by Cathy MacRae
A heavy mist hung in the air, clinging to the final chill of winter. It had been such a morning when she’d awakened to the last day of her life in Hällstein. The rousing bark of the dogs was but a fading memory, and though she closed her eyes in regret that after long months of searching, no trace of her son, Sten, had been found, there was much to rejoice over.
Alex gently stroked her arm.
“’Twas a year ago, was it not?”
Hanna pushed away the memory with little more than a faint pang of regret. It no longer held the raw agony of a fresh wound, but rather the thoughtful line of a fading scar. Noted, but often ignored.
“Aye. A year ago raiders destroyed my life.” She turned her face into his hand, placing a kiss on his palm. “And I have a new life now, for which I am exceedingly grateful.” She rose from the bed and, pulling a robe from the foot of the bed, moved quietly to the cradle next to the hearth.
“Who could imagine such a blessing?”
Alex joined her, wrapping his arms about her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder and stared at the small form sleeping peacefully.
“He is more than I dared hope for,” Alex replied. “All I truly wanted was ye. This lad is a great boon.”
“Ye dinnae mind having a bairn in your old age?” Hanna teased.
Alex growled softly and nudged his fully erect cock against her buttocks. “I am of a mind to see if we could create another, dear wife,” he said. “Do ye think wee Birk will sleep a bit longer? I’d like to linger over his ma.”
Hanna swiveled within the circle of his arms. “I’m all for lingering,” she whispered.
“Truth? It hasnae been long since his birth.”
Hanna nibbled at his lower lip. “Aye, but it has been long enough.”
THE END
A Note From the Authors
We’d like to thank you for joining us for Alex MacLean’s Happy-ever-after. His story bridges the gap between The Highlander’s Crusader Bride, which opens in 1221 CE, and The Highlander’s Welsh Bride (due to release in 2018), which takes place in 1282 CE after the fall of Prince Llywelyn at the Battle of Orewin Bridge. If you’re interested in the historical parts of The Highlander’s Norse Bride, read on...
King Alexander II’s death occured pretty much as you read in our story (minus literary license at putting Alex—and possibly Piers—in the tale). Scottish accounts have the king dying of a mysterious fever, while Norse accounts state he died of Divine Retribution. Either way, he did (reportedly) have a dream that cautioned him against attacking Ewan MacDougall, whom King Haakon had appointed as King of the Isles, and he did die on the Isle of Kererra before he realized his dream of wresting control of the Isles and western Scotland from the hands of King Haakon of Norway.
As a historical side note: In 1158, Somerled joined a rebellion to overthrow Godfrey the Black, a heavy-handed and very unpopular ruler of the Isle of Man and the Hebrides. Though the title King of the Isles dated back hundreds of years prior to Godfrey, all had owed their allegience to the King of Norway. Somerled claimed the title, but created a third force in the long-standing conflict between Scotland and Norway, declaring himself independant of both countries. However, in 1164, Somerled died in battle with Malcolm IV’s army. Neither Malcolm nor the King of Norway approved Somerled’s lack of allegience, and eventually put an end to his claim. Somerled’s kingdom was divided between his sons, and the struggle between Norway and Scotland continued. The title Lord of the Isles would be in common useage in the mid 1300’s.
Piers de Curry was one of those characters who often gets discovered along the way—and one of those things we love about research. In 1263 at the Battle of Largs, when Scottish and Norse forces finally met in battle, Sir Piers de Curry was one of the few combatants who died that day. He was distinguished by his helmet and armor which was inlaid with gold and jewels, and conspicuous because of his courage. He tried repeatedly to provoke the Norsemen into battle by riding down to their ranks and taunting them.
We gave him a spot in our story because we felt such a colorful character should have a second chance at history. And, by sending him to Spain on one of Alex MacLean’s ships, we gave him the journey by which he attained some of his fabulous armor and the Spanish charger he was said to ride.
Unfortunately, his bravery in battle was short-lived. After heckling the Norse, one of their commanders, Andrew Nikolson, became fed up with him and swung his sword with such might that he sliced through Piers’ armor, not only cleaving through his thigh, but making a dent in his saddle as well. After that, it is said the worst of the battle was over Piers’ gold and jewels which the Norse took as bounty. (Sorry, history doesn’t always have an HEA.)
The Norse, who had arrived on Scotland’s shores with an armada and the intent to put an end to Scotland’s ambitions over the Isles, had lost much of its fleet in a terrible storm, and hoped in vain for the arrival of fresh troops. With ships stranded on the shore, broken upon the rocks or badly damaged after colliding with other vessels adrift in the waters off the coast of Ayrshire, and with the shore littered with corpses and drifted tackle, King Haakon asked for a truce to bury their dead—and also set fire to any ships that could not be used. King Haakon then retired to Orkney for the winter, intending to rejoin the battle in the spring, but died on Orkney that December.
Thus ended the Battle of Largs and Norway’s dominion of the Western Isles. Three years later, King Haakon’s son formally gave up the Hebrides and the Isle of Man to Scotland in exchange for an outright payment of 4000 marks and an annual payment according to the Treaty of Perth, though Norway retained rule over the Shetland and Orkney Islands.
The Norse jarls, as the Earls of Caithness, owed their allegiance to both Norway and the Scottish crown. In 1379, the earldom passed to the Sinclair family—Katja Sinclair’s family in The Highlander’s Viking Bride.
MORE BOOKS by Cathy MacRae
The Highlander’s Bride series
The Highlander’s Accidental Bride (book 1)
The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride (book 2)
The Highlander’s Tempestuous Bride (book 3)
The Highlander’s Outlaw Bride (book 4)
The Highlander’s French Bride (book 5)
The Ghosts of Culloden Moor series
(with LL Muir, Diane Darcy, Jo Jones, and Melissa Mayhue)
Adam
Malcolm
MacLeod
Patrick
World of de Wolfe Pack
(a Kindle Worlds novella)
The Saint:
About the Authors
Cathy MacRae lives on the sunny side of the Arbuckle Mountains where she and her husband read, write, and tend the garden—with the help of the dogs, of course.
You can visit with her on Facebook, or read her blogs and learn about her books at www.cathymacraeauthor.com. Drop her a line—she loves to hear from readers!
To keep up with new releases and other fun things, sign up for her newsletter! There’s an easy form on her website. (You’ll find DD’s news there, too!)
Other ways to connect with Cathy:
Facebook
Twitter: @CMacRaeAuthor
Amazon author page
DD MacRae enjoys bringing history to life. Research is one of the best things about writing a story! And with more than 35 years of martial arts training, DD also brings believable, breath-taking action to the tales.
You can connect with DD through www.cathymacraeauthor.com. It’s always exciting to hear from readers!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A huge thank you to my critique partners who read through this story in its varied permutations as Hanna and Alex’s story evolved- Dawn Marie Hamilton, Cate Parke. And much gratitude to our wonderful beta group; Sharon, April, Mary, Donna, Cate, Ann, Cheryl, Barb, and RaeRae.
A million thanks go to our fab cover artist, Dar Albert!
If you enjoyed Alex and Hanna’s story, please consider leaving a review. Thank you!
READ A SHORT EXCERPT FROM T
HE HIGHLANDER’S WELSH BRIDE
(book 5 in the Hardy Heroines series- available 2018)
Battle of Orewin Bridge, Wales
December 1282
Three English soldiers emerged from the woods, making enough noise to raise the dead. Carys caught her brother’s arm in warning, but it was too late.
“Stop!” one of the soldiers shouted, drawing his sword. He burst across the small glen, the other two men at his heels.
Hywel snatched his bow from his shoulder. “Take the one on the left.” In a swift move born of too much practice killing the English, he nocked and released an arrow, dropping the lead soldier in his tracks.
Carys flung her javelin, striking her target in the chest, piercing his leather armor and knocking him to the ground. The instant her hands were free, she drew her bow, aiming for the third Englishman whom Hywel had already staggered with an arrow. She added a feathered shaft of her own to ensure he fell and stayed down. Drawing her short sword, she stalked the bodies.
“Carys, we must fly!” Hywel called softly. “The prince has fallen. More of Longshank’s men will be upon us anon.”
The scream of steel on steel and of men dying rose on the air behind them, adding urgency to his plea. Carys nodded, pausing to stuff the few coins the dead English soldiers had in their possession, along with their daggers, into the small pack she carried. She spotted a silver necklace and yanked it over the head of its owner. A fine silver ring with beautiful filigree work set with an amber stone hung from the chain. She hastily stashed it into a pocket.
Unbuckling the belt from the man with two arrows in his chest, she sheathed his short sword in its scabbard and tossed it to Hywel. One man had been an archer, so she blended his quiver with hers, slung her bow over a shoulder, and reclaimed her javelin. Carys then trotted after her brother into the forest, the great trees dusted heavily with snow. They loped silently through the wood, away from the battle, like ghosts in the long shadows of the afternoon. Their footsteps crunched softly on the frozen ground, leaving little evidence of their passage. Sunlight filtered weakly through the dense underbrush.
The sounds of battle faded, and the eerie quiet unnerved her. It seemed all Cymru grieved the loss of her prince.
“Where are we headed, Hywel?” she asked, her voice pitched on a whisper. Though the English wore chain armor and lumbered about like oxen—easily heard in the silent forest—she didn’t wish to draw attention in case scouts roamed this direction. Sound carried easily on the crisp winter air. Wearing dark green woolen leggings, leather jerkins, boots, and leather cowls covering their heads and shoulders, Carys and her brother blended in with the evergreen foliage and shadows.
“Our cousin, the prince, is dead,” Hywel reminded her. “That means Cymru has fallen to the English. We’ve naught left of family, and nowhere to turn. I say we travel to the coast and find our way beyond Edward’s reach.”
The reminder of her husband Dafydd’s death in battle only a few weeks past tore a fresh wound in Carys’ aching heart. They’d been married only a few months, and her dreams of hearth, home, and children died along with him.
She considered her brother’s words. She didn’t know much of the world, but knew Longshank’s reach stretched far. Was there such a place where his presence wasn’t a blight upon the land?
Somehow, the English had crossed the Irfon river downstream today and attacked the Cymru army from behind. Hywel and Carys had been part of a small group of archers charged with holding the Orewin bridge, keeping the English on the south side of the river. Once the Marcher Lords attacked the Cymru flank, the English cavalry crossed the bridge unopposed. Equipped with better armor and weapons, the English had soon turned the battle into a slaughter. Carys and her brother were among the few who had survived. Their next steps would lead to their safety—or death.
* * *