Highland Wolf Pact: Blood Reign: A Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

showed. She hoped not. “Mother said I mus’ go out and meet ’im.”
    Alaric gave a nod, already picking up her gear and helping her dress. Getting out of the stuff by herself was possible, but getting it on was much more difficult. They approached the secret entrance together. Alaric had been the one to do this before her, but he’d been training her over the years, and had deemed her ready. And if he thought she was ready, then it had to be so. Even if she was, at times, still susceptible to feints. Her challenger wouldn’t know that, would he? Alaric was one of the best fighters in the world, and he’d trained her—so if she could keep up with Alaric…
    She’d have to trust that all would be as it should be.
    That’s what she told herself as Alaric opened the underground passage that would lead her to the rock outcropping at the crossroads. She felt his hand on her shoulder, a sudden weight, and glanced back.
    “Yer a fine guardian, lass,” he assured her. “It’ll all be as it should.”
    Funny that she’d just spoken those words to herself. She gave him a nod, stepping out into the light of day. It was a glorious summer day and it made her wonder what normal maidens her age were doing. Picking flowers and making daisy chains, mayhaps? But not Bridget. She was walking out in full armor to meet a challenging warrior. Alaric and Alessa often said those words, “All will be as it should,” but sometimes, she wondered. Had she been meant to be abandoned at the temple? Meant to be trained as the priestess and guardian of the Temple of Ardis and Asher? It seemed a strange charge for a human girl who lived with and had been parented by wulvers, especially given that the legend of Ardis and Asher was a wulver legend and not a human one.
    But she was doing it, standing behind the remote outcropping where she could disappear to safety inside the temple again, if she needed to. If the warrior sought healing and knew of the temple, the guardian had to yield and bring him inside. She had only glimpsed his image briefly in the pool, a big man on horseback wearing a Scots plaid and gear but no armor, not even chainmail or a helmet. Mayhaps he sought healing only?
    Her armor was more English than Scottish, to be honest, made for a knight, with a breastplate and a full helmet and faceplate, although she had the freedom of her legs being bare—a Scot couldn’t be tied down, that’s what Alaric always said.
    She was glad of the helmet, though, because it hid her face. She had learned, long ago, to disguise her voice, and had practiced throwing it beyond the outcropping into the crossroads, a booming reply to the inquiry of a seeker. There was a small, reflective piece of metal positioned so she could see the warrior’s approach, although he could not see her or discern her position.
    Bridget had a moment to just study him as he slowed his horse. She lifted her faceplate so she could do so more clearly. The war horse turned in easy, slow circles as the big man looked around, taking in his barren surroundings. The rocks were the only thing of interest, of course, as it was meant to be. The dark-haired warrior squinted at the rocks, brow lowered, mouth drawn down into a frown.
    “Uri, this is ridiculous,” the man muttered, patting his horse’s neck. “’Ere goes nothin’.”
    The man sat back up, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. He was young, but not a boy. Mayhaps her age, she thought, cocking her head and staring at him. A considerable opponent to be sure. She really hoped he was here for healing, because she didn’t want to have to fight him. She would, if she had to—but if she could just bid him enter, that would be better.
    “I seek entrance t’the Temple of Asher’n’Ardis!” The man’s voice carried to her easily. It was a pleasant sound, and she sensed no fear in it. No evil either. Just a little annoyance and impatience. This was a man who was used to gaining entry, wherever he went.