A Battle Lord’s Heart Read online

  A Battle Lord’s Heart

  Book Three of the Battle Lord Saga

  by

  Linda Mooney

  Copyright © 2011 by Linda Mooney

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work

  is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary

  gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in

  federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are

  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

  resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of

  the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

  form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including

  photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and

  retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  ISBN 978-1-4507-1946-9

  The Battle Lord Saga

  The Battle Lord's Lady

  Her Battle Lord's Desire

  A Battle Lord's Heart

  For more information about Linda Mooney books

  And titles, please visit her website.

  www.LindaMooney.com

  Chapter One

  Target Practice

  “Battle Lord about!”

  Although the call had been made loud enough to be heard on this side of the compound, it filtered much softer through the closed windows.

  Atty slowly opened her eyes to the empty indentation beside her on the bed. If she put her hand on the pillow she knew she’d find it still warm and smelling of him. That man could dress faster than anyone she knew. Atty grinned. He could also strip faster.

  After her revelation yesterday, Yulen had gone outside and personally rung the bell to gather the townspeople together. She’d watched from the bedroom window as he proudly announced the news that she was pregnant. Then, to her surprise, he confided in them the additional problems they would be facing. He told them about the high infant death rate among Mutah, and the undeniable risk of miscarriage and stillbirth. Once he had explained, he’d asked for their help in watching out for her, requesting that they notify MaGrath if at any time they saw she was in distress or needed help.

  When he was finished, he’d stepped off the short dais into a sea of congratulatory wishes and handshakes.

  That night, when he’d made love to her, she could tell something had changed between them. At first Atty couldn’t put a clear definition on it. It wasn’t until he had fallen asleep with his warm palm resting possessively on her abdomen was she able to grasp a small sense of what it was.

  In his well-ordered yet highly stressful life, she was the one thing that remained elusive. His most cherished thing in life, even greater than life itself. But she was Mutah, and because she was, there would always be the chance she could or would leave him again—voluntarily or involuntarily. Deep down, somehow, he had managed to keep that fear of losing her at bay. Yet, the wound inflicted upon him when she’d been removed to Wallis on their wedding day had not healed. Neither would it ever be forgotten.

  Until now. Until the moment when she’d whispered for the third time the news of his impending fatherhood against his lips. The news had acted like an all-encompassing salve, soothing over that wound, that fear. Healing him totally, and finally ridding him of the rank blackness that had been festering in him these past months.

  The baby was part of him, and the legacy of Alta Novis. The baby could never be taken away from its destiny. Which meant Atty would never again leave him, or be forced to leave him, as no one would dare to separate the mother from her child.

  That hope and belief was what he now clung to and fervently believed.

  At that moment she had become that much more precious to him. So when he had taken her into his arms and made mind-numbing love to her last night, it no longer had the frenzied sense of fear it had always held. He would no longer allow those demons to pursue him or cruelly taunt him with the possibility it might be their last night together. Their last night in each other’s arms, in each other’s bodies.

  Her eyes widened. Suddenly it became clear why he’d treated her with such venom when she’d gone outside the compound in pursuit of the Bloods. It was because she’d left him. Not because she’d left the compound or its protection. Not because she’d disregarded his strict orders. She had left him.

  A soft knock at the door drew her attention. A scant second later a familiar round face popped around the edge of the door. “Oh, good, you’re awake! You know it’s well past breakfast, and the tables have been cleared,” Berta told the figure partially wrapped in a sheet. Seeing the woman’s face fall at the loss of a meal, the housekeeper grinned. “Ah, but I knew you’d be starving, so I brought up a tray.”

  She opened the door wider and bustled in with a fully loaded tray, and sat it on the small writing table. “The Battle Lord said to let you sleep in if you wished.” She smiled even wider. “It’s wonderful news to hear you’re carrying a baby, Atty. You know you can count on me if there’s anything I can do to help you out.”

  Getting up on her knees and drawing the sheet tighter around her, Atty brushed a long lock of hair out of her face. “Thanks for the tray, Berta. What would I do without you? Yes, there are a few things you can help me with! I just wish I knew where to begin first.” She gave the woman a look of absolute confusion. “Berta, how long have you lived at Alta Novis?”

  “Ah.” The housekeeper dropped her chin as she thought. “Fortyyy- four years, Atty. In that time I’ve seen this place grow and get busier. I worked for your husband’s parents, and I’ve married and had four of my own children.”

  “Four?” Atty sat with mouth agape. “And they all lived?”

  Berta started and opened her mouth to make a comment, when she remembered what the Battle Lord had told them. Mutah women had difficulty conceiving and carrying a child, with the odds heavily against them that the baby would be born alive even if they did manage to make it through the nine months. Immediately her slight irritation was replaced with deep sympathy.

  “Yes, all four nice, healthy children. Three boys and a girl. They’re all grown up now, with families of their own. My two youngest live here. Blakeney and his wife live in Port Destiny, down to the south. And Dannson and his wife live in Foster City.” Berta cocked her head as she watched the woman get up from the bed and go over to the tray to reach first for the mug of milk. “You already know my daughter’s husband. He’s the compound’s knifesmith.”

  Atty’s eyes brightened. “Cavender! Your son-in-law is Cavender? He made my Ballock.”

  “I know. He told me all about his encounter with you. Life here in the compound is the same as it is where you’re from. Everyone is connected to everyone, one way or another, or knows all about everyone else. Whatever you do to one of us, you do to all of us. The compound grapevine is strong and thriving in Alta Novis,” she smiled.

  Her observant eye noticed how the Mutah woman wrapped a link of sausage in a slice of toast, rolling it together before taking a bite out of it as she went over to the bureau to get out some clean clothes. When Atty dropped the sheet to dress, the housekeeper was taken aback by the woman’s ease with having her in the room. Then again, she told herself, there weren’t many people she was comfortable enough having around in close proximity. Atty made friends easily, but the housekeeper had quickly learned she trusted only a handful.

  “Damn.”


  Walking over to where the young woman was trying to button on her pants, Berta chuckled and shook her head. “You’re getting a bit too big for your britches already. Well, it was bound to happen.”

  “What do women do when their clothes don’t fit anymore?” Atty asked, clearly unhappy to learn her favorite pants were no longer an option.

  “Let me take these over to Mr. O’Meyers and see if he can replace these buttons with more buttonholes. That’ll give you a few more weeks where you can lace them up. After that, we’ll get you something you can be comfortable in. Don’t worry, Atty. I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, you don’t need to be wearing anything tight or binding.”

  Her eyes glanced over the woman’s trim figure, the already perfect breasts and long, statuesque legs, and noticed the subtle swelling of her abdomen. From the moment she first arrived, it was clear Atty truly was a beautiful woman despite her battered, half-starved appearance. But in the few months she’d been living at the compound she’d gone from scrawny to shapely, from budding to blossomed, molded by enough food and the Battle Lord’s love. Even without the wealth of dark indigo-colored hair, she turned men’s heads whenever she passed by. And she had no idea how she appeared to others. For Atty, as long as she had a clean pair of pants and a tunic, she was happy. She had no use for fashion, no need for all the niceties other women gawked about and tried to emulate. No urgency to have the right color or fit or fabric.

  Berta smiled. The Battle Lady fit no mold. She was as open and bright and refreshing as a new day, without any expectations but hope. She was as different from anyone else the woman had ever known, and there was no doubt in her mind that was the biggest reason why the Battle Lord had fallen in love with her.

  “Your body is going to change a lot, Atty. Better be expecting it.”

  “Yeah. I heard.” The woman looked down at herself, and ran her fingers over her slightly protruding tummy. “Still hard to believe there’s another living person in there.” For a long minute she remained staring at the first true evidence of what she’d only heard stories about, then Atty turned around and wrapped her arms around the matronly woman’s waist, laying her cheek against the ample bosom. Berta held her, understanding how frightened the woman was about the future.

  “You are going to be the most beautiful, the most fortunate woman I’ve ever known. Even more than Madam was when she was carrying your husband.”

  Blue-gray eyes glanced up at her. “You were here when Yulen was born?”

  “Oh, yeah. I helped deliver him. We had no doctor at the compound at that time. Vernon Galway, our old physician, died five months before she was due.”

  “What about Liam?”

  “He was up in Far Troit, learning to be a doctor. He’d worked under Dr. Galway for about two years before he went up there. Never knew the old man had a heart attack until he came back the following year to take up the residency.”

  “What do you mean, he never knew? You didn’t send word the doctor had died?”

  “That was Rory’s decision. He wanted Dr. MaGrath to finish all his studying. He said that if he sent word that Galway was dead, the man would feel obligated to come back here early, and lose out on his studies.”

  “Yeah, he would have.” Atty released her and dug back into the drawer, pulling out another pair of pants which she managed to button. As she concentrated, she unconsciously tossed her head to get her hair out of her way. Berta reached over to hold it back for her, running her fingers through its thickness.

  “What do you have planned for today?” the housekeeper asked, then suddenly bit her tongue. It was none of her business what the Battle Lady had planned, and she’d just stepped beyond her duties when she’d asked. Who did she think she was? The girl’s mother? Mortified by her breach of etiquette, Berta dropped the double handful of hair once Atty snatched a long-sleeved tunic to drop over her head. To her complete astonishment, Atty didn’t appear to notice or even care the woman had made the inquiry.

  “I’m going over to the archery field to practice,” the Mutah woman announced, tying the rich blue strands into a loose ponytail behind her neck. “If this baby is going to play havoc with my skills, I’m just going to have to work all that much harder to keep them honed. Right?”

  “Oh, before I forget.” Berta dug into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to her. “I was told to give you this.”

  Atty quickly read the brief note, smiling. “It’s from Yulen. Thanks.” She tucked the paper into her pants pocket and walked over to the closet to fetch her lightweight jacket. If today was anything like yesterday, it would be warmer than usual, despite the small mounds of snow doggedly hiding in the shadows and refusing to admit defeat after the last snowfall.

  Giving the stunned housekeeper a kiss on the cheek, Atty grabbed her bow and the last sausage link off the tray, and left the bedroom. Berta sighed, one hand unconsciously raising to cup the still-warm spot on her cheek. Okay, not her mother, the woman conceded, but the Battle Lady definitely needed an adult confidante, and it appeared it was going to be her.

  * * * *

  Skipping down the stairs, Atty pulled the slip of paper out of her pocket and re-read it, a tender smile reaching from her lips to her eyes. It was the first note Yulen had ever written to her. She wondered if he realized it. In the past he’d always left a message for someone else to relay to her regarding his presence or requests. Word of mouth, usually sent via a soldier-in-training, or left with Berta, or sometimes with MaGrath.

  A gust of freezing cold air nearly tore the door from her hand as she left the main lodge by the back door. A cacophony of sound also greeted her, and Atty remembered it was Market Day. Another first was about to occur. This would be her first outing among the residents of Alta Novis since Yulen’s announcement yesterday afternoon.

  Atty took a deep breath and giggled. The last time she’d felt this apprehensive, it was spring, and she was the compound’s newest resident. The Mutah woman sleeping in the Battle Lord’s bed, the one rumored he would soon wed. The biggest scandal and juiciest bit of gossip to hit Alta Novis in years. The day that woman slugged her in the face with an oak bucket.

  A lot has happened in a few months, the Battle Lord of Foster City had commented to Yulen. “Boy, you said a mouthful,” Atty muttered under her breath, stepping out into the walkway.

  Her appearance was met with shouts of good morning and congratulatory wishes as a sentry overhead gave the announcement, “Battle Lady about!”

  Blushing furiously, she gave several a little wave as she hurried down the lane, brushing by people standing in the way as they conversed in pairs or small groups. Most smiled, but none tried to stop or touch her with a pat or handshake. They knew Atty wasn’t the type to stand around and converse. Besides, they could see she was wearing her bow, which meant there was a purpose to her being outside. She had a mission, and no one dared to slow her down or delay her.

  She saw the huge man and his companion standing near a stall selling freshly roasted nuts. In the back of her mind she took note of him blowing on his burnt fingers as he ate the hot nuts, but she paid no more attention to him than she did all the other strangers taking advantage of the Saturday to do their shopping. There were so many new people moving in or stopping at the compound for a few days, she could no longer keep track.

  Slipping past two women carrying baskets of eggs, Atty caught sight of Cavender standing outside his little lodge where he displayed the knives and daggers he made. She graced him with a big smile when a fur-covered arm and shoulder came from out of nowhere and sideswiped her, knocking her heavily into the stall on the other side of the roadway. Atty twisted her body, trying to break her fall with her hands and arms, instinctively protecting her stomach. She landed amid the barrels of drink, scattering mugs, as several people shouted out a warning. A stab of pain went up one leg, but fortunately that appeared to be the worst of her injuries, other than a few bruises. Her jacket had protected
her from anything more serious.

  Heat infused her as her anger flamed. From where she lay sprawled on the ground, she looked up at the big burly man she’d seen at the nut stall standing a few feet away, calmly munching on his purchase as he gave her an amused grin. Turning to his companion, he said, “Hey, look at the Mutah bitch” and chuckled. “You never know what they let in here, do you?”

  “Excuse me,” Atty said tersely as the people around them grew quiet, “but I think you did that on purpose. Therefore, you owe me an apology.”

  The burly man gave her a surprised look. Leaning over, he exaggerated holding a hand to his ear in her direction. “Huh? What was that? Anders, did the little bitch try to say something?” His expression suddenly went dark. “Come on. Let’s go see what else this burg has to offer. I’m beginning to feel sick to my stomach, having to smell this Mutah at this close range.”

  A sword suddenly descended between the two men from behind them, its point pressed to the burly man’s shoulder. Both men halted in surprise as a calm voice said, “The Lady asked for an apology. I strongly suggest you give it.”

  The men stepped aside to where Atty could see the person at the other end of the sword. “Who the fuck are you?” Burly Man demanded irritably.

  Mastin gave a semi-dramatic half-bow. “Second-in-command Cole Mastin. Now, about that apology.” He turned to Atty with troubled eyes. “Are you all right?”

  Atty opened her mouth to reply when the burly man suddenly knocked the sword upward, throwing Mastin off-guard. Unprepared for a retaliatory attack from the man’s companion standing behind him, the Second never anticipated the roundhouse blow to the back of the head that dropped him to the dirt.