Surrender to the Highlander

by TERRI BRISBIN

  The earl clapped his hands, calling for wine for all of them, and Margriet rose as her father guided her to stand. Now looking at the earl and countess, she was surprised at the obvious differences in their ages.

  “Welcome to our court, Margriet Gunnarsdottir. I know your father has waited for this moment for a long time and am pleased that it has come.”

  Erengisl Sunesson’s dark green eyes sparkled as he took a silver goblet from one of the servants and held it out to her. She took it and watched as he also handed one to the countess at his side. She recognized his eyes as the same color and shape as his son, Rurik’s. And the nose and the angle of his jaw—all were traits passed on to his son. Only his coloring was not, for he had hair the color of the mahogany wood of his chair and not the pale blond color of Rurik’s.

  “I would make you known to my wife, Agnes of Strathern.”

  Margriet bowed her head to the countess and was surprised when the woman rose and came to her, taking her hand and welcoming her into their household. “Welcome, Margriet. I hope you are well after your long and arduous journey?”

  Another surprise, for she would not have thought that the countess would be apprised of such details. “I am well, my lady,” she replied.

  “My husband’s son told us of the adversities you faced along the way here from Caithness,” Lady Agnes said. “And he told us of your resourcefulness in discerning and treating his men when the sickness came upon them. I am certain your father is proud of you.”

  “He did?” she asked, surprised at the countess’s knowledge.

  “There he is.” The countess waved to someone behind her, someone she was not certain she was ready to see again. “Come, Rurik. I was telling Margriet how you told us of her actions when everyone took ill on your journey.”

  She’d seen him dressed in the plain garb of a soldier. She’d seen him dry in the light of day and wet from their fall into the stream. She’d even seen him naked. But nothing had prepared her to see him as he was now—arrayed in the finest clothes, wearing a sleeveless tunic of the finest cloth, with gold armlets and bracelets and a medallion bearing the earl’s crest around his neck.

  He walked toward her in the way he always carried himself, like a wildcat, poised to lunge at any moment and overpower his prey. He smiled, his eyes catching the lights of the many candles that lit the chamber and his mouth curving into an attractive bow, as he stopped before her. Bowing to the countess first, Rurik then turned to her.

  “You look well, Margriet,” he said.

  She lost her ability to speak then. If she’d thought him pleasing in looks as a warrior, screaming out his name at the convent gates or as a protector when he dove into the water to save her, his appearance now as the nobleman’s son was even more so. The tunic was tailored to fit closely and it gave a hint to anyone noticing of the powerful chest beneath it. She knew the look and the feel of that chest.

  “Lord Rurik, how goes it?” her father asked.

  Giving herself a moment to recover from her surprise at seeing him this soon and from her shallow appraisal of his form, Margriet sipped the wine in the cup and listened to her father question Rurik about his arrival here and his reception so far.

  “My father has given me many tasks in this last day, Gunnar, and I confess I have been waiting for your arrival.” He turned his gaze on her and added, “I fear I will have need of your father’s counsel in these next days and weeks, Margriet.”

  No longer did he address her as “lady.” She noticed the difference now as a recognition of their differences in standing—he, though bastard-born, now stood above her as daughter of a counselor and landowner. Publicly granted status by his father as one of his heirs, Rurik would be called “lord” by all beneath him.

  “He is eager to serve you, Lord Rurik, and has spoken of nothing else to me on our journey here.”

  She tried, she truly tried not to let sarcasm into her voice, but when he lifted his left eyebrow at her answer, Margriet feared she was not successful. Apparently both her father and the countess sensed that they needed to speak and both fled with excuses of other necessary conversations.

  “We should talk, Margriet,” he said once they were alone.

  “As you wish, Lord Rurik,” she answered.

  “Margriet, I can explain this…” he began and then stopped when he saw others coming closer to them. Apparently her connection to Lord Rurik and the knowledge that they traveled together from Caithness was now fodder for the gossip that flowed like life’s blood through any household.

  “Of course, Lord Rurik,” she said. She knew he was uncomfortable, but, damn him! he deserved it for lying to her.

  He clenched his teeth together and whispered, “Not here. Not now.” Then his father approached and she nodded.

  “Rurik has told us how you saved his men with your knowledge, Margriet.”

  “He should be thanking the holy sisters at the convent, my lord. They taught me their healing ways.”

  “And their modesty as well, ’twould seem.” The earl offered the compliment seamlessly and she smiled at his easy manner.

  “You honor me, my lord,” she answered.

  Unfortunately, with the earl’s approach and continued questions about her journey and her life at the convent, Rurik found the opportunity to escape. As the evening progressed, they seemed to circle each other, but never did the opportunity to speak come again. When she saw him excuse himself to his father and the countess, Margriet knew it was the chance she needed.

  Begging leave from her father and receiving permission from the countess to retire for the night, she left the earl’s chambers and ran down the stairs to the main floor. She caught sight of him just as he entered the other tower, where his rooms must be. Following quietly, Margriet reached the stairs when he stepped out in front of her.

  “Why are you following me?” he asked, taking her arm and pulling her into the shadows of the stairway.

  “You said we should speak, Lord Rurik. I but obeyed your command.”

  “Come,” he said, shaking his head as though not certain he should.

  He looked over her head and raised a finger to his lips, cautioning her to quiet. The sound of footsteps somewhere behind her trailed off and then there was silence. Rurik took her hand and led her up to the second landing. Once there, he guided her to his chambers. When the door closed, he faced her.

  “So, Rurik, Erengisl’s son, ’twould appear that you kept secrets, too.”

  His gaze went to her belly and she put her hand there on the growing swell of it. Instead of reacting in anger at her challenge, he sighed and walked to the window. Staring out, the stark wanting in his voice when he spoke startled her.

  “Have you ever wanted something so much that it was like a hunger in your belly, Margriet?” He paused, but she knew he did not want an answer. “And you were willing to give up everything you had and pay any price for that which you craved?”

  He could not have known that he described her seemingly starving need for love and the consequences of being so needy. Yet, his words confirmed every emotion in her during those last years at the convent—wanting to belong and be wanted and be needed…and be loved.

  “I lived here before. Here and at the earl’s castles in Sweden and his estates in Norway. Wealth was never a question when I was a child. Bastard-born or not, Lord Erengisl provided for my mother and me. Any request was granted. Any possession bought or given us.” He glanced at her then, for a moment and then away again. “But what I wanted more than any of the things was his acceptance and his name,” Rurik said.

  And his love, she added silently, knowing now that they both wanted and needed the very same thing.

  “When my father banished us,” he continued, “I lost it all and, even though the MacLeries welcomed me, the longing never went away.”

  “And now you have a chance to claim all that you have ever wanted?” she asked, already knowing his answer.

  His eyes were bleak when he
faced her now and as he walked toward her, she could feel the terrible choice he needed to make.

  “He’s been watching me all this time. Watching and waiting to see if I am the kind of man he can leave in his stead, Margriet. His summons, even if at your father’s urging, meant he believes in me. The answer is aye, I am worthy.”

  “Rurik, you were always worthy,” she began to argue.

  “Your words cannot change my past, my beginning,” he said, a sad smile flitting across his features, softening them for a moment and revealing a vulnerability she’d not seen before in him. “In many ways, I think you were the last test for me.”

  “How so? Do you think I am in league with your father? That I was sent to tempt you from all you desire?” She was offended by his words, but then realized he did not mean that she intentionally tested him.

  “Oh, I think you are temptation in its purest form, lady, and I think the Fates sent you to me. They gave me one last reason to turn from my destiny, and gave me the best one last.”

  Pain shot through her as she came to understand that they were not the same after all—love meant all to her and nothing to him. She needed to leave before she embarrassed herself and begged him for his love as she’d begged Finn. No matter his answer, it could not give her what she sought much as he sought his fortune and future here. Neither outcome would be the right one. Margriet grasped the latch on the door and lifted it, her hands unsteady as she opened it.

  “And I thought we were the same, Rurik, but now I see how very different we are after all.” She leaned her forehead against the door and whispered the rest. “You have love in your grasp and would sacrifice it for everything you desire and I sacrificed everything for the love I thought within mine. I just know not which of us was the bigger fool.”

  “Margriet, I am sorry,” he said from behind her. “I cannot…I cannot…”

  She held her hand up to stop him. The excuse mattered not, only his answer to her unspoken question. And now she had it. The rest of her journey would be alone, she knew that now. Finn was like some figment of her imagination, making her face her weakness and leaving her with the consequences.

  “You should speak to your father soon,” he said. “Before anyone tells him. Gunnar is an honorable man and will help you.”

  That moment was not one when he should be offering advice, especially when it was about how she would live without him. Margriet ran out of his chambers and down the steps, turning into the great hall…and slamming right into someone. The man grabbed hold of her shoulders and kept her from stumbling to the floor.

  “Your pardon,” she began to say as she regained her balance and stepped back. “I was rushing and not looking.”

  Keeping her face tilted down, for she really did not want to answer questions about why she was leaving Rurik’s chambers, she pulled from the man’s grasp. “My thanks for your help, sir.”

  “’Twas my pleasure, my sweet,” he answered.

  At first she knew he must think her a harlot visiting Rurik, but the voice was too familiar. She did not dare to stop as she tried to remember which of the men in their company of travelers had that tone. ’Twas not Donald, for his voice tended to go high, and Leathen’s was deeper than this one. Sven and Magnus had the right accents, but ’twas neither of them.

  Margriet reached the other side of the chamber when she realized the truth. Glancing back, she caught sight of the man, still standing where she’d left him. The distance was large and the candles threw only a dim light, but she could see his face.

  His beard was gone now and his hair was longer, but it made no difference. Margriet was certain of his identity. For some reason she could not define, instead of running to him, she ran away.

  Hoping he had not seen her face, she made it to her father’s chambers, checking several times to reassure herself that he did not follow her. When she reached her bed, she climbed into it without undressing and pulled the blankets up to cover her. Her stomach heaved and she thought she would be ill, but she lay still and tried to calm herself.

  Finn was here! He’d not lied; he was here in Kirkvaw waiting for her arrival. Did he recognize her?

  Although in some ways this comforted her, in more ways it unnerved her, for now her father would find out the truth and her fate would be sealed. Judgment day was here for her and after all of her hoping and praying, she had no idea of what would happen.

  He’d been truly surprised by her, running down the stairs that led to his half brother’s chambers. Thorfinn had been watching her since she arrived earlier this day, but did not want to expose her yet. He needed to make certain that Rurik had a good taste of his “new life” before Thorfinn ripped it from his hands and sent him back to where he belonged. For now, he watched as she staggered away from him and he could tell she was not certain of his identity yet.

  Aye, he’d changed his appearance somewhat, shaving the beard he wore when he met and ruined her, and letting his hair grow back to the length he preferred, but still, he would think she would recognize the first man she let into her body. Especially when she swore her undying love for him as he pushed into her, pummeling her virtue and her honor with one thrust.

  She was just as much a whore as the rest of them, swiving so many that she remembered none. He suspected that she’d let Rurik have her as well, for his spy reported that an incident had happened between them outside of Thurso to him and he had no doubt that his half brother would take what she offered. The fact that Rurik took her on the floor and left her there when he finished just proved that they both deserved each other.

  Though he himself had been her first, she would be fit for no one else when he finished with her, or mayhap he would share her with many, he had not decided yet. The bastard she carried in her belly, for he felt the hardness there when their bodies collided, was of no consequence to him and would more than likely not survive his plans for her. It worried him not, for in that he was better than his father before him who indiscriminately spread his seed, allowing his whore to bring forth his bastard. Thorfinn would not let that happen.

  He heard the steps of someone approaching and waited for Rurik to find him there. How touching! He followed her, probably panting after her and wanting more.

  “Brother,” he said in greeting, though the very word burned his mouth with its insult. “Was that Gunnar’s daughter I just saw?” Rurik hesitated in his answer, so he urged him on. “Sigurd pointed her out to me when she arrived earlier.”

  “Aye, it was.”

  He raised his brow and demanded an answer with just that simple gesture…and he got it.

  “We needed to talk.”

  “Ah, talking with Gunnar’s daughter,” he said, with all the sincerity he could muster. “The two of you must have much to talk about.” He paused just long enough and then added, “You both being newly arrived and strangers to most here, of course.”

  Rurik nodded at his words and, with a curt farewell, he climbed back up the steps to his chambers, his pursuit of the slut interrupted for now.

  So when questioned about this, he could truthfully say that he saw Margriet coming from Rurik’s chambers in the middle of the night and Rurik, man of honor that he was, would have to corroborate his words…and damn them both. Thorfinn laughed to himself at the ease with which some were led to slaughter.

  One of Rurik’s biggest problems was that he needed to learn that there was only one use for a woman’s mouth…and it was not talking. ’Twas a lesson those who served him knew well, as would Margriet in due time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Five days had passed since Margriet came to his chambers and he’d not seen her since. He followed her to deny her claim about them, but when he found Thorfinn returning to his own chambers, he decided against it. Torn between finally accepting that there could be nothing between them and begging for her to accept the love he had for her, he took her disappearance as her answer.

  Now he’d traveled with his father and Thorfinn to their o
utlying properties near Birsay and learned more about their interests in and ownership of several businesses in Kirkvaw. Their fishing boats made up half of those who fished the waters off the main islands here and their grain counted as more than one third of all grain leaving for Scotland and Norway. Erengisl would remain a very wealthy man on just his income here alone.

  Erengisl also introduced him to one of Lady Agnes’s kin who was also kin to Denmark’s king. Lady Ingeborg was lovely and demure and respectful and wealthy and of royal blood—everything that Margriet was not—and he found himself hoping she would wink at him or question something he said or refuse his request, anything but comply with unceasing politeness. After spending a few hours in her company, Rurik knew she would never do anything unseemly, such as disguise herself as a nun or purposely fall into a river because she was too hot. Or follow him when he was in anger’s grasp.

  But she would, after all the negotiations were finalized, become his wife and mother to his children. When he thought of it in that way, his life stretched out before him with every possibility of him being bored to death by her, for Ingeborg would be the perfect wife for Erengisl’s son.

  Over the next days, Rurik was invited to the homes of a few of the more important merchants and each tried to impress him with their wealth and generosity, gifting him with horses, silver and even a few servants. The most surprising gift was presented one night when he stayed with the merchant who ran two market towns for his father and was in charge of importing cattle and other livestock to the islands.

  He would have expected to receive several heads of cattle or some newly butchered pigs or goats, but instead Rurik opened the door to his room just before dawn to find the man’s daughter there, naked but for the ribbons and jewels in her hair. At first he thought her lost or confused or mayhap even drunk, but when he looked out into the corridor, both the merchant and his wife stood waiting expectantly for him to accept her.