Once a Warrior by Karyn Monk Page B

doubt he will be able to train us to defend ourselves, until we find the next rightful laird of our clan.”
    Her clan stared at her in spellbound silence, their eyes wide and grave. Ariella nodded with satisfaction. It was clear she had been exceptionally convincing.
    “I am flattered by your faith in me.”
    She gasped and whirled about.
    MacFane stood tall on the steps behind her. Anger chiseled the lines of his face into deep grooves, and his eyes smoldered with fury. Whether it was directed at her or her clan, she could not be sure.
    He jerked his gaze from her to address the others. “Training will resume at dawn,” he announced harshly. “I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow will be another long day.”
    He gave her a scathing look before turning and slowly mounting the steps, leaving Ariella no doubt he had heard far too much of their discussion.
                      
    “Go to bloody hell.”
    The knocking continued, loud and determined.
    “I have retired for the evening,” snarled Malcolm thickly. “Whatever it is, it can goddamn wait until morning.”
    The heavy door swung open. Rob eyed him warily from the corridor.
    “Gavin already brought me a tray,” Malcolm said, gesturing at the untouched food on the desk. He drained his cup and collapsed against the pillows propped behind his aching back. Suddenly he noticed a pitcher on the tray the boy carried. “Is that wine?”
    “Water,” replied Rob, placing his tray beside the other. He peered into the three empty jugs on the desk. “It seems you’ve had enough wine for the evening.”
    “I’ll decide what’s enough,” Malcolm snapped. “Next time you feel sorry for me, bring wine or don’t bother me. Is that clear?”
    “I don’t feel sorry for you, MacFane.”
    His expression, or what one could see of it beneath the layers of dirt streaking his face, was intense. Malcolm fixed a bleary stare on those cool gray eyes, determined to root out the pity he knew was buried beneath their depths. Rob folded his arms across his narrow chest and returned his scrutiny with utter indifference. He was telling the truth, Malcolm decided after a moment. The lad did not feel anything akin to pity for him. Contempt, certainly. But not pity. He grunted with satisfaction and closed his eyes.
    Contempt was far easier to endure.
    “You should have left me where I was,” he growled, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. “As soon as you saw what I had become, you should have just left and let me be.”
    “I did leave you, MacFane. You came after us.”
    Malcolm frowned, trying to remember. “I came after you?”
    “Actually, it was Gavin who was worried something might happen to us,” Rob qualified. “You just decided to go with him.”
    Malcolm considered this a moment. The memory swirled within his pounding brain, just eluding his grasp. It seemed logical, though. Finally he nodded. “I went after you because of Gavin.” He closed his eyes again, satisfied that the matter was now clear. Then his brow creased and he lifted his lids once more. “But you convinced me to come here. You made me think it didn’t matter about—this.” He gestured in disgust at his battered body. “But it does matter. They look at me, and they know I am unfit. They watch me move, and their eyes are filled with pity.” Anger flooded through him. He hurled his empty cup against the room. It did not shatter as he had hoped. The wooden vessel hit the wall and fell whole to the ground, making him feel even more impotent.
    “You should have bloody well left me alone,” he finished bitterly.
    “So,” drawled Rob, his voice steeped in scorn, “this is how the mighty Black Wolf rises to a challenge. Tell me, MacFane, did you always feel this sorry for yourself when you faced something you could not immediately overcome? It’s a wonder you were able to forge such a magnificent reputation for yourself. Or did each legendary feat of the Black Wolf happen easily, with