Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart Of The Warrior Read online

  “Ahem…excuse me, children. Might I have a moment with you?”

  Roan tore his mouth from Inca’s. Grandmother Alaria stood in the doorway of their room, her face alight with humor. In her hands was a tray filled with steaming hot cereal, fresh fruit, a pitcher and two glasses.

  Inca gasped. “Grandmother!” She blushed deeply and avoided the older woman’s shining eyes, which were filled with understanding and kindness.

  “Welcome home, my child,” Alaria murmured. With a sprightly air, she moved into the large room and said, “I felt you awaken. You are both weak from your experiences. I thought that a good hot cereal would bring you back to life.” She grinned as she placed the tray across Roan’s lap. “But I see that life has returned of its own accord to both of you in another way, and I’m joyful.”

  Inca stared up at the old woman, who was dressed in a long-sleeved white blouse and dark blue skirt that fell to her thin ankles. “But—how—how did I get here?” she stammered.

  “Tut, tut, child. Come eat. Eat. Both of you. I’ll just make myself at home on this stool here in the corner. While you eat, I’ll talk. Fair enough?” Her eyes glimmered as she slowly settled herself on the rough-hewn stool in the corner.

  Shaken, Inca looked at Roan, who had a silly, pleased smile on his face. He, too, was blushing. She touched her cheek in embarrassment. It felt like fire. And then she stole a look at the village elder. Alaria had the same kind of silly grin on her mouth that Roan had. What did they know that she did not? Roan handed her a bowl made of red clay pottery, and a hand-carved wooden spoon. The cereal looked nourishing and good. The tempting nutlike flavor drifted up to her nostrils.

  “I took the liberty of putting some honey in it for you,” Alaria told Inca. “This was always your favorite meal when you were with us.”

  Inca thanked Roan and held the bowl in her hands. Much of her weakness was gone, but she was still not back to her old self. “Thank you, Grandmother.” As always, she prayed over her food before she consumed it. The spirits who had given their lives so that she might live needed such thanks. Lifting the wooden spoon, she dug hungrily into the fare. Her heart was still pounding with desire, her senses flooded from the swift, hot kiss Roan had given her. Her body felt like lightning, energized and unsettled. She wanted something, but could not name what it was.

  Alaria nodded approvingly as they both began to eat. “Food for your spirits,” she murmured, “and a gift to your physical body.” She lifted her hands from her lap. “I know you both have many questions. Let me try to answer them in part. Some other answers will come later, when you are prepared properly for them.”

  Inca discovered she was starving, and gratefully spooned more of the thick, warm cereal into her mouth. Grandmother Alaria had doted upon her when she was at the village in training. At one time she had been a favorite of Alaria’s and Adaire’s. Once, Alaria had admitted that Inca was like the child they’d always wished to have, but never did. In some ways she’d been like a daughter to them, until she’d gravely disappointed them by breaking the laws of the clan.

  “I do not understand why you have allowed me to come back here,” Inca said, waving the spoon at the ceiling of the hut.

  “I know,” Alaria whispered gently, her face changing to one of compassion. “There was a meeting of the elder council after you were wounded and dying.”

  Inca frowned. “A meeting? What for?”

  Roan looked at her. “You don’t have a memory of Faro Valentino shooting you, do you?”

  Inca solemnly shook her head. “All I remember is that I was dying, Roan, and you traded your life for mine. That is all.”

  “She will recall it,” Alaria counseled. “All things will come back to you in time, my child, as your heart and emotions can handle the experiences.”

  “I was wounded by Faro Valentino?” She looked down at the cereal bowl in her hand, deep in thought. She aggressively tried to recall it, but could not. Frustration ate at her.

  “In the valley…” Roan began awkwardly. He knew that victims of brain trauma often wouldn’t remember much of anything for weeks, months or years after the experience. “We were with Colonel Marcellino’s company. You had freed the Indians who were slaves in the cocaine compound of the Valentino Brothers. You were working your way around the outside of the compound, getting rid of the guards, so that Marcellino’s men wouldn’t be in such danger when they attacked from the walls of the valley.” He looked to Alaria, who nodded for him to continue the explanation. “One drug runner—”

  “Faro Valentino,” Alaria interjected unhappily.

  Roan nodded, trying to handle his anger toward the man. “Yes, him.”

  Gravely, Alaria said, “He has murder in his heart. He is one of the darkest members of the Brotherhood of Darkness.” She turned to Inca. “Faro shot at you before you could turn and get a shot at him. Roan was behind you, and shouted at you, but you slipped in the mud, and that is what doomed you. At the angle Roan was standing, he couldn’t get a bead on Faro to stop him before he fired at you. A bullet grazed the back of your head, my child, and broke your skull, and you dropped unconscious to the ground.” Alaria gestured toward Roan, tears in her eyes. “He saved you later, by giving permission to give his life so that you might return from the Threshold to us. There are few men of Roan’s courage and heart on the face of Mother Earth. Without his unselfish surrendering, you would not be with us today.”

  Inca lost her appetite. She set the bowl aside and looked deeply into Roan’s eyes. “I remember only part of being on the Threshold. I remember him calling me back…. That is when I knew I was dying.”

  “And you took his hand, which you had to do in order to decide to stay here instead of moving on to the other dimensions in spirit form.” Alaria smiled gently and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. “His unselfish act of love did more than just save your life, my child.”

  Inca reached out and threaded her fingers through Roan’s. He squeezed gently and smiled at her. “What else did it do?” Inca asked.

  Alaria looked at her for a long time, the silence thickening in the hut. She placed her hands on her thighs. Her mouth turned inward, as if in pain. “You were told not to come back to the Village of the Clouds because you broke a cardinal rule of the Jaguar Clan.”

  “Yes,” Inca said haltingly. “I did.”

  “And when a clan member knowingly breaks a rule, the council must act on it. You were told to leave and never return.”

  Hanging her head, Inca closed her eyes. She felt all those awful feelings of the day she’d been asked to leave. Roan held her hand a little more tightly and tried to assuage some of her grief. Choking, Inca whispered, “I had been abandoned once without choice. By coming to Michael’s rescue, I knowingly gave up my family, and it was my choice. I have no one to blame for my actions but me. I knew better, but I did it anyhow.”

  “Yes,” Alaria murmured sadly. “But we, the council, have been watching you the last seven years since you left us. We have watched you grow, and become less selfish, living more in accordance with the laws of the Sisterhood of Light.” She gestured toward the rain forest behind the village. “For seven years you have followed every law. We have watched and noted this, Inca. You have turned into a wonderful healer for the sick and the aging. This is part of your blood, your heritage. But it is also part of your life to protect and defend the people of Amazonia. And this you have done willingly, without any help from us at any time. You have been completely on your own. You could have gone over to the Brotherhood of Darkness, but you did not. You struggled, grew and transformed all on your own into a proud member of the Jaguar Clan.”

  Inca blinked. “But I am not of the clan. I stand in the in-between world, neither dark nor light. That is what you said at my judgment.”

  “That was then.” Alaria spoke quietly. She held Inca’s unsure and fearful gaze, feeling the pain of her abandonment and loss. “You came to us without family. Without relatives. We loved
you like the daughter we never had. Adaire and I cherished you. We tried to give you what you had been denied all those years, without a true mother and father.”

  Hot tears moved into Inca’s eyes. She felt emotionally vulnerable because of all that she’d just experienced, and could not hide how she felt, or hold back the tears that now ran down her cheeks. “And I hurt both of you so very much. I am sorry for that—sorrier than you will ever know. Grandfather Adaire and you loved me. You gave me so much of what I was hungry for and never had before I came here.” Self-consciously, Inca wiped her cheeks. “And I ruined it. I did not respect the love that you gave to me. I abused the privilege. I will be forever sorry for the hurt I have caused you, Grandmother. You must believe me on that.”

  “We know how sorry you are, Inca. We have always loved you, child. That never changed throughout the years while you were away.” Alaria’s face grew tender. “Inca, you could have chosen so many other ways to lead your life when you left the village. No one but Adaire and I had hope that you would turn out to be the wonderful human being you are now. You care for the poor, you protect them, you heal them when it is within the laws, and you think nothing of yourself, your pain or your suffering. You have put others before yourself. This is one of the great lessons a clan member must learn and embrace. And you have done that.”

  Inca sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Th-thank you, Grandmother.”

  “You’re more than welcome, child. But here is the best news yet. The council has decided, unanimously, that you are to be allowed back into the Jaguar Clan with full privileges and support.” She smiled as she saw the shock of their community decision register fully on Inca’s face. She gasped. Roan placed his arm around her and gave her a hug of joy. He was grinning broadly.

  Alaria held up her hand. “Not only that, Inca, but when you are fully recovered, the council wants to publicly commend and honor you for what you have accomplished in Amazonia, thus far. That is why you are here, child. Your banishment is over. You have earned the right to be among us once again.” She smiled a little, her eyes glimmering with tears. “And I hope this time that you honor the laws and never break any of them ever again.”

  Inca sobbed. She threw her arms around Roan and clung to him as she buried her face against his shoulder.

  Roan felt tears in his own eyes. He understood what this meant to Inca. Moving his hand through her thick, dark hair, he rasped against her ear, “You have your family back, sweetheart. You’re home…you’re really home…”

  Chapter 13

  Roan found Inca wandering in a field near the village. Since it was nearly noon, he had made them lunch. Swinging the white cotton cloth that held their meal in his left hand, he stepped out into the field. It was alive with wildflowers, the colors vibrant against the soft green of the grasses, which were ankle-to knee-high. The meadow was bordered on three sides by old, magnificent kapok trees, their buttressing roots looking like welcoming arms to Roan.

  Above him, as always, were the large, slowly rolling clouds that seemed to always surround the village. He’d been here seven days and he had more questions than answers about this very special place. All his focus, however, was on Inca and her continued rehabilitation from her near death experience. From the day that Grandmother Alaria had told her she was part of the Jaguar Clan once more, Inca had become more solemn, more introspective. She was holding a lot of feelings inside her; Roan could sense it. He saw his part in her adjustment as simply being on hand if she wanted to talk about it and a needed, sympathetic ear, a shoulder to lean on. So far she hadn’t, and he honored her own sense of healing. At some point, he knew, Inca would talk with him at length. All he had to do was be patient. Fortunately, his Native American heritage gave him that gift. The other good news was that the mission led by Colonel Marcellino had been successful.

  As he crossed the field, the sunlight was warm and pleasant. The village seemed to be climate controlled at a balmy seventy-five degrees during the day and sixty-five degrees at night—neither too hot nor too cold. Even the temperature reflected the harmony and peace that infused the village and its transient inhabitants. The white-and-gray clouds that slowly churned in mighty, unending circles around the village had something to do with it, he suspected. He could see the steep, sharp granite peaks of the Andes in the distance. On the other side of the village the rain forest spread out in a living green blanket. They were literally living between the icy cold of the mountains and the hot, humid air arising from the rain forest below. No wonder there were always clouds present around the village, hiding it from prying, outsiders’ eyes like a snug, protective blanket.

  Inca was bending over a flower and smelling it, not yet aware of his presence. Since her accident, she seemed much more at ease, not jumpy and tense like before. As Grandfather Adaire had told him, this was a place of complete safety. Nothing could harm the inhabitants who lived and studied in the village. Maybe that was why he was seeing her relaxed for the first time. The change was startling and telling for Roan. Here Inca wore soft cotton, pastel shifts and went barefoot, her hair loose and free about her proud shoulders. Gone was the warrior and her military garb. There were no weapons of any kind allowed in the village. All the people Roan saw—and there were many from around the world—were dressed in loose fitting clothing made of natural fibers.

  Inca lifted her head in his direction, her eyes narrowing. Roan smiled as he felt her warm welcome embrace him, an invisible “hug” he knew came from Inca. The serious look on her face changed to one of joy upon seeing him. This morning he’d gone with Grandfather Adaire on an exploratory trip around the village. The elder had shown him many of the new and interesting sites that surrounded them. No wonder Inca had loved living and studying here. Roan understood more than ever how devastating it had been when she was told to leave. The way she had sobbed that morning when Grandmother Alaria told her she was welcomed back had been telling, pulled from the depths of her hurting, wounded soul. Roan had held her, rocked her and let her cry out all her past hurt and abandonment, the relief that she was once more welcomed back to her spiritual family. And they had told him not to mention anything about Maya to her yet. Inca was still reeling emotionally and Grandmother Alaria said that at the right time, Inca would meet her sister. Roan could hardly wait for that to happen. He knew how much Inca needed her real family.

  Waving his hand, he quickened his stride toward her. The breeze lifted strands of her shining ebony hair. How soft and vulnerable Inca appeared as she stood expectantly waiting for him. In her hand were several wildflowers that she’d picked. He grinned. Gone, indeed, was the warrior. In her place was the woman who had resided deeply in Inca until she could be released in the safety of such a place as the village. Roan liked the change, but he also honored her ability to use her masculine energy as a warrior. Every woman had a warrior within her, whether she knew it or not. He was at ease with a woman who could use all the strength within herself.

  Every woman had to deal with the myriad of issues life threw at them. They were far stronger emotionally and mentally than men, and Roan had no problem acknowledging that fact. He’d seen too many women squash that latent primal warrior, that survival ability within themselves, never tap into it because society said it was wrong for a woman to be strong and powerful. At least Inca had not allowed that to happen to her. She had carried her warrior side to an extreme, but her life mission asked that of her. Still, it was good that she had the village to come to, to rest up. To let go of that role she played.

  Lifting the cloth bag with a grin, he called out, “Lunch-time. Interested?” His heart seemed to burst open as he heard her light, lilting laughter bubbling up through her long, slender throat. The gold flecks dancing in her willow-green eyes made him ache to love Inca fully and completely.

  “I’m starving!” she called, and eagerly moved toward him, the hem of her dress catching now and then on taller flowers and grass blades.

  How Roan loved her! A fierce need swept throu
gh him, and as Inca leaped forward, her hair flying behind her shoulders like a dark banner, he laughed deeply and appreciatively. Suddenly, life was good. Better than he could ever recall. Sarah, his wife, would always have a part of his heart. But Inca owned the rest of it.

  Every day, Inca surrendered a little more to her own curiosity and feminine instincts to touch him, kiss him. Someday, he hoped, she would ask him to love her fully and completely. Right now, Roan knew she was processing a lot of old emotions and traumas, and working through them. Her heart was shifting constantly between healing herself and reaching out to him, woman to his man. He was more than content to wait, although it was wreaking havoc on him physically.

  Inca reached him and threw her arms around his neck.

  Laughing, Roan caught her in midair and pressed her body warmly against his. Her arms tightened around his neck. He saw the mischievous glint in her eye and dipped his head to take her offered, smiling mouth.

  Her lips tasted of sunlight and warmth. Staggering backward from her spontaneous leap into his arms, he caught himself, stopped and then held her tightly against him. She had such a young, strong, supple body. Like a bow curved just right, Roan thought as he held her against him.

  “Mmm…this is my dessert,” Inca purred wickedly as she eased her lips from his. Looking up into Roan’s eyes, she saw his hunger for her. She felt it through every yearning cell in her body, and in every beat of her giddy heart. How handsome Roan looked to her. That scowl he’d perpetually worn in Brazil was gone here in the village, which lay within Peru’s border. Today he dressed in a pair of cream-colored cotton trousers, sandals on his huge feet, and a loose, pale blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The warrior in both of them had been left behind when they came to the village.