Surrender to the Highlander

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “Stay still or I will lose my grasp,” he warned, waiting for his men to reach them.

  “You pushed me!” she accused as she also fought the wimple and veil that now covered most of her face.

  “You slipped,” he said through clenched jaws.

  They were surrounded by help just then so her arguing ceased. He handed her across to Sven and Magnus, who pulled her out of the water. Standing on the bank as he climbed out, she looked like an old dog dragged in from a storm. Margriet glared at him, an action ruined by the chattering teeth and shivering of her body in reaction to the very cold water and the cool night’s air.

  “Sister,” Donald said, “what happened to you?” He took a blanket one of the others held out and tossed it around her shoulders.

  “I slipped.”

  “She slipped.”

  They offered the explanation at the same time and, if the vehemence of it belied the truth, no one said a thing to dispute their words. Looking from one to another of his men, Rurik knew some had their doubts about what had happened when he followed the nuns from the inn and only one returned with Sven.

  “Sven? Sister Elspeth?” he asked, drawing attention to something other than this.

  “She is safely back at the inn. Harald made ready the upstairs room for the sisters as you asked and promised to send up food when Sister Margriet returns.”

  They began walking back toward the inn and, when Margriet stumbled over the edges of her sodden tunic and gown for the third time, he stopped, scooped her up into his arms and continued on. The one good thing that their dunking had done was cool his ardor at the moment. Any inkling of it returning was continually doused by the stream of icy water pouring down over the lower half of his body from her garments with each step he took.

  When they arrived back at the inn, the men had finished eating and most were readying for sleep. The tables were pushed to the walls of the room, the benches turned over on top of them, and blankets were being spread as each man picked a spot on the packed dirt floor. Rurik quickly checked to see if all were present and noted that two men were not. He did not have to ask Sven where they were, he only hoped that the nuns did not notice.

  Now following Harald, Rurik carried Margriet up the stairs and down the short hallway to the sleeping room that she would share with Sister Elspeth. The younger nun stood waiting just inside by the door, while Heinrek guarded in the hallway. When he placed Margriet on her feet, Sister Elspeth waved them out of the room and tended to her alone.

  Thankfulness for his escape from the chamber lasted only until he saw the expressions on Sven’s and Magnus’s faces. ’Twas obvious what they were thinking and Rurik was tempted to disabuse them by force. Then he thought better of it. He accepted his scabbard back and after settling it back on his hips, he crossed his arms over his chest in a challenge to them to question his word and honor—if they dared.

  He offered only one explanation to them as he pushed past them to go downstairs and make arrangements for the nuns’ comfort.

  “She slipped.”

  The silence grew behind him and Rurik thought his escape good until Sven’s whisper reached him.

  “Puir wee woman.”

  Puir wee woman indeed, he thought as he went to see to her food. He found Harald’s wife hurrying around the kitchen, gathering bread, meat, some cheese and broth onto a tray to take to the sisters. The other two women were, as he expected, not to be seen, although in the scattered moments of quiet as he watched the preparations, they could be heard.

  “Sister Margriet will have need of a sewing needle and thread to repair her garments,” he mentioned.

  “I will do that,” Thora offered. “’Tis the least I can do for her after the way Ragna and Morag chased them out with their brazen ways.” Thora threw a look at Harald, who bowed his head and said not a thing in reply. However, he wore the appearance of a man thoroughly chastened for his misdeeds.

  Rurik followed Thora back to the chamber and waited while she delivered the tray within. He could hear the women exchanging words, but could not make out what was being said. Soon, the door opened and Thora stepped out carrying the habit in her hands, making certain to hold it away from herself as it still dripped. She talked under her breath as she left, connecting names, fates and a few curses, too. Another set of clothing that matched the wet one in color and texture—but this one dry—was tucked under her arm.

  “I promised the holy sisters that I would wash and repair their garments as penance for what they were forced to see here,” Thora said, while blessing herself with her free hand. “What is your penance for allowing it?” she asked, passing him by without waiting for his answer.

  The woman had no idea of the price he was paying for what had happened. His punishment was indeed a high price, for it was the realization that there was a woman he could want and not have. Rurik shook his head as he waved Heinrek away and took up a position near the door. He would take a watch tonight, sleeping outside their door to make certain nothing untoward happened. Well, nothing else untoward.

  Rurik knocked softly on the door and waited for their response. ’Twas Sister Elspeth who answered his call.

  “Have you need of anything else, Sister?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Is Sister Margriet well?” Rurik leaned his head against the door as he asked, thinking once more of what had happened and what had almost happened between them this night.

  “She is, sir.”

  “Until morn then,” he said. He waited for any other word or sound, but when none came, Rurik stepped away and took a stance between their door and the hallway.

  He heard some movement over the next half of an hour within the chamber, but nothing spoken. Then, those inside quieted and he knew they were abed. Sliding down against the wall, he sat on the floor and waited in the darkened corridor for night to pass.

  Sometime later—Rurik was not certain how much time had passed—he heard the soft sound of a woman crying. It hurt to hear it, especially since he knew it was Margriet. He accepted the pain as another part of his penance this night. When it ceased and the room grew quiet once more, he climbed to his feet and went to the door.

  After listening for any sounds inside, he lifted the latch quietly and opened the door a crack. The faint light from a slow-burning tallow lamp threw shadows across the room, but it was enough for him to see around the room.

  Two shapes lay side by side in the bed, neither moving as he crept in and walked to the side of it. Sister Elspeth slept in a huddled lump, blankets pulled up so that only the top of her head was visible above them. Margriet slept with wild abandon.

  Her blanket was thrown back, exposing the chemise she wore as nightclothes. She slept with one leg under the blankets and the other uncovered. Her hair, now dry and laying in waves of curls about her head, caught the light of the candle and seemed to be a gathering of the darkest storm clouds around her face. As Rurik stepped closer, he noticed the tracks of tears marring her cheeks.

  Torn between simply watching her sleep and waking her to beg her forgiveness for his near-assault, the sigh that escaped her caught him by surprise. He stood completely still as she mumbled words under her breath and turned on her side toward him. Tucking one hand under her head, she settled back into a deeper sleep.

  The chamber quieted again with Sister Elspeth’s soft snoring the only noise now. Rurik checked the small hearth and added a few more blocks of peat to add some warmth to the room. He checked the small windows to see that the shutters were secured against the wind that was building outside and then walked to the door. With a final look at Margriet, he left and took his place outside the door for the rest of the night.

  A knock on the door woke her, but Margriet hesitated to answer it. From the light that forced its way in around the wooden shutters on the windows, she could tell the sun had risen some time ago. Wondering at the laziness of her escorts, she pushed back her blankets and crept to the door. The knock came again, but this time
Thora called her name softly. Tugging one of the blankets free, she gathered her hair and tucked it under her chemise as she wrapped the length of wool around her shoulders.

  She lifted the latch and opened the door to find the innkeeper’s wife standing with her hands filled. Taking the tray from her, Margriet stood back and allowed her inside. Leaning over, she peered into the hallway, looking for Rurik and not finding him. Thora laid the two gowns and tunics over a bench and then turned to Margriet.

  “He said to ready yerselves for the day. He said he wants to leave wi’in the hour.” Thora snorted then to let Margriet know exactly what the woman thought about him.

  “My thanks for your work on this,” Margriet said as she lifted her gown and inspected the neat sewing that reattached the seam where it had split apart. “And for putting more peat on the fire during the night. I felt the chill, but could not rouse myself to get out of bed to do that.” She pulled the blanket tightly around her shoulders.

  Thora stared at her and shook her head. “I didna do any such thing. He ordered us away from the stairs and e’en took a place outside yer door to make certain ye werena disturbed.”

  Margriet looked at the open door and wondered if Rurik had stirred the fire in the dark of the night to keep them warm. Before she could think on it, Thora approached.

  “If ye dinna mind me asking, Sister?” When Margriet did not object, Thora went on. “Why is it that two holy sisters—” she paused then to make the sign of the cross and bow her head “—travel with such a man?”

  Margriet sighed. “My father calls me home and Rurik was sent to escort me.”

  “He is a strong one, he is, and ye willna have to worry aboot yer safety wi’him guarding ye. But, I have never heard of holy sisters—” another pause, another sign of the cross “—traveling with a group of men.”

  Elspeth stirred as they talked and Margriet wanted this over. “My father vouched for his worthiness,” she began and was met with a stare of frank disbelief. “He gave me no choice and there was no time to send word to my father over the matter.” Again, Thora blinked as though she’d never heard of such a thing…and well, neither had Margriet.

  “He is my cousin. Kin from my mother’s family,” she lied when all other attempts to explain failed.

  “Ah,” Thora said, nodding in acceptance. “Kin then?” Thora walked to the door and then turned back. “I wi’ tell him ye are getting ready.”

  Elspeth began to push back the blankets and stopped as she realized they were not alone. Margriet nodded at the woman and watched her leave, lowering the latch to keep the door shut. Elspeth climbed from the bed and immediately began searching the tray for food. ’Twas then that Margriet realized her stomach did not churn as it did in the morn. Afraid not to use the herbs and to get sick once they were on the road, she sniffed at the food to see if it caused the ailment to begin.

  All she smelled was fresh bread and some cold meats. Could she be past the worst of it as the cook had explained?

  “You are not green, Lady Margriet,” Elspeth commented. “How do you feel? Are you hungry?” The girl began eating, but Margriet hesitated.

  She’d only eaten some bread dipped in hot broth before sleeping last eve, abstaining from the venison roast after her return. By now, she would be heaving. Instead, she could feel a growing appetite within her. Worried that the sickness might return later, she tucked her herbs into the pocket of her tunic as she dressed. Better to be prepared then caught off guard.

  It did not take even close to an hour for them to dress and eat, and soon she and Elspeth walked down the steps to the common room where she knew the men had slept. The tables and benches were filled with men breaking their fast, but Margriet did not pause there for fear of seeing the round-heeled wenches again. That sight would ruin her day before it began.

  Walking outside, the winds buffeted against them. Cooler by much than the day before, Margriet made certain her wimple and veil were secured. Sven greeted them in Gaelic, which brought a smile to Elspeth’s face. The girl, in turn, tried to say the same words in Norn to him and Margriet watched as his expression softened at her attempt.

  This was not good. Although she doubted Elspeth would expose their secret, encouraging a relationship between this commoner girl and this nobleman’s son was like building a fire in the middle of the dry season—it would burn hot and destroy everything in its path. Still, putting obstacles in their way would only heighten the interest between them.

  So long as Sven respected the boundaries between him and “Sister” Elspeth, there was no harm in them speaking to each other. Margriet planned to keep watch over them and warn Rurik if things got out of hand. The absurdity of that thought struck her as she approached that very same man.

  He stood with his back to them, tightening the straps of his saddle in place. He stopped for a moment and bowed his head. Margriet thought he might even be praying, until he shook his head and muttered something under his breath that sounded like some oath to a pagan god. Straightening up, he turned and saw them.

  He looked horrible! At first glance, she thought him ill, for he had lost his robust bearing and seemed instead to be weighted down. Margriet fought the urge to go to him, to touch his cheek, to fix whatever ailed him. It was only Elspeth’s cough that brought her to her senses in time to avoid a very unseemly display.

  “Good morrow, sisters,” he said in greeting.

  “Good morrow, sir,” Elspeth said in return as she passed him. Sven led her to her horse and waited to help her mount.

  “Good morrow, Rurik,” Margriet said, unable to stop from saying his name. Her lips tingled as she spoke it, much as they had last eve when he kissed her. Now, he stood aside as Heinrek helped her into her seat atop the horse.

  She watched now as the rest of the men stumbled out of the inn and into the light of day. Many looked as though they’d slept little and not well at all. ’Twas when several would not meet her gaze that she comprehended the problem, though knowing of it and knowing how to handle it were two different matters.

  They had paid for the harlots’ attentions.

  Confused over how she felt and how she should react, Margriet focused her thoughts on the church’s teachings on fornication. She felt the heat of embarrassment creep up into her cheeks as one of them did offer a greeting. She knew what they’d done—something a “holy innocent,” as Rurik called them, should have no knowledge of the act or even understand any but the sketchiest of specifics about it.

  But Margriet knew the pleasure of a man’s touch, the thrill of joining her body to another’s, and the wonderment of the act of giving herself to the man she loved. Although the harlots did not give themselves for the purest of reasons, no purity was involved at all, Margriet did not doubt that they enjoyed plying their wares and the coin it brought them. So, she found it a thorny matter to see their faces and know what they’d done in the darkest part of the night.

  Margriet decided that avoidance was her best path for now and she bowed her head, trying to appear in prayer. Mayhap they would think it to be for the forgiveness of their immortal souls? Her attempt was interrupted by Rurik. Acting as though he was adjusting the strap of her stirrups and saddle, he waved the group forward under Magnus’s lead.

  “I would speak to you for a moment, Sister.”

  Something was wrong, for he did not hesitate this time in calling her that. He always hesitated. He held the reins of her horse now, so she had no way of avoiding this.

  “I have wronged you and would ask your pardon,” he said without meeting her gaze. “Especially for my behavior last night.”

  He did look up now, but when she saw the pain there, she wished he had not. “Rurik,” she began, but she stopped as he continued.

  “Nay, let me say this, I beg you.” He waited for her to allow him and then he did. “I have lived the last thirteen years seeking pleasure where it may be, and have never met a woman I wanted who I could not have.” He offered a sad smile. “Until you.�
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  Margriet did not know whether to be pleased or insulted by his admission. She was no common girl like those at the inn to be ogled and desired, but a part of her was flattered.

  “I should not have allowed you to even be in the same place last night with those women. You should not have had to endure their antics or even their presence.”

  “I have met fallen women before, Rurik,” she began to explain, somehow wanting to ease whatever guilt he felt. Especially since she was not the holy innocent he thought her to be.

  “Nay, Sister,” he said, stopping her from saying anything else. “’Tis my fault. As is…”

  “Please, Rurik, do not speak of it,” she interrupted. “Nothing happened between us. Nothing,” she assured him.

  He felt vaguely insulted by her declaration instead of comforted by it, but he did not argue this time. He nodded and then mounted his horse. With a tug on the reins of her horse, he guided her forward to follow the rest, now a few dozen yards ahead of them.

  Of course, she was lying, for he could see it in her eyes when she spoke. Something important had happened between them and his denial or hers would not change a moment of it in his memory. They may have spoken about the temptation offered by the harlots to the other men, but he spoke of the temptation between he and her. And the kiss that happened was simply a sign of how strong that temptation was growing to be.

  He offered up a prayer that the rest of the journey would go swiftly, for Rurik did not know if he could count on his self-control when it came to her any longer.

  By mid-morning, he knew things were not going to go as easily as he’d prayed they go. The sun had not yet climbed to its highest place in the sky when disaster struck and, by the time it did just after noon, only three of them remained upright—he, Sven and Sister Margriet.