Highlander Oath Of The Beast

by Donna Fletcher

  “If you care not what I think, then take pity on your poor men and how they worry when you disappear,” he argued.

  She laughed. “My men know when to worry.”

  “Do they?” he challenged. “Ease their burden and mine as well and don’t lose the men I assign to follow you.”

  “I’m no burden on my men,” she snapped, the thought alone disturbing.

  “This needs to stop, this constant battle between you and me.”

  She shrugged. “It can when you trust me.”

  “Tell me his name?” he demanded, still trying to comprehend why it mattered to him.

  Her brow creased. “Who?”

  “The man you love.”

  “The man I love?” she repeated and saw that his hands were clenched at his sides.

  “The man who saved your life,” he nearly shouted.

  “Why does that matter to you?”

  “Answer me,” he demanded.

  Her chin went up. “I’ll answer you when you do what is necessary for me to trust you.”

  Chapter 13

  Raven roamed through the keep after her husband all but stormed out of it. She decided to start at the top and work her way down. The more she explored, the more the place disturbed her. She entered the master bedchamber, surprised at how small the size. Actually, the whole keep was small in size and she wondered how Oria had managed to survive here for five years. It felt more a prison than a home.

  She tried to imagine herself sleeping here with Wolf and a chill ran down her spine. It was far too confining. The whole place was much too confining. She’d feel trapped if she had to live here. Oddly enough, she found the longhouse more to her liking. Of course, if an attack was imminent, then the keep would prove useful.

  This time she caught the light footfalls on the stairs and was well aware of who approached the room.

  “Your friend Oria was a good wife to Lord Learmonth even though he was old enough to be her grandfather,” Detta said from the open doorway.

  “A marriage of convenience until her true love returned,” Raven reminded.

  “Aye, but still, it was nice having her here. Oria is a kind and gentle woman. I admire her and I do miss her,” Detta confessed.

  Raven was surprised by her heartfelt words. The old woman truly favored Oria, but who wouldn’t? She was as Detta said, kind and gentle, not qualities found in Raven’s nature.

  “Many a Learmonth has been born in this room,” Detta said. “It would be good to see another born here.”

  Raven wanted to yell ‘hell no’ but refrained. Detta didn’t need to know her thoughts on the keep. She also recalled something Wolf had told her and was quick to ask, “How do you know that many a Learmonth has been born in the room when Wolf planted you here to spy?”

  Detta folded her aged hands to rest against her apron-like tunic. “I did my job well and found out all I could. Now, what else may I show you?’

  Raven was itching to leave as fast as she could, feeling far too confined, but she had questions to ask. “How long have you been here?”

  Detta smiled. “Long enough.”

  An answer yet not an answer.

  “Not many speak of the wolf tale. How did you hear about it?” Raven asked as she stretched her hand out for the old woman to precede her out the door.

  “I heard whispers of it until one day someone told me the whole tale.”

  Another untruth. It was known that the clan rarely spoke of it, fearful it would somehow bring the wrath of the wolf down on them again. Or perhaps they believed it already had with the arrival of Wolf the Mighty Beast.

  Raven was glad she had gotten a chance to speak with the old woman. She had deduced much from their brief talk and Detta’s demeanor, the results burning her curiosity even more. The old man had taught her to observe people, having insisted one could learn a lot about a person by just watching them. And if there was one important thing that she had learned about Detta, it was that she wasn’t who she seemed to be.

  “Whatever your decision, I will be pleased to have you live here in the keep,” Detta said when they entered the Great Hall.

  “Thank you, Detta. You have been more helpful than you know,” Raven said and the woman turned to leave.

  “Detta.”

  The old woman stopped and turned to face Raven.

  “By now you know I speak my mind and I make no apology for it. So I will speak it to you… you’re no simple servant. You’re much more. Maybe one day perhaps you will trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

  Raven didn’t expect a response. The reaction on the old woman’s face was enough to confirm her thought. She stepped outside without saying another word and pulled her wool cloak around her against the cold. A snowstorm would hit soon, and as she approached the village she saw everyone rushing around preparing for it. Food was being distributed to the cottages, shovels rested next to doors, smalls animals were brought inside and other animals were secured in shelters. She imagined her brothers would be doing the same, recalling the many times it had been done when she’d been young. Of course, sometimes a snowstorm would catch them unaware, but not often. There was just something about snow you could sense and feel.

  The snowflakes started falling as she made her way down the hill to the village. A horn suddenly sounded and people started rushing about and that had Raven running. She ran even faster when she saw that people were congregating near Greta’s cottage. Fear slammed into her chest that something had happened to one of her men.

  Wolf was issuing orders when she got near, but her eyes went to Fyn holding up her bow and cache of arrows, which meant a hunt, and the look of fury on his face meant only one thing… Greta or Tait, or both were missing.

  Iver’s attention was on the ground tracking and he soon disappeared into the woods. Clive, Brod, and George weren’t standing far from Fyn and they all had their eyes on her. She knew why. They waited for her.

  Wolf’s warriors were gathering as were many of the villagers. With the snow coming, time was their enemy. They would have to move fast.

  Raven knew what she had to do. She flung off her cloak and raised her hand as she drew near and Fyn let out a wild roar that had everyone jumping away from him and unknowingly clearing a path for her. She didn’t halt her speed, she increased it and as she drew near her men, Fyn threw her bow to her and she caught it with ease as she rushed past everyone, her men following behind her, and they disappeared into the woods.

  Fyn hurried up alongside her as they kept pace with Iver, tracking fast thanks to the snow already on the ground.

  Fyn explained as best he could as they rushed along. “The prisoner Toke managed to escape. He’s got Tait.”

  She grabbed the cache of arrows Fyn held out to her, her injured arm sore and protesting no doubt from climbing the tree, but she ignored it, and flung the strap across her chest as she kept a few paces behind Iver. Any questions she had, and she had many, could wait until later. Right now all that mattered was rescuing the young lad.

  “That’s some warrior woman you have there,” Lars said with a huge grin. “Did you see the way she didn’t even stop or hesitate to catch that bow? And her speed,” —he shook his head— “I’ve never seen a woman run that fast.”

  Wolf was furious, proud, and jealous. She trusted her men without question. She had had no idea of what was going on and yet she never stopped and questioned. Her hand shooting up in the air had to have been a signal that she was ready to join them in whatever it was and Fyn’s roar confirmed they would join as one to see it done. Each of her men stood steady and waited and followed her lead.

  He wanted that kind of unwavering trust from her.

  “The men are ready,” Gorm said, a sword at his side.

  “I’m leaving Lars here with you in case it’s a trap,” Wolf said.

  “We’re prepared,” Gorm informed him.

  Greta approached. “Please, Wolf, I beg you, please bring my son back to me.”

 
; “You have my word I’ll bring Tait home,” Wolf said.

  “No matter what, Wolf,” she pleaded.

  He spoke with a fierce command that no one could deny. “No matter what, Greta, your son will be returning home with me.”

  She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks and Eria stepped forward to offer what comfort she could, her arm going around Greta.

  Wolf turned away knowing Greta wanted her son brought home alive, but also letting him know that he was to be brought home no matter what condition they might find him so she could hold her son in her arms again, even if only for one last time.

  Wolf led his troop of warriors into the woods, following his wife’s tracks and sending a tracker ahead to see what he could find. He worried over her. She might be a skilled warrior but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be harmed. Or that this was somehow a trap she was falling into and he’d be too late to save her. Her men would protect her, as she would them, making his worry grow.

  He thought he would have a docile wife in Raven. Someone who chose to unselfishly surrender to set her brothers free. Someone who would be obedient, grateful, possibly a bit fearful of him. She was none of those. And while she certainly wasn’t easy to deal with, he found her not only more interesting than any other woman he had known, but no woman had ever challenged him the way Raven did.

  The thought of his wife charging into danger before him jabbed at his gut. If she got herself hurt one more time, he was going to lock her in their bedchamber. The ridiculous thought sobered him. He’d never do such a terrible thing to her and she’d never allow it. She’d raise hell if he tried and he wouldn’t blame her. He didn’t wed her to make her a prisoner.

  Let me be who I am.

  That was what she had told him she expected from him and he was just beginning to understand the depth of her request.

  Iver suddenly slowed and so did Raven and the others. When Iver stopped and dropped down to examine the ground, Raven went to him, though remained silent. Iver would speak when he was ready.

  After a few moments, Iver stood and kept his voice low. “Toke grows tired. He no longer carries the lad. I don’t think he’s far from us. We go slow from here.”

  Raven signaled the men and they proceeded with cautious steps.

  Iver held his hand out to her and she scrunched her face annoyed, understanding what he expected of her, and she reluctantly surrendered the bow and cache of arrows to him.

  “You’re a skilled archer,” he said, slinging the cache of arrows over his chest. “But your arm has yet to heal.”

  “I was carrying them for you,” she said with a grin. “And we both know I’ll never be as talented as you.”

  “You’ve come close,” he said with a pride in his student that was easy to see.

  Raven followed alongside him grateful for all that Iver had taught her.

  It wasn’t long before they spotted Toke, his breathing laborious and with a grip on the back of the little lad’s garment. The lad was crying and shivering. He must have run out of the cottage with intentions of returning quickly when he’d been scooped up since he wore no cloak or wrappings over his regular garments.

  It angered Raven beyond measure and within a matter of seconds she determined the best action. She didn’t wait, she drew her dagger and hurried into the small copse of pines where Toke had taken shelter.

  Wolf had slowed his warriors’ pace when his tracker had discovered what Iver had and he came upon his wife and her men just in time to see her advance on Toke.

  Toke drew his dagger and turned it on the lad.

  Raven didn’t hesitate. She threw her dagger, catching Toke in the shoulder with such force that he stumbled back, releasing the lad.

  Fyn had followed behind her and ran straight to Tait and the little lad flung himself into Fyn’s arms, sobbing. Fyn held him tight and hurried him safely away.

  Toke steadied himself fast and went to throw the dagger he still held, but Raven had already drawn the other dagger she carried. She was far too fast and skilled for the man. Her dagger landed in his throat and his eyes turned wide with shock as he gagged and dropped to the ground.

  Wolf stared, amazed at his wife’s skill. His warriors’ whispers told him they thought the same. He went to her, annoyed yet proud.

  “Spare me a tongue-lashing,” she said when he stepped alongside her.

  “At least you are wise enough to know that your arm isn’t healed enough for you to use a bow and arrow.”

  Raven caught Iver’s grin.

  One thing Raven never did was to accept praise that didn’t belong to her. “That was Iver’s doing. Besides, he’s a better archer than me.”

  “Then my thanks go to you, Iver, for being wise when my wife was foolish,” Wolf said with a nod to the man.

  “Raven has her faults,” Iver admitted, “but foolishness isn’t one of them.”

  Wolf tried to keep the command out of his tone, but he was eager for an answer. “Tell me one fault of hers.”

  Iver answered without a glance to Raven and without hesitation. “Raven loves with all her heart and soul and would do or give anything to keep those she loves safe, even if it means she suffers.”

  “But you already know that, don’t you?” Brod asked, with a touch of sarcasm, having stepped up behind Iver.

  Wolf’s warriors circled the two men, but Wolf raised his hand and waved them off. “We all sacrifice in some way.”

  “Some more than others,” Brod said and looked to Raven. “We’re going to follow Fyn and Tait home to make sure no one else lingers about.”

  “Wait a moment and I’ll go with you,” Iver said and hurried to retrieve Raven’s daggers, wiping them on the dead man’s garments before returning them to her.

  Wolf raised his hand and made a gesture that had a few of his warriors following after Raven’s men.

  “Don’t trust them?” Raven asked.

  “Extra hands to fight if needed.”

  She had learned he could be as blunt as she often was, so she acknowledged his considerate gesture with a nod. “Appreciated.”

  Wolf took hold of her arm and walked her away from the body that his men were wrapping to take back with them. “I won’t deliver a tongue-lashing, but I will have my say.”

  “I’ll at least listen,” she agreed.

  “I would advise that,” he cautioned.

  “Is that a warning? A threat?” she asked, stepping closer, unafraid… mostly. The man could intimidate with a glance and there was his strength to consider. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could break free of his hold. His grip was like a shackle clamping around her arm and her waist at times. The crazy part was that most times his strength comforted her.

  “Must I make it one? Will you forever argue with me? Can you not just once—once—pay heed to my word?” he argued, trying not to raise his voice.

  She looked puzzled. “You gave no word.”

  “You never gave me a chance,” he clarified.

  She offered a reasonable explanation. At least she thought she did. “I saw the terror on Fyn’s face and knew something had happened. There was no time to question or debate.”

  He slapped his chest. “That’s my decision to make. I command my people, my clan, not you.”

  She didn’t understand why his words stung her at times, though that didn’t stop her from unleashing her tongue on him. “Your people. Your clan. I should have expected those words from you, but I’m glad you made it clear, what was obvious anyway, you’ll never accept me as your wife.”

  He groaned in frustration. “You are part of my people. My clan. And never doubt that I accept you as my wife. But I lead. Not you. And you and your men need to learn that.” He could tell by the sudden gleam in her eyes that he had somehow walked into a trap.

  “I’m not your wife until you seal our vows. And I, nor my men, will pay heed to your word until you trust me… and you know what you have to do to prove you trust me. If you need reminding, it’s th
e same thing you need to do to officially make me your wife.”

  Chapter 14

  Raven was surprised to find herself on the verge of tears watching the way Greta hugged her son and Fyn, the little lad refusing to leave Fyn’s arms. But no tears came, she wouldn’t let them.

  “He’s found a family for himself,” Clive whispered, standing beside her and poked her in the arm with his elbow. “I think George is about to do the same.”

  Raven saw what Clive did, the concern on Eria’s face for George upon his return and the gentleness in the way George reassured her.

  “They’d make a good match,” Clive said. “They are both gentle souls, though George can be fierce when necessary. When Eria discovered his interest in Northmen symbols, she was only too pleased to discuss them with him. They spend much time together.”

  “Things are changing, Clive,” Raven said.

  “We all knew it would. It was just a matter of whether it would be for the better. I’m glad to see that it is, especially since my old bones—”

  “Are too tired for all this,” Raven finished with a smile. “You’ve talked about Bethany enough through the years. Isn’t it time you did something about it? I can attest that she’s a warm-hearted, loving woman. I don’t know what I would have done without her when I was young. She was the closest thing I had to a mum. If you wait too long, some other man might scoop her up.”

  “Angus,” Clive grumbled. “He’s had his eye on her since his return home.”

  Raven tilted her head, casting a glance at the gray sky. “The snow falls lightly but that will soon change. We’ll probably be stuck inside for days or possibly longer. Wren won’t be able to get here to see how my arm heals. I want you to leave now and take a message to her. Let her know I’m doing well and she’s not to worry about me. And don’t dare try to return home today. Bethany will see you provided with shelter. You stay with my clan as long as necessary.”