The Viking's Highland Lass (4 page)

“Who are you talking about?”

Wynne smiled a little at him, and then she scowled again. “What is the use of telling you that which you need to know if you dinna heed my words?”

Exasperated, he said, “I will return you to the sheepherder's dwelling so that you will stay warm and have company. Once the weather clears, I will go back to Craigly Castle to let James know you are well.”

“You will do no such thing. You will do as I have said. Eat, then leave straight away.”

“To where? In this storm? It would be madness.”

She shook her head. “You are a Norseman. You live for the cold.” She motioned to the storm raging outside. “This is naught to you.”

True. He didn't mind the cold weather. But he did mind getting lost in it. “So I am… to rescue some woman?” He had learned long ago that even though he might not believe all of what Wynne had to say, enough of what she predicted in her cryptic way did turn out to be true, so he wasn't going to dismiss her concern outright. “What is her name?”

“That, I dinna know. She is frantic and I canna see her face, her hood hiding it from my view. I only know that she desperately needs your assistance. But I must warn you, she willna thank you for it. Still, I will feed you while your horse rests before you must be on your way.”

He prided himself in doing what was right, whether it earned him thanks or not, though he would have a time of it aiding a woman in this weather, who did not wish the help. He took a seat at the table as he watched Wynne mix oats, water, and salt over the fire, stirring it with a wooden spurtle.

“Years ago, you fought alongside your da against the Sassenach and suffered a near-fatal sword wound and your kinsmen left you for dead,” Wynne said, continuing to stir the oats in the water to keep them from lumping up.

He remembered waking to the horror of learning his father and many of his kin, two uncles, an older brother, and three older cousins, had died, the field strewn with bloodied bodies. Not just bodies. Family. And to his further shock, that those of his kinsmen who had survived had left him behind, the longboats slipping away into the mist-covered ocean.

“
Ja
, but what has this to do with the woman?” he asked.

Wynne waved her wrinkled hand at him again as if to dismiss his impatience. “You would not die that day, the fierce Norseman of five and ten winters that you were. You managed to steal a dead Sassenach's horse and ride far away from the bloody battlefield, bleeding, and losing consciousness.”

He'd never admitted to anyone the nightmares he'd had about that day.

“You stayed in caves and a time or two in a byre, traveling for days, alone, but determined to reach your homeland.”

Wynne had to have guessed. He never told anyone of his journey.

“You finally reached the Borders. You continued to ride until you made it to the Highlands. And…”—Wynne paused as if trying to recall the details of his journey that she should never have known—“a beautiful young girl found you. You thought she was Freyja, your goddess of love, beauty, fertility, war, death, and more. But she wasna and bound your wounds. When she went to seek help, you were certain you would not be welcomed by her kinsmen and traveled north until you reached our keep.”

He barely heard Wynne's next words as he envisioned the dark haired girl, her blue eyes like pools of water, her concern still touching him today. He'd always wondered what had become of the lass.

“We were celebrating a feast day in honor of James being named our new laird, though he was but six and ten winters. Do you even remember? You just suddenly rode into the inner bailey as if you belonged there, head held proud, steel blue eyes daring anyone to fight you for the right to be there, your hand clutching the reins, the other secured to your blood-soaked chest. Everyone just stared at you as if they were seeing a ghost. Then you let go of the horse's reins and your face, though dirty, was wan as ash and you started to fall. James raced across the bailey and caught you, others running to help him. You were only—we guessed five and ten winters or so—due to your small size.”

Gunnolf stiffened a bit. He had never been small.

Wynne sighed. “Suffice it to say, all activities abruptly stopped—the dancing, archery competitions, the sword fighting, and the games the children were playing. Everyone came to see the wild Norseman in his bloody clothes, pale as death, riding a stolen Sassenach horse. Fortunately, the Clan MacNeill took you in. They treated you as family, despite how unruly you had been.”

James, the eldest of the MacNeill brothers, had fought with him in practice battle, and Gunnolf had taught him a Norseman's trick or two. Gunnolf had greatly admired the way the Highlanders had fought the Sassenach. So he had something in common with the clansmen.

“Desperately, you had wanted to return to your native lands, but our lady of the keep, who had run of the household staff, insisted you stay with us until you fully recovered from your wounds. And then, longer. You fought alongside the MacNeill men against their enemies for years until you have lived here nearly as long as you had lived in the lands of the north.”

For years, he hadn't considered living anywhere else. Not when he'd found a home with the Clan MacNeill. He'd always been treated like one of James's brothers. And James's mother, Lady Akira, had regarded him as one of her sons.

“Your grandmother was like me.” Wynne served up the porridge for him and then for herself.

He stared at her in shock. How could she truly know these things?

“Helga? She warned your father that he would die, and that many of your kinsmen would too. That you would find a new way of life amongst a different people. Your da didna want you to go with them then, fearing the Sassenach would take you prisoner and turn you into a slave. But you protested, saying she didna know the future. That you would be victorious. And you were. Only mayhap no' in the way you believed. You were lost to your own people, but you found a family here with the Highlanders, a new way of life amongst a different people, aye?”

“I must have spoken of this to you.” Maybe when he was sick with fever.

“You know you havena. Not once have you mentioned what happened to your own kinsmen all the years you have lived here with us. You have buried the secrets of your survival. Or the nightmares you still have.”

“No one wishes to hear of another man's journey through hell and back.”

“On the contrary. Everyone likes a good warrior's tale about beating death on so many levels.”

He let out his breath in frustration. “All right. Mind you, ‘tis no' that I fear the weather so much as I dinna take the danger to me or my horse while traveling in a blizzard such as this lightly.”

“You were a young lad who was badly wounded and left behind to die. You were clever enough to steal one of the Sassenach's horses and make your way here. You had been injured and still, you were driven to complete your mission—return to your people and let them know what had happened to your da and the rest of your kinsmen. But the others who left you behind would have told them this. Instead, you were destined to help your Highland brothers win their battles and they were yours as well because you are part of the soul of this clan as much as they are. You are a grown man this time, battle-trained, and no' in the least bit wounded. You have naught to be concerned with.”

He wondered how she had returned to her shieling in this snowstorm on foot and was none the worse for wear.

Wynne grabbed his empty bowl and her own. “Go, now. Find the woman and aid her. ‘Tis what you do well, Norseman. You aid those in need.”

“What if I
had
returned to my homeland?”

“It wasna your destiny to do so.”

He didn't care for the idea that his fate had been predetermined. He liked to believe that man made his own destiny. “Is my grandmother still alive?” He threw on his wool brat and furs.

“What do you think?” Before he could answer, she said, “Of course she is. In your heart. Where it belongs.”

True, he'd often thought of Helga's words of wisdom when he was at his lowest point at times in his life, but he was saddened to think she had passed before he could see her again. “So, I will find the woman soon and return her to Craigly Castle safe and sound?”

“I have told you all I know. Do you wish for me to do all of this for you?”

“Are you certain I cannot take you back to Rob's place?”

“Nay! I am here now. ‘Twill take you in the wrong direction. Rob will check on me when the storm dies down. I will have Rob take word to our laird that you are on a mission of utmost importance. Now, go!”

“Thank you, Wynne,” Gunnolf said.

“You will thank me later.”

He suspected it would be
much
later. And he wasn't truly sure he'd have anything to be thankful for on this journey. Stooping, he left her abode and returned to the byre. After saddling his horse, he mounted and felt a hint of excitement and trepidation. Unlike when he was a lad, he had only one thought in mind—finding his way home. Now, he was leaving his home in the middle of a snowstorm at the advice of a woman who many said was mad. Not that he felt that way about Wynne. She was more level-headed, if not a bit cryptic at times, than many people he knew.

Well, if he rode south and found nothing of interest, he would return to Craigly Castle, at least having given the task a chance.

After several hours of plowing through the snow, he reached another MacNeill shieling and sought shelter, thinking that whoever he would have to help would have to wait until he and his horse had warmed up a bit. It would not do to sicken his horse or himself before he found the lass. And in this weather, he didn't believe he'd find anything but snow and more snow.

When he knocked on the door, a redheaded woman holding a swaddled baby answered, but she was
not
of the Clan MacNeill.

Where in the world had Gunnolf ended up?

B
rina knew
, as soon as she took her seat next to Seamus to share the evening meal with him in the great hall, things would not go well. He growled low to her, “Think you to slight me by turning your back on me after we won the battle? Think I dinna know that you are no' happy with this arrangement? We will marry in the morn, and I will be chosen to lead Clan Auchinleck after that. If you dinna do as I wish, I will deal with you as harshly as necessary. Mark my word. If you think your da was demanding, you havena seen how I will deal with you.” His blue eyes snapped with fury as his mouth scowled even more. He hadn't even bothered to clean up, blood spattered in his blond hair and on his tunic. At least her da always washed up after a battle and changed into fresh clothes, leaving his soiled garments for the washerwomen to clean.

She knew nothing good would come of this. On the one hand, she owed her allegiance to her clan, to maintain the keep, to run it as well as she always had. She loved her people, the difficulty not being them. They strictly obeyed, no one daring to defy either her da or Seamus. Now that her da was gone, she knew she could never fight Seamus and her life would be forfeit once he married her.

“Eat,” he ordered her. “And smile. You willna look like you are a precious lamb getting ready to be sacrificed for the whole of the clan.”

As soon as he spoke the words, she realized just how true the analogy was, and just how much she resented it.

Her appetite having fled the moment Seamus and the men had returned to the bailey, she forced herself to choke down her smoked fish soup. It would be the last hot meal she would have before she fled the keep.

“And smile,” he repeated, his eyes narrowed as he watched her.

She hated him, never more than now. At least where her da had been concerned, he'd had the right to order her about because he had been her da. But this man…

It was worse. By far, it was worse.

When Seamus had eaten his fill of food and drink, he turned his attention to her and ordered, “Go to your chamber.”

He did not dismiss anyone else from the great hall. Only her. Was it because she had refused to drink? Refused to eat anything more than half her fish soup? Refused to smile? She'd tried to eat, but she'd felt ill and was afraid she wouldn't keep what little she'd eaten down.

Everyone in the hall quieted, watching her as she rose as stoically from her chair as she could, inclined her head a little to him in parting, and strode out of the hall with as much grace as she could muster, her skin burning with mortification.

When she reached her chamber, she closed the door, then hurried to the window to see what the weather looked like now. Snow was blowing all across the bailey, piled up four feet high in places. Beyond the walls of the keep, she couldn't even see the mountains or the burn the snow was coming down so heavily.

She was certain Seamus would come and beat her for her disobedience, even though until she was married to him, he had no right to touch her. But she thought if she could slip away in the snowstorm, she just might have a chance to get away.

Someone knocked on her door and she whipped around, her heart pounding. It couldn't be Seamus. Surely now that he felt he had claimed her, he would barge right in. “'Tis me, Lynette,” the maid said.

Marginally relieved, Brina let out her breath.

Had Seamus released everyone from the meal now? She listened to the revelry below stairs.

She didn't think so. Not with all the loud talking and laughing still going on in the great hall. “Come in.”

Lynette hurried into the chamber carrying a chemise with small white flowers embroidered at the neckline, sleeves, and hem of the gown.

“What is this?” Not that Brina didn't know what it was, but the reason Lynette was bringing it to her this eve had her worried beyond measure.

“From Seamus. He had commissioned the chemise a week ago for you. He wishes for you to wear it tonight, my lady.” Lynette laid it on the bed. She straightened and looked at Brina, watching to see her response.

Brina wouldn't touch it as if that would save her from what she would have to face when Seamus came to her chamber.

“You would do well to agree to whatever he wishes. He near killed a man who disobeyed him a fortnight ago. I doubt he would spare you if he felt you did not take kindly to…” Lynette's cheeks reddened, and she looked down at the floor. “Beg pardon. Only I wish not to have to tend to your bruises if it should come to that. Please, do as he asks. For all of our sakes.”

“Because he will turn his wrath on all of you?”

“Mayhap. We are no' certain.”

Brina wanted desperately to ask if anyone would stand up to the beast, but she was certain Lynette wouldn't know, and that if anyone had wished to do so, he would have spoken up before now. Everyone was too afraid. And Seamus had his close friends, five of them, who watched his back always. So if anyone wished to kill him, they'd have to kill six men, not just him.

“I am to leave this with you, help you to dress, and return to the great hall, signaling him that I have done as he asked.”

Asked? Commanded, rather.

“Thank you,” Brina said.

“You… you will not disobey him in this? Will you?” Lynette asked.

“What would you do in my place?”

“I would be grateful to be the lady of the keep. I would do everything in my power to ensure he was happy with me. I would bear his bairns. And I would run the keep as you have done.“

“Aye. Thank you. Go then.” She was surprised Lynette had said that much to her about anything. Did she really feel in such a way? If so, Lynette must have glorified him in her mind.

“You dinna need my aid in dressing, my lady?”

Brina shook her head. “I will manage. Just…give me time before you say I am ready. You know how I feel about this?”

Lynette nodded, her expression solemn.

Brina had known her since they were both little, and she was certain Lynette wasn't expecting her next move, but she quickly closed the gap between them and gave her a hug. When she let her go, both she and Lynette had tears in their eyes.

“Move quickly.” Lynette curtseyed, then left, closing the door behind her.

Did Lynette know what she had planned? Brina hurried to pull out her pack, bow, and quiver of arrows.

Was she mistaken in feeling the way she did? Trapped, fearing for her life? For her people's existence? Was she making more of an issue of Seamus's role here? Maybe she was wrong, and he would be a dutiful, loving husband.

But she knew it would not be so.

He would force himself on her this very eve. Force himself, because she could not willingly allow him to have his way with her when they weren't married. And that would rile him even more. She would do anything to avoid such a condition tonight, tomorrow, and the next day, if she had the power to do so.

She paced across the chamber, and then decided, whether it would be the death of her or not. This was her choice. And no one could take that away from her.

She finished packing the small bag, dressed in her warmest wool gown, not white to blend in with the snow as she didn't have any such thing, but the lightest color she owned—a pale green kirtle and a wool brat that was as light colored as that. Beneath these, she wore a bright red gown, her best one, and the warmest. The layering would help to keep her warm. She changed into boots, slipped the brat over her head to form a hood, grabbed her quiver of arrows and bow, and hurried down the backstairs where she saw Lynette standing at the foot of the stairs, watching her. Brina's heart nearly leapt from her chest.

She'd been caught and she hadn't even managed to leave the keep yet!

The two women studied each other for a moment, but Brina saw no condemnation in Lynette's expression, nothing that said she would shout an alarm that Brina intended to escape her fate. And since Lynette was here, that meant she had not yet gone to the great hall to let Seamus know that Brina was ready for him. Lynette only bowed her head slightly, looking worried. She had told her to move quickly. She must have known what Brina planned to do.

Her heart in her throat, Brina continued on her way.

Her skin prickled with unease and her stomach was doing somersaults as she made her way to the servants' door that led outside. She hastened to the postern gate that should have been guarded, but all the revelry inside had the guards outside partaking in a bit of the ale too, and not as vigilant as they should be. Two men were still hunkered down near the stables and she assumed they were guarding the horses just in case she intended to try and leave on horseback and immediately stop her. Not to mention they would take her to see Seamus for making the attempt.

Her bow and quiver of arrows secure, she headed out. The snow helped to disguise her also as it collected on her clothes, cloaking her in the wet, white snowflakes. Snowflakes even caught on her eyelashes. The chilly wind whipped her brat about, and she so wished she could take her horse.

As soon as she was outside the massive, stone curtain walls, she ran, not stopping, the frigid air burning her lungs with every breath she took, the cold seeping into her bones. She wasn't certain she could find her da's body as much as the snow had already piled up in some areas, but she looked for him just the same. When she reached the battleground, she couldn't tell. She saw a couple of men mostly buried, all the blood covered in white as if nothing terrible had gone on here just hours earlier. They were two of her da's soldiers, dead. She continued to look, worried every minute she stayed here Seamus would realize she was gone and begin to search for her. But she hoped he'd be too much into his cups to want to leave the great hall early on, and that would give her a chance to run.

Hot tears cascaded down her cheeks as she surveyed the grounds one last time. Then she assumed that if her da had been severely injured, he was now dead, succumbing to his injuries and the cold. She would not survive herself if she didn't leave at once. She ran through the forest, the pine trees sheltering her and the ground somewhat from the snow so that it was easier to move. She ran as fast as she could far away from the castle, her home, and the only family she'd ever known.

G
unnolf hoped
he would be invited into the shieling to warm himself, though he didn't want to impose on the poor woman. He wanted to ask which clan the woman and her husband belonged to. But he was reluctant to, certain they'd want to know which clan he was affiliated with and if they were enemies, it would not bode well. He couldn't believe he'd gone so far in the snow and gotten so disoriented when he had thought he was still on MacNeill lands.

“I am Gunnolf, and beg that you allow me a chance to warm myself at your fire for a short while before I head out again.”

The woman looked at her husband, sound asleep on a plat, not stirring. Her baby was sleeping in her arms, and she turned her attention again to Gunnolf. “If you are quiet.” She looked like she wasn't happy about the situation, but Gunnolf was wearing a sword, and he assumed he looked fearsome and like he wouldn't be dissuaded.

“Is he ill?” Gunnolf asked, concerned. If he had been sleeping there, Gunnolf would have immediately risen from the plat with sword in hand to ensure his wife and bairn were safe from the intruder.

“Nay,” she said softly. “He walked miles from here in this weather and finally managed to make it home. I thought I had lost him.”

“'Tis good he made his way here in this blizzard.”

“What about you? Sit.” She motioned with her head to the hearth.

Gunnolf pulled off his furs, laying them on the floor, then took a stool and sat beside the fire. “I was traveling when the storm hit with full force. I am not sure where I am now.”

“Where were you headed?”

“South. I was told to go south. That a woman would need my help.”

“What woman?” She poured Gunnolf some ale.

He shrugged. “A
taibhsear
only
told me the direction to head and that a woman needed my aid. She did not have a name for her. Or where she was located exactly.”

The woman's brown eyes widened. “This woman you spoke with has the
taibhs
?”

“
Ja
.”

“Do you believe in such a thing?”

“Enough to venture in this direction to find the woman, if I had headed the correct way. You… would not perchance know of such a woman, would you?”

She shook her head.

Then they heard a man shout outside the shieling, “Dinna kill her! Or Seamus will kill you!”

Instantly, Gunnolf was on his feet, his blood pounding. He grabbed his furs and fastened them over his shoulders, unsheathed his sword, and rushed outside into the blinding snow to see what was going on. He couldn't see anything, only heard the whistle of an arrow flying toward him. And then felt a soft body slamming into him, knocking him back against the powdery, chilling snow.