The Highlander's Norse Bride: A Novella: Book 4 in the Hardy Heroines Series

by Cathy MacRae

  Trees disclosed their shadowed secrets beneath the bright light of the moon, revealing the creatures of the night as they bustled about. The air, scented with summer flowers and damp earth, filled her nose and lungs with the aroma of life. An owl called from his perch high in a tree. Instantly all movement on the ground ceased, life suspended as the predator’s threat loomed over them.

  The moonlight reflected in the owl’s eyes fascinated Hanna. The feathered hunter surveyed his territory for long minutes, then, with a silent whoosh of powerful wings, he glided into the forest, releasing the creatures below from death one more time.

  Hanna’s breath slipped on a long sigh and she did not startle when a warm weight settled onto her shoulder. Her gaze dropped to the hand, black hair springing from the scuffed knuckles. Slowly lifting her eyes, she met Laird MacLean’s troubled gaze.

  “Halt, Hanna,” he whispered. “This isnae how ye beat them.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “What do ye know of my misery,” she demanded, voice husky with grief and anger. “There is naught left for me. Your king has killed me just as certain as the Scot who destroyed my family.”

  “I understand some of yer pain,” Alex replied. “It empties ye, leaving ye a husk of what ye once were. Then, it fills ye with anger, full to bursting, and ye panic to realize ye are truly alone and all that once was good and right inside ye is now gone.”

  “I do not recognize myself,” Hanna whispered.

  “Because ’tis not ye. The man who killed yer family is to blame. But listen to me, Hanna. If ye do this thing, if ye leap from the wall, he will win. Without lifting a hand further, he will have won.”

  Hanna stared over the edge of the parapet. “Ye are but a man. What do ye know of a mother’s grief?”

  “A man, aye. But one who has experienced grief in many forms. The loss of a good friend in battle, of a father, and of a child in his mother’s arms.”

  Hanna’s attention slowly turned to him, her eyes dark with anguish, but her furrowed brow softened, giving him hope she was not lost to them yet.

  “Would ye come with me?” he asked. “I know a quiet place where we can speak without interruption.”

  Breathing deeply, as though firming a decision, Hanna nodded, and Alex gently squeezed her hand, encouraging her to walk with him. He left her at the doorway to his chamber just long enough to grab a heavy cloak and a thick woolen blanket, grateful neither one of them had undressed for the night.

  Alex led her through the great hall, the vast room lit only from the pale glow of the fire banked in the hearth. Snores punctuated with the occasional grunt covered the almost soundless tread of his and Hanna’s feet as they passed among the sleepers.

  Alex let go of Hanna’s hand as he pushed one of the enormous doors open just enough to let them through. Nodding to the pair of guards standing at attention on the doorstep, he reclaimed her hand and led her across the yard to the small kirk abutting the outer wall of MacLean Castle. A large tree grew next to the building, casting its shadows over the kirkyard tucked behind a low stone fence.

  He led her to a bench beneath the tree and covered the wooden surface with the blanket. Wordless, Hanna sank onto the seat, folding her hands in her lap, allowing Alex to wrap the cloak about her shoulders.

  Mist rose about their feet, enveloping them. Had it not been for the faint scrape of booted feet on the parapet above, it would have been easy to imagine they were the only two people awake at that hour. He sat beside her.

  I want to know everything about ye. Would she welcome his questions? Would she be honest? Would she tell him everything? Alex stared at the markers lined neatly behind the stone walls, anchored in white fog to the cold ground.

  “I come here from time to time when I wish to think,” Alex admitted. “Does it bother ye?”

  “’Tis an interesting place to visit,” she murmured, rousing with a deep sigh. “I can see why ye remain unmarried.”

  Alex snorted, unaccountable glee racing through him at Hanna’s dry humor.

  “Aye, the lassies prefer a livelier crowd.”

  Hanna tilted her head. “Why here?”

  He dipped his head to a row of small crosses, a larger one in their midst. “’Tis where my family is buried.”

  “Your ancestors?”

  Alex’s throat constricted. “My bairns. And my wife.”

  Hanna’s slow inhale mirrored Alex’s sorrow. “Your daughter mentioned them.”

  “Aye. She told me about yer talk earlier this night. She was upset she made ye cry.”

  “I will speak to her,” Hanna replied. “She is not to blame.”

  “Och, I told her so. And I’m fair certain she believed me. Though hearing it from ye would be good.” Alex paused then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. He wanted to know more, but Hanna had already spoken more words—without rancor, nonetheless—to him than she had since arriving in Morvern. He decided to risk it. “Would ye tell me about yer family?”

  Hanna did not answer, and after several silent moments, Alex feared he’d asked too much too soon. He carefully sought her hand, slow, taking care not to startle her. His fingers wound gently about hers, and Hanna’s breath hitched. He gave her hand a squeeze and she returned the motion.

  “My daughter Signy was twelve,” she said. “The men came in the night—I woke to the dogs barking and as Torvald left our bed.”

  Hanna lifted her face to the moonlight and Alex’s heart clenched at the bright stain of tears on her cheeks. “I sent her and the other girls and children to the hidden area beneath the long house. My son Sten would not go. Though he was but ten summers, he counted himself a man, and wished to defend his home.”

  A pre-dawn breeze drifted through the tree’s branches above them, rattling the leaves like the whisper of approval.

  “A braw young man,” Alex commented. “A credit to ye and his da.”

  “I set him and a few of his friends to guard the door to the long house. ’Twas the only thing I could think of that would give them a sense of purpose yet keep them from the midst of the fight.”

  “Ye are a good woman, Hanna of Hällstein,” Alex said. “’Twas an honorable choice.”

  “Yet it did not matter,” she replied bitterly. “In the end, none survived.”

  Her shoulders shook. Alex angled toward her and laid a palm against the curve of her cheek. The damp of her tears unraveled his restraint and he gently pulled her head against his shoulder. Her body stiffened, and he whispered against her hair.

  “Dinnae fash, leannan. I willnae hurt ye. Let yer tears fall. I dinnae know if ’twill help, but they are no good dammed up inside.”

  Hanna eased closer, her head a welcome weight against his shoulder. Alex held her until her shudders ceased and her silent tears had soaked through his leine. She pulled away, resuming her place next to him, her hand lingering in his. Alex closed the gap between them, his thigh meeting the length of hers through her skirts.

  He squeezed her hand again. “Ye are a survivor, Hanna.”

  “But to what purpose?” she railed at him. “Of what purpose is this life of grief and despair? I wished to seek revenge, yet find I can do nothing.” Her voice, heavy with the aftermath of her tears, wound about his heart.

  “Did ye seek me out for revenge? Though ’twas not by my command yer family was destroyed, I confess surprise I havenae found your dagger in my ribs. As I have said before, ye are a formidable woman, Hanna.”

  Hanna stared at their hands. “I did not care who I harmed. I simply needed a Scot to hurt as much as I did. Seeking refuge with the MacDougall would have been safer, for none can breach the walls of Dunstaffnage Castle, and King Haakon has named him King of the Isles.” Her eyes traveled up Alex’s arms, finally meeting his gaze.

  “I know ye are not the person responsible for the deaths and the destruction of Hällstein. But ye are a Scot, and therefore my enemy.”

  “Och, Hanna, I am not yer enemy. ’Tis my hope ye will stay
at MacLean Castle.”

  “Are ye in such need of kitchen staff ye solicit the aid of Norsewomen? Will that not anger your king?”

  “The king has little say in who sleeps behind MacLean walls,” Alex said. “I willnae succor rebellion, but those who truly seek refuge are welcome here.” He leaned against the back of the bench. “My hopes that ye will remain here are a bit more personal.”

  * * *

  Hanna stilled, measuring the import of his words. “What would ye have me do, Laird?”

  “First, I would have ye call me Alex, as I have given ye leave to do before.”

  The weight of his large, calloused hands doubled. The beat of her heart picked up. Dread closed in on her like a trap. “’Tis not appropriate that I do so.”

  “I dinnae give a cricket’s chance in a moor full of robins about the appropriateness of it. I wish ye to speak to me as an equal.”

  “I am not your equal.”

  “Och, I believe ye are. If ye had visited MacLean Castle on the arm of yer husband, ye would have been fed from the high table, and I would have welcomed ye with a kiss to the back of yer hand.” He lifted her hand to his lips.

  “I believe ye offered me a place in your kitchen rather than your dungeon,” Hanna replied, her fingers curling as she battled the urge to snatch her hand away.

  Alex shrugged and lowered her hand but did not release it. “Aye. I took yer measure then, and I have revised my opinion verra little since.”

  “Oh? And who do ye think I am? I have already told ye I came here planning revenge.”

  “Ye did,” Alex agreed. “But I judged ye an honorable woman the day I met ye, and that hasnae changed. ’Tis my hope ye have abandoned the thought of vengeance. My heart grieves for yer loss, Hanna. But ye will learn to live with it in time.”

  “In time?” Hanna spat the words. “Time will fill the emptiness of my heart? Time will give me back what I had?”

  “Nae. I am not so foolish to believe that. Like ye, I have lost those closest to me. I have buried three children, a father, and a wife. Though my loss was less brutal, we are not so unalike, Hanna.”

  “Have ye forgotten them? Has the ache eased?” Hanna flung her words at him, the bite of loss tearing through her.

  “Nae. I willnae forget them, or the promise their lives held. Howbeit, sometimes I find the ache has eased.”

  A tiny flicker of hope kindled inside her. “Sometimes? What happens then?”

  “From time to time, I find something of such beauty or such peace, that my heart is filled. In those moments, the ache leaves me.”

  Alex shifted on the bench, and Hanna flinched beneath the heat of his stare. She gazed at him, wondering if she’d ever find those moments of beauty and peace. Yet, something prickled at the margins of her grief, like threads loosening on a worn garment, easing its binding, allowing her to breathe more freely. To her surprise, his presence brought her comfort, the stroke of his thumb across the back of her hand light and undemanding.

  “What else do ye wish of me?” Hanna pulled away. She did not want his touch, did not like to acknowledge it was human, kind. But she found her wariness of him lessening, and her anger perhaps a shade lighter.

  “I want to see ye smile, Hanna. There is much I would do to have ye turn an honest smile on me.”

  “That may be more than I can bear,” she said. “More than I can give ye.”

  Alex nodded. “Aye. For now. But, remember ye are safe here. And wanted.”

  She relapsed into scorn, fighting the compassion in his words. “Wanted? The skills of the kitchen staff are so woefully lacking?”

  “Hanna, when ye find yerself willing, I would offer the warmth of my bed. ’Twill never be the condition of yer stay here, for that has no cost. I simply wish my intentions to be clear to ye.”

  Hanna recoiled as though slapped.

  “Ye wish me to become your mistress?”

  CHAPTER 12

  Hanna paid little heed to the teasing and laughter from the women in the kitchen. She had worried Alex’s proposition like a dog with a fresh bone for much of the remainder of the night once they’d parted company, and still could not decide if she was flattered or offended. With his reassurance he would not press her, Hanna had decided to remain—at least for a time. Aadny needed her as much as Gillian did. Dare she allow them to fill the vast hole in her heart? A twist of grief rose with the reminder she’d not have such days with her son or daughter again. Her hands faltered and she pulled in a deep steadying breath.

  The woman next to her nudged her with her elbow, startling Hanna from her thoughts. “That one’s set her sights on the laird and eager to warm his bed,” she said, a grin across her face as she nodded at Agnes.

  “And why not?” Agnes replied loftily, hearing the woman’s comment. “I am young enough to birth an heir.”

  “And ye still have most of yer teeth!” another jested.

  “Och, a pretty smile may draw him in, but ’tis not what keeps a man’s interest!”

  Laughter followed this bit of wisdom.

  “What about ye, Hanna?”

  “Aye, Hanna. Would ye seek the laird’s favor?”

  Hanna shook her head, wondering if the woman had the gift of sight. Surely the laird would not have spoken of their conversation to others. “Nae. I am Norse. Why should he seek me?” It was a good question—one she had been unable to answer.

  “She’d as lief skewer him as swive him,” Agnes grumbled, her eyes flashing as she sent Hanna a withering glare. Hanna raised an eyebrow in defiance.

  “As would any woman approached where she does not invite,” she replied.

  Gillian wove through the room, her puppy trailing at her heels. She peered at the work tables, nose twitching—seeking pasties, no doubt. Lachina swung the child onto the table and handed her a bannock left from the morning meal, then tossed a freshly trimmed bone to Bjarne. Gillian munched her treat happily, swinging her legs back and forth, her interested gaze following the women’s banter. Hanna sent a warning look to the women and talk turned to more mundane topics.

  “What do ye plan this day,” Hanna said, redirecting Gillian’s thoughts. “Does your nurse encourage you to study?”

  “Peigi isnae well and is napping. And I can read in three languages. I’d like to visit the Alacrity today,” Gillian announced, biting into a second oatcake. A chunk dropped to the floor and Bjarne paused worrying his bone long enough to sniff out and devour the scrap. He searched the floor once more then resumed gnawing.

  Hanna scraped chopped carrots into a large bowl. “Indeed? Why would a young girl care to traipse about a ship?” she asked, hoping the child was merely musing the day’s possibilities. Hanna’s memories of ships were not pleasant ones.

  Gillian shrugged. “’Tis my da’s ship and I picked her name. So, I ’spect she’s partly mine as well. Da says she will be ready soon and make a trip to Spain. I’ve been to Spain and had a wonderful time. I dinnae get seasick or anything.”

  “Ye have been to Spain?” Hanna wondered aloud. “Ye are well-traveled for such a young girl.” She wiped her hands with a rag and propped a fist at her waist. “Ye know Peigi will not like ye to stray from the castle.” She leveled a pointed stare at Gillian, hoping the child did not intend to take off on her own.

  Gillian hopped to the floor, a smile lighting her face. “All the more reason ye should take me to see Alacrity this morn. And ’tis so beautiful outside—unfair to remain cooped inside, aye?”

  Hanna couldn’t stop her answering smile. Gillian was so bright and engaging she could not find it in her heart to scold the child.

  Frida’s face floated before her, dismay contorting her features, catching Hanna off-guard. Hanna’s breath stuttered.

  Avenge me! Avenge us!

  “Hanna?” Gillian’s small voice chirped, breaking Frida’s spell. Hanna startled, blinking rapidly to bring her focus to Gillian. Bjarne tilted his head, the movement widening Hanna’s vision. Frida faded into the past,
and Hanna forced a smile.

  “Come with me, Gillian. After we finish our morning chores, we will go see this boat of yours.”

  * * *

  Gillian skipped alongside Hanna, chattering merrily, Bjarne gamboling along behind.

  “It isnae a boat,” the child explained. “’Tis a ship, and ’tis the hugest ship ever—or, at least that I’ve seen—and I’ve seen some big ships,” she said in all seriousness.

  Hanna smothered a slight smile at Gillian’s precociousness. Her heart lifted immeasurably as the child prattled away.

  As they approached the harbor, Hanna’s gaze rose to the tall masts on the enormous ship. Gillian grabbed her hand.

  “’Tis grand, aye?” she breathed, her eyes glowing. Dread took up a slow beat in Hanna’s belly.

  They came in three large ships, crowded with men who wished to spill Viking blood.

  “I want to go aboard,” Gillian said firmly, slipping her palm from Hanna’s grasp.

  Hanna startled, glancing up as Gillian darted to the planks spanning the chasm between the ship and the dock.

  “Gillian, wait!” she called. Picking up her skirts, Hanna hurried after the child, nearly tripping over the gangly pup that drew to a halt at the dock’s edge. Eying the planks with mistrust, Bjarne crouched low, whining as Gillian continued up the walkway.

  “Ahoy, Alacrity!” Gillian called, pausing at the edge of the ship.

  “Ahoy, the dock!” a voice responded, rising above the raucous noises of shipbuilding.

  “Permission to come aboard?” Gillian trilled.

  “Permission granted.”

  Gillian cast an eager look over her shoulder. “Come on, Hanna!”

  Stepping around the puppy, Hanna scurried across the plank, Gillian maintaining a steady lead. As exasperation set in and Hanna bit back scolding words, a man approached Gillian, his burly form topped by a dark auburn mane and a bushy beard to match. Hanna’s heart stopped.