The Highlander's Welsh Bride: Book 5 in the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

  The abundance of Morvern opened before them. Scents of summer flowers, aromas of cooked meats for the noon meal, and other pungent, less pleasant smells filled Carys’s nose, chasing away the sharp clean scent of the ocean. The chatter of merchants, countered with the lower banter of women and the shrill excitement of children created a happy din. Birk dropped her hand to lift Abria to his shoulders. Bodies brushed against her, and she almost missed the gentle tug on her cloak.

  Carys turned, one hand partially drawing a dagger against danger, and met the nearly opaque eyes of an old woman. Carys slipped her blade back into its sheath.

  “How may I help ye, nain?”

  “The stench of death has long been on ye, my lady,” the old woman replied, causing Carys’s heart to lurch painfully.

  “Yet I sense it fades.” The wrinkled face twisted and her eyes closed as she touched Carys’s cheek.

  Before Carys could recover enough to speak, the woman vanished into the crowd.

  “Carys! Come on!” Abria’s command piped through the swell of voices. The warmth of the summer sun caressed her head and shoulders. The cackle of chickens and the grunt of a pig in a nearby pen cleared the last of Carys’s surprise at the woman’s words. Birk sent her a questioning look and she answered with a smile. In a few hurried steps, she caught up with the people who held her heart.

  EPILOGUE

  “I’m going to name him Alexander, after our grandda,” Eislyn insisted, stubbornly planting her fists on her hips.

  “Pedr was our grandda, too,” Abria argued, somewhat inaccurately, but just as stubbornly.

  “But the bairn isnae Welsh,” Eislyn announced triumphantly, ignoring the fact the baby would be half Welsh.

  “Peter, then,” Abria countered, unwilling to be bested.

  Birk gritted his teeth, disinclined to curb their enthusiasm for the bairn Carys struggled to deliver upstairs in the bedroom they shared. Or had shared until she’d gone into labor that morn and he’d been summarily banished.

  He rose, pacing the floor as he had off and on for the past six hours. His gut was in turmoil and he’d sent the girls out to play with their nurse twice to keep from shouting for silence. It wasn’t their fault Carys had been sent to bed a week ago with pains that had alarmed Hanna. And he did not wish to distress the girls with his unease. He’d never experienced this worry before, and his fear rose with each hour’s passing.

  “What if the bairn is a lass?” Eislyn asked, arching an eyebrow in a superior manner.

  Abria frowned, giving Eislyn a dark look. “I dinnae want another sister,” she replied, and Birk couldn’t say he blamed her at this moment.

  Gillian’s bairn, left in his charge since Carys’s labor had begun, toddled about the room, picking up toys Abria and Eislyn had left lying about. She threw a wooden dog across the room, the clatter as it struck the stone fireplace loud and satisfying to the wean who clapped her hands and dashed to the next toy.

  “Dinnae throw them, Blaire,” Eislyn scolded, plucking the doll from the lass’ grasp. Indignant at being thwarted, Blaire squealed, and Eislyn promptly grabbed a bit of honeycomb from a bowl on the table and stuffed it into the child’s bow-shaped mouth.

  Birk didn’t know if he was growing accustomed to the clamor, or if he was slowly going insane. His skin prickled and he tasted bile in the back of his throat. He nearly shouted as a hand rested on his arm.

  “Dinnae fash,” Gillian chided softly. “Your lady wife and bairns are doing well, but I would like ye to come up alone to see them.” She tilted her head meaningfully at the squabble on the floor, but Birk ignored her gesture, lost in her words.

  Bairns.

  His heart stopped.

  Doing well.

  He released his breath, a grin spreading across his face. Gillian’s gentle smile met his and she gripped his arm reassuringly. They slipped quietly from the room, his booted feet flying up the stone steps to the upper level where Carys waited.

  He entered the room, light and airy with the windows uncovered. The hearth burned brightly, keeping the cold at bay, but Birk was pleased to find none of the typical dark, stuffy sickroom in evidence.

  Carys, seated on the edge of the bed, turned her head at his footstep and rose shakily to her feet. He was at her side in an instant, arms about her protectively, supporting her, giving her the strength he’d been unable to offer during her labor. She took his hand. He kissed her fingers.

  “Ye are beautiful, Carys. I am beyond relieved to find ye well.”

  Her pleased smile belied the hours of toil she’d just endured. “Come. I would introduce ye to your sons.”

  Startled by her move away from the bed, he sent a wild look to Hanna who merely shrugged, so he accompanied Carys without protest to the cradle at the foot of the bed, then halted, surprise rendering him speechless.

  Sons.

  The bairns wrinkled their faces, yawning mightily. One stuck a tiny fist in his mouth and suckled, the sound loud in the quiet room. Hanna picked him up and, once Carys was again seated on the edge of the mattress, placed him in Carys’s arms. Brushing aside the lacings of her robe, Carys lifted the bairn to a swollen breast and he latched on eagerly.

  “Two?” Birk’s speech returned, but his mind only produced the single word.

  Hanna nodded. “Aye. Her pains in the past sennight would have brought them into this world too soon, and they are still very small. But with care they should be able to hold a sword in a fortnight or two.”

  Birk tore his gaze from the bairn at Carys’s breast and sent his ma a narrow look.

  Gillian nodded. “’Tis why I asked ye here first. I dinnae wish the other children to exhaust Carys or the bairns. Ye must be firm with them.”

  He nodded absently, his attention already shifted to the small miracles Carys had given him. He bent and placed his hands around the second bairn, halting when he discovered his hands were larger than the babe’s body.

  “He is so small.” Birk glanced at Carys who cuddled the first bairn as it nursed. She looked up, her form wavering as Birk blinked against the rush of pride and gratitude. He closed his hands around the tiny form and lifted him against his chest. “What will we name them?”

  “Do the girls not already have names picked out?” Carys teased.

  Birk caught the tiredness hiding behind Carys’s light words. He gently disengaged the now-sleeping bairn from Carys’s breast and handed him to Gillian.

  “Come. Rest.” He gently laid Carys on the bed, tucking her feet beneath the covers, pulling the edge to her shoulders. He sat beside her, still holding the second bairn.

  “I want to watch them,” she murmured. He settled next to her, her gaze seeking the bairns.

  “Eislyn and Abria wish to name them after their granddas.”

  Carys chuckled. “’Tis better than last week when they thought naming their new brother or sister after the dog was appropriate.”

  “Alexander and Pedr.”

  Carys jerked her gaze to his. “Truth? They have another grandda.”

  “I think we should take Alex and Pedr and not wait until they decide to name the lads after something far less desirable.”

  This time Carys’s laugh was full. Birk kissed her cheek, sensing the soft skin beneath his lips as though he’d never felt it before.

  “Ask anything of me, my love, and it is yours.”

  Carys rolled her head against his shoulder. “I could not imagine a single thing more.”

  The End

  Authors’s notes

  This book is absolutely packed with history and languages. Since the Norse, Welsh, and Gaelic words are at the front of the book, let’s dive into the history behind Carys’ story.

  Wales, 1282 – An uneasy peace existed between Edward Longshanks of England and Prince Llywelyn of Wales. But in the spring of 1282, the prince’s brother Dafydd led a rebellion against England. Though Dafydd had a rather checkered past that included siding with the English against Prince Llywelyn, the prince
decided to join him, sparking the 2nd War of Welsh Independence. In December, the Welsh and English armies found themselves separated by the River Irfon. Prince Llywelyn advanced to Orewin Bridge to keep the English from crossing the river, holding the Marcher Lords at bay.

  Unfortunately, someone (believed to be Welsh) disclosed the location of an area the English army could cross the river, and the Welsh were forced to retreat. Once the English heavy cavalry crossed the river and attacked, the Welsh army broke and fled.

  Prince Llywelyn died during the battle, but exactly how is not known. There are different accounts that seem to contradict. We likely will never know the truth.

  Dafydd took his brother’s title, but failed to win the hearts of the Welsh—possibly because he’d fought against his brother in the 1st War of Welsh Independence. Sought by the English, he was eventually betrayed and captured, and his head was sent to London and displayed alongside that of his brother.

  Scotland, 1283 – This was considered a Golden Age for Scotland. Though Alexander III took the crown in 1249 at only 8 years of age, he took firm hold of his kingdom in 1262, resisting his father in law, Henry of England, who wished to rule Scotland through him. Alexander (like his father before him) immediately set about securing the Western Isles from King Haakon of Norway. In 1265, after bringing a formidable force to Scotland to answer King Alexander’s advances, King Haakon was defeated and died that winter in Orkney. In 1266, Alexander and Haakon’s successor signed the Treaty of Perth, ceding the Western Isles and the Isle of Man to Scotland for a monetary payment.

  At this point, the Isles fell ostensibly under Scottish control, though the Norse (and Gaelic) people continued to seek ways to minimize Scottish rule, and to further their control (led by Angus Mor MacDonald) over the Isles and parts of the mainland. Alexander III sought to integrate the peoples, and in 1284 (after the death of his heir) he invited trusted advisors and leaders of the Isles (including Angus MacDonald) to a conference to decide on an heir. They settled on his infant granddaughter, Margaret of Norway, who was crowned after her grandfather’s death when she was three years old, and unfortunately died four years later.

  More pleasant notes of interest:

  The song Carys sings to the children is Dacw 'Nghariad, a Welsh folk song. Check it out on YouTube for the beautiful melody and lilting words.

  The Corryvreckan is indeed the world’s third largest whirlpool. The best site I found for information (you may find others) was here: https://whirlpool-scotland.co.uk/ The video at the bottom of the page is a fabulous compilation of actual and computer-generated footage of both the whirlpool itself and the underwater formations which cause the witch’s cauldron to boil. Oh, and yes, you can take rafts and tour the corryvreckan. Let us know if you do.

  Dogs. We showcased two breeds in this book. The Welsh shepherd and the Welsh Corgi. Dewr was a Welsh shepherd which is a dog bred for its working ability rather than for conformity to a physical standard. They are noted for their superior herding instincts, though the Welsh shepherd has also been used as a drover, helping drive a farmer’s animals—most likely sheep, but also cattle, pigs or geese—to market. They are similar in appearance to the Border Collie, though they are typically taller, sturdier, and stronger. The Welsh Shepherd is also a good livestock (and human) protector and is a guard dog when required.

  Tegan was actually named for the dam of a Pembroke Welsh Corgi Cathy owned which passed away last year. Corgis are small herding dogs developed in Wales and the two separate breeds we know today—the Cardigan Welsh Corgi and the Pembroke Welsh Corgi—were considered a single breed until 1934. ’Tis said the Pembroke was originally a gift from the faeries who rode them into battle and used them to pull their carts. A less fanciful history indicates the corgi was either descended from Valhunds, cattle dogs brought to Wales by the Vikings, or from dogs brought by Flemish weavers in the 12th century.

  The Scottish Birlinn was based on the Viking longboat—or langskip—which is very similar to the Greek galley. These shallow draft boats were extremely fast and agile, and could sail—or row—up rivers where deeper-keeled boats could not travel.

  The cog ship is much larger than the birlinn and has a deeper keel. Unlike the birlinn, it also boasted an aftcastle where such weapons as a ballista could be mounted. This ship was designed to carry cargo and were sometimes used as war ships. Cogs rarely used oars, as merchants rarely wished to give cargo space to oarsmen. Typically, a rowed ship was either used for raiding, or perhaps a combination of raiding and trading.

  A bit of a disclaimer:

  When Carys shoots a flaming arrow into the barrel of whisky to take down the pirates, a bit of discussion arose in our critique group as to whether this would actually happen or not. Does whisky burn? Actually, the whisky and its vapors burn. Whether or not it would ignite enough to burn a pirate ship—possibly. So, in our story, Carys cracked the tun with the bodkin-tipped shaft then sent the flaming arrow into the hole (excellent marksmanship) to ignite vapors still inside the keg. At that point, the spilled whisky would ignite, even when spread upon the water.

  We found an interesting video of a flaming tornado caused when whisky burning in a warehouse escaped down a creek and into a lake. Unexpectedly, a whirl of wind caught the flames and sent them soaring into the sky. You can watch a video of it here: https://www.maxim.com/maxim-man/kentucky-bourbon-fire-tornado-2015-8

  Acknowledgements

  We are delighted to again have our wonderful critique group, Dawn Marie Hamilton, Cate Parke, and Lane McFarland, join us in creating this story. They saw it in its infancy, helped us pull it apart and reshape it, and read the entire story yet again before it ventured out for official editing.

  Liette Bougie did a marvelous job editing, and she is such a joy to work with!

  Of course, the process would not be complete without the invaluable help from our beta readers: Donna, Alison, Cheryl, Barb, Ann, Sharon, and April. Thank you so much, ladies!

  Many thanks to Dar Albert who helped envision the cover for The Highlander’s Welsh Bride. We absolutely love this cover!

  AUTHOR BIOS AND LINKS

  Cathy MacRae lives on the sunny side of the Arbuckle Mountains where she and her husband read, write, and tend the garden—with the help of the dogs, of course.

  You can visit with her on facebook, or read her blogs and learn about her books at www.cathymacraeauthor.com. Drop her a line—she loves to hear from readers!

  To keep up with new releases and other fun things, sign up for her newsletter! (You’ll find DD’s news there, too!)

  Other ways to connect with Cathy:

  Facebook

  Twitter: @CMacRaeAuthor

  Instagram: cathymacrae_author

  Amazon author page

  Pinterest

  Book bub. https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cathy-macrae

  DD MacRae enjoys bringing history to life and considers research one of the best things about writing a story! With more than 35 years of martial arts training, DD also brings breath-taking action to the tales.

  You can connect with DD through www.cathymacraeauthor.com. It’s always exciting to hear from readers!

  Other Books by Cathy & DD MacRae

  The Hardy Heroine series

  Highland Escape (book 1)

  The Highlander’s Viking Bride (book 2)

  The Highlander’s Crusader Bride (book 3)

  The Highlander’s Norse Bride, a Novella (book 4)

  The Highlander’s Welsh Bride (book 5)

  by DD MacRae

  The Italian Billionaire’s Runaway Bride

  By Cathy MacRae

  The Highlander’s Bride series

  The Highlander’s Accidental Bride (book 1)

  The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride (book 2)

  The Highlander’s Tempestuous Bride (book 3)

  The Highlander’s Outlaw Bride (book 4)

  The Highlander’s French Bride (book 5)

  Mhàiri’s Yuletide Wish (a Christmas nove
lla)

  The Saint: De Wolfe Pack Connected World

  The Ghosts of Culloden Moor series

  (with LL Muir, Diane Darcy, Jo Jones, and Melissa Mayhue)

  Adam

  Malcolm

  MacLeod

  Patrick