Magnar (The Wolves of Clan Sutherland Book 1)

by Mary Morgan

  Rorik quickly swung a leg over his horse and asked, “Do you not mean the women I have met?”

  The roar of Berulf’s laughter followed Magnar as he rode off toward the hills. Giving his horse free rein, he allowed the animal to gallop over the lush grassy landscape. The wind slapped at his face, and he inhaled the salty tang of the sea mixed with the land. Embracing the elements, Magnar relaxed and allowed the tension to ease from his body.

  Onward they traveled through rolling hills until they reached a dense forest of ash and yew trees. When they entered, a silence, devoid of birdsong and animals, descended around them. Magnar slowed his horse. Sunlight glimmered through the canopy of branches as he followed the narrow path. Rune markings dotted several trees, guiding him farther into the sacred forest.

  Approaching two giant yew trees, Magnar dismounted from his horse. “Stay steady, Alf.” After giving the animal a gentle pat, he moved gradually forward. Ducking under heavy limbs, he followed the stream flowing between more yew trees. Ragna’s cottage appeared in a small clearing. Wood smoke curled in a lazy circle upward.

  Magnar approached the entrance, and then waited. The Seer knew all who drew nigh—be it man or animal. Moments ticked by in frustrating silence. He fought the urge to shout his arrival, but it would do no good. Ragna demanded patience and respect. And he was honor-bound to give her both.

  “You are early, Magnar, from the house of Alpin,” responded a familiar voice coming from around the back of the cottage. “I thought you would bide your time and rest your bones at the house of Berulf.” As the Seer came into sight, she shifted the bundle of herbs in her basket to her other arm.

  He clasped his hands behind his back. “Your request was marked urgent.”

  “And yet, you took your time crossing the sea.” Brushing past him, Ragna dropped the basket by the entrance of her cottage.

  “I had matters to attend to for King William.”

  She eyed him skeptically. “The Lion can survive without one of his guards, even if you are the leader of the King’s guardians.”

  His gaze never wavered from hers. “Forsooth he parted with two. Rorik travels with me.”

  She shook her head. “This does not concern him.”

  Deciding it best to end this topic of conversation, he asked, “Why did you send for me, Ragna?”

  After sweeping her braids over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. “You are as impatient as my goat.”

  Magnar let out a growl.

  “Temper your beast,” she demanded, wandering into her cottage.

  Unclenching his hands, Magnar exhaled slowly and followed her inside.

  As his eyes adjusted to the dark interior, he waited.

  She gestured to a bench by the hearth. “Please sit. You are blocking the sunlight.”

  Biting back the curse he wanted to fling outward, he did as she ordered.

  Ragna approached, holding a sealed parchment in her hands, and sat on the opposite bench. The firelight danced off her dark locks. “Since you still lack patience, I will be direct with my words. Your mother, Olga, has passed from the realm of the living. She is dead.”

  Her words slashed like a blade through his heart. Immense pain blinded him, and Magnar stood abruptly. Dizziness swamped his senses as he fought for control. Tongues of flames from the fire snapped and hissed at him.

  The enclosure was too confining.

  His inner wolf howled, and he longed to rage with him. Suppressing the urge to shift, he clenched his hands at his sides. “How?” His question barely a whisper.

  The Seer’s features softened. “Her heart.”

  Instinctively, Magnar rubbed his fist over his chest. Guilt haunted him. Quickly slamming the door on his last discussion with his mother, he asked, “When?”

  “Three months past.”

  Closing his eyes, he lowered his head. Pride had kept him away. Kept him at a distance from seeking forgiveness. Or offering an apology. First, his father. Now, his mother. Gone. Forever.

  “She had penned three letters.”

  He snapped open his eyes, confused. “Three?”

  The Seer tapped the parchment against her knee. “One was for me. One for you, and I am not permitted to disclose the last name until you have read yours first.” She stood slowly. “If I may ask, why did you not mend the rift with her? Often times, your mother sought solace in the runes with me, but would not speak of the conversation she had with you before you left. Can you share anything?”

  “Besides her constant talk of me taking a wife? Are you certain you don’t know?” He laughed bitterly. Raking a hand through his hair, Magnar stormed out of the cottage. Where did he begin to tell the dreadful tale of what he found out over a year ago? One so epic, he silenced his mother with his burning words as he stormed away in disgust.

  He lifted his head skyward, allowing the sun to warm his chilled bones. He heard the Seer’s gentle footsteps behind him.

  “If you have nae wish to discuss the conversation, I will understand. She kept the words tucked inside her heart and soul, refusing to share anything with me.”

  Blowing out a frustrated sigh, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “My mother confessed to having another son. My twin.”

  Clutching the parchment to her breasts, Ragna’s eyes widened in shock, and she took a step back. “Nae.”

  “Even her secret remained hidden from you,” stated Magnar in a soft voice. Weary from the news, he brushed a hand down the back of his neck.

  “Twins cannot be firstborn,” she declared, moving to his side. “The magic was woven firmly, so there would be nae risk of harm. Or challenge.”

  “Apparently, something went wrong with the magic,” he replied dryly.

  Ragna touched his arm. “What happened to the other babe?”

  “My father took him far north. Away from the isles.”

  “Norway?”

  He shrugged. “I did not ask.” Glancing sharply away, he confessed, “I spouted harsh words, damning both my parents when she told me last spring. I then left for Scotland.”

  Ragna moved away from him. Bending down on one knee, she placed her palm upon the ground. Slowly, she began to draw spirals in the dirt with two fingers. Dry leaves whirled around her as the wind lifted the strands of hair around her face. “Your new journey begins now, Magnar.”

  She stood and turned toward him. Holding out the parchment, she added, “You must mend this rift that has split the fabric of your family. I shall consult the runes and tides. There is a reason two were born first in the house of Alpin. Go home, Magnar. See what you can learn from there. Watch the signs. Listen to the whispers in the breeze. Seek out the eagle near the tomb of bones. If there are two, there is a purpose—one your parents refused to consider. A lone wolf can do as much harm as an entire pack.”

  His hand shook as he removed the parchment from her fingers. When he rubbed his thumb over his mother’s script, his grief returned in force. He swiftly banished the emotions. After carefully tucking the missive into his belt at his side, he gave a slight bow to the Seer. “My plans were to stay for one night.”

  She closed her eyes as if pondering some message from the Gods or Goddesses. The air stilled and warmed around them. A prickling of awareness skimmed across his skin. His inner beast lifted his head, and Magnar waited.

  Exhaling slowly, Ragna opened her eyes and smiled. “Wait two nights and then journey back to Scotland.”

  Without giving him time to counter her reasoning, she retreated back into her cottage.

  He curled his lip in disgust and started walking in the direction of his horse. “I pray it was the Gods who spoke to you, Ragna. For I shall stay nae longer than I deem necessary.”

  As his steps led him through the darkness of the forest, Magnar sought to soothe the ache he would no doubt encounter when he reached his parents’ home.

  Chapter Two

  Shielding his eyes from the intense sunlight, Magnar shifted uneasily on his horse. Try as he might, th
e onslaught of his mother’s loss overtook him. The massive dwelling where he had been born now stood vacant, high on the hill overlooking the sea. Ghosts of the past lingered, particularly by the entrance where his mother often greeted him. Her keen insight on his arrivals was one she never shared with him. He and his father believed the woman was part seer, and she often imparted wisdom from the animal world as well.

  He dismounted slowly. Honor bid him to walk the last few steps to the home. She waited in the whisper of the winds, gently blowing the wildflowers gracing the land. As Magnar’s steps led him closer, his vision blurred, and he wiped a hand over his forehead.

  His gaze traveled to one of the shuttered windows on the upper floor where they held their last conversation. He fisted one hand and then unclenched it slowly.

  “Will you not listen to me? Can you not try and understand what we had to do to protect you both?” pleaded his mother.

  “Nae!” Magnar pounded the wall with his fist. “You gave nae regard to my brother. You did not give us a chance. Did you worry for our safety, or was it too much to raise two as part man and wolf?”

  “Listen to my account before you pass your judgment.”

  “Like the ruling you gave my twin?” He looked down on her in disdain. “Do you ken where he is now? Perchance death has claimed him already?”

  Her gasp echoed around them. “Do not speak such words! I ken you are angry—”

  “Aye!” He dismissed her with a slash of his hand through the chilled air. “From the moment we were born, the lie was woven and spewed forth these five and twenty years.”

  She brushed a hand over her gown and stood. “As always, Magnar, you are quick to anger without hearing the full account. I cannot fathom why King William chose you as the leader of the Wolves of Clan Sutherland. How can you lead when you have gained nae wisdom?”

  “You ken nothing!”

  Shaking her head, she countered, “Wrong. I am older, wiser, and was the wife of one of the finest elite guards who roamed Scotland.”

  “Apparently, you both lacked wisdom when it came to parting with your blood kin.”

  Her mouth thinned in disapproval of his words. “Again, I ask, will you not hear my account?”

  Without uttering a reply, Magnar stormed out of the house.

  “I should have listened more to your wisdom, Mother.” Pushing the door to his home open, Magnar stood still at the entrance. Scents of drying herbs assaulted him, and he took in deep calming breaths. His mother’s presence lingered everywhere—from the neatly stacked bowls on the shelf, to her wrap draped over the chair by the hearth.

  Taking slow steps inside, he wandered with no purpose throughout the home and opened all the shutters. Though the day was warm, the sunlight did little to heat the place or his bones. Noting the lack of dust, he pondered who had kept the place tidy. His mother would have been honored.

  He touched the missive at his belt and prayed the answers he sought would be revealed in the parchment.

  Before he attempted any reading, Magnar required something to parch his thirst. Searching the shelves lining the back of the house, he came upon a jug. Lifting the covering, he sniffed the contents.

  “Mead will have to do, though I long for something stronger to drink.” Pulling down a cup from the top shelf, he went to the large table in the center of the room.

  Weary from his grief, Magnar slumped down on the bench. He poured a hefty amount, and then drank fully. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he refilled the cup. Removing the parchment from his belt, he broke the seal. He drew in a long breath and released it slowly as his fingers unfurled the document.

  My dearest son…

  Since the day you left in anger, I have waited patiently for your return. As spring turned into summer, and autumn soon became cloaked with winter, I know it to be important to pen this missive. Call it insight, but my days are lessening here in this world.

  On the day my sons—both part wolf—entered into the world, your father and I made a vow that only one shall rule. Even after consulting the Seer, we deemed it wise that one twin stay with us and our other son to be raised in the far north. The future was murky, and darkness surrounded the Seer’s visions. We made her say a vow to keep the secret locked within her heart.

  Determined to keep you both safe, we made the only decision we were able to at the time. Your brother was entrusted into the care of a good family on my father’s side. They helped him go through his own training and kept his secret about his lineage and what he is from their people.

  As you are part of an ancient order, you have heard the tales spoken around the fire. You ken the mantle you assume as an elite guard. There can never be more than one born within a family. You both would fight for control. For power. For the right to be first-born and a leader.

  I beg you not to find fault with us, Magnar. Seek out your own wisdom. Seek out your brother. Aye, he lives. I have received correspondences each year from the family we gave him to, except for the last two.

  He left the family to go with a group of Northmen traders who were not honorable.

  I pray one day you shall forgive us. May Odin grace you with long life, and Thor the strength to battle your enemies. Let not your brother become your foe.

  His name is Thorfinn. Find him and make peace, Magnar. I have seen the vision.

  Remember my love always.

  Magnar released the parchment and stared at the curling edges. “What vision have you seen, Mother? A harbinger for good or bad?”

  The walls of the house appeared to be closing in around him. After draining his cup, he stood abruptly. Grabbing the jug of mead, he fled to the comfort of sunlight and fresh air.

  A great shudder wracked through his body. “By the Gods what am I to do?” He glanced in all directions to discern any message. “Give me something, All Father! Speak to me!”

  The wind slapped at his face, mocking him. He clenched his jaw. “Must my plea be heard by the God of Justice, Forsetti?”

  Waiting for several heartbeats, he shook his head.

  Walking the land, he traveled far until he came upon a favorite spot of his father’s. There he slumped against an ash tree. He tilted the jug to his lips and guzzled deeply. The view of the sea commanded he return home to Scotland, but Magnar was not ready.

  Nor did he believe the next day would call him back either.

  ****

  The scent of another reached him before he heard the footsteps. Keeping his eyes closed, Magnar waited for the intruder to approach. His mood was foul, and he welcomed no one.

  “Leave, Rorik,” he uttered tersely.

  The man ignored his order and sat beside him. “I have brought food—”

  “Unless you have something stronger than mead, you can depart.”

  “As I was saying, I brought food in the form of smoked cod, goat cheese, dried hazelnuts, blueberries, and fresh bread. And you should see the beauty that provided this good fare. She has a comely shape, full breasts, and a face that would tempt Odin himself.”

  Magnar cracked opened one eye. A dull ache throbbed behind his temples. “Did said lass have a name?”

  A mischievous smiled tipped the corners of the man’s mouth. “She will profess her name when the crescent moon rises high in the sky. We are meeting later. She was not allowed to speak much, as I traveled with Berulf to his house. The lass met us halfway in the company of an older woman.”

  Letting out a snort, Magnar closed his eye. “Be warned. Sounds like the lass has a watchful father, or worse, many brothers. I am positive they have heard that Rorik the Charmer has returned to Orkneyjar and is roaming the hills in search of his next prey.”

  “I am offended. You make it sound like I am stalking the lass for my next meal.”

  Magnar roared with laughter—the effort costing him, and he winced from the pain. Opening his eyes, he rubbed his temples. “Albeit a pleasurable meal, aye?”

  Rorik winked and braced his arms over his bent
knees. “Might I remind you that all my pleasing conquests give of themselves freely?” He glanced sideways at Magnar. “One look at this handsome face and they are smitten.”

  Reaching for a portion of food, Magnar responded, “One of these days, some father or husband will take a blade to your handsome face, Rorik.”

  The man chuckled softly and withdrew a skin from the satchel of food. “Never.”

  “Please tell me that is not mead?”

  Rorik removed the cork and took a swig. “Ale. Eat first. Then you can share what troubles you.”

  The wolf growled within Magnar. Ignoring his beast, he proceeded to eat some smoked cod. Afterward, he removed the cloth covering from the bread and ripped off a huge piece. Searching for a small jar in the satchel, he smiled as he removed the lid. After dipping the bread into the creamy goat cheese, he savored the first bite. While continuing to eat his meal in silence, he watched the last rays of sunlight slip over the edge of the sea.

  When the first star graced the evening sky, Rorik handed him the ale skin. “The gloaming is always a favorite of mine,” he confessed.

  Magnar took a sip of the ale. “It marks a shift from day to night.”

  “And man to wolf.”

  “Aye,” acknowledged Magnar, handing the ale skin back to Rorik. “In a blink of an eye, one blends into the next.” He stood and placed his hands on his hips. “We are staying longer than I intended.”

  “What about the king?”

  Scanning the vast ocean, he replied, “For once, our king must wait. The news I shall bring him will alter much within the brotherhood.”

  Rorik stood and approached by his side. “Can you share this news? Or must I rely on your trust?”

  Narrowing his eyes in thought, Magnar turned toward his friend. He realized this news should be shared first with their king, but Magnar’s loyalty remained true to his brothers within the elite guard, especially Rorik. Most of their early commissions were fought together, and a bond formed between the two men. Though Magnar was the leader, he allowed Rorik more freedom than the other men. “The rift that tore through my family was from knowledge I have a brother—a twin. This is why I stayed away for too long.”