Handfasted to the Bear: Reformed Rogues Book 2

by Elina Emerald

  “Dalziel? You ken I can be of use with my skills.”

  “Aye beauty your skills are impeccable, but we cannot have men distracted trying to protect you and safeguard the woods.”

  Trust Dalziel to make sense.

  “Amelia, what say you?” Orla turned to her best friend with hope in her eyes.

  “I think sister, the men are right. Tis too dangerous. I prefer you remain closer to the Keep with me and the bairns.”

  Orla just glared at Amelia and placed both her hands on her hips. “Really?”

  “Aye, tis for the best. Now, stop arguing tis irritating.” Amelia scowled.

  “Fine!” Orla looked around the room, shook her head, then walked out.

  Amelia sighed. “I’ll see to her. Dinnae worry she will come around to the decision that’s in her best interest.” Amelia smiled sweetly at everyone, kissed Beiste on the lips, then left the room.

  “Well, that was easy,” Brodie said.

  Beiste looked confused. “How so?”

  “Amelia backed our decision so Orla will listen for once.”

  Dalziel, Beiste, Kieran and Rory all started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Brodie asked.

  “Brother for someone who has spent years bedding women, you dinnae ken a thing about them.” Dalziel smirked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Brodie, my wife didn’t back our decision at all.”

  “But she just said she did.” Brodie frowned.

  “No, she just told us what we wanted to hear. I have no doubt as we speak, she and Orla are putting their heads together to find a creative way around it.”

  “Then you need to control your woman for her own safety.”

  “Have you met my wife, Brodie?” Beiste snorted.

  Brodie was rising from his chair.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Kieran said.

  “To talk sense into both of them.”

  “You really are a dense Fletcher,” Rory said.

  “Well, aren’t you going to stop them, Beiste?”

  “Brodie, brother…”—Beiste swung his arm over Brodie’s shoulder— “let me give you a quick lesson on women like Amelia and Orla. The trick is to let them think we dinnae ken what they are planning. In the meantime, we take precautions to ensure whatever harebrained scheme they devise will not harm them.”

  “We’ll increase their guards without their knowledge and recruit members of the staff to shadow them,” Dalziel said.

  “Aye.” Kieran and Rory agreed.

  Beiste said, “All you need to do Brodie is make sure you’re close by in case Orla needs you.”

  “And this is your strategy for controlling women?” Brodie raised an eyebrow.

  “No, tis my strategy for...love.”

  ***

  The Way of Men

  Meanwhile, a floor below a similar conversation was in progress.

  Amelia arranged a bath to be brought for Orla and ventured into the room.

  “Why did you not back me Amie? I cannot sit back and idly watch everyone else try to protect me!” Orla glared at her best friend.

  Amelia strolled over to Orla and placed her arm across her shoulder. “Orla… sister… let me give you a lesson on men like Beiste and Brodie. They need to think they are in control. So, we play along. In the meantime, we do as we please. Tis very simple what we say to the men is never what we do.”

  Orla grinned. “You ken whatever plan you come up with, Beiste will be one step ahead.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith. Tomorrow we lie low, do not rouse any suspicion. Lull them into thinking we agree then when the time is right,” — Amelia clapped her hands together— “we strike! Just leave everything to me.”

  Orla sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  ***

  Chapter 4 – Destiny

  MacGregor Keep

  Brodie could not sleep that night. He had bathed and eaten a light repast. He was staring out the window of his bedchamber when a knock came at the door.

  “Enter.”

  Brodie recognized the serving woman. She was a buxom brunette, and she looked vaguely familiar. He was sure they must have trysted in the past.

  “I have come to see if there was anything else, you’ll be needing tonight, Brodie?” She purred.

  “No, thank you Su… san?”

  She did not react.

  “Sar… ah?”

  Still no reaction.

  “Shar—”

  “Tis Saundra.”

  “Aye Saun… dra,” Brodie said.

  She gave him a seductive wink then sashayed past him, ensuring her ample bosoms brushed up against his chest as she cleared the table.

  Brodie knew what she was offering, but it only irritated him. He thanked her and dismissed her without a second thought. Saundra remained standing on the threshold, a surprised look on her face when Brodie quietly shut the door in her face.

  Brodie was troubled. For the first time in his life, he was terrified, at the prospect of loss.

  When his mother abandoned him, he did not miss her because he knew she was safe wherever she was. When his father died, he felt no grief only anger. When his grandparents passed, he did not mourn for they were not close.

  But when Brodie saw the arrow aimed at Orla, he felt absolute fear of losing her. If she had died tonight, he would have mourned her forever. That terrified him.

  Brodie made a vow to himself. He was done keeping his distance. Whether or not she liked it, he was her protector. Starting immediately.

  ***

  Night Terrors

  The night terrors descended with precision.

  Orla had not had them for over a year but the attack in the woods must have triggered them again, taking Orla back to the fateful night a traitorous guardsman almost killed her. The vividness was there. Dark room, stone floor, cold, damp. She could still feel him groping her, biting her lips, kicking her ribs.

  The smoke like dream sequence faded, and Orla was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere her nightmares had never gone before.

  This time Orla was in a large decadent room; she was in a bedchamber in a large Castle. She saw herself as a babe. A woman was singing a melodic song to her in a strange language. The woman was mesmerizing, and her skin tone was like Orla’s only darker. She had familiar eyes. Ma?

  She spoke to Orla saying, “Your far will be home tomorrow, little one, and he will be so happy to meet you.”

  But there was someone standing in the shadows behind her. A man: he was not a good man; he held a knife, he meant to hurt them. Her mother turned to face him. She pulled two swords out from under the mattress, holding one in each hand as she stood in front of Orla.

  A second man appeared, then a third. They were all armed, but their faces were blurry.

  “Give me the bairn,” the first man said with a scratchy throat.

  “Never!” Her mother replied and twirled the swords in a circular motion with her wrists, sizing up her opponents. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Staring at the three men. One lunged for her, but she was faster and sliced a deep gash across his chest. He yelled in pain and stepped back. The other two looked uncertain then in unison they moved to strike. The room filled with smoke. Fire! The dream faded.

  “No!” Orla cried, “Dinnae hurt her, Leave her alone!” Orla began thrashing and yelling, “Ma, come back!” She was struggling to run through the smoke, but her legs were heavy and lethargic. She started sobbing. Until she heard a deep voice, she knew and cherished.

  “Orla wake up mo leannan. Wake up, tis just a dream.” She felt arms holding her. She calmed as a hand caressed her back. She opened her eyes and stared straight into a pair of umber colored ones.

  “Brodie?”

  “Aye. Sweeting.”

  Orla realized she was awake in her bed and tucked into Brodie’s side. His arm around her as they lay facing each other, her head resting against his shoulder.

  “W
hat are you—?”

  Brodie placed a finger on her lips. “You were having a night terror. You are safe. I am here.” He pushed an errant curl away from her face and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep, love.”

  Slightly dazed, she did not have the energy to resist and relaxed. Feeling safe and warm as the dark receded.

  Her protector of old. The boy who stood between her and loneliness. He had returned. With those comforting thoughts, Orla drifted back to sleep.

  When she woke again, Orla was alone. A profound sense of disappointment assailed her that Brodie was just a dream, and yet the other side of her bed looked rumpled, as if someone had lain there.

  She shook her head. It was impossible. Brodie would never do that.

  Noting it was still early, she buried her head back in her pillow and slept.

  ***

  Custard Tarts

  Sometime later Orla awoke with the feeling of someone watching her.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw a little face mere inches from her own with one green and one brown eye.

  “Iona MacGregor why are you staring at me?” Orla asked.

  “Aunty Orla, I need more arrows?”

  “What happened to the ones I made last sennight ban-dia?”

  “No, not those, I need sharp ones.”

  Orla had made Iona a set of bow and arrows. The ends had a soft cover so she could not do much damage, but Orla had also fashioned secret ones for her that had a sharpened edge.

  Iona took to the bow like a seasoned warrior. Her concentration for a three, year old was astounding. The bow was light, and she was becoming adept in her archery skills.

  “Alright, I’ll make you two more today,” Orla said.

  “Are you sick?” Iona asked.

  “No, I am not sick.”

  “Are you dying?”

  “No, I am not dying.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye, I’m sure.”

  “Do you need some herb cream?”

  “No, sweeting.”

  Iona was Beiste and Amelia’s daughter. Given that her mother was also the Clan healer, she had developed an unhealthy obsession with death and diseases.

  “How long have you been standing there, Iona?”

  “Since noonday's meal started. Grandma told me to come and get you because you didn’t break your fast.”

  “What? It’s noon?” Orla said in surprise.

  “Aye, and cook made custard tarts!” Iona beamed.

  Orla shot up straight out of bed and gave Orla a quick kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for waking me, sweeting.” She then scurried about getting ready while Iona ran through a list of diseases people can die from.

  When she was ready, she picked Iona up, and they hurried down the stairs.

  “Aunty Orla, when cook gives you your custard tart, can I eat it?”

  “You can sweeting.”

  “Yay!” Iona raised her arms in the air.

  Orla suspected that was the only reason Iona agreed to wake her. The child was always sneaking food from her plate.

  When they entered the Hall, Kieran approached. “They have assigned me to guard ye all day today. Brodie’s orders.” He grumbled.

  “Well, you can tell Brodie I dinnae care for his orders.”

  “Och, not this again. I am not impeding a lovers’ quarrel,” Kieran said.

  “Brodie and I are not lovers.”

  “That’s what Beiste said about Amelia and look at what you’re carrying in your arms right now?” Kieran scoffed.

  Orla responded. “Kieran, if you dinnae be quiet I will put poison ivy in your trews again.”

  “Och, I kenned twas you!” Kieran rumbled as he trailed after her.

  “Hello, glad you could join us.” Jonet welcomed Orla to the high table on the dais.

  Beth the cook was serving up custard tarts. Orla sat down with Iona on her lap while Iona was eyeing the tarts licking her lips.

  “Where is everyone?” Orla asked Jonet as she picked at some fresh fruit on a platter.

  “The men went out early this morn to notify the widows of the murdered sentinels. Amelia and Sorcha have gone with the women to gather provisions for the families. They’ll be out most of the day,” Jonet replied.

  “Oh.” Orla said, feeling sad for the men who died because of her. “I feel responsible.”

  Jonet said, “Tis not your fault, Orla. No one blames you. I’ll be going there later. You should come with me?”

  Orla perked up, “Aye that sounds—"

  “Orla cannot leave the Keep.” Kieran interrupted, taking a seat next to Orla.

  “Surely just this once, Kieran tis important.” Jonet argued.

  “No. She will remain in the Keep. I have me orders.”

  “Kieran?” Iona piped in. “Can I have your custard tart?”

  “Aye lass.” Kieran handed her his share and chuckled as he watched Iona stuff her face.

  While Kieran was distracted, Jonet turned to Orla. “Amelia left some embroidering for you to do. Tis in her old bedchamber where she keeps her oak box.” Jonet winked at her twice.

  Orla hated embroidery but picked up the cue. “Aye, Amelia kens, how much I love to embroider in my spare time. I’ll collect it after the meal.”

  Jonet nodded. “Mind ye check the oak box while you’re there.” She winked again.

  For the next hour, Kieran stuck to Orla like coos dung to a shoe. She could not retrieve the box. Orla became even more suspicious when Iona insisted, she play a game with her every ten minutes.

  After a fifth game of hopscotch. Orla folded her arms and asked, “Iona, what did your Da promise you if you followed me around all day?”

  “He didn’t promise me anything.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye… but Uncle Brodie did.”

  “And what was that?”

  “He promised me four,”—she held up four fingers — “custard tarts and a toffee apple.”

  Blasted Brodie!

  When Iona was having her afternoon nap, Orla gave Kieran the slip when he went to the privy. She found Amelia’s box of treasures. Inside was a note with a small vile of valerian a plant used to make sleeping draughts. Amelia’s note mentioned that Brodie, Beiste and Dalziel would be away in the afternoon, which meant the coast was clear. There were guards in the woods, so Orla would be safe if she wanted to do some tracking, but she had to be quick.

  When Kieran returned moments later, Orla asked if they could sit in the Great Hall and drink some cider. She would prepare a nice cold one for him. He agreed.

  An hour later Kieran was passed out in an armchair by the fire, snoring loudly, and Orla was nowhere to be seen.

  ***

  Into the Woods

  Orla was on horseback in the woods. She dismounted and was standing by the tree she had marked with her knife. It had been niggling her for some time. She crouched down and looked at the shoe prints again. It was as she thought. A large man had been in the woods sometime yesterday. The tracks were deeper on the right side, showing a limp as the weight came down harder on one foot.

  She could recall no one with those characteristics within the MacGregor clan, which meant someone was in the woods who should not be.

  Given the amount of men securing the forest last night after her attack, it was almost impossible to pick up the tracks again, but she did thanks to the larger footprints indented in the soil. The tracks lead deeper into the forest and towards the river.

  It occurred to her, whoever it was they were camping on the other side of MacGregor land, beyond the view of the sentinels. But why?

  Orla stood wondering if she should venture out further or return to the Keep. Her instincts told her to keep going. But caution told her to wait. Regroup, notify the others, and live to track another day. Daylight was fading, and Amelia would get worried if she did not return. The last thing Orla wanted was a hunting party sent after her.

  Orla decided she would head to her old co
ttage in the woods, have a quick wash in the Loch then gather some of her belongings to take back to the Keep. She needed the familiarity of home, even for a short while.

  By the time Orla was safely inside her cottage and freshly bathed, the sun was just setting. She realized she was famished. She got a fire started and made some tea with cheese and bread. She was enjoying her repast when Morag entered.

  “Ma, what are you doing here?”

  “Och, I could ask ye the same question. I was heading home and saw yer fire.”

  “Are you not going to stay in the Keep tonight?” Orla asked.

  “I dinnae like Keep life, tis too noisy and the bed tis too hard on these old bones. I didn’t sleep weil.”

  “Then join me for tea and warm yourself by the fire.”

  “Dinnae mind if I do.”

  The two women fell into a comfortable rapport. But amid their conversation, Morag’s eyes glazed over before she gripped Orla’s forearm and sat up straight.

  “The golden hair… they have returned. Ye must go with them, there is danger if ye stay.”

  “Ma,”—Orla was trying to pry her arm free of Morag— “what do you mean?”

  “Tis time to find out who ye are, tis your destiny.” Having spoken those words, Morag relaxed and continued sipping her tea and chatting as if nothing had happened.

  Orla just sat quietly and tried to process the information. She was used to Morag’s premonitions, but it still unsettled her.

  Eventually Morag stood and gathered her cloak. “Och weil I best be on me way, I dinnae wanna be around for this part.”

  Orla said, “What part?”

  Morag did not answer her, she made a hasty exit and was out the door so fast before Orla could stop her.

  It was then Orla heard the thunderous roar of horses’ hooves. Moments later the cottage door was flung wide open, and Brodie stood in the doorway looking beyond livid.

  “Damn it to hell, Orla! What are you doing here?” he yelled.

  Orla could see several MacGregor retainers outside they all had scowls on their faces including Kieran who was glaring at her.

  Feeling like a child who had been caught sneaking sweets from the pantry, Orla stammered, “I… uh…”

  Before any other words could come out. Brodie slammed the door shut behind him and stalked towards her. Orla shuffled backwards until she could feel the table press against her bottom.