Seduction of a Highland Warrior (Highland Warriors Book 4)

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  “You’ll not be a part of the ceremony if Ivar cuts off your balls.” Bors said that with satisfaction. “When I tell him how your cry about a mist woman echoed round the loch, risking the attention Blackshore guards, he’ll-”

  “Say a word and you’ll find your throat slit as you sleep.” Troll gave an equally smug smile, knowing he’d won.

  His face might not be pretty, but he was silent on his feet, his dagger hand swift and deadly. More than one man who’d vexed him, breathed no more. And – Troll dug his oars into sea, victory sweet – those sorry fools had ended their lives in their beds, no sword or ax in their hand, guaranteeing a welcome at Valhalla.

  Thor’s mead hall was closed to warriors who died in their sleep.

  And the soured look on Bors face said he knew he was in danger of meeting such a fate.

  “Something else, friend...” Troll rowed happily as they neared the anchored dragonship. “When the day comes, I take my turn at the Mackintosh maid before you.”

  Bors grunted, the tightening of his lips agreement enough.

  “Don’t look so grieved,” Troll taunted as the coracle bumped aside the ship’s black-painted hull. “You won’t know the difference anyway. All cats are the same in the dark, even fine Highland ladies.”

  Still, Troll just might enjoy Marjory Mackintosh twice, if possible.

  He’d be doing her a service, after all.

  Women sent to Viking funerary pyres burned more contently if well-sated beforehand.

  Chapter 11

  Three days later, Marjory and Isobel made their way through a birchwood near Nought’s most formidable peaks. Wind funneled down from the highest passes to whistle through the trees and send fallen leaves skittering along the path. The women walked briskly, their cloaks drawn against the cold afternoon. Marjory just wished her mantle would also shield her from certain mind wanderings.

  “You’re not fooling me.” Isobel hitched her skirts to step over a patch of mud-slicked ground. “You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”

  “Who?” Marjory pretended not to know.

  “Blackshore, of course.” Isobel glanced at her. “You’re yearning for him. Especially now, after he’s practically made love to you. Any woman would-”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Hah!”

  “Angry is what I am. I’m certainly not dwelling on what happened in the old guard room. Or better said, what didn’t. Truth be told, I’m glad nothing came of it.” Marjory spoke the lie as boldly as she could. “I only regret I was so naïve to follow him, expecting…”

  She couldn’t finish, irritation making her throat hurt.

  She did set her jaw, not wanting to acknowledge that even now she felt the powerful force of him. Pure sensual heat poured through her, prickling her skin and stirring memories of his touch, his kisses. Need and desire as strong as if he stood before her still. She inhaled sharply, resenting the damning pull, undiminished by her aggravation.

  “Such folly.” She swiped her hair behind her ear. “How could I have-”

  Isobel tsked. “Seducing the man you love is never folly, dear heart. Some men need a bit of prodding.” Her lips curved in a reminiscent smile, her eyes softening. “I know that well, trust me.”

  “Alasdair is not Kendrew.”

  “To be sure.” Isobel stepped over a fallen log. “Yet they are more alike than either would care to admit. Both are proud men, leaders of their people, and with a long history of clan feuding and personal grievances between them. They are fierce warriors. And” – she smiled again, this time knowingly – “the kind of men who make best of husbands once they settle down. The finest of lovers-”

  “Isobel!” Marjory flushed so hotly she could hear the blood roar in her ears. “You know we didn’t-”

  “A mere trifle.” Isobel’s smile didn’t falter. “As for seduction, I’ll own you only had to stand before him to send all thoughts from his mind save wanting to ravish you there and then.”

  Marjory just looked at her, her pulse thundering.

  She was sure the truth stood on her face. That had been the way of it.

  “See? I knew it.” Isobel sounded so pleased. “You only fueled the fires already burning. You weren’t just anyone there in the shadows with him. You were the woman he desires above all others.”

  “He wanted a woman. Any half-fetching female in a low-cut gown and with fluttering eyelashes would’ve served.” The words tasted bitter on Marjory’s tongue. “He said as much. Did you not hear him?”

  “I heard him say words that damned him and saved your honor.”

  “Pah!” Marjory didn’t believe it.

  Much as she’d been wrestling with just such a possibility for days.

  “You think so, too. I see it all over you.”

  “I don’t know what I think.”

  “And so you’ve been slipping away every morn, telling Kendrew you’re off to visit Hella when what you truly hoped was to catch Alasdair on one of his patrols through our territory.” Isobel made it sound so logical. “You need to look in his eyes, search for answers-”

  “I need to put him from my mind.” Marjory didn’t deny that she had hoped to encounter Alasdair.

  Not that she knew what she’d do if she did.

  For truth, she’d almost swear he’d used some kind of witchy magic on her.

  How else could he invade her every thought?

  Even now, she could see him. His clear blue gaze steady on hers, and how in certain light, his eyes gleamed with the most delightful golden flecks. How wide of shoulder he was, or how proudly he wore his MacDonald plaid over his broad, hard-muscled chest.

  She stiffened, not wanting to recall how her hope had crumbled on his stinging rejection, her joy slipping away like sand spilling between her fingers.

  It’d been days, yet the hurt sat deep.

  She glanced up at the racing clouds, wishing they’d swoop down to chase him from her heart. Undo how she couldn’t forget that his lightest touch could make her skin warm, even sending fiery heat whipping through her so that she tingled clear to her toes.

  Trickery he surely used on every female who crossed his path.

  That damnable knowledge put such a scowl on her face that she glanced aside so Isobel wouldn’t see. With any luck, her friend would think it was the shadowy birchwood that made her frown.

  “I have been searching for Hella.” She lifted her voice as a sharp wind whistled through the trees, tossing branches and rattling leaves, lending to the wood’s eeriness. Deep and almost impenetrable, the thickly growing birches crowded a fast-running burn halfway between Castle Nought and the clan’s famed vale of the dreagans.

  “Aye, and just where we know Alasdair often sends his patrols.” Isobel glanced at her. “Men he often accompanies, if our own scouts are to be believed.”

  “You know I have good reason to speak with Hella.” Marjory refused to allow Isobel to maneuver her into further discussion of Alasdair.

  She did pull her cloak even tighter as the wood drew in around them.

  This part of Nought a bit unholy.

  Little visited because of the thick mist that often hid the wood from view - fog many Mackintoshes held for enchanted - the birchwood was a place where the veil that separated the living from the dead had worn thin, allowing easy passage between the worlds.

  Or so clan bards claimed.

  At gloaming, strange blue lights sometimes glimmered through the trees. Eerily glowing orbs many believed were men who’d lost their way. Wretches who’d become forever trapped in the wood’s murky depths.

  Marjory peered into the shadows, glad she’d never seen the lights.

  She didn’t doubt their existence.

  She could almost feel their stares now.

  No, not their stares, Alasdair’s. He was watching her. She blinked, losing her breath at the sight of him. She could only see his face in the whirling mist, but that was enough to set her heart thundering. The air between them shift
ed, the swirling mist almost coming alive, even seeming to crackle as their gazes locked. His intensely blue eyes narrowed, carrying a challenge, daring her to come to him.

  She started forward, her pulse quickening even more.

  Norn… She was sure she heard him call to her, his voice deep and smooth, the intimacy of his tone making her insides flutter.

  The mist stirred and she caught a better glimpse of him, saw that he held out a hand to her. She took another few steps, hurrying now. Sheer, primal need drove her, female desire she couldn’t deny.

  “Botheration!” Isobel cursed, and hastened after her.

  Marjory hitched her gown higher, preparing to leap over a narrow burn.

  But then a gust of wind shook the trees on the far side of the water and she realized her mistake.

  Alasdair wasn’t there.

  A quick glance at Isobel proved it. Her friend was hopping on one foot while shaking the other, clearly trying to dislodge a pebble from her shoe.

  Had Alasdair been there, sharp-eyed, ever-alert Isobel would’ve known. Yet she looked wholly unconcerned, entirely occupied with her errant shoe.

  Marjory pressed a hand to her breast and took a deep breath, waiting for the tingles of awareness to recede. Even now, knowing she’d erred, she could still feel the excitement that had swept her. The powerful pull of Alasdair, reaching to her through the cold mist, a bold smile teasing his lips as he waited for her.

  Yet…

  He wasn’t doing anything the like. He wasn’t there at all.

  Nothing was.

  The wood was playing tricks on her.

  Or she’d seen an an cu glas, the fairy dogs also rumored to roam this part of Nought. Thought to have interbred with mortal dogs, the fairy beasts were usually reported as green, though some folk insisted they’d seen blue an cu glas. Either way, the creatures were known for seeking companionship. Unfortunately, if they barked three times and a man heard them, his certain death was said to follow.

  Marjory had other cares.

  Isobel slipped her now pebble-free shoe back on her foot and dusted her hands. “Did you hear that?” She tilted her head, looking in the opposite direction from where Marjory thought she’d seen Alasdair. “I think it was a dog, a large brute-”

  Marjory listened, but heard nothing. “It was the wind.”

  “Say you.” Isobel turned in a slow circle, peering into the trees. “It wasn’t that long ago that two of Kendrew’s men swore they’d seen a fairy dog near the dreagan vale. They said he was huge, and bright as green fire.”

  “And they lived to tell the tale.” Marjory reached out to halt her friend’s turning. “If there are an cu glas about, they’ll be lonely and glad for our company. I never did believe they bring doom.

  “We’re safe here.” She stepped back, assuming her most confident mien rather than alarm her good-sister by admitting that the wood was uncanny. She was also glad to steer the topic away from Alasdair. “Truly, the threat of a Viking funerary pyre disturbs me much more than whatever creatures might lurk in a mist-haunted wood.”

  “I did hear something.” Isobel still wore a vague frown.

  “You heard our feet scrunching on the rocks.” Marjory was sure as they’d just reached a stretch of path covered with gravel.

  “I thought you believed in Highland magic.”

  “I do.” Marjory kept walking. “Just now I want to see Hella more.”

  Isobel looked at her sharply. “Let’s hope we don’t regret her answers.”

  “We’ll know soon enough.” Marjory quickened her pace.

  Hopefully, they’d find Hella at home at Skali, her thatched cottage in the wood’s deepest, darkest heart. Named for the main room of a Viking longhouse, the communal area where sleeping benches lined the walls on either side of a central fire, Skali Cottage allowed the widow to retreat into what she called the comfort of candlelight and peat smoke.

  Hella appreciated solitude.

  Marjory touched the amber necklace at her throat, saying a silent prayer. Something – an instinct, her ambers, or just plain good sense – told her that she needed the truth about her dream before it was too late.

  Commonplace dreams vanished upon waking.

  Her dream stuck to her like a burr, clinging and sharp, minding her of its presence.

  She could still see the sheer, iron-gray cliffs and the frost on the rocks. At times, she even caught the smell of cold Arctic air and the deep blue waters of Nordic seas. In those moments, the acrid bite of burning wood and strange herbs haunted her, while her skin felt smeared by sea spray and ash. Flying soot that rode a fiery wind and came from flames meant to roast her alive.

  “There’s that noise again.” Isobel put a hand on Marjory’s arm, gripping tight.

  “I heard nothing.” Marjory angled her head, listening, but the wood was still.

  Unfortunately, her pulse was skittish.

  And she needed her wits.

  Even Nought born and bred as she was, it wasn’t easy to find Skali Cottage.

  The birchwood protected those it welcomed into its embrace. When Hella claimed the cottage’s ruined shell, restoring the erstwhile shepherd’s hut to its earlier soundness and naming it Skali, the birches began growing more closely about Skali’s thick white-washed walls. The cottage soon became as much a part of the wood as the trees and mist.

  Skali could be passed unnoticed if one didn’t know where to look.

  Blessedly, Marjory did.

  At least, she’d always thought so.

  Now…

  She stopped, resting a hand against her hip. “I’d swear the path keeps changing.” She glanced at Isobel, seeing the same frustration on her face. “It’s leading us nowhere, circling round as if someone cast a spell of concealment on the track’s stones.”

  “The an cu glas could work such a trick.” Isobel glanced about, into the shadows, as if expecting a pack of the fairy dogs to appear.

  “Pah.” Marjory made a dismissive gesture. “I have a good idea what the problem is.”

  “Grim?” Isobel sounded doubtful.

  “Just because we haven’t spoken of him, doesn’t mean he isn’t trailing us. We’ve both known it for hours.”

  Annoyed, Marjory glanced over her shoulder, pretending not to see the big black-bearded man who followed them. As a good Mackintosh warrior, proud of his Berserker blood, Grim wore a wolf’s pelt slung over his mail-clad shoulders and carried a bright, broad-bladed war ax strapped across his back. His tread was silent, for all Mackintoshes could move easily on swift, soundless feet.

  “You think the wood is throwing him off our track?” Isobel lowered her voice.

  “It’s possible.” Marjory stood straighter, brushed her skirts. Grim’s presence wasn’t wished, however much he meant well.

  “He’s keeping his distance.” Isobel leaned close, her gaze on the spot where a hint of silver revealed Grim’s hiding place. “He has a good heart. He won’t come near enough to press his ear to Hella’s door.”

  Marjory bit back a laugh. “He’s a Mackintosh. He’ll do as he pleases. And he is my brother’s man.”

  “He helped us when Kendrew was courting me. It was Grim who-”

  “You didn’t need help.” Marjory studied the path before them. She was certain it should curve to the right, yet the pebbled track wound to the left. She frowned upon noting a second path, choosing to follow its mud-slicked stones into the deepest part of the wood.

  Isobel hitched her skirts as they left the pebbled trail for the muddied one. “Grim only wants to be sure we’re safe.”

  “We are. There’s nothing here that would harm either of us.”

  “Hearthside tales say otherwise.”

  “Such stories are meant to entertain.”

  “Yet each one holds a grain of truth.” Isobel’s pretty face went serious. “Don’t forget I saw one of your dreagans, along with his master, the night Kendrew rescued us from the broken men who seized Duncreag Castle from old Ar
chie MacNab. Kendrew and I were up on Duncreag’s battlements, looking towards Nought. It was then that he asked me if I wished to return with him to his home or be escorted back to my own, Castle Haven. I told him my choice was Nought.

  “He grabbed me then, pulling me into his arms. He kissed me and in that moment” – her voice took on a confiding tone – “I saw the great dreagan, Slag, and his master, Dare. It was storming and they were on the ledge of a nearby mountain. I saw them clearly.”

  “I believe you.” Marjory did, wishing she, too, had seen the fabled beast and his keeper. “I didn’t say I doubt there are wood sprites or fairy dogs in this wood, or that the mist might be enchanted.

  “I meant we have no reason to fear.” She cast another glance behind them, noting that Grim had again slipped from view.

  “Then why is it taking us so long to reach Hella’s cottage? We should’ve been there hours ago.”

  “I know.” Marjory didn’t like the thick mist drifting through the trees. It was denser now and almost luminous, seeming to pulse around them. “But I’m sure we’re on the right path.”

  “What will you do if Hella confirms your dream?” Isobel changed the subject, voicing the one question Marjory couldn’t answer.

  “I’m not sure.” Marjory touched her ambers. The stones proved cool and smooth.

  If she was in peril, the threat wasn’t in this much-maligned corner of Nought that she loved so dearly. But even as she acknowledged her relief, her fingers caught a faint vibration deep within the necklace.

  A fleeting stir, little more than a flicker.

  She took a breath, her awareness quickening. “If Hella knows of a Viking lord named Rorik the Generous, or a Saracen woman called Lady Sarina, I shall take care never to cross their paths. No matter what Kendrew might say or do if he tries to foist such worthies on me.”

  “He won’t.” Isobel slid her gaze away, as if seeing her husband’s face before her. “Even if he wished to see you wed to a Viking lord, he wouldn’t offer you to any man as a second wife. He loves you too much to suffer you such a fate.”