Pledged to a Highlander

by Donna Fletcher

  “Who did this?” he repeated more demandingly.

  Oria reached up and placed her hand on his to ease his hand off her chin, but his grip was firm and she couldn’t budge it.

  Royden could let go of her, but the gentle touch of her cool hand shot a myriad of feelings through him that brought back a rush of memories reminding him of the deep binding love they had had for each other, and he didn’t want to let go of that. He didn’t want to let go of her.

  “Don’t make me ask you again,” he warned when she failed to respond a second time.

  Never would she think to fear Royden. Feeling safe and comfortable with him was part of what she loved about him. Now, however, a spark of fear ignited within her.

  “A man named Firth. I fought him when he tried to pull me away from the keep. I bit him hard on the arm and for that I got this scar,” Oria said, touching the scar. “I continued to fight when two other men tried to throw me in a cart. Firth had enough of me and threw a punch to my face I couldn’t avoid and knocked me out. I woke in a cart, my hands tied, and my wound still bleeding.”

  Anger raged like molten fire in him. Somehow he’d find Firth and the man would beg to die by the time he got done with him. He let Oria know what he intended. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Firth was a ruthless man and she didn’t want Royden anywhere near him. “He’s long gone.”

  “I’ll find him.”

  Oria wrapped her hand around his wrist and gave it a squeeze. “Please, Royden, there’s been enough hurt and loss.”

  He lifted his left arm, ready to caress her face as he had once done so often and stopped, realizing he had no hand. He released her chin and stepped back away from her.

  Oria took the distance he had put between them as a rejection. He didn’t want her anymore, didn’t love her anymore. If he had stabbed her in the chest it would have been less painful.

  “Go. Return home to your husband,” Royden ordered, needing her gone.

  Oria raised her hood, covering her scar, and hurried out of the keep.

  He warned himself not to follow her, not watch her leave, not lose her again. He lost the battle and hurried out of the keep. She was already riding away. She wanted to be rid of him and he couldn’t blame her. He’d come home a far different man. A man she didn’t know. A man she didn’t love.

  “You and Oria have been through a lot. It takes time to heal,” Bethany said, having come up behind him.

  “She has a husband to help her heal,” Royden said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  Royden swerved around to glare at Bethany. “Tell me what?”

  “Oria is a widow.”

  Chapter 3

  Royden looked over the fields with Penn. He had accomplished much in the three days since he’d been home, but had failed to come to any rationale solution about Oria. If she still loved him she would have told him right away that she was free to wed again, but she hadn’t. Though, he hadn’t been as kind as he should have been, but he had thought her a married woman. What did that matter? He should have at least let her know he never stopped loving her. He had told himself over and over that was the first thing he’d do when he returned home. He’d let Oria know he never, not for one day, one moment stopped loving her.

  “We need more men to get these fields fully prepared for summer planting of the oats and barley,” Penn said, looking out over the unfinished fields. “You also can use some extra hands with getting the keep in shape, not to mention all the repairs to the village.”

  “We have who we have. We’ll have to make do,” Royden said, annoyed that he’d lost so many of his clansmen to the mercenaries.

  “I can get extra hands. I know Chieftain Fergus of the Clan MacDonnegal and many of the warriors who chose to stay and make a home with the clan. They would help if I asked.”

  Royden turned a murderous glare on Penn. “You want me to beg for help from those responsible for the destruction of my home, my clan?”

  “It’s not begging and those men are not your enemy now, they’re your neighbors. They aren’t even the warriors who attacked here. If you’re not comfortable asking Chieftain Fergus, then Lady Learmonth would surely lend her clansmen to help us.”

  That infuriated him even more. Even the thought of asking Oria for help struck a blow to his pride. But he had discovered that pride didn’t always serve one well.

  “Chieftain Fergus has wanted to meet you since your return home. Why not meet with him and judge for yourself,” Penn suggested.

  Royden folded his arms across his broad chest. “Tell me, is this what your leader had in mind? Infiltrate the area with his men and eventually take over without having to lift a weapon?”

  “I don’t know what he had in mind. I do know, though, that he was only interested in claiming this particular area. We were to attack no other clans but the ones designated.”

  “What specific clans?” Royden asked, eager for another piece to the puzzle.

  “Clan Learmonth, Clan MacDonnegal, Clan MacGlennen, Clan Macara, and Clan MacKinnon.”

  All the clans he mentioned bordered one or more of the others somewhere along their borders. Clan Learmonth was the oldest of the clans and had owned much of the land before battles but disputes changed that.

  “You claimed to know nothing yet you tell me this now. Is there more information you’ll tell me as time goes on?” Royden asked. Penn seemed like a decent enough man, but it would take time, if ever, that he would trust him.

  “I do my best to prove my loyalty,” Penn said.

  “But who are you truly loyal to?” Royden asked, having wondered that since meeting him.

  “Men approach,” Penn said, pointing in the distance.

  Royden followed where Penn pointed, though kept in mind that he never responded to his question. Had it been convenient or on purpose?

  There were three men. As they got closer, it was obvious from their slow gait and soiled garments they had been traveling on foot for a good distance. When they drew even closer, Royden recognized them as members of the clan.

  He greeted them with strong hugs and he understood the tears that welled in their eyes. He had felt it himself when he had seen the keep and had seen a familiar face. He knew then he was finally home just as these men did now.

  “We were told you were home when we were released,” John said.

  Short and barrel-chested, John was thicker in the arms and legs than when Royden last saw him, which had been about three years ago when his clansmen had been separated from him.

  “And we heard more men are being released,” Angus chimed in, hurrying his hand over his eyes before tears could fall. “Some from the Clan Macara and from the Clan MacDonnegal.”

  Angus had been thick in the middle from all the sweets he’d sweet-talked out of Bethany. No more. He had slimmed down, though his long, dark hair was heavily sprinkled with gray.

  “Did anyone tell you the reason you were being let go?” Royden asked.

  Stuart, a tall man with bright red hair, said, “I didn’t care for the why. I just wanted to get home to my Sara. She was heavy with child when I was taken away. Please tell me she and my bairn are here and safe.”

  Royden was relieved he could give the man good news. “Aye, Sara is well as is your son, named for you. And the little lad’s a hard worker too, helping wherever he can.

  Stuart didn’t try to stop the tears. “A son. I have a son.”

  The men slapped him on the back, congratulating him.

  “I’m dying for some of Bethany’s sweets. I sure did miss them,” Angus said.

  “He missed Bethany as well, but the stubborn fool won’t admit it,” Stuart said, and the men laughed when Angus’s cheeks blossomed red and he mumbled as he walked off toward the village.

  The men followed him and Royden was glad to see the smiles on their faces and hear their laughter. Smiles and laughter were needed here again, though neither would c
ome easily after all they had suffered.

  Clansmen hurried to greet the returning men with tears and hugs.

  “God be praised, you’re home!” Sara cried out when she spotted her husband.

  Stuart had her in his arms in no time and the two wept like children. Little Stuart stood nearby staring at them when Big Stuart suddenly scooped him up and announced, “I’m your da, lad.”

  The little lad looked to his mum, and she nodded. “Aye, he’s your da.”

  The lad threw his arms around his da’s neck and hugged him, and Stuart shed more tears.

  The bell tolled surprising, frightening, and alerting everyone that warriors approached.

  Royden swore quietly, not wanting to show his alarm. There weren’t enough men to protect the village and the ones skilled enough to were too exhausted to battle. Somehow he had to grow the clan or it would be far too susceptible if attacked.

  “Royden,” Angus called out, and Royden’s hand shot up and caught the hilt of the sword Angus threw his way.

  It had taken time to learn that feat, but he had forced himself to do so and it had been a wise decision, one that had helped during battle. He heard the rush of whispers around him. He’d known, without a word being spoken, that many wondered about his abilities and skills having only one hand. In time, they would see he was a far better warrior than he had once been.

  Royden was proud that even though exhausted from a long journey the men drew their swords and gathered behind him, ready to fight. The women even reached for weapons along with a couple of older men whose frailty would never sustain a fight. Still, though, they drew swords.

  To Royden’s relief, a good-sized man led only six warriors toward the village. They were not under attack and seeing who approached all lowered their weapons, but kept them in hand.

  “That’s Chieftain Fergus,” Penn said, standing next to Royden, sword in hand.

  “You invited him without my permission,” Royden accused.

  Penn shook his head. “No, I would never do such a thing. Fergus comes of his own accord.”

  Royden waited, his sword remaining firm in his hand, and watched the small troop approach. Fergus sat erect on his horse, his posture one of pride, strength, and confidence, which often signaled a skilled warrior. He looked to be of average height and though he wore a dark, wool cloak draped over his broad shoulders, it was easy to see he was of solid girth. His long hair was a golden red and braids hung on either side. His features were plain, nothing that would turn a woman’s head. The warriors that followed behind him sat with the same degree of strength and purpose, though one caught Royden’s eye.

  A cleric.

  What was a cleric doing with this troop?

  Fergus stopped the troop a short distance from Royden. He dismounted and approached with a forceful stride.

  “I don’t wish to intrude, but I’ve wanted to meet with you and welcome you home,” Fergus said, extending his hand.

  Royden didn’t offer his hand.

  Fergus dropped his hand, his face pinched with annoyance. “Thurbane sends his regards. He would have come with me but he hasn’t felt well lately.”

  “Or you didn’t want him here,” Royden said.

  Fergus blew out a hefty breath. “I know this can’t be easy for you, but I’m here to stay. We can either be friends or enemies, the choice is yours.”

  “The choice is mine?” Royden laughed. “When did you give Thurbane a choice or his daughter Alynn? Your leader stole from all the surrounding clans, so don’t tell me the choice is mine that we are to be friends or foe. You are my enemy until proven otherwise.”

  “Then let me prove otherwise,” Fergus said. “It looks like you could use some help around here. Let me send some men to help you with your fields and make repairs to your village as the weather allows.”

  Royden wanted nothing more than to refuse his offer, but with so few men to see to all that needed to be done, it would be foolish of him to refuse Fergus. He needed to make sure sufficient food was made ready for the winter months, the storage sheds stocked, and their shelters sound. He’d never be able to do it all with the amount of men he had. Like it or not, he needed the help.

  “Let me prove I am more friend than foe,” Fergus said and extended his hand again.

  “Prove yourself a friend, only then will I extend my hand to you,” Royden said.

  Fergus shook his head as he dropped his hand once again. “You’re a hard-headed one.”

  “Cautious is more like it,” Royden said.

  “The day is young and my men are ready to help. Put them to work while we talk,” Fergus offered.

  Penn spoke up. “The fields desperately need to be finished in time for planting.”

  Royden didn’t like that Penn let Fergus know the clan was desperate for anything, but the ground needed to be made ready for summer planting or the oats and barley they depended on to feed the clan wouldn’t be plentiful.

  Fergus turned a grin on Royden. “My men can see to that while we talk and drink.”

  It was an opportunity to possibly learn more about the mysterious leader. One he couldn’t turn down. But first he would have a few words with Angus and John.

  “Keep watch over the lot of them, Penn as well,” Royden ordered. “I’ll see that ale and food are sent to you.”

  Both men nodded and, though tired, did their duty without complaint.

  Royden had had one of the damaged trestle tables from the Great Hall brought outside and placed under the large oak tree. One of the four corners had broken off and a section of the top had a split running down a piece of the wood. It might not serve well in the Great Hall, but it would do outside. Two damaged benches sat on either side and Royden took the side where he could watch over the village. Fergus was stuck with his back to the village or anyone who approached.

  As soon as they sat a servant lass placed a pitcher of ale and two tankards on the table, then left only to return moments later with a bowl of salted meat.

  Fergus ran the back of his hand over his mouth after downing a whole tankard of ale. “Nectar of the gods.” He refilled his tankard and drank half of it. “I have no fight with you, Royden.”

  “Then tell me who I do have a fight with.”

  “It’s over and done. Let it be,” Fergus advised.

  “I lost far too much to let it go, including five years of my life,” Royden said with a bitterness he didn’t try to hide.

  “And it took me ten to find a life,” Fergus argued.

  “You mean rob another of his land.”

  “And who did Thurbane rob it from?” Fergus spat back. “The strong and the ones willing to fight, to survive, Royden. You fought and survived. You’re back home now. Build a clan no one can destroy and friendships that will help you defend it. That’s my plan.”

  Royden glanced toward the village. “I already had that.”

  “Did you?”

  Royden was about to ask him what he meant when he spotted Oria walking toward the keep, Angus holding the reins of her horse as he walked beside her.

  “Over here, Angus,” Royden called out and he and Oria turned toward him, though Oria alone approached, Angus walked off leaving the horse to nibble at a patch of grass.

  “It’s wonderful to see that some of the men have returned home,” Oria said with a genuine smile.

  He’d forgotten how beautiful she was when she smiled. He thought he had seared the memory of that smile in his mind, but seeing it now, he hadn’t truly remembered the beauty of it or the joy it had always brought him. And he hadn’t felt that sense of joy in five years.

  Royden stood and Fergus did the same.

  “It is good to see you once again, Lady Learmonth,” Fergus said.

  “And you as well, Fergus,” Oria said.

  That she retained her smile while greeting Fergus proved that she truly was pleased to see the man and had Royden asking, “You greet this man as a friend?”

  “Lady Oria is a good frien
d to my wife and to me as well. She helped in the birth of our bairns and Alynn was there for her when Burnell died six months ago, God rest his soul,” Fergus said.

  Royden’s eye went to Oria at that news to see what she would do and her remark annoyed him.

  “Burnell was a good man and a good husband.”

  “And it’s another good husband you’ll have soon,” Fergus said. “The King himself has seen to it.”

  Royden felt as if a sword had been thrust through his heart. While he thought himself unworthy of her, there was still a spark of hope that in time they could recover what had been lost to them, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Now there was no more time. She’d been given to another once again.

  “I will not be forced to marry again,” Oria said with an annoyance of someone who was tired of repeating herself.

  A slight smile poked at the corners of Royden’s mouth at the way her soft green eyes deepened in color when they flared with anger.

  “You don’t have a choice. Learmonth’s land and title pass to his relative,” Fergus said. “And you won’t retain your title, but I never thought the title meant anything to you anyway.”

  “It doesn’t, and how can I be homeless when my da’s keep sits empty?” she asked.

  “Your family’s land is no longer yours. It belongs to another now,” Fergus said. “It’s done, the documents signed. You’re as good as wed. All that’s left are the vows and, of course, the consummation to seal it all.”

  The idea of Oria lying with yet another man infuriated Royden and he didn’t give thought. The words shot out of his mouth with force. “I’ll wed Oria.”

  “You need not sacrifice for me, Royden,” she said with a prideful tilt of her chin.

  How could she think it was a sacrifice for him to wed her? It didn’t matter whether she wanted to or not, he would wed her.

  I failed you once. I won’t fail you again.

  Those words rang in his head but didn’t fall from his lips. Instead, he demanded, “You will wed me.”

  “I’ve been ordered—”