Highland Wolf Pact: Blood Reign: A Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance Read online

  She wore two temple hats, as both guardian-in-training and priestess-in-training, and learning both roles took most of her day. She didn’t have a lot of free time, which seemed strange, given there were no other people in the temple, aside from Alaric and Aleesa. But it had always been that way, since she’d been abandoned at the temple entrance as an infant and the couple she knew as mother and father had taken her in. She really didn’t know anything else.

  Bridget stopped to quickly change from her plaid to her temple robe just outside the cave, taking the headpiece with the three-goddesses on it and placing it in the midst of her still-sweaty red hair.

  “N’runnin’, Bridget,” her mother called with a sigh.

  Aleesa was already kneeling at the pool when Bridget rushed in. She slowed almost immediately, still breathing hard. The pool was in the middle of a large cave with a tall, domed ceiling that had a central opening. It shone down into the pool below, and even at night, in the darkness, with almost no light in the sky, a beam of sun or moon focused in the pond. Alaric said it was due to some sort of reflective metal that had been embedded into the stone high above.

  Bridget’s heartbeat returned to some semblance of normal as she knelt opposite her mother, meeting Aleesa’s soft, knowing eyes over the surface of the pool. Bridget’s face flushed and she knew her mother understood exactly where she’d been, and why she was late. Could she help it that she liked training to be a guardian a little more than she liked training to be a temple priestess?

  Not that she didn’t love the sacred feel of the pool, how it calmed her soul. Just being amidst the stone monoliths that surrounded the little body of water in the cave helped ground and still her. Feeling the earth under her bare feet, looking at the beam of light shining into the center of the pool, gave her a sense of peace she didn’t find anywhere else. She knew that the way the light fell, in relation to the stones, could be used to find and make many time and season calculations. She was in the process of learning the many ways these were related to both astronomy and astrology, starting to calculate these things as Aleesa taught her more and more.

  But even if she hadn’t been a priestess-in-training, she knew this place would feel like home to her.

  “Are ye ready?” Aleesa cocked her head in question and Bridget took a deep breath, giving her a slow nod.

  There was already a bowl in front of her filled with water and fragrant herbs and Bridget leaned over it, seeing a brief glimpse of her reflection—big eyes, mussed hair—as she picked the bowl up in both hands, breathing in the scent. The women worked together, perfectly in sync—they’d done this hundreds of times, since Bridget was very young—Alessa calling out the ancient words, Bridget responding in kind, as they dipped their fingers into the water, tracing patterns. Then, they took fingers full of the herbs, whispering the words in sync as they tossed them into the pool, kissing the side of the bowl before each pass. The whole cave smelled like silvermoon and heather. It was heady and made Bridget smile.

  The bowls were then set aside, and each woman raised a ritual sword, incanting words together, the energy between them rising like a tide, their swords held out over the water. The ritual swords were far lighter than Bridget’s practice one and were the only weapons allowed in the temple proper. Their voices melded together, almost a song, the rhythmic chant they spoke together, ancient Gaelic words, filling the cavern.

  The prayer they spoke together was filled with power. Both women knew it, felt it. Bridget felt the hilt of the sword grow warm, as it always did, before the sword flared with flame. The first time it had happened, she’d nearly dropped it into the pool, even though Aleesa had warned her it would happen. She hadn’t quite believed it, even though she’d lived in the temple her whole life and had seen the ritual performed.

  As the prayer came to an end, the fire changed from a normal orange glow to silver. That was the time they slowly lowered their swords into the pool, extinguishing the flames with a low hissing sound. Steam rose up from the pool toward the domed roof of the cave. Bridget was always a little sad at the end of the ritual, but when she looked up and saw her mother’s frown, her gaze fell immediately to the water.

  “A single warrior approaches.” Aleesa’s eyes focused on the image reflected in the pool, widening in surprise. The pool served many purposes, and sometimes divination was one of them. “Ye mus’ go out t’meet ’im, Bridget.”

  Bridget felt her mouth go dry. She’d only ever gone out to the crossroads once before to meet someone seeking entrance to the Temple of Asher and Ardis, and in that case, the man had not been worthy. Just someone seeking the riches of the temple—which were the stuff of legend, but not real. The only value within the temple was the magic it contained within its sacred walls, nothing payable in gold or silver, which is what most people seemed to want. Bridget hadn’t even gotten to the point of challenging the old man—she’d simply sent him on his way. The entrance to the temple was hidden, and she was quite safe during the inquiry.

  “Hurry! Go!” Aleesa urged her daughter, waving her away, and that got Bridget moving.

  Her plaid was waiting, and she put that on instead of her temple robe, which she left on the floor as she rushed out to retrieve her armor. Aleesa would cluck and frown about her messiness, but under the circumstances, she knew she wouldn’t be in too much trouble for not cleaning up after herself.

  Alaric was standing at the temple entrance as she approached and she glanced guiltily down at her armor on the dirt floor. He frowned at it, then looked up at her, disappointment on his face, but that changed when their eyes met.

  “Someone approaches?” he asked, eyes wide in surprise.

  “Aye, a warrior.” She nodded, wondering if her fear showed. She hoped not. “Mother said I mus’ go out and meet ’im.”

  Alaric gave a nod, already picking up her gear and helping her dress. Getting out of the stuff by herself was possible, but getting it on was much more difficult. They approached the secret entrance together. Alaric had been the one to do this before her, but he’d been training her over the years, and had deemed her ready. And if he thought she was ready, then it had to be so. Even if she was, at times, still susceptible to feints. Her challenger wouldn’t know that, would he? Alaric was one of the best fighters in the world, and he’d trained her—so if she could keep up with Alaric…

  She’d have to trust that all would be as it should be.

  That’s what she told herself as Alaric opened the underground passage that would lead her to the rock outcropping at the crossroads. She felt his hand on her shoulder, a sudden weight, and glanced back.

  “Yer a fine guardian, lass,” he assured her. “It’ll all be as it should.”

  Funny that she’d just spoken those words to herself. She gave him a nod, stepping out into the light of day. It was a glorious summer day and it made her wonder what normal maidens her age were doing. Picking flowers and making daisy chains, mayhaps? But not Bridget. She was walking out in full armor to meet a challenging warrior. Alaric and Alessa often said those words, “All will be as it should,” but sometimes, she wondered. Had she been meant to be abandoned at the temple? Meant to be trained as the priestess and guardian of the Temple of Ardis and Asher? It seemed a strange charge for a human girl who lived with and had been parented by wulvers, especially given that the legend of Ardis and Asher was a wulver legend and not a human one.

  But she was doing it, standing behind the remote outcropping where she could disappear to safety inside the temple again, if she needed to. If the warrior sought healing and knew of the temple, the guardian had to yield and bring him inside. She had only glimpsed his image briefly in the pool, a big man on horseback wearing a Scots plaid and gear but no armor, not even chainmail or a helmet. Mayhaps he sought healing only?

  Her armor was more English than Scottish, to be honest, made for a knight, with a breastplate and a full helmet and faceplate, although she had the freedom of her legs being bare—a Scot couldn’t be tied down, t
hat’s what Alaric always said.

  She was glad of the helmet, though, because it hid her face. She had learned, long ago, to disguise her voice, and had practiced throwing it beyond the outcropping into the crossroads, a booming reply to the inquiry of a seeker. There was a small, reflective piece of metal positioned so she could see the warrior’s approach, although he could not see her or discern her position.

  Bridget had a moment to just study him as he slowed his horse. She lifted her faceplate so she could do so more clearly. The war horse turned in easy, slow circles as the big man looked around, taking in his barren surroundings. The rocks were the only thing of interest, of course, as it was meant to be. The dark-haired warrior squinted at the rocks, brow lowered, mouth drawn down into a frown.

  “Uri, this is ridiculous,” the man muttered, patting his horse’s neck. “’Ere goes nothin’.”

  The man sat back up, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. He was young, but not a boy. Mayhaps her age, she thought, cocking her head and staring at him. A considerable opponent to be sure. She really hoped he was here for healing, because she didn’t want to have to fight him. She would, if she had to—but if she could just bid him enter, that would be better.

  “I seek entrance t’the Temple of Asher’n’Ardis!” The man’s voice carried to her easily. It was a pleasant sound, and she sensed no fear in it. No evil either. Just a little annoyance and impatience. This was a man who was used to gaining entry, wherever he went. That much was clear. Not royalty though. Not that kind of entitlement. She sensed more of a... confidence about him. Mayhaps a little arrogance?

  Bridget swallowed, lubricating her throat, before lowering her voice and booming her own reply, “Who seeks entrance?”

  The horse startled, giving a low whinny and pawing the dirt. The man handled the horse with ease, turning the animal toward the rocks.

  “Now we’re getting’ somewhere,” he muttered, calling back, “My name’s Griffith.”

  Just Griffith? No surname? No title? She cocked her head, frowning at that. A simple man, then? But he did not look simple. The man was big, well-muscled. This man trained, and he trained hard.

  “An’ what d’ye seek, Griffith?” Bridget called, making sure she kept her voice an octave lower than usual. Funny, how his name felt in her mouth. Familiar, somehow, although she’d never heard it called.

  “Knowledge.”

  Her heart sank. Not healing, then. A seeker who was true, who sought anything other than healing, would have to force the guardian to yield in combat if they wanted entrance. The guardian could, on rare occasion, choose to yield without a fight, but it hardly ever happened. Had never happened, in her lifetime, or Alaric’s either, he’d told her.

  “Are ye there?” Griff called. Impatient. She’d have to remember that.

  She wasn’t relishing fighting this man, who was twice her size at least. Were Alaric and Aleesa watching in the pool? They would be, of course. It would be her first real combat with an entrant, and she didn’t want to disappoint her father. Especially after her loss to him that afternoon.

  “Ye mus’ prove yerself worthy, seeker,” she called, managing to keep the tremble from her voice. It was both excitement, and, mayhaps, a little fear. “By bestin’ me in combat.”

  “Then come out an’ meet me, stranger.” Griff straightened in his saddle, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  “I’m t’guardian of t’temple.” Bridget stepped toward the rocks, putting her face plate down, and her hand on the hilt of her sword. “And ye shall not pass ’til ye best me an’force me t’yield.”

  “I can’na best ye unless I can see ye.” Griff stared at the rocks, blinking in surprise when Bridget appeared from behind them. She’d never used the secret entrance before, but it worked just like Alaric said it would.

  “I can’na fight a boy.” Griff snorted as he slid off his horse. She saw him searching the rocks with his eyes, wondering where in the world she’d come from. “T’would nuh be right.”

  “I’m not a boy.” Bridget raised her sword, feeling anger burning in her chest at the man’s words. A boy, indeed! Not only wasn’t she a boy—and what a surprise he’d get when he was bested by a girl!—she was a warrior, trained by one of the best warriors in all of Scotland.

  She might not have been quite good enough to beat Alaric, but she could beat this man—even if he was twice her size.

  “I do’na wanna fight ye, lad.” Griff sighed, shaking his head as he unsheathed his sword.

  “Ye’ve no choice, seeker.” Bridget straightened her spine to give herself full height, but the top of her head still barely reached his shoulder. “If ye wan’ entry t’the temple, ye mus’ force t’guardian t’yield.”

  “I do’na hafta kill ye?” Griff frowned. “I’d hate t’hafta kill ye.”

  “Tis not to the death.” Bridget rolled her eyes behind her face plate. “But ye’ll be lucky if I do’na kill ye, seeker.”

  “Let’s get this over wit’, lad.” Griff stepped away from his horse with another deep sigh, moving quickly into fighting stance, sword up.

  “I’m not a lad!” she snapped gruffly as she swung, their swords clashing with the ring of steel in the afternoon sunlight.

  She was still a little tired, muscles sore, from her training with Alaric, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. The big man blocked her blow easily, taking a graceful step back and sighing again, like it was quite taxing to be forced to fight her. Bridget felt anger rising and tried to swallow it down. Her father had trained her to stay calm and cool-headed in a fight and normally, she didn’t have any problem with that. But for some reason, seeing this giant, broad-shouldered man smirking, even chuckling as she advanced, made her furious.

  Griff’s sword blocked another one of her blows and Bridget swung again, more quickly this time, driving him backward. The horse pawed the ground a few feet away, as if objecting to his master’s sudden predicament. It didn’t take Bridget long to push the big man back toward the other side of the crossroads, going after him relentlessly, swing after swing of her heavy long sword.

  “Well, lad, ye take yer job seriously, that much is clear.” Griff panted as he rallied, getting his bearings and whirling on her, his sword blow coming so hard and fast, it actually knocked her off her feet.

  Her pride was hurt more than her bottom as she struggled to stand.

  “Ye’ll right, lad?” Griff frowned, reaching down a hand to help her up, and that’s when something inside Bridget snapped.

  She was up in an instant, running at him like a bull, her helmet hitting him hard in the gut. She heard the air go out of him and he grunted. Her fast action had surprised him, caught him off guard, and he stumbled. Unfortunately, he didn’t go down as she planned. It took him just two strides to regain his footing and he gave a low growl, whirling on her, sword at the ready.

  “I’m endin’ this now.” Griff snarled, coming at her so fast and furious, she could barely see his sword flashing. She had to repel him only on instinct, which she managed, but it took her breath away. “Someone needs t’teach ye a lesson.”

  Bridget winced as the big man’s sword slid against hers and she found herself pinned against the rock—how they’d managed to get so far, she didn’t know. He crushed her against the stone with his weight until she couldn’t breathe at all, even in her armor. Her breastplate dug into her skin, compressing the air from her lungs. She tried to move, but there was no possible way. He covered her completely, his arm across her chest and shoulders, heavy as a log, his thigh between hers, so thick it felt like she was straddling a tree.

  Bridget struggled, trying to lift her sword, but he had that trapped too, with the heavy weight of his boot. The anger rising in her blurred her vision. She could only see a slit of him through her face plate. His breath was hot and heavy, but not unpleasant. He ducked his head so he could see her eyes—his were the strangest color she’d ever seen, a sort of amber, and for a moment, she was transfixed. T
he man searched her eyes with his, far too much amusement in them at having bested her, but there was an empathy there too, that bothered her even more.

  He let up just a little as he asked, voice soft, “D’ye yield?”

  Bridget thought of Alaric, watching her in the clear surface of the scrying pool—or mayhaps he was standing even now on the other side of the rock wall, watching via the reflective metal she’d used to spy on the approaching warrior. She wouldn’t yield—couldn’t let him down.

  She shook her head, glaring at him, and wheezed, “No.”

  “Yield, lad,” he said gently. “I will best ye, and if ye yield now, t’will mean far less bruisin’ fer ye—an’ yer pride.”

  Bridget snarled, throwing all her weight at him—not that it made that much of a difference. How could Alaric have handed over this task to her? How could he have believed she could best someone twice her size? But he had charged her with this task. He believed in her. He thought she could do this, had trained her to be better than this.

  “Get off me, ye fat oaf,” she snapped, hearing him chuckle, then sigh and shake his head as he eased back.

  “So ye yield then?”

  “No!” She grunted, bringing her knee up between his—it wasn’t exactly fair, but she knew it would work. Luckily the man was a Scot, and like her, he wore a plaid to keep his legs free for running and climbing. She’d accidentally kneed Alaric this way on a few occasions and had completely incapacitated him for a while.

  But the big man was too fast. He stepped back, just barely avoiding the knee to his crotch. That gave her the opportunity to go after him again, and she did, with everything she had. They danced and swung, metal clashing. It was exhausting, but Bridget didn’t give up. This smug man wasn’t going to enter her temple, not if she could prevent it. He wasn’t worthy.