Legendary Warrior (Warrior 1)

She was an unusual woman in her pursuits and that, in part, was what interested him. She was a woman of many talents. When he had conversed in French with Thomas at supper one night she’d joined in the conversation, her tongue fluid in the foreign language. She had shocked him even more when he’d discovered that she could speak Latin, a language he had never learned. It seemed as though she forever surprised him with her skills and knowledge.

He did not wish to startle her, but she was obviously more alert to her surroundings than he thought, for she realized he was near.

“Magnus, look what I have found.” Excitement filled her every word.

He joined her, bending down beside her.

She looked up at him. Then, without thought to her actions, she gently brushed behind his ear a long wisp of hair that had fallen across his cheek, and she continued on as if she had done nothing out of the ordinary. “Look, Magnus, it is perfect, simply a perfect feather.”

He glanced down as her hand tenderly brushed away the few leaves that covered the red-tipped brown feather.

“Turkey,” Magnus said.

“Aye, turkey.” She handled the feather with extreme care. “The tip needs further drying; the sun will do. It must dry slowly or the tip will turn brittle and not make a good quill.”

She placed the feather in a narrow basket on the ground.

“What other feathers make good quills?” Magnus asked, standing and holding his hand out to her.

She took it and noticed how warm and strong his touch was and she reluctantly released it once she stood. “Goose feathers make sturdy quills, swan feathers, though I have never personally owned one, and black crow feathers. I hope to find a few today, since not all will dry well.”

“I will help you,” he offered.

She seemed surprised. “It is not necessary, you are busy with the keep, and I am accustomed to foraging for feathers on my own.”

For a brief moment he grew annoyed that she did not want his help, for he felt it meant she also did not wish his company, and he grew more annoyed at himself for letting her rejection disturb him. Then he calmed, reminded himself of Reena’s independent nature, and was more direct.

“I would like to help you.”

“If you wish,” she said, delighted to have his company. Recently she had been finding his company more than merely pleasant: she had found herself looking forward to spending time with him, enjoying the time she spent with him and even finding excuses to be in his company.

“Why do you not just collect feathers from the birds used for our meals?”

“I do sometimes, but many are damaged and I find I enjoy searching the woods, for I feel the birds leave their feathers behind specially for me.”

She smiled, and for a moment it looked as though the bruise had returned to the side of her mouth. Then he realized it was the shadows of the tree branches playing tricks against her face.

The reminder of the blow stirred his anger, along with his fierce need to protect her.

He walked toward her, not realizing he looked more like a bird of prey in his dark garments and scowling expression.

Reena took a few hasty steps back, but not fast enough, for he reached out and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her up against him.

“You will not go into the woods alone ever again.”

Anyone mindful enough to know her place and wise enough to fear someone larger and more powerful would respond sensibly. Reena, however, had been feeling the loss of her freedom to the Legend, and for him to rob her of the joy of gathering feathers for quills annoyed her. How was she ever to map terrain if she was forbidden to enter the woods alone?

“That is not possible.”

His eyes widened, startled by her sharp tongue.

“It is necessary for me to traverse the woods, forests, hills, streams and more if I am your mapmaker, and it will not always be feasible for someone to accompany me. I am small and fast on my feet and I can cover much land in a short time, and I do not fear being alone.”

“I fear you being alone, and you obey me.”

“You are being stubborn, I am being sensible.”

He lowered his face close to hers. “You think so.”

“Nay, I know so.”

“I will not tolerate disobedience.”

“I will not be prevented from fulfilling my obligation to you, by you.”

“You are stubborn,” he said sharply.

“As are you.” She was grateful it was her legs that trembled and not her speech, and grateful that he held her firm, for if he released her, she doubted her legs would support her.

“What do I do with you, Reena?”

She was surprised that his voice softened, though his gentle response tempered her own. “Let me map as I know how, and”—she smiled slowly—“help me forage for feathers?”