Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel (Highland Warriors Book 2)

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  “A pox I will!” Kendrew lunged, cutting down swiftly with Blood Drinker, but the man quick, whirling aside and taking only a glancing blow to his shoulder.

  Kendrew hefted his ax again, grinning now. He appreciated a worthy opponent. “Your name, bastard,” he growled, sweeping his ax wide.

  Again he missed, Blood Drinker slicing only air. “I’ll cut you to ribbons, bit by bit, until you tell me.”

  “I am Atil.” The man spun a feint, whipping round and nicking Kendrew’s cheek.

  “Your people?” Kendrew ignored the hot blood trickling down his face.

  “I have none.” Atil sounded proud.

  “Then you’ll gain plenty in Valhalla.” Kendrew lunged again, meaning to send him there.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Atil danced around Kendrew, whipping his sword in flashy figure eight circles.

  “You’re the dead man, and after you, your warriors. Then my lord will give me-” He howled when Kendrew swung Blood Drinker, slicing his sword arm clean through.

  “Give you what?” Kendrew waited until the man fell to his knees, clutching his arm stump with his left hand. “Who is your lord?”

  Atil clamped his jaw, glaring defiantly at Kendrew. “A man far greater than you.”

  “But no’ great enough to save you, eh?” Kendrew stepped back, holding Blood Drinker loosely now.

  To his surprise, Atil surged to his feet then, his sword gripped in his left hand as he lunged, swinging the blade in a wicked arc aimed at Kendrew’s neck.

  It was a foolish move.

  Kendrew might’ve let him live otherwise – he valued brave men.

  As things were…

  “Greet Odin!” Kendrew let Blood Drinker sing, whipping the ax with such speed and force that its long, curving blade sliced through Atil’s ribs nearly lodging in his spine.

  Kendrew yanked the blade free with even greater speed than he’d given the killing blow, and dropping to one knee as Atil fell, he grabbed the man’s left hand, clutching his dying fingers around Blood Drinker’s haft. “Live well, brave Atil, in the mead halls of Valhalla.”

  Ignoring his men, who must’ve finished off the remaining brigands, for they now stood circling him, looking on as he knelt beside Atil, Kendrew waited until the last breath rattled from Atil’s throat.

  Then he peeled the dead man’s fingers from Blood Drinker and jumped to his feet, looking round for the only person that truly mattered to him…

  Isobel.

  But she was gone again.

  Norn stood shivering against the curtain wall, clutching one of his men’s wolf pelts around her shoulders. Pushing past his men, Kendrew strode over to her. “Where is Isobel?” He roared the words, rage beginning to pump through him again. “Dinnae tell me-”

  “She’s there” – Norn lifted her chin, fixing him with the same cool stare she used on him at Nought when she meant to vex him – “with old Archie MacNab and a slave girl, taken by Ralla and his war-band.”

  Kendrew blinked. “MacNab’s here?”

  Turning, Kendrew saw them now. Isobel, flanked by Grim and Talon, the old MacNab chief, looking more frail and gray than Kendrew remembered him. And a slender wisp of a flame-haired girl, dressed in tatters, and – like Norn and Isobel – clutching a peat-blackened wolf pelt around her shoulders. They made a motley sight.

  And Kendrew had never seen anything more beautiful.

  Nor had he ever lost anything so dear as the raven-haired woman standing so still on the entry steps of Duncreag’s great hall.

  Except that wasn’t quite true.

  Once, he had lost someone that meant the world and more to him. And now, after this night, he was more determined than ever that he’d never lose anything so precious again. He certainly wasn’t going to lose his bride.

  He might lose his face when he told her so.

  But that scarce mattered.

  What did was getting her out of the cold wind and rain. Somehow – he hadn’t even noticed – the heavens had split wide and rain now poured down in rivers, already washing clean men and the bloodstained cobbles. Wind howled, lashing at Duncreag’s walls, while above them, lightning streaked across the heavens, the thunder deafening.

  They couldn’t leave in such a storm.

  But he could get Isobel inside Duncreag, keep her warm, tend to the nick to her neck, and – if she’d still have him – hold her in his arms the whole night through.

  “MacNab!” Kendrew started forward, sprinting across the courtyard, knowing the cantankerous old chief would only accept gruff respect. “I’d beg lodgings this night for my men and” – he reached the hall’s entry, ducking under its sheltering arch – “for my soon-to-be-bride and myself, if you’ve room to spare for us?”

  “That I do, boy!” Archie stood straighter, lifting his grizzled chin. “You and your lady shall have my best quarters.” He blinked, for a moment, looking shamed. “If thon hell-bred brigands you’ve rid me of haven’t left the room in too great a ruin.”

  “I’ll see to the chamber.” The red-haired girl stepped forward, her voice revealing her to be Irish. “It’s the least I can do.” She glanced at Isobel and Norn, smiling warmly. “I know who you are from your lady and your sister. They spoke so highly of you. They gave us such hope, promising that you’d come and rescue us all.”

  “Is that so?” Kendrew lifted a brow.

  “Of course, it is.” Isobel went to him, slipping her arm through his, heedless of the rain and blood soiling him. “Could anyone who knows you ever doubt you? I even told Breena” – she glanced at the Irish girl – “that you’d arrange for Alasdair MacDonald to take her on one of his ships back to Ireland. But she-”

  “Aye, to be sure.” Kendrew turned to the girl. “MacDonald isn’t fond of me, but I doubt I’d have a problem persuading him to see you home.”

  “Thank you.” The girl bobbed a curtsy, but her gaze was troubled when she glanced at old Archie.

  “You don’t understand, my heart.” Isobel squeezed Kendrew’s arm. “Breena no longer has any family in Ireland. Ralla and his men sacked her village, burning everything and killing all but the few villagers they sold into slavery.”

  Kendrew frowned, fiercely. “Then she shall come to us at Nought.” He looked back at the girl, nodding as if it were settled. “You’ll be welcome there, lass. Ne’er you fash yourself.”

  “Kendrew.” Isobel nudged him, nodding her own head in the old chief’s direction.

  Archie MacNab seemed to have shrunk. His bony shoulders sagged and his rheumy eyes glistened a bit too brightly. He started shuffling his feet, his bristly chin lowering as he avoided gazes.

  “He’s become like a grandfather to the girl, see you?” Isobel drew Kendrew away from the others, speaking low. And finally, she saw the comprehension dawn on Kendrew’s face. At last, he recognized that with Archie having lost his sons and everyone else at Duncreag, and Breena seeing her village left a ruin, the old man and the young girl had no one else to call their own.

  “I’ve a better idea, MacNab.” Kendrew let his voice boom, speaking as loudly as Isobel had just whispered. “With so much room here these days and” – he smiled at Breena – “a fine and able lassie to run your household, I’m wondering if you’d do me a favor, what?”

  “To be sure!” The old man stood tall again. “What are you in need of, laddie?”

  “Och, no’ much.” Kendrew slid his arm around Isobel, drawing her near. “I could use some extra grazing land on your high moors in summer. And” – he glanced at his men, his gaze lighting on the ones he knew to be married with sons – “I’d appreciate it if you could take on some fine, eager Mackintosh lads as squires?

  “I’d send along a garrison to help with their training. And” – he sounded pleased, as if the decision was his reason for coming here – “you’d be helping me because Nought is about out of space for brawling young boys.”

  Archie MacNab swallowed, the brightness in his eyes brimming over. “I�
��d be honored, Mackintosh. And you couldn’t have a better fostering home for the lads than Duncreag. Truth is” – his chest puffed a bit – “I was once quite a fine fighting man myself.”

  “Then it’s done.” Kendrew nodded solemnly.

  It was all he could do to keep his lips from twitching.

  Archie MacNab could hardly handle a meat knife, as everyone for miles around knew.

  But he wasn’t about to remind the old goat.

  He did need to settle matters with Isobel.

  And while he was most pleased to help MacNab, even enjoying the way the old chief now strutted about his hall, making plans, Kendrew’s reputation stood to be tarnished if he played the gallant too long.

  He rather liked being known as a howling madman.

  So he put back his shoulders, set a grin on his face, and grabbed Isobel, sweeping her up in his arms. “I need some words with my lady.” Again, he let his voice boom, wanting all present to hear him. “We’ll see you at the high table anon” – he flashed a look at Archie – “or, perhaps no’ at all this night – depending on my lady.”

  “Kendrew!” Isobel felt her face flame.

  “That’s me, aye.” Proud of it, he marched straight down the center aisle of Archie MacNab’s great hall, making for the tower stairs.

  “Where are you taking me?” Isobel squirmed in his arms, laughter and joy bubbling up inside her because – as she’d always known – she loved Kendrew’s wildness and wouldn’t want him any other way.

  “Everyone is staring after us.” Propriety made her offer a protest.

  “Let them.” Kendrew laughed and only clutched her tighter against his chest as they reached the torchlit arch of the stair tower.

  He took the stairs two at a time, climbing the winding stone steps swiftly. “We’re up to the battlements, lass, a place where we’ll be high enough to see the peaks of Nought when I ask you what I must.”

  “But it’s storming.” Isobel didn’t care about the booming thunder, but she did worry a bit about lightning.

  “We’ll no’ step out of the stair tower.” Kendrew set her down when they reached the top landing and threw open the door. “We can see Nought from here.”

  He pointed. “Look there, to the north.”

  Isobel did, at once seeing Nought’s proud peaks through the rain and mist, the highest crests shining silver-white with each burst of lightning. Icy wind streaked across the ramparts, howling and blowing sheets of stinging, pelting rain, already beginning to drench them.

  It was a storm the likes of which probably hadn’t been seen in these hills for centuries.

  Isobel shivered, sure she’d never seen anything so magnificent.

  Except, perhaps, Nought’s master.

  “What did you want to ask me?” She turned to him now, circling her arms around him, leaning into his warmth. “You already know how Norn and I- … dear gods, look!”

  But Kendrew was lowering his head, about to kiss her. “No just yet, lady. One kiss, and then-”

  “No, look!” Isobel broke free and ran to the far corner of the wall-walk, clutching a rain-soaked merlon. “There, high above those pines” – she pointed to a stony ledge near the top of neighboring hill – “I swear there’s a mailed spearman standing there. A man, and-… nae, it can’t be…”

  She leaned out across the merlon to see better, one hand pressed, disbelieving, to her face. “It’s a dreagan, come look! And he’s huge, standing right beside the spearman. I vow I do see them. They’re near what appears to be the narrow entrance of a cave.”

  “You see rain and mist.” Kendrew joined her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “There’s nothing there but-… sons o’ Valkyries!”

  Kendrew’s jaw dropped, his eyes rounding as he, too, stared at the sight before them.

  A tall, hard-faced warrior stood proud, his mail coat and great plumed helm brighter than the sun. He held a long spear in one hand and rested the other on the flank of a huge, stony-scaled beast with large kindly eyes that glowed red. Glittering blue puffs of smoke rose from the beast’s nostrils, and when he glanced down at the warrior beside him, Isobel was sure she’d never seen such adoration.

  The warrior smiled, too, the warmth in his eyes transforming his hard features into a handsome, roguish face.

  Then he raised his spear high above his head, pointing its tip to the north.

  “Live well, my friends. May peace and gladness be yours, all your days.” The words came on the wind, a whisper and then they were gone.

  The warrior and the dreagan were also no more, vanished into the mist of fable where, perhaps, they’d always been.

  But this night, for a shiver of a second, they’d come to show themselves.

  And to bless the union that Isobel always knew was so perfect.

  “Oh, my…” Isobel dashed at her eyes, hot tears blinding her. She turned to Kendrew, reaching up to frame his face, certain that the wetness on his cheeks was just as hot as hers. “Did you see them?”

  “See what, lady?” He lifted a brow, surely feigning ignorance.

  “The shining spearman and his dreagan.” Isobel twisted round, glancing back at the now-empty ledge. “They were there, you had to have seen them.”

  “I saw only rain and mist.” Kendrew remained stubborn.

  But the sheen in his eyes and the catch in throat gave him away.

  Someday, perhaps when they, too, were as old as Archie MacNab, she’d wheedle the truth out of him. For now, she’d let it be.

  Clearing her throat, she rested her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him, the love in his eyes almost splitting her heart.

  That, at least, he wasn’t hiding from her.

  “What did you want to ask me up here?” She couldn’t believe her voice was steady.

  So much depended on this night, what would happen on the morrow.

  “Only this, my lady” – he tilted her chin up and kissed her softly – “from this vantage point you can see Nought to the north and Haven to the east. I would know…”

  He kissed her again, more deeply this time.

  “Tell me true,” he said, when he released her, “which direction you’d have me take you when we leave here in the morning. Home to Haven or-”

  “You can’t be serious.” Isobel threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him. “There is only way I wish to go, as you should know well.”

  “I’d hear the words all the same.” He looked down at her, his eyes suddenly just a bit vulnerable.

  “Oh, Kendrew! I love you so.” She leaned into him, kissing him this time.

  When she pulled back at last, her eyes were burning again. And this time, she didn’t bother to dash away her tears. They were happy tears, after all. Ones she’d waited so very long to shed.

  So she lifted up on her toes and nipped Kendrew’s ear, telling him what he needed to hear.

  “I want to go home to Nought.” Gladness swept her as soon as the words left her lips. “To the north, with you, and nowhere else for all our days.”

  To her surprise, Kendrew threw back his head and whooped.

  Then he grabbed her up into his arms and whirled her around and around. When they stopped, he pulled her to him again and kissed her long and hard.

  “Home to Nought, we shall go then.” He grinned, shook the rain from his hair.

  Then he winked and said four little words she’d once begged him to say for her.

  “So mote it be.”

  Epilogue

  The Glen of Many Legends - At the Dreagan Stones - Autumn 1397

  “O nly my brother would wear mail and carry his ax at his wedding revels.”

  Marjory glanced to where Kendrew spoke with James and Alasdair near the well-laden feasting tables. Catriona sat on a nearby stool, her cloak drawn against the wind, her hands folded atop her swollen belly.

  “You’d think he still expects marauders to leap from behind an outcrop.” Marjory narrowed her eyes at her brother. “He boasts often enou
gh of ridding the glen of Ralla and his war-band, yet...”

  “He isn’t worried about brigands.” Isobel didn’t say what she suspected. She did follow her friend’s gaze, her pulse quickening to see her new husband so gloriously arrayed in full warring armor. He’d even thrown his bearskin over shoulders, wearing the cloak proudly.

  It was a badge of his Berserker lineage.

  Just like the golden Thor’s hammer at his throat and the many silver-and-gold rings lining his arms. His mail shirt and Blood Drinker’s curving, long-bearded blade, shone bright in the afternoon’s cold sunlight.

  He dazzled her.

  As he’d done ever since he’d marched so boldly onto the field at the trial by combat, his great Norse ax in his hand, and grinning roguishly as if he welcomed the fierce fighting about to commence.

  Isobel’s heart swelled looking at him.

  Truth was he’d always dazzle her.

  She told him so often, unable to resist his flashing smile and boyish pleasure each time she praised him. He didn’t need to impress her. So she suspected he’d had other reasons for coming to their wedding feast armed like a returning conqueror awaiting accolades.

  “He’s hoping Alasdair or James will give him cause to fight.” Marjory put Isobel’s suspicion to words.

  “He wouldn’t dare.” Isobel knew he would. “Not this day.”

  “He’d relish nothing more.” Marjory sounded sure. “He’d especially enjoy bloodying his hands on Alasdair. Did you hear how he growled his greeting when the MacDonalds arrived?

  “I’m surprised swords weren’t drawn then.” Marjory’s gaze flickered to Alasdair, worry creasing her brow. “Alasdair would surely have left if he didn’t wish to offend you.”

  “He stayed because of you, my dear.” Isobel smiled when her friend’s cheeks bloomed pink. “He might be keeping his distance, but his eyes haven’t left you since he arrived.”

  “If that is so, Kendrew will make trouble.” Marjory glanced at her little dog, Hercules, tucked comfortably into her arm. He returned the look, sagely. “You see” – she stroked his tufted head - “even Hercules knows Kendrew will do as he pleases.