Heart of A Warrior
By
Karen Michelle Nutt
TEASE PUBLISHING
www.teasepublishingllc.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and are
not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to business establishments,
events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
Heart of a Warrior
A Tease Publishing Book/E book
Copyright© 2009 Karen Michelle Nutt
ISBN-13: 978-1-60767-096-4
Cover Artist: Stella Price
Editor: Gail Martin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced
electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of
brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Tease Publishing LLC
www.teasepublishingllc.com
PO BOX 234
Swansboro, North Carolina 28584-0234
Tease and the T logo is Tease Publishing LLC. All rights reserved
Dedicated to all those who must face challenges in their lives.
A warrior survives doing what he can to heal the heart, body or mind. When
all say to give up, Hope whispers, “Don’t. Try again.”
Chapter One
“I call to you to do battle by my uncle’s side... Aid him in his conquest. Let
your blade be as his should be.... His heart as your heart.”
The young man’s plea for his uncle did not go unheard. Scáthach appeared in
the hospital room seconds after she heard the prayer. She was curious to know
why she’d been summoned here to this realm. Smells of disinfectant, sweat and
death wafted through the open door of the hospital room. Monitor beeps, the
rolling of food carts and the light murmur of the hospital staff touched her ears,
but no threat seemed eminent. She had donned her warrior garb of tightly fitted
clothing with her sword and axe strapped to her side. Her long dark bangs were
pulled back from her face and braided to stay out of her eyes. Being battle ready,
had kept her alive, but no foe awaited her here in the beige-walled room meant
for the ill or the dying.
It had been some time since she had been in this world with its computers
and high tech machinery. She much preferred the centuries before there were
gadgets to help mankind to work less. The luxuries made them weak and soft
around the middle. A real man should be fit with muscled arms to enable him to
wield a sword … or to hold a woman in his embrace in the art of making love,
whichever seemed fitting at the time. She shook her head in dismay of what
mankind had given up for his comforts. “Humans,” she muttered under her
breath. “Thank the gods, I am no longer one of them.” The Tuatha de Dannan
had touched her, making her the Warrior Goddess.
She trained men worthy of her guidance on the magical Isle of Mist, which
others called the Isle of Skye. Her duties also were to guide the souls slain in
battle on their Death Journey to Tir Nan Og, the land of eternal youth and
beauty.
The young boy, who had summoned her, lounged next to the hospital bed in
slumber. His cheeks were still round and childish with freckles that bridged his
nose, giving his age to be no more than ten and two. His sandy blond hair hung
in waves over his left eye. He was long and lanky, showing signs he would one
day be a tall man. He clutched a book tightly to his chest and she could make out
the title: Celtic Gods and Goddess. A smile curved her lips. The boy was also
smart. He had sent for her, a warrior who had taught the greatest heroes of all
time how to fight. He prayed for his uncle in hopes she would guide him. She
frowned at the strange request. This was not a battlefield.
She glanced at the bed where a man lay still as death, presumably the uncle
in question. Tubes and wires were attached to his body while a monitor beeped
in time with his heartbeat. Dark auburn hair with strands of mahogany and
russet covered his head like a thick mane. The gods would approve of his strong
chiseled chin with hair stubble roughing the edges. His cheekbones were broad
and his eyes slanted catlike with thick lashes that were gold near the lids and
deep auburn as they curved out to lay featherlike on his cheeks. His features
betrayed his Celtic heritage.
She pulled back the covers and took her fill of what lay beneath. Broad
muscular chest, flat stomach and long thick thighs flattered him. This was not a
man who sat behind a desk, flipping switches to do his work. He appeared to be
strong and yet… She took hold of his hand to read his palm and see what his
future held. Indeed the man was at war. A battle wreaked havoc inside of him,
trying to take over and bring him to his knees. Death was near and it wouldn’t be
long before his fight would be over and yet the man hadn’t given up.
She glanced at the sleeping child again. He wanted his uncle to live and
feared he couldn’t fight this alone. She was an expert in the art of war and never
shied away from a challenge. She returned her gaze to the bedside, running a
hand down the man’s arm. A war was a war no matter where the battle was held.
Be it on the fields of heather with an army or an illness attacking the body. Both
held an enemy that needed to be defeated.
She’d see if this man was worthy to have her as a teacher. If so, she would
give him the tools to battle this, making him a warrior. She lifted his arm and
read the nametag attached to his wrist. “Trey Brennan.” Her gaze shifted to his
face. His eyes had fluttered open at the sound of her voice. The catlike eyes were
an amber color, warm and intelligent. “Are you a fighter?” she asked.
He appeared confused by her question, his eyebrows drawing together,
giving him a fierce look, a warrior’s glare.
“Are you a fighter?” she repeated the question.
His brows smoothed and his gaze gave her an appreciative once over. “You’re
beautiful. Are you an angel?”
She had been called many things. Angel was not one of them. “No. I want
your word that you’ll fight to live. I will not waste my time on someone who will
surrender at the first sight of a battle.”
He glanced at his nephew still asleep in the chair. “I don’t want to die.”
“Then you must listen to me.”
He nodded his head. “I will do anything. I’m all Joey has. His parents died
five years ago. If I’m gone he’ll have no one to care for him.”
Joey was the boy’s name. Trey had raised him then. Good, she thought. He
will work hard, knowing he must survive for his nephew. All warriors had to have
a purpose or else the fight wouldn’t matter. Win or die would not make a
difference. In this case, survival had to be something he wanted, something he
would strive to have. She gave him
a curt nod. “Then I accept you for my
student.”
His lips curved at the corners.
Nice full lips meant for kissing, she thought.
“This is a nice dream.” His voice was a deep masculine baritone. “I always
had a thing for beautiful raven-haired women.”
She leaned close so she could whisper in his ear. “Work hard and you may
win me as well. Aye?”
“I’d like that.” He closed his eyes again, falling back to sleep.
Chapter Two
Trey awoke with a start, inhaling as he did so as if he couldn’t catch his
breath. Wide eyed he glanced around his make shift room—a tent of some sort
with only furs to cover what he supposed was his bed. Clothing lay neatly beside
him along with furred boots. A long sword etched with Celtic symbols rested on
top of the garments, gleaming silver in the light that shone through the opening
in the tent. “What is going on?” His thoughts were a jumbled mess as he sorted
through where he was and why. He’d been ill—cancer. The big “C” word sent
hadn’t worked. His body was rejecting the treatment. So why wasn’t he in the
hospital? “Don’t be stupid, Brennan. This is a dream.” His brow creased and his
frown deepened as he wondered why the dream seemed so real. “The meds must
be strong if I can bring on this delusion with such vivid detail.”
No, this was something entirely different. The inkling in the back of his mind
told him this wasn’t a dream. His eyes widened then. “I’ve died and this is… what
exactly? Was this Heaven? Or perhaps this was one of the levels of Hell.
He threw back the furs that covered him intent on finding out what was
going on, but halted when he realized he was bare as the day he’d been born. Not
that he was opposed to sleeping in the nude, but when he didn’t know how he
came to be without his clothes that was a whole different story. Apprehension
knotted in his stomach. Then he chuckled over the obscurity of the situation.
“You’re probably dead, man. Why would you need clothes?” As he said the words
his gaze landed on the garments beside his makeshift bed.
At the same moment the flap opened.
“Shit.” He hastily covered his lower extremity with his hands for what good it
did when he was standing there in all his natural glory. If he was dead, how come
he still had emotions like being embarrassed over being found with his pants
down, so to speak? To make matters worse, the visitor was a knock-you-off-your-
feet gorgeous woman. She was tall, standing only a few inches shorter than his
height of six-foot four. Her hair was long almost black, but the light shining
through the opening of the tent danced off the strands, highlighting her tresses
with beams of cinnamon, russet, and red amber. She was clad in a tight fitting
garment of leather and fur that accentuated every curve. Silver bands adorned
her arms with Celtic carvings etched into the metal. Her firm thighs were bare
and went on forever. Fur boots covered her feet to mid calf. “Warrior,” he
whispered wondering why that word of all words came to mind. Not exactly a
word used for an endearment and yet the woman’s lips twitched at the corners
and her pale blue eyes twinkled in merriment as if he paid her a compliment.
His body reacted like a man fully alive and well and he knew his fair skin
turned a nice shade of pink. Her gaze flickered down to his groin and he backed
up a step. What was he doing? Surely this was only a dream, some fantasy he had
locked away in his pea brain to only resurface now moments before he died. That
was it. This was like a last request before death took him. If that was so, then why
did he have reservations?
“If you’re ready, we’ll begin.” Her voice was a slow burr like a melodious
vibration.
“Ready?” Oh his body parts—one in particular was ready, but he had a hunch
she was speaking of something entirely different.
Again, those lush full lips of hers twitched but this time a smile appeared,
revealing straight white teeth. “I’ll allow you to dress then meet me outside. You
don’t have much time to prepare.”
He drew his brows together in a frown. “Prepare for what?”
“To meet and destroy the enemy of course.” She didn’t wait for him to
question her further, but whirled around and left the tent expecting him to do as
he had been told.
Enemy? Fight? “What the hell?” He glanced around him. Maybe he had hit it
on the nail. Maybe this was hell and he would be tortured by having a beautiful
woman within his grasp but unable to have her, but have to wage war on some
unknown enemy for further punishment. He may have never been a saint, but he
hadn’t lived a wicked life. He worked hard, paid his taxes and cared for his
nephew as if he were his own son. Why was he being punished? There was only
one way to find out and she was waiting for him outside the tent. He was no
coward and would meet whatever challenge awaited him.
He grabbed the clothes.
Chapter Three
Scáthach was glad Trey had made the transition to the Isle of Skye without
any ill effects. He was indeed a strong man, standing taller than she stood. The
russet strands of his hair glimmered in the sun, but once it set, the mahogany
would take over, making his hair a darker shade of auburn. His body was as
shoulders and wide chest proved he could wield a sword or hold a woman close,
whichever was deemed appropriate. Away from his world his true soul shone
through. He radiated strength, determination and heat. She hadn’t missed how
his body reacted to her and truth be known, she wasn’t immune to his charms
either. She had not seen such beauty since she trained Cú Chulainn, the most
powerful warrior Ireland had ever seen. He mastered the arts of underwater
fighting and other combat moves that few ever accomplished. With her
invention, the Gáe Bolg, Cú Chulainn had won many battles.
She turned as the flap swung open and Trey emerged from its depth, wearing
the garments of a born warrior. A smile of pure feminine pleasure teased her lips
as her gaze took him in once more. Oh yes, he was Cú Chulainn and more. The
gods had surely designed Trey Brennan for battle, but they had also created him
for female pleasure as well.
“Welcome, Trey Brennan to Dú Scáith.”
His mouth dropped open, slacked in disbelief before he recovered. “The
Castle of Shadows? Like in the legendary Scáthach’s castle, the Isle of Mist?” He
chuckled nervously.
“I am impressed. You know your Celtic history.”
“You mean legends,” he insisted.
She shrugged not seeing the difference.
He glanced around him and she gave him his leisure, letting him become
accustomed to his new world. She was proud of her fortress and what she had
accomplished over the centuries. The grounds were equipped with all that was
needed to fine-tune a warrior’s gifts. Her home stood on the most northerly
island in the Inner Hebrides of
what modern people now called Scotland. The
island’s peninsulas spread out from the mountainous center of Cuillin Hills. Her
castle was strong and impenetrable while it stood shrouded in the magical mist
of invisibility. Only those who were skilled and brave enough to penetrate the
many defenses of her fortress were allowed access. However, she was a goddess
and granted entrance to a soul who showed promise of being a fully formed
warrior.
“Tell me I’m dreaming.” Trey’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
“Why would I be so inclined to tell you this?”
“Because if I’m not dreaming, I must be dead and I cannot die. Do you hear
me? I won’t die.”
“Oh aye, I hear you well enough Trey Brennan. Let me assure you that you
are neither dreaming nor dead.”
He took a deep breath but still didn’t relax with her news. Odd, she’d thought
her words would put him at ease.
“If I’m not dead and not dreaming, what is this? Why am I here?”
She thought she had explained this to him already, but she could be a patient
teacher if the mood suited her. “You must defeat your enemy and become the
victor before it is too late. If you will let me, I will teach you the fine arts of
combat and prepare you for the battle.”
He shook his head. “What battle? I don’t understand. I was in the hospital—
my death bed if you must know and now… He spread his arms wide. “Now I’m
trapped in a dream world from an old Irish legend.”
Sometimes humans were so narrowed minded. “Well, that is irrelevant.
There is more than just your world. There are many realms of existence. Train
well and all will make sense once more to you.”
He blinked in disbelief, his lids sliding over the amber colored eyes with a
slow and deliberate closing and opening again.
Her shoulders lifted and lowered in a shrug. “What do you have to lose?
Defeat the enemy here and you will find what you seek in your world.”
Chapter Four
Trey was at a loss for words. Battle? Train? Defeat the enemy? He didn’t
understand why his mind trapped him in this realm of unconsciousness. Why