The Highlander's Norse Bride: A Novella: Book 4 in the Hardy Heroines Series

by Cathy MacRae

  “The earl should keep watch on Alan Durward,” another replied. “He, too, desires the young king’s ear.”

  “The lad will feel the struggle,” Alex said. “I dinnae envy him the throne.” He peered at the sky, slate gray to mourn the passing of the king. “Mayhap we should be about the town for a bit before finding our seats in the palace. I, for one, will be glad to honor the king’s memory with a hearty meal.”

  They paid little heed to the drizzle that beaded fuzzily on their plaides. Alex found a goodwife making the best of the crowd by selling berry pasties, and managed to buy enough to satisfy himself, Piers, and the four men in his personal guard. By the time they entered the hall for the banquet, the excitement of the crowd had risen to a fever pitch, and they were glad to find their seats at the long tables.

  Servants scurried about, filling flasks, mugs and cups, and loading the tables with venison, whole roast pigs, roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread. Alex was soon full and drowsy, overly warm in the crowded hall. He leaned against the wall at his back, surveying the people. Lasses wiped up the spills as men over-indulged and misjudged the angle of the table. Lads struggled beneath platters of discarded bones—those which didn’t make it to the hounds littering the floor—feathers and skin from the redressed peacock, and mussel shells sucked dry of their succulent contents.

  Alex nudged Piers. “Have ye sailed much?” he asked as they lingered in the hall.

  “A bit,” Piers replied. “My family lives in Ayrshire, and I have been known to board a ship or two.” He sent Alex an eager grin. “An opportunity to sail to the Mediterranean is verra exciting!”

  “I am glad to assist,” Alex replied. He had alleviated some of the tension of the journey by regaling Piers with tales of pirates and far-off lands and finished by offering him a berth when Alacrity made her maiden voyage to Spain in a few weeks.

  His head turned as a serving lass passed the table, her hair bound in a kerchief, golden strands escaping to frame her face.

  “Do ye find blonde women attractive?” Piers asked absently, his eyes tracking the woman. “She appears Norse, and likely an easy conquest.” He shrugged. “I have encountered such refugees before and they have been eager for coin and a bit of fun.”

  “She is but a lass,” Alex growled. “She should be treated with respect.”

  “I dinnae mean to force her,” Piers protested. “Does it make a difference so long as she’s willing?”

  Alex remembered Hanna’s generosity and trust. “All the difference in the world.”

  Piers grunted. “She is likely a slave, from the looks of her. Poor lass dinnae escape the raiders. I’ve heard most wind up on the auction block in Rome and beyond.” Piers rose from the bench and stretched, then straightened his tunic. His jeweled belt glistened in the torchlight. “I will see ye at the coronation,” he said. “Dinnae wait up for me.”

  Alex dismissed Piers from his mind. There was no changing the young man. Likely, the lasses vied for his attentions, and it clearly did not occur to him not all women welcomed his advances. He thumped the table, marking his decision to leave. He would not watch drunken men prey on the serving women, willing or not.

  “I dinnae wish to linger,” he said, his men nodding in agreement. The serving lass turned, the sound of his knuckles on the worn boards clear even in the noisy room.

  “My lord?” she questioned. Alex stared at her, mouth open in shock.

  “It cannae be!”

  Her eyes, a vibrant green Alex recognized, widened. Her golden hair glided across her soft cheeks, her skin pale.

  Alex rose, stalked to the end of the table, his eyes pinning the lass in place. She stiffened and her fingers fluttered across her sleeve before she glanced down with a scowl.

  She is used to a dagger in her sleeve. Alex’s heart raced. She looks exactly like Hanna.

  “Hva heter du?” he demanded, certain how she would answer.

  The girl’s green eyes widened, glistening as fear and hope mingled to bring tears to the surface.

  “Jeg heter Signy,” she whispered. “Torvaldsdottir. Do I know ye?”

  CHAPTER 22

  Alex leaned over the rails, breathing the rich aroma of the forests closing on either side of the ship as they entered the Strait of Mull. It was good to be home, and his thoughts wandered from the coronation of the new king a few days earlier. Alexander III had held up well to the ceremonies and flattery attending his crowning and seemed appreciative to receive the MacLean’s allegiance.

  Poor bairn. He’ll either grow vexed with the false flattery of his courtiers soon and begin making his own decisions—to their dismay—or lose himself in the mysteries and back-stabbing that are castle politics.

  Alex’s gaze drifted to the lass who had occupied the extra cabin during their trip, and who now stood at the rail several feet away, facing the wind, excitement radiating from every line of her body. Alex grinned. He was as impatient to return home as was Signy. He’d never bought a slave before, though he’d encountered enough of them when he lived in the Holy Land, and he’d immediately given the lass her freedom.

  Understandably wary of him in the beginning, she soon warmed to him—and Piers, whom he’d had to warn off with a parental shake of his head. Anticipating her joy at seeing her ma again filled him with a fierce pleasure, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on Hanna’s face when they arrived at Morvern.

  “Ye truly plan to marry this lass’s ma? A Norsewoman?” Piers shrugged. “She must have bewitched ye to risk angering the king.”

  “My allegiance to the king doesnae extend to my bedroom,” Alex drawled. “Ye will meet Hanna soon enough.” Alex paused. “She hasnae said she will marry me.”

  Sails snapped in the wind and Alex was glad of the fair weather. Hanna and Signy deserved to reunite beneath a sun-kissed sky, not a sodden downpour. He peered at the horizon, spying the smudge of land beckoning them to Morvern’s docks. Excitement rose. Sailors leapt about as they prepared to bring the ship to harbor. Soldiers, weary of the long journey, shouted encouragement.

  Signy turned to Alex. “Is this home?”

  * * *

  “The laird’s ship approaches!”

  Excited voices lifted and Hanna wiped her hands on her apron. Dread quickly dampened her happiness at the news, for she would allow herself naught more than relief Laird MacLean had returned safely. The past weeks had taught her that giving him up at some future date to the woman who would bear his name—and hopefully his heir—was not something she could endure.

  I am but a passing novelty to him, but I could only love with my whole heart.

  Using a bit of woolen cloth discarded from the weaver’s loom, Hanna had packed away her few belongings when word reached them the laird was headed home. Hanging from the peg behind the door of the room she and Aadny shared, the precious russet cloak hanging next to it, the bag was ready to make the trip to wherever she could start anew. Dunstaffnage was the logical choice, as she was certain she would find other Norse refugees there as well.

  A mocking voice intruded on her thoughts.

  Alex welcomed ye when he did not have to, and when a less just man would have imprisoned ye—or worse.

  Hanna frowned. I leave to protect myself, not to rebuke him.

  Gillian’s shrieks reached Hanna long before the child herself. Moments later Gillian swung through the door, loping across the room in great bounds.

  “Da is home! Did ye hear, Hanna? Da is home!”

  “I believe I heard some such rumor,” Hanna said. “Did ye wish to greet him at the dock?”

  Gillian bobbed up and down in elation. “Aye!”

  “Mayhap Aadny should go with ye. Her feet can keep up with ye better.” Hanna turned to the young girl who had arrived on Gillian’s heels. “Take the child to her da before she bursts at the seams.”

  Aadny grabbed Gillian’s hand. “Let’s go,” she cried, as caught up in the excitement as the rest of the clan, and they bounded out the door
. Hanna’s eyes clouded with tears.

  “Ha det bra, skatten min,” she whispered. Good-bye, my treasure. Ye will always be in my heart. Ye will forget me in time, and another will take my place.

  Hanna hurried to retrieve her bag, certain her heart lay in a thousand pieces in Gillian’s wake. She stumbled on the stair and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Careful to navigate the hall in its shadowed margins, she slipped through the door without attracting attention. People thronged the bailey and the road through the village, the air festive. The clan had mourned the loss of the king, but their laird had at last returned and they eagerly awaited news from Scone.

  The crowd slowed Hanna’s pace, and worry pricked at her.

  How long before I am missed? It was certain Gillian would waste no time seeking her. But would her father? Hanna had heard nothing from him after the single missive. Understandable, but she had no inclination to pursue their relationship and could not risk waiting to discover his intent. Weeks had passed. Hearts were oft times fickle. It was possible he’d met someone—a woman of noble Scottish birth—who would make a better match than a penniless Norsewoman.

  Hanna’s heart twisted and she knew she made the best decision. If she remained, she doomed herself to heartbreak far beyond the tears she would shed at leaving Gillian behind.

  The noise of the crowd increased.

  Blast! How did they disembark so quickly? Hanna glanced about, seeking a place to hide to let the laird’s party pass. She backed into an empty doorway, making the most of the shadows. People packed against her, straining to see. After a moment, Alex rode into view.

  Edan must have placed horses at the pier. Of course, he’d make this more a triumphal entry rather than a simple walk from the ship. Hanna rolled her eyes.

  Gillian sat on a horse next to him, Aadny close behind her. A young man Hanna did not know rode next to Alex, sunlight sparking from a magnificent jeweled belt. On a third horse sat a young woman—a girl, really—and Hanna’s worst fears were realized. She averted her gaze, unwilling to look upon the child-bride Alex MacLean had brought home to marry.

  * * *

  Alex scanned the crowd, hoping not to trample anyone in his haste to make it to the castle, to prove to Signy her ma was here—to give Hanna something she did not expect. He almost shushed Gillian’s excited chatter, but knew she was only glad to see him. He lifted his gaze—and saw Hanna.

  Though her face was turned away and half-hidden in shadow, he had no doubt who she was. But, why had she not accompanied Gillian? Why did she skulk in the doorway? His gaze noted the bag clutched in one hand.

  She is leaving? No! Reining his horse to an abrupt halt, he tossed the reins to Piers and leapt to the ground. A path through the throng opened magically before him. He halted before Hanna, his heart pained at the thought of her betrayal.

  “Ye promised to wait,” he said, pitching his voice low. Hanna’s green eyes pierced his soul.

  “Ye promised ye would not marry,” she replied, her voice weary.

  He stared at her. “What are ye talking about? I havenae married.”

  “No? Then ye should marry her before her kin accuse ye of seducing an innocent.” Her eyes blazed. “I told ye I wouldnae stand by and watch ye marry. Just because she is too young to bed does not mean I will serve in her place!”

  Alex drew back, at a loss as to what had stirred Hanna up. What rumor named him such a blackguard? And what woman—lass—did she refer to?

  He was suddenly aware of the silence of the crowd.

  “Mútta?”

  CHAPTER 23

  Hanna’s head jerked, her gaze searching the crowd. “What devilment have ye wrought?” she hissed. “What have ye done?”

  “No devilment, Hanna, other than by the men who raided yer village.” Alex trapped her shoulder in one hand, stilling her movements. “I brought ye a wee gift from Scone.”

  Signy slammed into Hanna, knocking the breath completely from her. Her daughter’s slender arms gripped her waist, her beloved face buried in Hanna’s cloak. Shrieking sobs tore from the girl’s throat. Hanna’s head wobbled in disbelief and she sucked in huge gasps of air.

  “Oh! Oh!” she cried. “Oh!” Hanna crumpled to the ground, pulling her daughter onto her lap, holding her tight. She rocked back and forth, crooning as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Alex noted Edan and his guard formed a protective arc around them, pressing the curious throng back, using the horses to help create a barrier to block their view. Gillian and Aadny stepped within.

  He swallowed against the large lump in his throat and wiped the back of one hand across his eyes. He had removed three children from his grieving wife’s arms and held back his tears. This reunion threatened to send him to his knees.

  Hanna and Signy remained locked in a fervent embrace, and the crowd, determining their curiosity would have to be appeased later, began to disperse. Alex knelt beside Hanna. Gillian tucked a small hand in his.

  “Is she happy, Da?” she whispered, concern wrinkling her face.

  Alex pulled her close, patting her back reassuringly. “I believe she is, leannan. We will give them time to get used to being together again, aye?”

  Gillian nodded, her worried gaze easing slightly. She slipped from Alex’s side and hunkered next to Hanna. Laying a palm on Hanna’s shoulder, she simply waited.

  The slight weight of Gillian’s hand recalled Hanna to the present. She lifted her head and gave Gillian a wobbly smile. Her throat was too swollen to speak, her head too fuzzy to hold a coherent thought. She swallowed and gave her attention to Alex.

  “Where . . . ?” she whispered.

  “I found her working as a . . . serving lass at Scone Palace.”

  Signy shifted against Hanna’s shoulder. “Searc’s men searched the long house before he torched it. He said we would bring him much money.”

  Hanna’s heart hardened, not liking the easy way her daughter spoke of the man who’d kidnapped her. “Searc? Do ye know of him, Alex MacLean?”

  He nodded. “I do, but before ye plot yer revenge, I will tell ye he met his end in a brawl not long after he and his men raided yer village. I left two men in Scone to see what they could uncover. Searc led a group of clanless men who pirated up and down the coast. If any yet live, my men will track them down.”

  Hanna’s blood cried out for vengence—her vengence. And yet, it was satisfying to know Alex had done what he could to bring the men to justice.

  “Will ye come home, Hanna?” Alex asked. “Ye and Signy are free to go where ye will,” he glanced at his daughter. “But Gillian and I want ye to come home.”

  Home? Just when Hanna thought she had no tears left to shed, more prickled her eyes, springing from a different spot deep inside. Tears for Signy had wrenched hot and bitter from the grief she’d not emptied, the shock and relief at seeing her.

  These tears tasted of hope.

  “Is it true ye are going to marry him?” Signy whispered, dipping her chin to indicate Alex.

  Hanna’s lips twitched. “He has asked.”

  “What did ye say?”

  Hanna stared at Alex’s expectant face. “I said there were too many obstacles. That his people would not accept me. That I was not the right woman for him.”

  Signy’s gaze slid to Alex. “Then, why did he save me?”

  Alex offered his hand and Hanna placed her fingers within his strong, sure grasp. He lifted her to her feet, his gaze compelling Hanna to listen to his answer.

  “Because, Hanna, I would do anything to bring ye joy.”

  The final strand of reluctance, of anger and distrust, broke away. For a moment, Hanna was adrift, the purpose she’d clung to gone. Signy squeezed her hand. Gillian leaned against her legs. Alex smiled. Mischief entered Hanna’s heart.

  “I don’t know,” she murmured, tilting her head to Signy. “He’s rather old. And often gone from home.”

  Signy giggled. Gillian startled, then entered the game.

  “He’s alwa
ys stealing pasties,” she sighed. “But he has nice knees!”

  Hanna and Aadny burst out laughing. Signy and Alex exchanged glances with a shrug. Gillian looked smug. Alex pulled Hanna close.

  “Ride with me?” he asked.

  Knowing where he would take her, and no longer fearful for her heart, Hanna nodded.

  * * *

  “Piers is certain ye have bewitched me,” Alex murmured against her hair. He twined a lock of her hair about his forefinger.

  “We Norse have been Christians for quite a few years now,” Hanna replied sleepily. “But not so long we have forgotten the old ways.”

  “Ye will marry me, aye? I’d hate to be thrown over for a younger man in a few years.” The hay whispered as he shifted on their makeshift bed. “And why do my knees make ye laugh?”

  Hanna chuckled. “’Tis from a bedtime tale. The woman chose her husband based solely on his knees. She chose unwisely.”

  “Marrying me is the wise thing to do, Hanna. I swear it.”

  Hanna rose over him, her golden hair falling in a curtain about them. Alex plucked a strand of fragrant hay from a burnished lock.

  “Do ye swear to love me when I do not grow round with child? Though I have not ceased my courses, I have but two children—the last nine summers ago. Will ye love me when others whisper behind your back that ye married beneath ye—that ye married a Norsewoman?”

  Alex swept one of her arms aside and rolled, reversing their positions. “I will love ye even when ye grow fat with my child. And I will laugh to know I made the right decision to marry my Valkeryie.” He moved over her, settling between her thighs. Hanna wrapped her legs about his waist.

  “I will not bring shame to ye,” she said. “And I will not step aside for another.”

  “I trust ye,” Alex said as he nudged against her. Hanna gasped and adjusted to accept him. “And none will come between us. This I swear.”

  EPILOGUE

  May, 1250

  MacLean Castle