The Draig's Wife Page 2

  While it was only July, she had plans for the fall. The black belt wrapped around her uniform had only two gold stripes, and she wanted three. Testing was in December, and she would be ready, mentally and physically. A frown crossed her lips; her body was tall and lean and fit with years of martial arts classes. Death had claimed too much of her spirit.

  She knew she should eat something, but food was not a priority. Her feet clipped with the sound of flip-flops as she made her way out into the yard with Escrimas in hand. She vowed to get through the weapons’ form three times without dropping the sticks, water the tomatoes, and force herself to eat. While not a solid life plan, it would serve to get her through the remainder of the day.

  Breathing in the dry heat of the desert air, her body moved with the fluid grace it had lacked at the dojo. The wood became an extension of her arms and parried attacks with the left hand while attacking with the right. Her feet executed kicks to fend off the imaginary attackers as designed in the choreographed form. Pain and grief fled while her sole focus became the form until a woman’s scream stopped her cold. What was that?

  Emma tensed as she heard it again. Turning in a tight circle, with the weapons held up for defense, she scanned the small yard and blinked in disbelief at the scene behind the garden. There should have only been a sun-paled wooden fence. Instead, she saw a lush green forest through a door-sized hole that should not have existed. Blinking again did nothing to erase the strange wonder or the scent of damp earth and budding greenery that permeated the barren desert air. It only made her aware of the tingling sensation creeping up her spine, a sensation that seemed to will her body into action.

  When a woman ran passed the opening followed by a man with a sword, Emma knew who had screamed and why. Without thought, she ran into the garden and through the door.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cortland cursed as he held the reins of Esmeralda’s horse. “You wanted to stop, so get off the beast, daughter.” When she glared at him, he pulled her out of the saddle to stand by his side.

  “Send me back,” Esmeralda demanded. Her brown eyes were filled with rage.

  After years of searching, Cortland had finally found his daughter. He was years too late, however. His wife had died several years before of fever, leaving Esmeralda to face the world alone. Cortland knew he had been a terrible father and husband. He had allowed his service to the Draig to come before his family. He didn’t blame Maeve for leaving. He only wished to make amends.

  “You ride home with me,” he answered, holding her gaze. “You deserve a better life. Let me give that to you.”

  Esmeralda laughed coldly. “What makes you think I dinna enjoy my life? Everything was fine before you ripped me away from all I kenned.”

  How can she say such things and mean it? He had needed to pay for her, to buy her out of the life she had been living. “No daughter of mine will spend her life earning coin on her back while I draw breath. While I have made many mistakes in this life, some I can correct. Caring for you and giving you a decent home is one.” The statement was the sum of the repetitive conversation they had had during the two-day journey back home.

  Esmeralda walked several paces away, which suited him just fine, for his daughter apparently had issues bathing. Dunking her in the tub would be the first order of business when they made it back to Draig lands. That and finding her some decent clothing as too much of her ample figure was on display in the gown she wore.

  “Did you think I had forgotten where I came from? At any point, I could have returned to the village. I chose to stay away.”

  The comment was meant to hurt, and it did. The lass had been ten when she and her mother fled into the night with a merchant who promised his wife more than he could. Taking a deep breath, Cortland wasn’t going to back down, not after he had searched for so long. Once safe and settled within the keep, he was certain they could rebuild their relationship and find peace together.

  “Fine. You stayed away. However, now you must come home and live a decent life.”

  Esmeralda turned to face him with defiance in her eyes. “Unless you lock me up, I will leave.”

  Her challenge fell on deaf ears as multiple twigs snapping to the left of the path caught his ears. Certain that no small woodland creature could make such a racket, he pulled his sword from its sheath on his back. Cortland whispered, “Come to my side now.”

  “Why? So you can hold a blade to my throat?” It was the last thing his daughter could say before four men poured from the trees with swords raised in attack.

  While not a young man—Cortland had seen over forty winters—he was still the one who trained the young warriors and honed the skill of the seasoned veterans. Yet he doubted his ability to eliminate four attackers and defend his daughter who didn’t have the sense to seek his protection.

  He quickly assessed the men who charged: filthy and poorly trained, though their number held the advantage. One ran for the horses, which was fine, since it bought him time. Two came straight for him, which caused no fear; their lack of skill showed in every step they made. It was the one who ran for Esmeralda that made his blood run cold.

  ~ ~ ~

  Stones and twigs dug into her palms and knees as Emma struggled for breath to combat the nausea that threatened to consume her. Cool damp air brushed over her skin and filled her lungs. This is all wrong and shouldn’t be in the garden. Massive trees surrounded her, and the cool air made her shiver as she struggled to remember what she was doing.

  The scream slapped her back into action. The Escrima sticks were next to her hands in a pile of what seemed to be fallen leaves from the previous year. Picking them up, she kicked off her flip-flops and scanned the area for the woman in danger.

  To her right, one man held off two others with his sword. He showed no sign of being in peril though clearly older than the attackers. Glancing to her right, she saw the woman fall to the ground and the arc of the blade that now dripped with blood.

  Cursing her slowness, Emma ran at the man and smashed one Escrima into his head, bringing him to his knees. Without waiting for him to retaliate, her left hand swung to nail his shoulder. With the momentary reprieve, Emma looked down at the woman and the long, deep gash across her stomach. Before she could bend down, she heard the approach of running feet.

  Her body moved with years of training. The poorly angled attack was easily deflected by the Escrima, while her right hand jabbed the other stick into his solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs. She swung again and connected with the side of his head, leaving him unconscious. Too busy with the current fight, she had forgotten about the first attacker. She felt the scrape of a blade on her arm right before the man fell at her feet, the gash in his throat pouring blood onto the forest floor.

  Emma whipped around with weapons ready to ward off another attack as she faced the older man whom she had seen battling the two men when she entered the scene. Apparently, he is the victor. “I mean you no harm,” he said. That he proceeded to kill both men she had faced without pause made her silently question the truth in that statement. Without waiting for a reply, the older man dropped to his knees before the bleeding woman.

  “I don’t have my phone. Give me yours, and I’ll call for help.” Emma stood several feet away from him. The woman needed an ambulance, and she wanted the police to sort out the chaos.

  He replied, without facing her. “Whatever aid you seek is nay in my possession.” His hands gently touched the fallen woman’s cheeks. “Speak to me, Esmeralda.”

  Emma swallowed hard as the woman struggled to open her eyes and then staggered back when she saw only raw hatred in the gaze. With raspy breath, the woman spat, “You did this to me . . . you should have . . . left me alone . . .”

  “Forgive me.” The man’s pleading had Emma’s eyes welling with tears. “I only sought to give you a better life.
”

  “Never,” her hoarse voice replied. The young woman’s face tightened with pain before a final exhale filled the still forest air.

  “I’m sure she didn’t mean that.” Emma was certain that no one could possibly die with that much anger and venom in their soul.

  The man closed the eyes of the dead woman and bowed his head. After several long moments, he spoke. “She meant it, and I deserved every word.” With a sad smile for the young woman on the ground, he rose and turned to Emma. “My thanks for trying to aid us. ‘Tis my belief I never would have stood against all four. I stand in your debt.”

  How do you reply to a statement like that? “You’re welcome?” Polite seemed like a wise move since the man still held a bloodied sword.

  “I am Cortland. And you are?”

  Pale blue eyes studied her. Emma concluded he was considering her attire, which was much different than his. She observed him as well. The leather pants looked handmade, and his almost-white shirt closed with laces, not the expected buttons. “I’m Emma.”

  “Aye, Emma. While your aid was needed, it was foolhardy of you to come.”

  She stiffened at the underhanded insult. “I heard screams in my yard. We need to contact the authorities. You just killed four men. I know they attacked you, but . . .”

  “If I had let them live, odds are they would have attacked again. They killed my daughter and would have taken your life as well.” He fixed his gaze on her. “You ken you are no longer on your lands.”

  For the first time, Emma truly noted her surroundings: a forest that seemed to be awakening with late spring; the twitter of birds; cool, damp air; and a stillness she had never known. Glancing around, she saw the door she had burst through. It revealed the trampled tomato plant and her simple stucco ranch home. “I came through there.” Emma pointed a shaky finger at the opening. The scene made no sense to her jumbled thoughts.

  Cortland gasped and shook his head as he surveyed her yard. “‘Tis a fine piece of land you hold. Tell me, Emma. ‘Tis the fabled land of Arizona?”

  I have never heard Arizona described quite that way. It is many things, fabled hardly one of them. When she said as much, Cortland laughed.

  He extended a hand to her, which to her surprise, she took, and he led her to the door. “Go back while there is time.”

  “But you were just attacked and—”

  “Now, Emma. Before the door fades.”

  The warning rang clear, and she had no desire to be trapped in a place that wasn’t home. Holding her Escrimas in one hand and giving a slight nod, Emma was released from his warm grip. She took a step toward the door and froze. Turning back, the door was behind her. Again, she stepped forward, and again she went nowhere. Nine times she tried, and nine times she failed. Facing Cortland, panic took over. “It doesn’t work. What do I do?”

  His head cocked to the side as if he were debating. “I had feared you would still be here. The old tales say the door only leads here, never back to the land of Arizona.” It suddenly dawned on her the man had an accent, one she couldn’t quite place.

  She turned back to the door. To her horror, the opening shimmered and wavered in the morning sunlight. Before she could make a move, it was gone, blinked out of existence. No door, no view of her home, only the sight of an endless forest in front of her.

  “Where am I stuck, Cortland?” Holding her body tall and straight, Emma waited for the answer. She had never shied away from the truth and wasn’t about to start.

  Nodding in acknowledgement of her stance, his reply left her mind whirling in disbelief. “You are in the highlands of Scotland on the border of Draig lands, which is my home. Have no fear, Emma. I am an honorable man. You face no threat from me.”

  Before she could ask more, they both turned to face the sound of approaching horses. That noise alone let her know how strange her world had just become. No horses are allowed in the subdivision. I remember when Mr. Ratcliff was fined for riding a golf cart after dark with no headlights. Horses are going to have the association pitching a fit.

  Cortland faced her with his sword raised, though not in attack. “Behind me, Emma. I dinna expect more danger so close to the keep, yet it would seem my judgment is poor this day.”

  She hadn’t missed the sadness in his voice. Her eyes fell to the dead woman and back to Cortland. “I’m sorry you lost your daughter. I was too slow.”

  “You were never meant to be her salvation. That was my duty.” Cortland faced the riders she could see approaching. The idea of a threat faded when he lowered his weapon. However, she kept a tight grip on her Escrimas.

  Turning to face her, his quick reply stated firmly, “I need you to keep quiet and let me do the speaking. I swear on my life my goal is to see you to safety. Will you trust me, Emma?”

  Staring into his eyes, “yes” left her lips. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept that she was halfway around the world and about to face more people. Maybe grief has finally done its worst, and it’s all a hallucination. Maybe I hit my head with one of my Escrimas. That idea made the most sense to her.

  Before she could ask who was approaching, five riders entered the small clearing. One led his horse directly in front of Cortland. “What happened, old man?” The words were out before the others on horseback reached them.

  “We were attacked by what seemed to be petty thieves,” Cortland replied.

  Emma stared at the man who leapt down from his massive stallion. He moved with a grace that seemed out of place for his muscular build. The enormous sword strapped to his back made her think he was a warrior, though she had no idea why. He was dressed like Cortland, in what appeared to be handmade clothing. Long, black hair captured in a tie shone in the sunlight that dappled through the branches. She swallowed hard when his brilliant gaze fixed on her. Chiseled cheekbones and a square jaw filled her vision.

  The emerald green of his eyes centered her being. Tingles crept over her skin with an awareness that left her stunned. Never in her life had she ever craved to be the center of another’s universe. She noticed that his lips parted. Does he too feel the overwhelming urge to share the same breath? His intense stare disarmed her both physically and emotionally. His body leaned closer, and Emma struggled to fill her lungs with air, while his features softened and warmth spread throughout her limbs.

  Then his head shook slightly, and her world shifted when his posture became rigid and the heat of his gaze became brutally cold. With the sudden and inexplicable change, hurt filled her soul. Why do I feel so empty?

  In his eyes, she saw contempt, which made little sense, because he didn’t even know her. Her body straightened in defiance at the strange and unwelcome judgment. The man had captured her without effort and then tossed her aside as if deeming she had no worth. Emma silently questioned the raw, masculine perfection. Why would he do that to me?

  “Did any escape?” the man asked. His deep, commanding voice echoed in her head.

  “Nay, Declan. I may be old, but nay that old.” Cortland’s humorous reply was met with a low, throaty chuckle that Emma felt wash over her skin.

  The newcomer, Declan, strode over to the dead attackers. “I see no signs of clan markings.”

  “I believe it may have been simple thieves solely interested in the horses.” Cortland made no move to stand closer to Declan. In fact, he placed his body between her and the man. For someone who had no issue taking four lives, Cortland seemed intent on protecting her from Declan, a man who appeared to be his friend.

  Emma turned when she heard a female voice. One of the riders was a woman. “The warriors spoke true. After so many years, you have found you daughter. Malcolm and I are so pleased for you.” While the woman smiled politely, it did not quite reach her eyes. She appeared to Emma to be in her mid-thirties and dressed for a costume party with the long blue v
elvet gown and cape that fell over her shoulders. Her gaze never fell back to the old man behind her. The man had a full head of gray hair and was hunched over the horse’s neck. It struck her as odd she would call her father, or maybe grandfather, by his first name.

  “Aye, Lady Glenda. I am the most fortunate of men.” Cortland’s reply carried a chilly tone as he glared at the woman, though she seemed to have missed the visual attack. Glenda’s eyes were fixated on Declan bending over the dead body of an attacker. Glancing that way, she didn’t blame the woman. Declan has a fine backside, as Mrs. Rosenblat would have said.

  “Laird Declan, Malcolm is tired from our long ride, as is Flora. Plus, my dear child should nay have to witness such brutality,” Glenda chirped from her mount.

  Emma took in the bored expression on the young woman’s face, the one she surmised was Flora. She looked to be a teenager and one who probably stayed in as much as she did. The girl is no looker, not like her mother . . . I really need to find a better way to describe people. Her mind processed everyone like the older women who occupied her free time.

  “Who is the lass?” Declan pointed at the dead body rather than Emma.

  “My daughter’s companion. She ran instead of heeding my warnings.” Cortland lied to those gathered.

  Emma’s eyes widened at the new presumption. He’s telling them that I’m his daughter! Grabbing his arm to capture his attention, Cortland gave her a slight but subtle nod. Her head shook, but touched her cheek and continued the fabrication. “My daughter follows in her father’s footsteps. She is a sight to behold with a weapon in her hand.”

  The lie didn’t sit well with her. Lies were webs waiting to tangle and cause trouble down the road. Yet, given the strange audience, Emma held her tongue. The notion of it all being a dream faded quickly. Cortland’s muscled arm felt extremely solid and real in her trembling hand.