Handfasted to the Bear: Reformed Rogues Book 2

by Elina Emerald

  “Felicitations, you accomplished that.” Brodie bit out.

  “Honestly Brodie, why are you always such an ass to me?”

  Brodie stopped walking and turned around. “I’m an ass? I saved your bloody life tonight… twice, and what do I get? A stubborn wench who doesn’t ken when to listen. I had a plan, and you ruined it.”

  “Well, mayhap if you told me about your plan instead of hushing me up all the time, I would ken not to interfere,” Orla said.

  “Well, mayhap if you just trusted me when I told you to stay put, I wouldn’t have to shut you up all the time.”

  “Well, may—"

  “Och, would ye both shut up. Now I wish ye’d shot me with an arrow too. Twould be less painful than listening to yer lovers’ spat.”

  “We are not lovers!” They both shouted at the man hanging over Brodie’s shoulder.

  “Weil ye coulda fooled me.”

  “Silence!” Brodie said before knocking him out again.

  ***

  Chapter 3 – The Wolf

  The MacGregor Keep

  The door to the Great Hall burst open as Brodie and Orla entered, arguing with raised voices.

  “You will stay in the Keep tonight, Orla. I’ll not have you in the woods alone.”

  “Brodie, I’ve already told you I’ll be staying in my cottage after we deal with our prisoner.”

  “Either you stay in the Keep or I will move into your cottage with you. The choice is yours.”

  “Why are you two yelling in my Hall like a pair of screeching banshees?” Chieftain Beiste MacGregor was scowling at the pair, standing with his arms folded.

  Amelia, Beiste’s wife, appeared behind him in a nightgown and shawl. “Keep your voices down. I just put the bairns to sleep and if either of you wake them, I’ll run you through.”

  “Who is that man over your shoulder?” Beiste asked.

  “He just tried to kill Orla,” Brodie said.

  Beiste tensed then turned to his guardsman, “Fetch Dalziel, Kieran and Rory. Tell them to meet us downstairs.”

  Amelia flew to Orla’s side and started fussing over her. “Are you well? Did he hurt you? Do you have any wounds I need to tend? How dare he try to kill you!” She stomped her foot.

  Amelia walked over to the unconscious man and slapped him hard across the face. She then grabbed Orla’s arm and marched her towards the stairwell, ignoring her protests.

  Before they disappeared out of view, Amelia paused and addressed the men. “I’ll have a bath sent to your room Brodie because you reek of stinky perfume… and Beiste, try not to get blood on your shirt when you torture the prisoner. Tis impossible to clean.”

  Beiste rolled his eyes and muttered, “Daft woman.”

  Brodie just chuckled. He knew there was no way Amelia would let Orla leave the Keep tonight.

  ***

  Dungeon

  It was well past midnight when a select few were apprised of the threat. Men had gone to secure the woods and retrieve the body of the dead man. They had returned with two more bodies. Those of the missing MacGregor sentinels. Both had arrows through their chests.

  Meanwhile, the assailant lay beaten and bloodied in the dungeon below the Keep.

  Beiste and Brodie had been interrogating him for an hour and he would not speak. His fear of retribution from the one who sent him was greater than the fear of the men before him.

  They waited on Dalziel Robertson, Beiste’s Second in Command.

  If anyone could torture information out of a man, it was Dalziel.

  “Who sent you?” Brodie asked again.

  “No one.” The prisoner spat out blood when Beiste punched him.

  “Why do they want Orla?” Brodie demanded.

  “Perhaps they want to rut her like a whor—”

  Brodie roared and knocked him out again before he could finish his sentence.

  Moments later the door to the dungeon swung open and Dalziel sauntered in. He wore trews and nothing else. His chest bare. His long blonde hair parted and braided on both sides with leather ties. He held a dagger in each hand.

  “Brothers, as heart-warming as it is to watch you both interrogate this swine, I think tis, time to administer something more interesting,” he said with a part Angles part Scots accent.

  “All yours,” Beiste said and left the room.

  “Just try not to kill him before you extract what you need,” Brodie yelled as he ascended the stairwell.

  Beiste and Brodie made it to the top of the dungeon stairs when they heard the piercing screams from the prisoner below.

  ***

  Interrogation

  Dalziel threw a bucket of water over the unconscious man, who shuddered. When he opened his eyes and saw Dalziel, he shook uncontrollably.

  “Dear god no. Not the Wolf! I swear… I swear I didn’t tell them anything.”

  Dalziel’s body tensed before he asked in a menacing voice. “Why did you call me the Wolf? Who sent you?”

  The prisoner clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Please… they said all I had to do was bring Vidar here and he would kill the lass. If I had kenned, she had anything to do with the Wolf, I wouldn’t have gotten involved I swear it.”

  Dalziel calmly sat on a bench across from the prisoner. “Tis time we stopped playing games. Why did you call me the Wolf?” He started sharpening his daggers, the sound of blades scraping against each other was deafening in the quiet dungeon.

  The prisoner sobbed. “I swear I dinnae ken anything.”

  Dalziel took a deep breath. “How about I make a deal? I’ll set you free, if you tell me who sent you and why they want the lass dead.”

  The man stopped mumbling and raised a speculative eye. “Ye’ll let me go?”

  “Aye. I will.”

  “No, you lie. The Wolf doesn’t have mercy.”

  Dalziel clenched his jaw at the reference. “This time, I’ll make an exception. One name and a reason and you go free,” he said.

  The prisoner sniffed. “Really? Tis all I have to do.”

  “Aye. But on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re going to tell me which finger you want me to cut off first.” Dalziel’s grabbed the man’s hand and placed it on the bench. Holding a sharp blade above the index finger he asked, “This one?” then he slammed the blade into the joint.

  The prisoner began screaming.

  ◆◆◆

  Council Room

  Brodie and Beiste sat in the Council Room awaiting Dalziel and going through scenarios.

  “Something is just not right. I can feel it. Tis like we are missing something crucial,” Brodie said.

  Beiste felt the same way when he said, “Mayhap tis a jilted lover or someone of that nature? She was away, for two months, last summer.”

  Brodie stiffened and clenched his jaw. He would not think about Orla with any man.

  An hour later Dalziel sauntered into the room. He was wearing a clean shirt. He plonked himself in the chair beside Brodie and said, “The prisoner’s name is Samuel. He is from Northumbria. An Earl of Orkney sent Vidar, the dead man, to find Orla. They were not to return until the deed was done.”

  Brodie sat stunned.

  It raised even more questions for the men. For the first time they realized how little they knew of Orla’s background. All these years everyone had just accepted, she was an orphan.

  “Where’s the prisoner now?” Beiste asked.

  “He’s dead,” Dalziel said in a deadpan voice.

  “Did you get carried away?” Brodie asked.

  “He signed his death warrant the moment he called me… the Wolf.”

  The room went silent.

  “Bloody hell! What are we dealing with?” Brodie cursed.

  Beiste said, “Bury the bodies. As far as I’m concerned, they were never here.”

  They all agreed.

  “We need to question Morag. Tis important we ken everything about Orla and the night s
he arrived here,” Dalziel said.

  “When will Morag return from the Buchanan’s?” Beiste asked.

  One of the guardsmen walked in. “Pardon me Chieftain, but Morag is here in the Keep.”

  ***

  The Solar

  Orla was in Amelia’s solar with Jonet, Beiste’s mother and Sorcha, Beiste’s sister. The four women had grown especially close over the past two years and worked together well, assisting Amelia in running the Keep.

  “We should go see the prisoner I want to ask him questions,” Orla said as she paced the length of the fireplace.

  “No, Beiste made it clear we were not to interfere. They ken what they’re doing Orla.” Amelia said.

  “Are you sure you are alright?” Sorcha asked

  “Aye, I was just shaken. Twas a good thing Brodie was there.” Orla stopped pacing and stared at Sorcha.

  “Sorcha MacGregor! Is that rouge I see on your cheeks?”

  Sorcha blushed. “Aye, Dalziel brought it from England on his last trip. He got some for me and Amelia.”

  Years ago, Sorcha had witnessed the murder of her father and lost her ability to speak until recently. She used to be very shy but was slowly becoming more open.

  “Dalziel says the women there wear strange clothes and color their faces. He said they are not as bonny as Scottish lasses,” Sorcha said.

  “I think Dalziel is right. You dinnae need rouge to enhance your natural beauty,” Amelia said with a smile.

  Orla could not help but notice how Sorcha was turning into a real beauty. Beiste had his work cut out for him keeping suiters away.

  “Ladies, enough talk of frivolous things, we have a mystery to solve,” Jonet interrupted them.

  Amelia nodded in agreement. “Aye, tis a mystery how Brodie was there with you… in the woods… in the dark… alone?”

  Orla rolled her eyes. “I stumbled upon him coming out of Zelda’s cottage.”

  Amelia looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. “I see. Then he is still a scandalous rogue.”

  “Aye. But he was there in time or I would be dead.”

  “Do you ken who would mean to do you harm?” Jonet asked.

  “No. Tis strange to me. I have no enemies I ken, at least none who would wish me dead.”

  “Mayhap tis someone from your past? Your kin maybe? It could be why you were sent here.” Sorcha interjected.

  “Aye, I have often wondered why I was brought to the MacGregor clan.”

  “We need to speak with Morag about this. When does she return from Stirlingshire?” Amelia asked.

  There was a knock at the door and Morag, Orla’s adoptive mother, entered. Her grey cloak flying behind her, her wizened figure stooped over a crooked walking stick.

  “Morag!” They all greeted.

  “Ma, when did you get back?” Orla asked.

  “I just arrived mo nighean. I left the Buchannan’s as soon as I sensed you were in danger. Tis sorry I am that I was not here sooner.”

  “But the Buchannan’s are a day’s ride, the attack only just happened,” Sorcha said.

  “Och, my visions have terrible timing. What tis the point of having the sight if it arrives after the event?” Morag could always sense things before anyone else and often talked in riddles.

  Jonet was already warming some tea for Morag and gave her a seat by the fire.

  “Morag, do you ken who would want Orla dead?” Amelia asked.

  Morag warmed herself by the fire and made a big production of stretching her limbs and cracking her bones. Then she launched into a long-winded rant.

  “Och, the ride here twas long, and these old bones grow stiff and weary of that rickety cart. Tis 1042, for goodness sakes, and they still make cart benches out of hard wood. Can no one create something more comfortable for old women? Tis no wonder I am so sore. And it doesn’t help that my kin live so far away. Why cannot people just stay togeth—”

  “Ma! Stop rambling and answer the question, please,” Orla said exasperated.

  Morag sighed, “Och ye young’uns, always so impatient. I dinnae wanna start until the others get here because I’m sore out of breath.”

  “What others?” Jonet asked.

  There was a great commotion at the door before it opened wide and Beiste, Dalziel and Brodie walked into the solar.

  Alone they were a lot to take in, but together they were something else to behold. Their presence in the solar took up the entire space with such enigmatic force it took Orla felt breathless.

  Beiste strolled straight over to Amelia, scooped her up off her chair, while she shrieked in surprise, then sat down and settled her on his lap.

  Brodie stood close to Orla and Dalziel took a seat near Morag as he had many questions.

  “I see this is to become a Council meeting,” Amelia said.

  “Aye, love. We have come to ask Morag about Orla’s past.”

  “See, I told ye we had to wait.” Morag gave Orla a smug look.

  “What about the prisoner? What did he have to say?” Amelia asked.

  Th men shook their heads slightly. It was an unspoken communication they would not discuss it in front of the others.

  “What happened the night Orla was left on your doorstep, Morag?” Brodie asked first.

  Morag replied, “It was as I’ve always said. Golden-haired men arrived. I assumed by their dialect they were Norsemen. They asked me to care for her and said they would return when the time was right.”

  “But why did they choose you?” Jonet asked.

  “Their leader, the one who carried Orla on his shoulders. He said his wife read the runes, and they pointed to me.”

  “You took Orla based on the words of a woman you’ve never met because she read the…runes?” Brodie asked incredulously.

  “Aye.”

  “But why?” Beiste asked.

  “Och weil now, ye see the week before Orla arrived, I had seen a vision of a wee lass standing at my door amidst a raging tempest. The wind was howling, the cottage was shaking, and the tempest was coming for her. I got the notion I was to shelter her until she was strong enough to face it.”

  “What does that even mean?” Brodie scoffed. “Someone is trying to murder Orla and we are sitting around listening to useless female witchery.”

  The women all glared at Brodie.

  Beiste sighed. “Now you’ve done it.”

  Morag stood to her full height of… five foot zero… and pointed her stick directly at Brodie. “Dinnae scoff at me Bear. Heed my words, the tempest has arrived and is coming for you as weil!”

  “Och, I’m terrified Morag.” Brodie said in a sarcastic tone.

  “Shut up, Brodie!” Everyone said in unison, except Orla, who kicked him in the shin instead.

  Dalziel asked, “Morag did Orla mention anything about her childhood when she first came here? You ken bairns often talk of places and people closest to them. Did she mention any names?”

  “Aye, come to think on it, when she was a wee bairn, she often talked of a young man called ‘Tor’. He gave her a puppy … and his ma’s name was ‘Runa’. I remember because it reminded me of the word rune except with an ‘a’ instead of an ‘e’.” —Morag paused, then stared at Dalziel with wonderment in her eyes, as if he held the secrets of the universe— “Och, weil look at ye Dalziel Robertson… ye sly fox. How ye got all that out of me so easily, tis impressive!”

  Morag turned to Brodie. “Unlike ye!” She snorted.

  Sorcha giggled.

  “Orla, do any of these names mean anything to you?” Dalziel asked.

  “I think I remember Tor... he was the most beautiful golden-haired boy I ever saw.” Orla was smiling as if recollecting something.

  Brodie growled and clenched his fists. “Who is this boy? Where do I find him?”

  “Settle down.” Beiste snapped.

  Orla paced across the room as the memories came flooding back. “Runa was his ma and his da was… Hagan!”—She clicked her fingers — “That’s it, I liv
ed with them in a house by the sea with tunnels underneath and…. and there was a longboat… we had to hide all the time. I never kenned why.”

  “Was it the Orkneys?” Brodie asked.

  “No… twas another place… close by… Shetland! It was called Shetland.”

  “Then that’s where I’ll start,” Dalziel said.

  The room turned to look at him.

  “I have business in the North. I can make some enquiries.”

  “What kind of business?” Sorcha said.

  “The kind you dinnae ask and I dinnae tell, minx.” He winked at Sorcha.

  Orla suspected there was more behind his statement. Dalziel was a treasure trove of secrets.

  ***

  The Way of Women

  Eventually Morag, Jonet and Sorcha sought their beds while the rest remained in the Solar discussing plans. Kieran and Rory joined them. They were two of Beiste’s trusted guardsmen.

  “I think tis best that Orla remains in the Keep for the next few days just as a precaution. We dinnae ken if this Earl will send more men,” Brodie said.

  Orla protested. “But I want to see what I can find in the woods. If there are more men, I can track them and—.”

  Brodie said, “You’re no help to us dead.”

  “I cannot stay locked up in here, please let me come with you. I’ll even let Kieran guard me.” Orla grabbed Kieran’s arm.

  Kieran shook it off. “Och, no thanks. The last time I had to guard you, I ended up in the river with an itchy ass cause ye put poison ivy in me, trews.”

  “How many times must I say it Kieran, I didn’t do it!” Orla huffed.

  “Orla, someone tried to kill you and almost succeeded. This is not a negotiation. Tis decided.” Brodie stated.

  “What if Rory guards me while I’m in the woods?” Orla turned pleading eyes on Rory.

  “Hmpf… I’d rather guard Morag, she is less terrifying,” Rory said. It was well known Rory was terrified of Morag because he continuously made the sign of the cross whenever she walked by.

  Exasperated Orla turned to Beiste. “Do you agree with Brodie?”

  “I do, sorry Orla but, tis too dangerous for you to be out in the woods anymore.”