Elva smiled, but it was not a comforting grin. “Speak with Laird and Lady Liannon first. Then we will see if you can pay the price.”
Inside the keep, he followed Elva up a stone stairs as rushes crushed under his boots.
At the massive polished oak doors, Elva spun to him. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? This will be only the first test you will have to pass to win her hand. Rebecca is a fine woman and will bringing you many sons. Her father and the Laird have already agreed and she could be in your bed tonight. And a son in her belly before winter.”
He shook his head. At least now, he was certain Rebecca was not the woman he wanted. Doubtful the stubborn fiery red-haired lass, Kaireen, would leap into his bed in a matter of hours or days even.
With a shrug, Elva knocked and then pushed open the massive door. On the other side stood a stern woman with a long pointed nose and not a piece of hair poking out from her head covering. A stark contrast to Elva with stray pieces of white hair floating about her round face.
“He’s here to renegotiate the contract.” Elva acted bored.
“Why?” Rhiannon, the servant’s eyes narrowed further, giving Bram the impression of a rat.
Elva shrugged.
“That is for me to discuss in private with the Laird and Lady.” Bram took a step towards the door.
How much more would Kaireen cost than Rebecca? Sure, she was the Laird’s daughter, but she appeared to be nearly past marital age. Maybe no one had won her heart either or her father waited for a more political match. The latter thought made Bram’s insides twist.
“Enter,” the Laird’s voice boomed. “Don’t stand there wasting my time.”
“Husband,” Lady Liannon called from the darkness of the chamber and bed covers ruffled. “Let him say his peace before we rule. Come, Rhiannon and light some candles so I may get a better look at our Viking stranger.” Candles flickered to life from a flint stone. The Lady looked like Kaireen except for the hair color. Hers was a light brown where her daughter’s was as red as blood.
The Laird climbed out of bed, donned a black robe, then sat down on a trunk before Bram. His stubborn lift of his chin was the same as Kaireen and his hair, though red, was not as brilliant as Kaireen’s.
“I’m Bram son of Ragnar.” He bowed. Embers burned in the hearth. “Months ago I wrote to you of an exchange: my services for land and a bride.”
“Aye. A noble bride, but not one of my daughters. Not Kaireen.” The Laird’s cheeks reddened.
The Lady Liannon exchanged a look with Rhiannon, but he couldn’t interpret its meaning.
“Apologies, my Laird… is she already betrothed to someone?” He fought not to be arrogant and his nature to draw his sword and demand he win her by combat.
The Lady put her hand on her husband’s and glanced over at Bram. “No, but she is our favorite and youngest daughter. We would not give her up so easily. Her cost is ten Rebeccas—or more so.”
“The cost is not a problem.”
Laird Liannon stood. “My daughter is not to be bought.”
Bram stole a glance at Elva from the corner of his eye as he bowed low. Her smirk made him want to cross the room and reprimand her. She knew this! Knew it would be impossible for him alone to pay for a Laird’s daughter. And she’d let him come all this way to play the fool.
“My Lord, I cannot stop my heart from longing to tell Kai—”
“No!” The Lady Liannon stood beside her husband. “Whatever we agree to, you must never tell Kaireen that you are falling in love with her. If you win her heart, and she speaks of her love for you, then and only then may you tell her of this vow which you make to me now. I will not have her heart swayed to you out of pity for you. Do you promise?”
Beside her, the Laird’s face shifted from red to purple and his teeth bared. “I do not agree to any of this! This is madness, I will not have my daughter married to a savage—a Lochlann.”
He cringed at the Gaelic curse word for his kind. “I vow, my Lady upon my life and all the god’s. And as payment for your daughter, I not only offer up my life and sword, but six of my brother’s and fourteen fellow men who are loyal to me, on my wedding, will serve you and your house.” If he could convince them all.
The Laird sat down heavily and stroked his beard. “Twenty Lochlanns?”
“Aye. We will fight Viking and rival Irish clans alike for you.”
The Laird whispered to his wife, but Bram heard his words. “Twenty of them? We wouldn’t need to fear the O’Neills, Moen, or Domhnaills. And we wouldn’t have to worry about finding her a proper suitor who’d be indebted to us.”
The Lady laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “We will announce your presence tomorrow night including your betrothal to Kaireen. Under no circumstances are you to approach or interact with Kaireen before then… or the deal is void.”
“I’ll have you married to Kaireen tomorrow.” The Laird smacked his hands together. The possibility of more men must have been the price of his daughter.
“No.” The Laird’s wife frowned. “We arranged our eldest daughter’s marriage without love… without her approval and she is miserable married to a man who chases women as if he were hunting foxes.” She tugged at her light red braid across her shoulder. “No, Kaireen should be given time to adjust.”
“How much time?” The Laird grumbled. “Let’s have them wed now, before her temper and stubbornness run him off.”
“I await your decision.” Perhaps if he gave the Laird and Lady more time to discuss this change with each other, they’d be more favorable for both him and Kaireen. He didn’t want a forced marriage either. Kaireen would need time to get used to him… to love him.
He followed Elva out of the chamber, when his name echoed in the corridor.
“Bram,” Lady Liannon called. “If we do agree to your new contract, once you sign, you will only have a fortnight to win my daughter’s heart. If you fail to do so by then… ”
“I never fail.”
But something in the Lady’s dark eyes gave him pause. Had he just signed his death warrant?
Chapter Seven
Bram scratched his chin; it was smooth since he’d shaven off his beard. Elva said no one would recognize him. The keep bustled with the morning chores and the scents of ham, eggs, porridge and baking bread wafted through the stone walls.
As he past the dining chamber, he heard muffled crying. With his hand on his sword, Bram pushed open the door and stepped inside. Sitting on a wooden bench in the far corner, Rebecca wept into her hands. Her body shook with her sobs.
“Rebecca?”
She glanced up at him with tears streaming down her face. “Someone told you about my hair.”
Confusion filled him. Hair? It looked normal; brown, tied back at her neck and braided down her back. “What about your hair? It looks fine to me.”
“It’s a wig.” Her cries echoed.
The noise might bring the guards or Kaireen. Until the announcement was made publically, he couldn’t interact with Kaireen. The Laird and Lady must have told Rebecca and her father as a curtsey. “So? Lots of women wear them. Some men too I’ve been told.” Not Vikings. They kept themselves well-groomed and if any were bald, they reveled in it.
“When I was a child, I had the pox.” Her lip quivered.
He examined her face and frowned. “You have no scars.”
She pointed to the top of her head. “Here I do. None of the physicians could do anything, but my hair refused to grow and had to be chopped off. There are patches of baldness showing through among the pox marks.” When she went to remove her wig, he stilled her hand. “This wig is from peasant’s hair, darker and richer than mine ever was.”
“There’s no need to show me lass. But no,” he patted her hand. “No one told me of your condition.” Thor help him. Or Freya, she was better at matters concerning women.
“There has to be a reason you want to break our betrothal contract.”
He rocke
d back on his heels. Truly, he didn’t want to hurt Rebecca. He hadn’t planned on falling in love with Kaireen. And he’d planned on telling Rebecca himself, now she already knew. “Who told y—”
“My father.” She lifted her chin slightly. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded. “Aye.”
“Then you at least owe me an explanation. Some reason if you didn’t know about my hair.”
The lump in his throat tightened. Swinging a sword was much easier than dealing with women. Though, he’d rather be doing anything than talking to a weeping woman. Since he couldn’t be the one to break the news to her, he’d at least be honest with her. “I’m drawn to someone else.”
“Which lady has drawn your favor instead of me?” She wiped at her eyes. “Tell me why you broke off the c-contract to m-marry me. You owe me at least that much.”
When he shook his head, she pleaded. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear it. I doubt I’ll ever be this close to ever being betrothed.”
Despite his resolve of wanting Kaireen, his gut knotted. He felt sorry for the woman. Her demeanor was pleasant enough, but she was too timid for his taste. Maybe Hjorr or Ivan would like her.
“You at least owe me to tell me why.”
For breaking the contract and her hopes, he owed her more than a name. But it was all he could give her and it might cost him everything if she gossiped before the Laird and Lady told their daughter of his intentions. “Kaireen.”
Her eyes widened. “A-and does she care for you?”
“She doesn’t even know I exist.”
Rebecca laughed. When he shushed her, she hiccupped as she wiped away tears. “Sorry. I-I just… I think it would be easier for me to find a husband than Kaireen agreeing to marry you. Not that you aren’t handsome, she’s just…” She shrugged. “Stubborn.”
“So I’ve been told.” And he’d glimpsed both sides of Kaireen’s nature: compassionate and fiery. He held out his hand to Rebecca. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers, you’re staying at the keep until your father and you leave for your lands?”
“Aye. We’ll stay until the end of the month.” She giggled, but clasped his hand and rose. “Though you can always use jealousy. I’m sure Kaireen would fume—”
“You mustn’t tell anyone we’ve spoken.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Not your mother or father, or even your most trusted handmaid.”
Her mouth opened in surprise.
“Please. My future is in your hands.” He kissed her knuckle. “But I believe you are a trustworthy friend?”
“Aye.” She swayed slightly. “A friend. But why is your attraction to Kaireen to remain a secret?”
“Laird and Lady Liannon will tell Kaireen later today of our betrothal and I will officially meet her tonight at the dining hall. The Laird has me at the grand table this time rather than the servants’ bench.” He led her past the stone archway and into the courtyard. “Kaireen cannot know of the arrangement until her family tells her.”
Rebecca kicked aside a pebble and it bounced along the stone trail. Her tone serious and thoughtful. “Of course. Listen to Kaireen’s body, not her words.” She turned to him and titled her head. “I think her heart will crave you long before her mind realizes it.”
“I will not force her.” What would he do if she refused him? He would honor her wishes, but surely she would give him a chance. “If at the end of the fortnight, she wants nothing to do with me, I vow I will annul the contract and she will be free of me.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Rebecca’s mouth. “I don’t see how any woman would be able to resist you.”
He winked and patted her hand.
A scream echoed from the keep. Bram unsheathed his sword and ran inside. Servants stood frozen as he dashed past them.
Outside Laird and Lady Liannon’s bedchamber Kaireen burst forth, the door slamming behind her with a bang as she tore past him. Her face as red as her hair and her mouth set in a grim line.
Elva appeared around the corner from the Laird and Lady’s chambers seconds after Kaireen, rushes tumbling around the edges of her grey skirt.
“What happened?” he asked Elva.
“It’s begun.” She paused before him and glanced up into his face. “I hope you are ready for this war… because it will be many battles you will need to win if you ever hope to have victory over Kaireen’s heart.”
“I will succeed.” He’d never lost a battle before. Surely Kaireen would see his love, even if he could not voice it until she did.
She sighed. “I hope so. For even in my wisdom and foresight, the way to Kaireen’s heart is dark and many paths lead not only to your destruction, but hers as well.”
Her words sent a shiver down his spine as if someone rammed an icicle through his spine. Win the heart of a stubborn, feisty lass? He’d better prepare for the challenge.
-End-
For the continuation, see Viking Fire (excerpt below)
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Andrea R. Cooper
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andrea has always created characters and stories. But it wasn’t until she was in her late twenties that she started writing novels. What happened that ignited the writing flame in her fingers? Divorced, and disillusioned by love songs and stories, they exaggerate, she thought. Love and Romance are not like that in the real world.
Then she met her husband and realized, yes, love and romance are exactly like the songs and stories say. She is now a happy wife, and a mom to three kids (two boys and a girl). Andrea writes fantasy, paranormal, historical, and romantic suspense.
When not writing or reading, one my find Andrea dancing in Zumba. She believes in the power of change and counting each moment as a blessing. But most importantly, she believes in love.
Viking Fire excerpt:
“I renounce Father for this.” Kaireen threw the elderberry gown. Dressed only in her leine, she glared at the new gown on the stone floor.
“Shame on you and your children for speaking such.” Her handmaid, Elva, gathered the damask and then dusted off the rushes. “It’s a wonder one of the clim has not scolded you from your hearth for such talk.” She wore her white hair twisted in a chignon, underneath a linen head cloth. Strands of white hair poked out the sides of her covering.
“No, curse Father for a fool.” She plopped on her bed and a goose feather floated away. With a huff, she leaned against the oak headboard. Red curtains puffed like a robin’s chest around oak poles supporting her wooden canopy. Her bare feet brushed against the stone floor.
Why was she not born plain like her two older sisters? Already they had married and expected their second bairns by spring. Well, at least so far she had enjoyed twenty years of freedom. Three years longer than her sisters. Her parents had her sisters married by their seventeenth birthday. Marriage at such a late age was uncommon, but her father had wanted suitable matches. They had enjoyed freedom longer than others. Many women were given in marriage soon after their first woman’s cycle.
Neither of her sisters had had matrimonial dreams of love matches. Both were arranged marriages. Margaret was married to an O’Neill. They courted through the long winter and past the blooming of spring with an early summer wedding. Two months later he roamed other women’s skirts, finding too many others who were willing. Margaret’s irritation was lessened as she was ensured by the Laird O’Neill’s formal letter that no bastard would have claim to her husband’s land or rights if she were widowed.
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br /> Her other sister, Shay, and her husband did not set eyes upon each other until the wedding feast. Then they were never separated until tragedy ripped them apart. Four months ago, her husband was killed in an unexpected skirmish against another clan. Shay refused to admit his death—until his blood-soaked body arrived with his clansmen. For days she refused to eat or drink. Her salvation was she carried their second unborn child in her womb, and their two year old daughter needed a mother. The wee bairn was due this month. Kaireen feared that without the children, her sister would have wasted away without her love.
Often she wondered what her life would be like with a love like Shay’s. A love so strong it threatened her sister’s life… or would she prefer Margaret’s marriage, without love and faithfulness?
“You know your da arranged a marriage within a season.” Elva smirked.
Kaireen shook her head. “To another land holder,” and waved a hand in disgust, “not t-this heathen. Twice they raided our land in the last month alone.” She slapped away a strand of her auburn hair from her face. “Their forces choke the land like the town of Ath Cliath, the hurdled ford they call Dubhlinn.” This was in reference to the bank of wooden hurdles the Vikings built across the Liffey River.
Recent whispers of a possible spy in their midst sent shivers down Kaireen’s back. What if this foreigner was the spy? What if he had fooled everyone in her clan? Well, she would not have the wool pulled over her head by likes of a Lochlann.
“Many a raid has come from them. Now father wants me as wife to one of them?” She clenched her fists. “No, I will not marry this Viking or as we call his kind from west Scandia-Lochlanns.” She snatched the green hazel twig from Elva’s outstretched hand. Then she scrubbed her teeth.
When the foreigners had first attacked Ireland, they had been called Gaill. Over time the distinction grew between Gaills, Lochlanns, and Normanni depending on what part of Scandia they swooped down from.
Viking Flame: Prequel to Viking Fire Page 4