Free Once a Warrior by Karyn Monk

lending warmth and beauty to each chamber.
    “Where does that passage lead to?” he asked, pointing to an arched doorway with a heavy rope strung across it.
    “That is the staircase to the south tower,” replied Gordon. “It is roped off because we are still rebuilding it.”
    Malcolm frowned. “This tower is not a point of entry,” he observed. “If your attackers just came through the front gate as you say, why did they set fire to this tower?”
    The MacKendricks regarded each other uncertainly.
    “Was there something in that tower they wanted to destroy?”
    No one answered him.
    “If I am to help you, I need to know what happened in this attack,” he persisted, exasperated. “Why did the warriors burn what they were trying to capture?”
    It was Rob who finally spoke. “The tower housed the room of MacKendrick’s daughter,” he explained. “If the warriors’ leader forced her to marry him, the clan would have had no choice but to accept him as chief, because she would have provided the bloodline to our ancient chief. That would have established his son as the next blood heir.”
    “What you are telling me makes no sense,” Malcolm argued, shaking his head. “Why would this man burn the tower if he needed this girl for his bride?”
    “He didn’t burn the tower,” said Niall. “After mortally wounding our laird and killing many, he locked Ariella in it. He then swore to slaughter her clansmen one by one until she agreed to marry him. Ariella elected to burn to death rather than expose her people to his brutality.”
    Malcolm stared at the elders. “She killed herself?”
    The council members looked away, clearly finding the subject too painful to discuss.
    “I have seen enough,” said Malcolm, appalled by this unexpected revelation. “I would rest awhile.”
    They led him down the corridor to an enormous chamber. A large, handsomely carved bed gleamed with the luster of fresh oil and was made up in a soft plaid of crimson and gold. The room also featured a fine table and two chairs set by the hearth, a chest, a stone sink, which was built into the wall and drained to the outside, and a doorway leading to a garderobe. Unlike the rest of the castle, the walls of this chamber were covered with glorious tapestries, each depicting a tale of one of the Black Wolf’s feats. Malcolm went to the window and gazed uneasily at the valley and woods below.
    He knew he was not worthy of these accommodations.
    Anger flooded through Ariella as she studied the new furnishings in her father’s chamber. Her clan had painstakingly prepared it for the man they assumed would be their laird. But MacFane was not that man. He was the man who had failed to come when he had been desperately needed. Now he was here as a hired warrior, nothing more. He did not deserve the honor of staying in this room. She glanced at Niall. The hostile set of his jaw told her he was thinking the same thing.
    “This was MacKendrick’s room,” she began, struggling to keep her voice even. “I do not think—”
    “He will stay here.”
    Alpin stood in the doorway watching her, his withered face calm yet resolute.
    “Very well,” she said tautly. She tossed MacFane a disapproving look, silently letting him know he had no right to this chamber. Then she left, unable to bear seeing him in it a moment longer.
    “You must forgive the lad,” said Angus. “He was very fond of MacKendrick.”
    Malcolm nodded.
    Dugald gestured to the fragile stick of a man who had entered the room. He was garbed in a voluminous robe of sapphire trimmed with gold, and he leaned heavily upon a tall staff. “This is Alpin. He is our seer.”
    Malcolm lifted a skeptical brow at the white-haired apparition, wondering what fantasies he had told these people to make them believe such nonsense.
    Alpin chuckled. “MacFane does not believe in seers,” he informed them. “But you do believe in the power of fate, don’t you, milord?”
    His black eyes sparkled