Prologue

A shadowy figure was lurking around the stables. The tall and very narrow cloaked person held a long dagger. The figure went to a mare in a stall within the stable. Making a hushing noise, the shadow lifted one of the mare’s legs, stabilized it on a log, and began loosening the shoe.

Once accomplished, the shadowed figure ran from the stables, keeping to the shadows, running through a hidden door in the wall near the loch, and ran west, toward the trees that flanked the castle walls.

No one took heed of the person running from the stables; the long, black cloak hiding this person from view. There was rarely any trouble in the castle and so the guard was more lax than they would have been otherwise.

Chapter 1

Why cannae I breathe? Mariel was thinking. She knew she was no longer in her warm bed, but she could not see anything. Was it so dark outside? Did she sleep the day away? Why did her head hurt so? Maybe she was in a room with no window?

She strained to see and reached out. She was in an enclosure of some kind. Wooden slats overlapped, creating a box. Suddenly the box lurched and rocked. Mariel squealed from the shock. She was in a wagon, but why was there a wooden cover? How did she get here?

She scraped and kicked, shouting to be set free. Do they think me dead? She panicked, and began kicking and shouting louder.

The wagon stopped abruptly and Mariel was lurched head-first into the top of the box, hitting her head. Then she heard two men talking. She shielded her eyes as the top was ripped from the box.

‘Tis a miracle! one man exclaimed, marking himself with the sign of the cross.

Or devil’s handiwork. The other said while copying the gesture.

Or, mayhap, I am merely alive? Mariel angrily added, making both men stop their speculation. She was rubbing the new knot forming on the top of her head.

A very small, very beautiful woman, fair of face with wild curly brown hair, hazel green-brown eyes and a few fine freckles across her nose sat up in the back of the wagon. Pardon us, Lady, but ye were counted as dead by the priest and the surgeon yestereve. Ye are to be buried by the church this morn.

Mariel’s eyes widened and their color turned light, greener. Her face became very pale, nearly fading her freckles to naught. She put one hand up to hold her hair from her face and the other on her chest to ensure her heart still beat.

Horses could be heard coming from in front of the wagon. Why did ye stop? Is something amiss? The leading rider asked the men who were driving the wagon. He was nudged by one of the men with him and he followed his companion’s eyes. His own eyes widened into his eyebrows. How can this be? he asked with surprise and another emotion, one he could feel but could not name. His breath caught in his chest at the beauty before him.

He looked upon the woman sitting upright in the casket. Her eyes were the color of a shadowed summer meadow, green with flakes of brown and gold; her hair shining cascades of brown curls the color of the finest dark ale. She had lips that were the perfect shape for kissing and eyelashes that crept from her eyelids to her perfectly formed cheekbones when she blinked. Her smooth jaw set upon a slender neck that swept to slight, yet squared and very proud, shoulders. Her modest brown gown with a white bodice did nothing to hide the petite, yet very curvaceous woman below the wool. Her breasts arched above the neckline, delicately framed by lace around the top of the dress. Her waist was small, however her hips showed healthy curves, that which he could see from her sitting in a casket, at least. The roundness of her breasts heaved as she continued to breathe heavily, and he wondered if the rest of her was as perfect as those parts that showed above the edge of the casket. He felt his heart begin to beat powerfully, as though it was trying to reach the girl from within his chest. Other parts of his body also responded to her mystery and beauty, not the least rested below his MacRae green and midnight blue plaid kilt. Surely all can see me heart beating through me tunic he thought.

Varlen shook his head, breathed deeply, and ran his large palm down his face and through his hair as he collected his thoughts back to the situation at hand. Surely the priest and surgeon did not make such a serious error? he asked. His companions were either mute or their words escaped them. All just sat on their horses, staring at the woman in the casket, mouths ajar. Well, Lady, what say ye? Are ye alive or bewitched? he asked her, frowning.

Sir, I ken not why I lay in this casket on the way to me own funeral, but I can surely say me heart beats beneath me breast, and as I am clearly sitting up on me own and able to respond to yer query, I am most certain I am alive. How be it that I am in this most dire, yet curious, situation, I cannae ken. Mariel said, no fear in her countenance, even as she trembled inside.

Then she looked at the men from the wagon. I pray ye willnae bury me now, will ye?

Both men shook their heads, smiling warily yet with great joy showing in their eyes.

Then I will request me leave from this casket. Do any of ye fine men have a wee bit of drink for me parched lips? She asked. Robert, one of the men on the horses, handed her a wineskin, which she drank nearly all of. She coughed as she choked on the drink. When she had her fill, she said Fare thee well, then." and handed the wineskin back to the man. She then jumped from the wagon to the ground.

Walking in the direction she thought she came from, she stopped before running into a large black horse. The rider who spoke before addressed her again. And where are ye to be heading, Lady? he smiled; his eyes clouded some, yet showed a great deal of spirit.

Feeling very annoyed, she fisted her hands to her hips and looked up at the rider. She meant to speak but her words caught in her throat.

A most beautiful sight sat before her, majestically perched upon a black stallion. His smile lit her on fire and his silver-gray eyes warmed her heart. The man’s hair was as dark as the most devilish night, blue-black, long and waving in the breeze skimming his shoulders. His lips were full, his lower one slightly pouted with an un-wielding strength. He was a strong looking man with broad shoulders and the arms of a warrior. His body tapered from those massive shoulders, barrel chest, and powerful arms to a narrow and tight waist. His blue and green plaid kilt fell to his knees showing strong calves hidden within stockings and boots. His threadbare and worn tunic barely hid the rippling muscles of his chest and stomach. His plaid was neatly pinned with a fine pewter brooch at his shoulder.

Finally, she remembered her situation and spoke. I head to me home, of course she said and pertly walked around the horse and down the road. She held her chin high and proud; making Varlen and his companions smile. Aye, ‘tis a proud lass Varlen said to Robert, riding at his side.

Varlen MacRae, his brother Robert, and their companions, Alden and Christoff all smiled at her and began slowly following. None offered her a ride and for several minutes. She stumbled often, sometimes nearly falling, but was able to catch her balance each time. She pulled up the front of her gown and kept walking, cursing the delicate slippers that someone put on her feet, not thinking she would be in need of walking boots. She was much too proud and wary to ask for a ride. Besides, she did not know these men or what their purpose was.

She heard a rustle from the trees to her left and turned her head quickly. As soon as she did she tripped again then felt a strong arm around her waist. Varlen swept her up in front of him on his mount, his other hand secure upon the hilt of a dagger, looking past her. After a moment of looking into the trees, Varlen decided the noise was an animal and began his trek again.

Mariel struggled for only a moment until his horse bucked dangerously and she felt she should be still; the memory of a fall was still fresh in her mind. However, there was also another feeling that was beginning to make her stir and feel more alive than she had ever before.

She looked up into Varlen’s face. She saw his eyes, the color of pure mercury, intent and on the road in front of her, his brow furrowed as if in deep concentration. She looked at his nose, rounded at the tip of a long and broad slope. Her eyes then ventured to his square manly jaw and again to his full and rich lips. She wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips. The thought made her blush.

Varlen chose that moment to look down at her. His eyes showed no expression other than mild interest, but she thought she saw his lips turn up a moment at the edges, lines forming at the edges of his eyes. Sitting in front of him, Mariel felt frightened, safe, hot, and tingly all over. What is that behind me? Does the mon carry a dagger—there? She thought as she felt a pressure on her firm yet round bottom.

Varlen, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, having this petite beauty sitting in front of him. She was not more than five foot tall and slight of build. Her body was perfectly honed from the hands of the gods themselves. He would ensure that she was not harmed as he quietly vowed that he would always protect her.

Why was she in a casket if not dead? He kept wondering. While he held her securely with his left arm, his right was casually holding the reins of his stallion. The horse’s gentle canter moved the two of them closer together, uncomfortably close. The smell of lavender and clover, her scent, blew past his nose and he grasped her tighter, hoping she could not feel the swell between his thighs. Suddenly he ceased to breathe anything but Mariel’s scent. She was a beautiful woman with a sweet aroma he would not soon forget. He stopped seeing the road, the companions riding beside him, and the trees that shadowed their route.

After an hour her unintended guard halted by a stream. Varlen insisted that they rest because he needed to be further from this woman before he could not keep himself from kissing her. He was nearly driven to passionate indiscretions beyond his status. Would she think me untoward? She keeps seeking out me lips, he thought.

She was well above his station and he should treat her with the respect her nobility required. The men dismounted and Mariel, anxious to have her feet back on solid earth, tried to jump from the horse. Before she could, Varlen’s strong hands were around her waist, creating heat like she never felt before where his hands touched her, searing her skin and causing her cheeks to warm as well. He lifted her easily from the saddle and down the length of his body before setting her on the ground. She was mere inches from his face, her lips involuntarily pouting forward, wondering if she should let his lips to touch hers. Her thoughts shocked her and she turned her face down and lowered her eyelashes, her cheeks finding the heat compelling and reacting by turning even pinker. The change in her demeanor did not escape Varlen’s observation. He looked to the heavens and asked for strength to stay away from her.

With wanton feelings surging through her mind, Mariel felt he was taking an inappropriate amount of time to let go and sprang back from him as soon as her toes felt the dirt. Thank ye she whispered. She could not look at this beautiful man, this mysterious warrior—or, was he her savior? God would have me soul sent to Hell for thinking thusly she thought.

Varlen smiled at his equally observant brother and shrugged again. Lady, why would ye not ask to ride?" he asked.

I was recently thrown from a horse. She said as she touched her temple. Me gentle mare stepped in a rodent hole, I think she may have lost her shoe, and tossed me on me head. I am currently a ‘feared it may happen again ‘tis all.

Saints be with us! they heard from a man with a very high and delicate voice, nearly five and thirty, emerging from the direction they were heading in. Ye arenae dead! he smiled joyfully as he dismounted beside them. Somehow his joy did not reach his eyes. He reached to embrace Mariel. She did not return his approach.

Varlen looked inquisitively toward Mariel, raising his eyebrows and nodding toward the stranger. Her cheeks flushed a most impressive rose color and she pulled away, behind Varlen. It seems ye have frightened the lady, sir. Do ye, then, ken her?

Aye, I do. She is Lady Mariel, daughter of Lord Michael Cormac, and… me betrothed. He bowed majestically and with great flourish.

Varlen’s face twitched and he felt a prophetic rumble in his chest. He did not like this man, yet something about him seemed familiar—somehow. Was it discomfort, familiarity, distrust, or jealousy? God, man, ye have just met the lass! he scolded himself. And, sir, ye are?

I be Angus MacGowen he smiled looking through Varlen, rather than at him. Second son to Lord MacGowen of Glen Ayre. He added to indicate he was well-born more than to discuss lineage. His chest puffed out like a peacock seeking a mate. Varlen felt he looked much like a peacock with his teal-green tunic, his bright yellow shirt, and his red plaid kilt.

Aye, I’ve heard of him. Fair man, I hear.

MacGowen’s cheeks flushed, feeling as though his noble blood should be acknowledged with groveling by the lower breeds. He nodded, lifting his head so he would be able to look down on the much taller man standing guard over Mariel. The smile he held only moments ago faded to match his eyes. Light green, evil looking eyes. Not unlike those of a serpent.

Mariel then met Varlen’s eyes and a flash of wariness, or was it fear, indicated she did not want to be where MacGowen stood. He felt her hand tremble on his back as she spoke. I am dead. How can I be betrothed to a mon when I am to be buried? Surely ye see the problem? her eyes showed rare intelligence, she spoke with more courage than she felt.

MacGowen flushed even more. M’ Lady, if ye just return with me, I am certain we can get this all straightened out.

But Mariel did not move. MacGowen’s eyes sparked with disdain for a moment when she whispered timidly Nay.

Methinks the lady will ride with us Varlen spoke. Ye are welcome to join us to where the lady leads."

MacGowen thought to argue but decided against it and nodded instead. After all, was he to battle four well-practiced, able-bodied warriors by himself? He had men for such dirty endeavors.

Very well, then we be off in a mo’ after our horses and our backsides have had a rest. Varlen’s companions laughed, Mariel relaxed, and MacGowen stood fast, trying unsuccessfully to hide a glare.

As they finished resting, taking care of personal needs, and watering the horses, they were back on the road.

Where be we headed, Lady? Robert asked her from beside Varlen’s mount. Ye havenae said he included briskly.

We be taking the Lady Mariel to Gorfirth Castle in Glen Ayre. Aye? Varlen spoke. Mariel nodded to him. He kept one arm across Mariel, under her breasts, to keep her steady. He was fighting a strong desire to stroke the underside of her fleshy bosom with his thumb as he spoke. She was trembling, still, and her breathing was shallow. She hid any expressions from her eyes but unshed tears pooled there.

Aye, alright then. Robert said, looking from Varlen to Mariel and then back again. He glanced to see Mariel once more before pulling away and back to the others to provide them with their destination. A very pretty lass to be sure. Robert thought to himself. And Varlen is more than a wee bit protective. He also speculated that idea.

Varlen whispered soothing words to Mariel, trying to assuage her fear. Fear not, M’ Lady. We will see ye safe to yer castle. No harm will come to ye while I and me friends are near. She smiled at him sometimes, appreciating his effort and believing his vow, yet still feeling quite unlike herself.

Her knuckles were white from gripping her gown. She feared she was stretching the fabric and would never see it lay flat again from twisting it in her fingers with such vigor.

MacGowen was watching her intently. His thoughts were desperate. She must wed me. Without her he would very likely never be lord of a castle. He deserves to be noble and have standing; not just the steward to another’s fortune. He was the steward of a castle he would never rule over, leaving years before when the lord died.

Her dowry, and riches once she inherits, would keep him comfortable for the rest of his life. He would be able to keep