Gunnar knew anyway.
The man was Duncan MacKenzie, the Black Stag of Kintail.
~ * ~
“‘Twould seem we weren’t needed.” The Black Stag reined in before Gunnar and swung down from his saddle, a smile spreading across his face. “If we’d brought more horses, we’d have been here hours ago. It was hard enough getting mine onto our galley, so we are late.”
“We didn’t expect you at all, sir.” Gunnar couldn’t read the man’s smile, the pleased look in his eyes. “Our clans are at feud. Leastways until the Yuletide truce gathering.
Kintail laughed. “Laddie, a feud set end such a short time from now is a feud already o’er – especially with so much at stake.” He glanced at the other men, those standing, and otherwise. “I regret Clan MacKenzie can claim nae part in upholding John’s honor, in saving this whole bonnie isle!”
Gunnar blinked. “You knew?”
The Black Stag slanted him a look. “A good laird aye kens what happens beneath his roof.”
“Katla told you.”
“I received your scroll, aye. Read it this morn, at first light.”
“And you came at once – I thank you. I shall remember always.” Gunnar almost had no words, he was so moved.
He also felt his face heating.
Not because Katla broke her promise and peeked at the scroll, even taking it to her laird. After all, the letter was intended for the Black Stag, a warning so that he could move against Ross if Gunnar and his men failed.
Nor did he feel bad for visiting Katla without Duncan MacKenzie’s acquiescence.
He’d do so again, without hesitation. He loved and needed Katla. She was his greatest joy. The thought of seeing her soon swamped him with emotion. He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms, kissing and loving her, making love to her, for nights unending, their whole lives through.
He just wished he’d spoken for her sooner.
He had made her his wife – leastways in the eyes of the old ones.
“She’s a fetching maid.” Duncan’s smile flashed anew. “But be warned. She’s a handful.”
He slung an arm around Gunnar’s shoulders. “You may have trouble holding her affection,” he said, speaking low. “She thinks she’s in love with a Norse god!
“The Lord of Winter,” he added, amusement in his voice. “Can you believe it?”
Now Gunnar’s face did redden.
The Black Stag knew everything. It rang in his words, lit his dark eyes as his gaze flicked over Gunnar. For whatever reason, he was pleased.
“Do you ken how long I’ve been trying to see that lass wed?” The Black Stag released him, brushed down his plaid. “She fought me the whole way, aye insisting she wanted nae man because she’d given her heart to the Winter Lord!”
“I must tell you, sir…” Gunnar wouldn’t lie. “I am that man. And I want Katla with all my heart, with everything that I am. If I may ask a boon-”
“You may demand one.” Duncan gripped his arm, earnest now. “Without you, there would be nae truce gathering. We could all have been cut down on the journey to Dunakaid. Your cousin slaying us before we had time to draw our blades – had he ambushed us as he’d planned.
“I ken you’ve already claimed Katla,” he said, smiling again. “She is yours with my blessing. I ask only that you allow me to throw her a proper clan wedding at Eilean Creag. Perhaps in the days before the truce gathering?”
“That would be an honor, sir.” Gunnar spoke past the tightness in his throat, such joy swelling his heart that his eyes misted. “I will make haste to Kintail to speak with her-”
“Nae need for that, lad.” Duncan’s smile widened. “She is here – she’s waiting just outside the gorge, with a few of my guardsmen to watch o’er her.”
Gunnar stared at him. “You brought her along?”
“She brought herself!” Duncan laughed as he grabbed his horse’s reins, thrusting them into Gunnar’s hands. “Nae force on earth could’ve stopped her, that wild minx.
“Now take Rune, and ride to her.” He stepped back so Gunnar could swing up onto the great black charger. “My men and I will make ourselves useful here, helping my old friend Squall.”
Gunnar flashed a look at the innkeeper, who shrugged, looking only slightly sheepish.
“Now, away with you.” Duncan slapped the charger’s rump. “Take him to her, Rune!”
On the order, the great beast leapt forward, bolting down the river path. But not before Gunnar heard the cheers and sword rattling of the men. His heart nigh bursting, his hair whipped by the wind, he raised his own voice…
He called Katla’s name again and again, as he thundered through the gorge.
~ * ~
Katla knew something was wrong when the earth began to tremble beneath her feet. She’d been pacing the rock-clogged entrance to the Vale of Thieves for a while. And though she’d decided there couldn’t be a wilder, more bleak or desolate place in all Scotland, she also knew the vale’s stony ground didn’t jiggle – yet it was doing so now.
She knew why.
Duncan was returning on Rune, galloping hard. The pounding of the warhorse’s hooves shook the gorge, and the rolling moorland and hills beyond.
That bode ill. There was only one reason her chief would make such haste, and alone.
Something had happened to Gunnar.
Fearing so, she pressed a hand to her breast, straining her eyes to see through the thickening mist. She couldn’t make out anything, but she did hear her name.
“Katla! Katla! Katla!”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, the greatest joy welling inside her. She swayed, her knees weakening, for there could be no mistaking who called to her.
Gunnar was coming.
“He lives!” She shouted the news to the three guardsmen Duncan had ordered to watch her, to keep her from following the men into the gorge.
They sat on a scattering of boulders near the river, eating cold venison and sharing a flask of uisge beatha. Looking over at her, they nodded.
One laughed. “Our lord aye lives! He is invincible, lass.”
“Nae, my lord,” she corrected softly.
If she had any doubt that Gunnar was the rider, Glaum deserted the guardsmen and their venison to streak back to her. When he reached her, he began to run in circles, stopping every so often to bounce about and bark into the whirling mist.
He knew.
She did, too. How could she be mistaken when her heart was on fire?
Her blood quickened as the thunder of hooves drew nearer. Then he was there, bursting through the mist to hurtle toward her on Rune. His plaid and hair streamed behind him, and he wore the broadest smile she’d ever seen.
He reached her before she could cry his name, leaping down from Rune’s back even as he reined in the great beast.
“Lass!” He grabbed her, kissing her soundly. “Praise Odin, you’re safe.”
She beamed at him, dashed at her eyes. “It is you I am glad to see!” she cried, flashing a glance at Rune. “My lord Duncan? That is his horse.”
“Your laird is fine – all the men are, his and my own,” he said, lifting his voice above Glaum’s barks. “But there are injuries. The Black Stag and his men are helping tend my wounded. It was a hard fight.” He tightened his arms around her, pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “But my cousin will threaten nae soul e’er again. ‘Tis over, all the grief he caused, and wished to.”
“Praise be.” Katla blinked. “I worried so.”
“I didnae want that, my heart.” He took her hands in his. “If I have aught to do with it, you will ne’er have another care so long as you live.”
“I won’t – not if I am at your side.”
“You shall be, from this day onward.”
Hope, and joy, bloomed in Katla’s heart. “Will you speak to Duncan then?”
He laughed. “There is nae need. He already knew, and has given us his blessing.”
“Oh!” She swallowed h
ard, couldn’t speak past the hot lump in her throat.
“He only wants a ‘proper MacKenzie wedding feast’ at Eilean Creag.” Grinning, he scooped her up, clutching her tight against him as he turned in circles – much as Glaum was doing again. Only his barks were now ear-splitting.
“I’ve nae beef twists, laddie,” Gunnar called to the excited dog. “I didnae expect to need them!
“Nor did I think to see you.” He released Katla, set his hands on her waist. “But ‘tis glad I am! Now I needn’t hasten back to Druimbegan, launch the Solan and cleave endless waves to reach you. Your own laird brought you to me.”
“You are not angry?”
“Fashed?” He smiled down at her. “Sweet lass, do I look angry?”
“Nae, but…” She couldn’t finish. His smile was making her heart tumble.
“You’re worried about the scroll,” he said, guessing rightly. “Did you trust me so little? Think I couldn’t fight my own battles? Nae mistake, I am glad your laird came – for we now have his favor. But my friends and I had already dealt with Ross. The battle was swift – I will tell you of it later. For now, I am glad you were no’ anywhere near the fighting.”
He drew her close again. “I’d hear why you gave the scroll to Duncan?”
“I didn’t.”
“Katla…” He smoothed back her hair, kissed her brow. “Speak true, lass. I am no’ angry.”
“I’m not lying.” She lifted her voice over Glaum’s barking. “It was him,” she said, glancing at the spinning beastie. “He snatched the scroll off the coffer as I slept.”
“Glaum?”
On hearing his name, the little dog sat and perked his ears, watching them expectantly.
Gunnar laughed.
Katla sighed. “He knows we’re speaking of him.”
“Are you saying he took the scroll to the Black Stag?”
“He did.” Katla nodded. “I fell asleep before putting it in the chest. Some while later – it was still dark – I was wakened by a ruckus. I heard Rune kicking about and neighing, men rushing everywhere, shouting. Glaum was barking a storm. That wasn’t surprising, but he wasn’t in my room.
“I feared we’d been attacked, so I dressed quickly and ran to the hall.” She touched Gunnar’s face, trailed her fingers along his bearded jaw. “When I got there, Duncan was standing before the fire, reading your missive.
“He told me Glaum ran into the hall with the scroll.” She took her hand from Gunnar’s face, rubbed her knuckles across her own cheek, dashing her tears.
“It is the truth, I swear it.”
“Then I shall make certain he aye has enough beef twists to keep him happy,” he said, a teasing note in his voice. “We wouldnae want him taking a secret scroll to the wrong soul – or eating one meant for us!”
“You really aren’t wroth?”
He cradled her face, smiled down at her. “Only at myself for no’ claiming you sooner.”
“But you did – on Odin’s Flame.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, leaning in to trail kisses up her neck, to nip the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “And this time I will no’ be letting you go.”
“I don’t want you to,” she said, returning his smile. Not ever, my Lord of Winter.
“Then let us be glad for the winter fire,” he said, as if he’d heard her unspoken words.
His sudden grin said he had.
But before she could decide, he caught her up in his arms again and twirled her round and round, kissing her the while – just as he’d done so long ago on an enchanted night when flames leapt and danced across the heavens.
Only this time it wasn’t a farewell dance.
Their journey was just beginning.
Epilogue
Dunakaid Castle, Kyleakin
The truce gathering at Yule…
“Can it be that your uncle is smitten with Laird MacKinnon’s youngest sister?” Katla glanced down the high table at John MacLeod and the smiling woman beside him. “I don’t think he’s talked or laughed so much since our wedding feast.”
Before Gunnar could agree, John’s voice boomed, “I forgot to bring it with me, for I no longer need it,” he was heard to say to Lady Minerva MacKinnon, “but I’ve a crummock at Druimbegan that’s set with jewels that dinnae shine as bright as your eyes!”
Leaning in, John tapped his mead horn against Minerva’s. “Mayhap I’ll have the gemstones made into a fine necklace for you – a Yuletide gift!”
On his words, cheers and joyous table-knockings filled the festively decorated hall.
“She is widowed,” Katla whispered in her husband’s ear.
“So she is.” Gunnar lifted his own mead horn, and drank deeply. “Better yet, she is young enough to give John many strong sons, perhaps even a daughter or two.”
Katla smiled at the pair, enjoyed a sip of her own mead. “A match between them would be a grand way to celebrate Yule – and the truce between our clans.”
“Aye, though I can think of a few other ways to mark the occasion!” Gunnar kissed her cheek, nipped her ear. “I’ll show you after the feasting – if you desire?”
Katla laughed. “You have to ask?”
“Nae.” Gunnar grinned and slapped the table. “And I thank the gods for such a passionate wife!”
“Don’t think I’m not as grateful.” Katla slipped a hand beneath the table, giving his thigh a quick squeeze.
“Have a care, lass.”
“Always.” She beamed, teasingly slid her fingers a bit higher up his leg before whisking her hand away again.
“You are a minx.” He caught her wrist, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.
And it was then that a small, black-garbed woman at the far end of the table, pushed to her feet. She’d been sitting between Duncan and Linnet MacKenzie, and so it was the MacKenzie chieftain who now reached beneath the table and handed her a crudely-carved plain wooden crummock.
Gunnar glanced at Katla. “That’s the oar-strake walking stick I made for John.”
“Aye.” Katla smiled, her attention on the cailleach.
Devorgilla accepted the stick with a twinkly-eyed nod, holding it up proudly. “I thank each of you for your gifts of wood,” she said, looking most benevolent. “Each piece will add honor and grace to my Yuletide fire – a reminder of all the goodness in this land, and why I ne’er tire of serving you.”
Again, cheers and table-knockings rose in the hall, this time accompanied by foot stomps. Also a few excited barks from Glaum, who’d been standing over by the great hall’s hearth fire, guarding his pile of beet twists from the MacKinnon dogs.
“Hail, the lady! Long live Devorgilla!” Everyone shouted, happily.
Only Gunnar was silent.
“Did you no’ tell me she lives on the Isle of Doon?” He spoke low, his voice pitched for Katla’s ears only. “Last I heard, Doon is a good distance from Skye. This night is Yuletide – how does she think to light a Yule fire there?”
Kat’s smile deepened. “She is herself – you will see.”
“Humph.” He sat back and took a long, slow sip of mead.
Katla held her tongue, waiting.
It didn’t take long…
“Where is she?” Gunnar’s brow furrowed as he stared at the empty chair between Duncan and Linnet. “No auld bent woman can move that fast – if she’s on her way to the castle jakes.”
Katla shrugged. “She could have slipped away to the privies, aye.”
She said no more, knowing the truth.
When her husband’s expression altered, showing he understood, she leaned close and took his face in her hands, kissing him with all the love in her heart.
“I told you she is no’ ordinary soul,” she said, sitting back again.
“Odin’s bleeding danglers!” Gunnar shook his head, his gaze again on the vacated chair.
After a long moment, he reached for his mead horn, draining it. Then he turned to Katla, his face earnest. “Speaking of departures,�
�� he began. “I must ask you. Are you certain you’ll no’ mind living so far from our families, our friends? This bonnie Isle of Skye, your beloved Kintail?
“Orkney is many sea miles away.” He paused, smoothed his knuckles down her cheek. “We must journey on the Solan – if you grow homesick, I cannae speed you back here as your Devorgilla apparently travels about this land.”
Katla laughed. She couldn’t help it.
Then she grabbed his hand and lightly bit the base of his thumb. “Do you not know me better?” She looked at him, her eyes misting with happiness. “You ask if I will not joy to go with you to the far north – the land of my mother’s people, home of our winter fire?
“A place where we will be close enough to Iceland to go there now and then?” She winked, knowing he’d understand. “I do expect you to take me.”
“Katla…” He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close. “You are sure?”
She gave him her brightest smile. “I am so certain I would man the Solan’s steering oar myself.”
“Precious lass, have I told you how much I love you?”
“Aye, but I don’t tire of hearing it,” she said. “For now, I just want to kiss you.”
And she did.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
The Northern Lights aka the Aurora Borealis have always fascinated me. As a lover of snow and cold and all things wintry, this amazing spectacle will always seem more than a mere natural phenomena to me. I see the Northern Lights as magical. And I do think of them as winter fire.
I have never seen the Northern Lights in Kintail. But I have seen them light the heavens over Aberdeen.
Odin’s Flame is fictional as is the legend I spun for it. That said, should you ever visit Kintail, you might see Odin’s Flame reflected in the Five Sisters of Kintail, the storied peaks that rise above this stunning corner of northwestern Scotland.
Duncan MacKenzie’s Eilean Creag, of course, is Kintail’s iconic Eilean Donan Castle. It was there, many years ago, that I was inspired to write Devil in a Kilt, my debut title, which I set there. As you saw in Winter Fire, Duncan is still lairding it well in Kintail. I have many more ‘Return to Kintail’ novels planned, so you will see Duncan and his friends again. Indeed, I have to keep writing these MacKenzie tales, or Devorgilla will come after me.
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