Highland Daydreams

by April Holthaus

  “Nay, of course, Brother.”

  Lara drew in a comforting deep breath. She knew that if Dermot did arrive, she had both Bram and now her brother to protect her. She smiled and gave her brother a bear-sized hug.

  Bram mingled in the great hall with the crowd of men after he found Lara’s room empty. He had checked on her in the wee hours of the morning, but she lay asleep, and he did not wish to wake her. Instead of returning to his own room, he had gone downstairs to break his fast. Before he knew it, alarms sounded announcing the king’s arrival, and several dozen riders rode through the gates.

  When Bram could not find Lara in her room, he assumed she had found her father and was somewhere in the castle speaking to him. He only hoped that her father would listen. From what Lara told him, he was not too sure the man could be trusted.

  All night, Bram could think of nothing but the passionate kiss he’d shared with Lara. It was anything but innocent. When he felt her kiss him back, he knew that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, though she refused to admit it. Still, he needed to keep his feelings to himself for now. He had no idea what today would bring. Whether he would send her back to her husband or get the marriage annulled lay in the hands of her father. Bram knew that if there was an annulment, he would ask for her hand. But would she accept? Bram’s palms began to sweat when the thought entered his mind. His chest tightened with both anticipation and anxiety.

  The King of Norway came bursting through the tall double doors, greeting several of the men in the room. Bram had never met King Eric Magnusson, but had heard that the man was fierce in battle. He overheard a group of men talking about the King’s recent campaign battling the Danish army and the success it had brought to his people.

  King Eric was a tall man, with long, wild black hair and a pale complexion. He looked exactly as one would imagine a Norse Viking would. There was something particularly odd about him. He walked with a proud gait but seemed to favor his right leg over his left, and he appeared to be clutching onto his left arm. There was also something oddly familiar about him, though Bram had never seen the man before.

  As a man experienced in battle and a warrior since childhood, Bram sensed that the King’s injuries were far greater than he displayed. He knew how a man looked when trying to hide battle wounds. Bram observed the other men in the room. Not one of them seemed to have taken notice of the King’s condition. Bram assumed that King Eric was either too proud or too stubborn to admit his health was declining.

  King Eric raised a cloth to his lips and coughed profusely against it. Before he slipped it back into his pocket, Bram noticed the blood stain upon it. It became all too clear to him. The King wasn’t just injured, he truly was dying. That much had not been a lie.

  Bram walked around the courtyard, patiently waiting for Lara to return from speaking to her brother. A guard had informed him that the two of them had taken occupancy in the garden earlier.

  “Bram,” Lara called out, as she came running towards him from the garden gate.

  Her smile and bright eyes made him wish he could take her into his arms and kiss her a thousand times, but in public they had to keep their distance.

  “Bram, I worried ye had already left.”

  “Nay. I promised ye I would stay and make sure that ye were safe. Did ye talk wit’ yer father?”

  Lara’s smiled was quickly replaced with a lowered brow a tightness about her lips

  “Aye. He is angry that I came here, and demanded that I return to Scotland at once, but I dinna have to worry about that anymore. Nor do I have to worry about Dermot ever again.”

  “Why?”

  “Tomorrow is my brother’s coronation. When he is announced king, he promised to offer me protection within these walls. He promised that he would send word to our priest to have the marriage annulled. Isnae that wonderful news?” Lara asked grinning from ear to ear.

  “Aye, lass. I am glad that all has worked out fer ye.”

  Bram’s eyes saddened.

  “What is the matter wit’ ye? Are ye nay happy fer me?”

  “Aye, lass. I am,” he said, and it wasn’t all a lie. Happiness was something he very much wanted for her, but he wanted to be the cause of it.

  “What about ye? Now that I am safe, will ye be heading back to Scotland?”

  “Most likely. I have planned to leave soon.”

  “Will ye at least stay for the coronation?”

  Lara’s pleading eyes were hard to resist. Bram pressed his palm against her soft cheek.

  “Aye, lass I will.”

  For the remainder of the day, Bram stayed close to Lara’s side, not wanting to miss any time he had left with her. They sat at one of the tables in the great hall with a few of the men from the village, drinking tankards of ale and sharing stories of battle. They talked and laughed until the wee hours of the night, as the servants prepared the castle for tomorrow’s coronation. Hundreds of guests were expected to arrive.

  Lara had spent the rest of the day avoiding contact with her father. She wanted to believe that John’s talk with him about his plan would ease his mind. For when John became King, there would no longer be a need to continue the alliance with Clan Moray.

  Chapter 19

  “Ride faster, ye eejits,” Dermot yelled to his men. They had been riding on Norse land for over an hour, and still had several more hours ahead of them. Traveling across the sea at night, they had arrived on the shores of Norway just before the sun crested the horizon.

  Dermot was determined to get to Bergen as quick as possible and get his wife back. He had kept the ruse of the mournful husband for long enough, but when word came that Lara had somehow managed to escape her prison, he feared that the rights to her dowry and treasure would be taken from him. His anger grew the more he thought about the ungrateful wench. How dare she deny what belonged to him; both her treasure and her body! She was his wife, and she would love, obey, and honor him with her very last breath. Dermot wickedly chuckled to himself at the thought of being the cause of that last breath.

  Never had he imagined settling for such a defiant lass. If it were not for his greed and taste for wealth, he would have denied his father’s order to marry her. Dermot wished to just kill her and not waste his time or strength prancing around as if he missed his bride. He was rather proud of himself for his clever idea to allow the English to take her instead of having to deal with her himself; it was quite convenient, actually, that they arrived when they had.

  Dermot knew that if Lara had already arrived in Bergen, he would once again need to act as if she had been kidnapped, as everyone else in his clan had. His biggest concern was that Lara could somehow prove or convince her father that their marriage had not yet been consummated. That one minor detail caused their union to hang in the balance. According to their laws, if the marriage had not been consummated within a fortnight, the contract of union was automatically annulled, though there were always exceptions. Using the excuse that she had been kidnapped was one of those exceptions that he was certain the priest would sanction.

  “My Laird, once we find yer runaway bride, will we be returning directly to Foley?” one of his men asked.

  “Aye, we will no’ waste another minute on this Godforsaken land. I dislike these Vikings as much as I do the French and the English,” he replied. Both he and his guard laughed at his remark. “I wish to retrieve me bonny wife and return home.”

  Dermot had to be cautious of revealing his motives for rescuing his wife. With only a few short hours left, Dermot rehearsed the words needed to be said to ensure possession of his bride.

  Sitting in a chair next to the side of her bed, Bram watched Lara as she slept. Her black hair sprawled out across her pillow, and the covers tightly snuggled around her. After too many shots of whiskey she had fallen into a coma-like sleep. With only a solitary candle lit, he studied her face, wanting to remember every curves and shape. She truly was the most beautiful lass in all of Scotland, and now that she was on Norse land
s, all of Norway as well.

  Brushing a wisp of hair away from her face, he whispered, “Lara, I dinna ken why I do’ nay have the courage to tell ye this, but the last few days ye have brought forth a light inside of me I ne’er ken existed. Ye saved me from the darkness that night, like the angel of mercy. When I am no’ with ye, I feel as if part of me is lost; and when I see yer smile, I am whole again. I would sacrifice all I have, all I am fer ye.”

  Bram sat back against the back of the chair and continued to watch her sleep until the sky began to lighten and rays of orange could be seen transcending over the vista of mountains and valleys.

  Lara woke with a pounding headache. Never had she drank so much ale and whiskey, but as soon as she emptied her cup, Bram, her brother and the other men filled it cup back to the rim. They were celebrating John’s last night as a vassal.

  Wanting to show that a lass could keep up with a man, she did not back down from the challenge. Over the night, the group of them challenged themselves into a drinking contest, which ended very badly for her. Lara had spent the night throwing up in the privy while Bram once again held her hair. The last thing she recalled was Bram carrying her up to her room and laying her on the bed. After that, she had passed out.

  With her head pounding, every sound made her feel as if she stood next to the church bells as they rang in her ears. Lara took the pillow and placed it over her head to drown out the noise. It seemed to be getting louder and louder. Even the light from the window seemed to burn her eyes. Lara rolled over, feeling the urge to empty her stomach, but the result was only dry-heaves.

  “Ye will be wanting to drink this, lass,” Lara heard Bram say from somewhere in the corner of the room.

  Lara sat up, her hair hanging over her face like the long thin leaves and branches of a willow tree. Brushing her hair to the side, she slowly opened her eyes and saw a blurry image of Bram standing next to her bed holding onto a mug.

  “What is it?” her voice hoarse and scratchy, as if she had spent the entire night yelling.

  “Tis ale.”

  “Oh nay,” Lara said and fell backwards, landing on the bed, then covering her head with the blanket. The idea of drinking any liquor made her stomach cringe. She swore that she would never again drink any substance that would cause her head to spin and stomach to roll. Bram laughed out loud.

  “Lass, I promise, it will only make ye feel better.”

  Under the blanket, she mumbled, “How can drinking poison make me better?”

  “Just drink it, ye stubborn lass.”

  Lara popped her head out from the covers and sat up. With shaky hands, she reached for the mug and drank the cold ale. Soon, her stomach settled and the pounding lessened. Bram sat on the chair next to her bed with an all-too-confident grin on his face. The look aggravated Lara, and if she felt up to par, she would have gladly dragged him out to the loch and drowned him.

  “Feel better?” he asked, still grinning.

  Lara took in a sharp breath and released it hastily, loud enough for Bram to hear her snort in response to his comment. She did not like the enjoyment he got out of proving her wrong all the time. Bram was very much like her brother, in the sense that he often teased her in a playful way, but the feelings she had for him where more than brotherly love, and the kiss they shared told her that the care he had for her was just as strong. A wave of sadness went over her like a dark cloud. Today was their last day together, and what a journey it had been. She knew in her heart that she would never forget her Highland warrior.

  Looking at his tousled hair and clothes, Lara realized that he had not changed.

  “Did ye sleep here last night, in the chair?” she asked.

  “Aye I did. I wanted to be close in case ye fell ill again.” Bram stood and raked his fingers through his hair. “The coronation is to start when the sun is at its highest in the sky. Ye should get dressed,” he suggested.

  “Where are ye going?”

  Bram could hear a pitch of sadness in her voice.

  “I need to gather my things and prepare my horse for my journey back to the port. My boat leaves later this evening and I do no’ wish to miss it. I will leave ye now to dress, my lady,” he replied and walked towards the door.

  As Bram grabbed the handle, he felt his heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. While watching Lara sleep, he’d whispered a promise to her to not steal anymore kisses, or speak words of love and devotion. Her brother had vowed to protect her, and as king, he had greater power than Bram ever would. She would be safe among family. Bram opened the door and walked out into the corridor. It was time to go home.

  Chapter 20

  Visitors from near and far gathered in the bailey and the courtyard as they waited for the coronation to commence. While farmers, smiths, and other commoners waited for the new king to present himself on the castle’s balcony, the Lords, Earls, and other nobility waited to be seated in the cathedral. Charging through the gates, Dermot and his men searched for William Fergusson or some sign of Lara.

  Donning a borrowed dress that the maids had brought her, Lara finished readying herself by braiding her long black hair, intrinsically linking each braid starting at the crown of her head and allowing the length of it to flow down her back. The dress she wore was dark burgundy and reminded her of a bright-colored rose when it first started to bloom. The v-shaped neckline was stitched with gold thread, and matched the golden slippers peeking out from the skirt.

  As sister to the king, Lara assumed that she would take her place by her brother’s side during the ceremony, whether her father agreed with it or not. With her brother’s new position, she no longer felt she needed to fear her father. It was not the first time she had angered him in her seventeen years, nor would it be the last. In the past, his lectures had been repetitive, but usually his anger subsided, and he moved on, pointing out other things Lara had said or done to upset him. The only liberty she had was permission to move about the castle and come and go as she pleased.

  As Lara made her way from the great hall to the courtyard and into the mass of visitors, she froze at the sight in front of her. Suddenly, as if caught in a storm, Lara spun around, pushing past the crowd to shield herself from the group of kilted men displaying Clan Moray insignia and colors.

  “He’s here,” she whispered to herself, her hands trembling.

  Scanning the courtyard, she looked for Bram and John to seek protection, but neither of them could be found among the men. She thought to blend in with a group of women who were talking amongst themselves along the castle wall and scurried over to them.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Dermot forcefully grab the shoulder of every black-haired lass in the courtyard, turning them to face him as if he expected to see Lara’s silvery eyes staring back. The women squealed at his assault, which quickly angered their male escorts. Commotion stirred and voices were raised.

  “What is the meaning of this?” a loud, booming voice hollered over the crowd.

  The people standing in the courtyard became stone silent and all eyes fell on the man standing at the top of the stairs. He was tall with black shaggy hair and dressed in formal attire. Lara watched as the group of people bowed in unison. Instinctively, she did the same. The King!

  Lara knew that the King had returned from his journey with her father and brother, but since his arrival, he had been locked away in his library and solar attending business. Now, with the arrival of distant travelers, here to celebrate, he finally made his presence known.

  “My apologies, my Lord. I believe Laird Dermot has traveled here to discuss an issue wit’ me. I apologize for the disturbance his presence has caused,” William explained, as he walked towards Dermot from the other end of the courtyard.

  Lara, still hidden behind the group of women, watched her father as he went to stand next to Dermot and whisper something to him.

  “I do no’ like disruptions, William. See that the situation is dealt with,” Eric replied, and turned to go back insi
de the castle.

  William nodded his head towards the gates, indicating to Dermot that he wished to speak to him in private. At least, that was Lara’s, interpretation as the two men walked towards the battlement and disappeared under the portcullis. She spotted John standing near the stables; he too had seen the embarrassing display, and ran after them. Lara worried what her brother and father would say. For now, her fate rested in their hands.

  “What are ye doing here?” William asked.

  “I thought my wife had been kidnapped. Should I no’ be concerned about my estranged wife?”

  William looked at him suspiciously.

  “I find that hard to believe, as she came here by her own free will and wit an escort. A Highlander. Ye have no’ proved yerself truthful or trustworthy. And ye cannae e’en protect and keep track of yer own wife. She is nay more than a lass wit’ her head in the clouds. How did ye let her escape the castle grounds?”

  Dermot ground his teeth before speaking.

  “She is a disobedient and defiant wench. I gave her every freedom, more than she deserved, and still she denied me. When no one could find her, I assumed that she was either kidnapped or the foolish lass had run away. I followed her trail to Stearns, but when I reached the castle I learned that she had traveled here to find ye. As fer her Highland friend, I dinna ken who he is, but I can assure ye that I will find him and bury him. ”

  “And why do ye suppose she would have done that?”

  “She dinna tell ye?”

  “Nay,” William barked.

  Dermot considered his answer. Perhaps the lass was too afraid to tell her father what had really happened. He thought to rectify the matter and retrieve his wife before all was lost to him.