by Darby, Brit
“I did not know you had a sister.”
“Yes,” he looked away, sadness stealing his smile. “Linny was taken from us, a long time ago. But she told me about her Dragons, how they whispered to her. Telling her of things yet to come, warning her, protecting her.”
His revelation made Shona sad too. “But if they protected her, how is it she was taken from you?”
Her question seemed to confuse Lachlan. “It should have been me. Mother never said so, but I figured it out. I’m not as stupid as people say.”
Shona blurted without thinking, “I don’t think you are stupid, Lachlan. What others say does not matter.”
Her words brought the beautiful smile back.
“Linny will come home, I know it.” Lachlan said, though low this time, as if someone else might overhear. Shona glanced around; they were alone in the garden as far as she knew. She saw his hand tighten on the quill, leaving a stray mark on one of the Dragon’s scales. “Something is going to happen,” he whispered to her. “She will know and come home.”
Shona bit her lip, afraid to ask anything more. It was strange, but she believed him.
They sat silently as darkness fell.
GUNNAR STUDIED THE COASTLINE for a long moment before he turned and walked away. Several of his men had sailed to Northumbria on raids in years past, but little had changed. The inlet was easy to find, despite the passing of time. It would be a good place to go ashore and leave the ship safely anchored.
Anger still bubbled in him at having passed the pirate’s ship. He sneered as he thought of the pirates hiding in the dense fog as he slid right past them. He had thought pirates would provide a decent skirmish, and it surprised and disappointed him when they did not stand and fight. His very soul cried for bloodlust now, and he longed to write the name of the woman who spawned it in blood.
Cailin.
The word hissed from between his teeth. The name that used to prompt a slow heat in his belly, now twisted it into knots. What had caused her to cross the sea to this land? There was one person here who knew the truth of his actions. Edwin had made it clear he intended to return and seize his late brother’s holdings as his own, now that he had the power of the Church behind him. Cailin couldn’t possibly know the danger her birth mother and brother were in. Or could she?
No matter. He would put the doubt plaguing him to rest, once and for all. He would discover the truth — did Thorvald yet live, as the witch claimed, or was he dead, as the bishop promised? Yea or nay, he would make certain both bastards didn’t live to deny him his heart’s desire.
THE MAIN FEAST WAS over, but the entertainment yet remained. Moira had arranged for a traveling troubadour to serenade the wedding party, even though the proper Church wedding was not until the morrow.
Lachlan and Shona had returned to the hall in time, before her father noticed her missing. She discreetly returned to her spot beside him, while Lachlan reappeared at his mother’s side. Though the young couple had only shared a brief interlude in the garden, their gazes met across the hall and both smiled at the same time.
A sudden murmur disturbed the festivities, drawing Lachlan from his reverie. He watched with surprise as Uncle Edwin pushed his way through the crowd to stand upon the raised dais near the front of the hall. He had seen little of his uncle since his father died. The bishop’s appearance made Lachlan nervous and an inkling of fear ran through him.
Lachlan was not alone in his trepidation. Beside him, Moira tensed and stood.
“Edwin.” Her voice held no warmth or welcome. “What brings you to my door? Especially on this night.”
The bishop looked smug, his manner and stance defiant. “I am here on behalf of Holy Mother Church. On an errand of mercy, I suppose you might say.”
Lachlan saw his mother’s eyes narrow. Rarely did he witness her anger, and never had he seen her lack courtesy for unexpected guests. But, this time, she seemed to hold neither in her heart nor eyes. He knew she disliked his uncle, but now, for the first time, she revealed her true feelings. Lachlan was taken aback by the hatred he saw flare in her clear green eyes.
“Mercy, Edwin? What do you know of such things? My husband always welcomed you in our home, but I do not intend to be so generous. I think it would be best if you left … now.”
“It is not for you that I show mercy, but for your honored guest and his daughter.”
“What brings you here, Most Reverend?” Curious, Lord Talorcan turned his attention to the visitor. He looked honestly puzzled, as did everyone in the hall.
“I am Bishop Fetherstone and I have brought you a gift, my lord.”
“A gift? Forgive me, but I do not even know you, Your Grace. Why would you do such a thing?”
Edwin’s laughter was shrill and unsettling in the sudden stillness of the room. “You have such a lovely daughter, my lord, and I’d hate to see her married to this … unnatural boy. It would be such a shame. The Church frowns upon such unions.”
“How dare you barge in here and say such an evil thing.” Trembling with rage, Moira pointed to the door. “Get out; get out before I have you thrown out!”
Edwin ignored her. “Here,” he shouted, motioning for someone else to come in. “Here is my wedding gift … no, not a wedding gift, as that is no longer likely. Let us simply call it a timely gift to you all.”
Armored men burst into the hall, a big blond man dragged behind them in chains. He stumbled as the men escorting him jerked hard on the chains, sending him sprawling into the center of the room. Though nearly naked and clad in rags, by his physique and coloring the stranger was clearly a Viking. There was a fierce pride about him even as he was handled like an animal. A faint memory stirred in Lachlan and he jumped to his feet.
“What is happening, Mother?”
Edwin waved his hand toward the chained man in a grand flourish. “May I introduce you to your father, Lachlan. Your real father.”
Moira screamed and lunged for Edwin. The bishop grabbed her hands before she scored his face, a sneer twisting his lips. “Tell him, Moira. It’s time the boy knew the sordid truth.”
She said nothing and he threw her to the floor where she crumpled in tears.
The bishop towered above her, his voice ringing out. “Tell him about this man, Moira, this Vik savage who fucked you over and over until his seed took hold and swelled your belly. Tell him the truth about his mother … a shameless harlot who lacked the courage to kill herself as any truly pious woman would have done, before letting a pagan shame her in such a way.”
Shocked and silent, the other guests stared at the drama playing out before them. With a flourish, Edwin unrolled a scroll and read aloud the proclamation with relish: the marriage of his late brother was declared vacuo matrimonium ab initio by Pope Sergius III; null and void based on his own sworn testimony as a bishop and the late Father Benedict’s deathbed confession. Of course, it did suit his cause rather well that Sergius himself had neither scruples nor morals, and openly flaunted his mistresses so brazenly that his papacy was even known as the “Rule of the Harlots.” Edwin had spent nearly half his life striving to claim Tynemoor and now, here at last, was his gloating hour of glory.
In the center of the hall, Edwin grabbed a handful of Moira’s auburn hair and pulled her tear-stained face up to look at him. Through clenched teeth he said, “You are naught but a witch-whore who lied about her disgrace, cuckolded my brother and bore twins the fool claimed as his own; unnatural children, born from the fires of deceit and heathen witchcraft.”
Again, he shoved Moira from him in disgust. “One brat a witch, the other a simpleton. ’Tis God’s punishment for your depravity, slut.”
Shona watched in horror as the scene unfolded before her. She ached to run to Lachlan and embrace him; to shield him from the vile words spewing from the bishop’s lips. She started to rise but her father’s hand seized her wrist and yanked her down again, warning her without words to be still.
“I-I do not understand.” Lach
lan spoke up, stammering. Shona saw he looked afraid and confused. He turned right and left as if he didn’t know what to do. His mother Lady Fetherstone lay broken and frightened, sobbing upon the floor. The bishop’s men swarmed the room, ignoring the cries and protests of the guests frightened by the intrusion.
Edwin turned to her father, who looked furious. But Shona couldn’t tell who her father was angry at, the bishop or the Fetherstones.
“Do you see what you were going to marry your daughter to? An imbecile! Yet, he was made my brother’s heir. And he’s the bastard son of a filthy Viking to boot.”
There was a long silence. “Well, we just can’t have that. Can we?” Edwin sneered. “At least I am a true-blooded Anglo-Saxon.”
Lachlan looked at his mother and pleaded, his voice cracking with anguish, “Tell me he is lying, Mother.”
Chapter Thirty-three
EDWIN FELT ELATION SURGE through him, a whirlwind of emotion he had held close to his heart for his entire life. Finally his careful plans came to fruition — he would have what should have been his many years ago.
When Moira did not reply to Lachlan’s plea, he gloated openly, “Therein lies a guilty conscience, my boy. Silence speaks when she cannot.” He made a kicking motion at Moira, his actions making Thorvald growl like a mad dog.
“Get this slut out of my sight,” he barked at his men. “Put the whore in the dungeon with her old lover; I’m sure they have much to catch up on.”
His laughter echoed about in the large, open room, the note so chilling it stilled even the bravest of objections. But when his men started to drag Moira from the room, Lachlan stumbled forward and tried to stop them. Two soldiers started to pummel him with the butt of their swords until Moira managed to push her way in between them to still their brutal attack. She pulled her crying, trembling boy into her arms to comfort him.
Disgusted, Edwin nodded to his men. “Let them all rot together.”
He turned his attention to Shona. He saw the beautiful, no longer bride-to-be was weeping and distraught. “I’m sorry, my dear child, it seems your groom has fallen on hard times. Perhaps some other arrangements can be made. You and your father shall be my guests until I decide what they shall be.”
Lord Talorcan’s look told Edwin his comments were not to his liking, but the older man kept his tongue. Common sense was the best course for the day, considering.
“I see you are a prudent man, sir,” Edwin said to him. “Perhaps, for now, it would be best if you and daughter retire for the evening. As you see, I have many matters to attend for the Earldom of Northumbria on behalf of the Holy See. I’m sure you understand.”
The pale, proud man said nothing, merely nodded and took his trembling daughter by the elbow to guide her through the crowd. Edwin noted how fragile and lovely the girl was. She might prove a valuable pawn. He could barter off her virginity to someone for favors. Or, take it himself and cast the leavings to one of his minions. Though Edwin’s preferences ran toward boys, he did not mind breaking in girls now and then for variety.
If Shona’s father had any objections, it would be easy enough get rid of him, too. After all, Edwin was committed to doing whatever it took to get what he wanted. Nothing, and no one, would ever stand in his way again.
FOR THE THIRD TIME, the dream visited Cailin. When she bolted awake, sitting up in bed, she knew Drake was there. She wasn’t nearly as afraid with him by her side.
“Are you all right?” he asked, curling an arm around her shoulders.
“Yes. But Lachlan isn’t.”
“We are close, Cailin. You will be home soon.”
Drake pulled her into his arms, kissing her head as he comforted her and eased her back down. “Rest, my A chroí.”
“Will we be in time?” she whispered.
“What does your dream tell you?”
She looked at him, seeing the love clear on his face, her concern reflected in his eyes also. “My brother is frightened. He is in a cold, damp place.”
“He lives, that is what matters.”
“Yes,” she said and swallowed back her fear. “He yet lives.”
“Then we will find him. Do not worry, we will find him.”
Drake’s comforting words and warm embrace lulled Cailin back to sleep, her last thought how much she loved this man, her husband, her strength.
IN THE DUNGEON, THORVALD watched as Moira comforted her son — no, their son. Still stunned by the realization he had two living children now, not just one, his mind reeled over the revelation. No wonder the bishop had gloated, delighted in his ignorance. Edwin knew the news would come as a shock, even to a hardened warrior.
The old Thorvald wanted to demand Moira explain her deceit all those years ago; explain why she never told him there were twins born of his lust, but the new Thorvald saw things differently. Lachlan was handsome enough, but his affliction, though subtle, was made more apparent by his fear and confusion. The old Thorvald believed only in the survival of the fittest, and Lachlan would not have been a fitting son.
As disappointed as he was with a girl, what might he have done if he had succeeded and taken Lachlan instead? Shame filled his heart as the answer came to mind, cutting deep into the core of his being. Had he taken the son his heart desired, he knew this meek boy would not have survived.
Sadness touched Thorvald. The gods saw fit to give him more children, yet he had squandered the blessing. With a grunt, he blinked to clear his eyes of a strange misting. He was a hard man, much of his life spent waging war upon others, the way of life for most men of his age. Little touched him and this new tenderness seemed odd and unfamiliar. He had no doubt his life was nearing its end, and, most likely, he would not be given a warrior’s death. He had not earned it.
Strangely, it was not his own pending demise that chilled his blood, or the fact that he would be denied entrance into Valhalla, but that Moira and their son might pay with their own lives as well. He was a good husband to his first wife, his love and devotion years ago one of his few redeeming qualities, he supposed. Siegveig and the three sons she gave him were strong, yet the gods had chosen to take all from him in one fell swoop. The pain of their loss was so great, he forced all emotion from him; emptiness was preferable to constant heartache.
Silence fell upon the room as Lachlan drifted into an exhausted sleep, his head upon his mother’s lap like a child. Moira smoothed his rumpled hair with her hand but said nothing. Thorvald thought she looked scarcely older than when he had taken Cailin from her years ago. Her auburn hair was still bright, her figure slim. Her beauty roused his lust many years ago, but now he saw a different beauty, a mature one he quietly admired.
“The boy and the girl look alike. He is as handsome as she is beautiful.”
Thorvald’s voice was hushed so as to not disturb the boy’s sleep. Moira’s gaze rose to meet his.
“You were wise to hide the boy from me,” he admitted.
Her green eyes widened in surprise. Even in the gloom cast by one weak torch, their intense color pierced Thorvald with memories. Many a time during her captivity he stared into those fjord-green eyes and felt a peculiar pleasure stir within him. But whenever he was drunk and grunted his carnal pleasure upon her, Moira would stare at the sky.
One night, he became childishly furious that she would not look at him. He remembered grabbing her chin and demanding her attention. These same green eyes had pierced him as surely as a sword then. He remembered still how he trembled, even as he spilled his seed into her. Why did the gods see fit to decree twins should spring from his selfish loins?
“I did not make them switch places,” Moira said. “Cailin came up with that plan all on her own.”
As he continued to watch their son sleep, realization dawned and Thorvald understood the true depth of Cailin’s bravery, the unselfish act born of a little girl’s desire to protect her brother. Tears filled his weary eyes. He did not try to hide them from Moira. He read questions in own her eyes; sensed her fear of
the answers.
“Cailin has grown into a lovely woman, smart and strong,” he reassured her.
“She is well?”
Moira’s question was so sad a quiver of emotion touched Thorvald. He felt the urge to comfort and protect her. “Yes, when last I saw her.”
For a long moment, Moira said nothing. “Has she been happy?”
Thorvald grunted, as if she struck a physical blow. He dreaded that question most of all and here it was. “She lacked for nothing. I am a rich man. My own aunt, Hulda, raised and loved her like a mother.”
“But not you?”
It was direct, simple, yet he choked on the bitter truth. “No. I was so intent on having a son I did not see the benefit of a daughter.”
“And now?”
This woman had a way of getting to the heart of the matter. He remembered that about Moira, she always saw beyond a person’s words … his words. It was the same when he had taken her in the raid, all those years ago. He smiled as memories flashed across his mind. This strong Highlands woman was a fitting match for his warrior’s will. How hard they had fought, both in bed and out.
“As death looms, I find myself regretting much,” he admitted.
“Tell me more about Cailin; did she marry?”
“Achhh, woman, she’s as stubborn as you, and as fierce as me. She’ll have none of the men who are interested.”
This brought a small smile to her lips. “You’ve not made a match for her then?”
Thorvald frowned. “I left it to her to decide. Not out of respect for her, but the truth is … I didn’t care enough to do so.”
“I am sorry,” Moira whispered sadly.
“What do you have to be sorry for? I am the fool, not you.”
“Fool?” Moira’s voice rose, then lowered when Lachlan roused. She paused until he fell back to sleep. She hissed at him, “Yes, you are a foolish old man, Thorvald. You stole my precious child, then failed to appreciate what you had. I would have given anything to hold her in my arms once again — to love her as she deserved. When I realized what Cailin had done for Lachlan, taking his place, the heartbreak nearly killed me.”