Surrender to the Highlander

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “Sven!” his voice rang out.

  Sven pushed around her and leaned in to hear what Rurik said. Some fierce whispering between the two men went on for some minutes before Sven turned and walked away. “I am not your servant, Rurik,” he said over his shoulder. “If you want her gone, then make it so.”

  And still he did not turn to her or say anything. Knowing he would not, she took a step closer and then another until she could have reached out and touched his back…if she dared.

  “Rurik,” she said, “I…”

  “Go away, Lady Margriet,” he said without looking back.

  “No.”

  “If you have any sense…” he began.

  “Apparently I do not have the sense God gave an ox, according to Donald, that is. Donald has been very clear in his opinion of where women stood in that regard.”

  “Please, Margriet. Go away,” he repeated.

  So she said the only thing she could. “No.” She did touch him then, placing her hand on the back of his cloak. “I need to tell you the truth, Rurik.”

  He shrugged her hand off as he would some irritating insect. “I felt the truth last evening, lady. What more is there to say about it?” Now he gripped the edge of the ship.

  “If you would listen, I would tell you that I was a foolish girl who believed the first words of love and affection spoken to her in so many years,” she said to his back, for he would not face her. “I would tell you that I sinned grievously and knew no way out of it but to lie.” Margriet felt the tears flow as she tried to put the words together. “And I would tell you that if I had met a man such as you first, I would have known the difference between love and lust when the challenge came.”

  The winds whipped around her now as the ship changed directions, but the tears came not from that. The tears came when she realized how stupid she had been to fall for pretty words and attractive promises. She’d given up her body and honor to a man who said the right things, and now she’d bear the price of that failure. And she’d hurt someone deeply who should never have been involved.

  “I beg your forgiveness for not trusting you, Rurik, for if I had…” Margriet thought of how this journey could have been, all the consequences of her mistrust and dishonesty and how she had lured Rurik into something beyond their control. “I beg you…”

  The sobs welled from deep within and made it impossible to say anything more. She pressed her fist against her mouth, trying to control her despair, and grasped the side of the ship to keep from falling. When she felt she could speak again, she asked, “What will you do now?”

  He faced her then, turning toward her but never meeting her gaze as he answered. Instead he stared over her head at the sea. “Complete my duty to Gunnar and then go to my father.”

  Margriet had forgotten that they were both called back by their fathers. “The prodigal son,” he’d called himself.

  “What will you do now, Margriet?”

  What would she do? She’d thought of nothing else since everything had fallen apart and even more so since she’d fallen in love with him. There was only one thing to do.

  “I will tell my father the truth and throw myself on his mercy,” she said. “Mayhap he will find Finn to be a suitable husband for me.”

  Rurik tilted his head and frowned at her. “Finn?” Then his glance dropped toward her belly and he nodded in understanding. “The man…”

  But still the frown did not leave his face. They stood looking at each other and she knew this might be the last time she could tell him anything private.

  “I pray that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, Rurik. If not now when the thoughts of what I did and how I deceived you are fresh, then mayhap when they fade a bit in your memory.”

  When he said nothing in reply, she turned and walked to the back of the ship, where Elspeth stood watching her. She could face no one now, so she pulled the hood of her cloak up on her head and bowed her head. Any joy that she should feel upon returning home after so long was dimmed by the pain that tore her apart.

  ’Twas her penance for all of her sins and she prayed she could accept it as that.

  Rurik tried to turn from her and not watch her progress along the deck of the ship, but he failed again, as he did anytime self-control and Margriet were in the same situation. Telling himself it was still his duty to oversee her comfort and safety, he made certain she reached Elspeth’s side before turning back to let the sea winds pummel into him. Her words had affected him more than he wanted to admit, but it was the name that bothered him more.

  Finn.

  Although a common name in Norway and the Orkneys, he knew only one man called that and not by the shortened version of it, but by the whole name.

  Thorfinn. His half brother refused to answer to Finn, saying it sounded like a fish’s name.

  His half brother, who was his father’s legitimate son and heir.

  His half brother by Erengisl’s first wife, who caused his mother’s downfall and his own exile to Scotland.

  There could be no connection, Rurik knew, because Thorfinn remained at his father’s side, secure in the standing and honor that legitimacy gave him. There could be no connection, he told himself again in spite of the warning signs he felt.

  Looking to the north and east, he watched as the land of his birth passed them by. The sharp cliffs and mountainous terrain of Hoy, the gentler rolling hills of the mainland, the smaller islands off in the distance.

  Their destination was Orphir, the residence of the Earls of Orkney in days long past where his father kept a smaller residence, as did Gunnar. They’d decided that a private reunion would be best considering the many years that separated father and daughter, and it would give Margriet a chance to acclimate herself before being thrown into the life of a courtier’s daughter once more. Now, Gunnar had no idea of how wise that decision was, nor did Margriet know.

  The winds were with them and the sea was fair, making their voyage a fast one and bringing them to Orphir just before sunset. When they put to port, he sent the men onto his father’s house with word of his own arrival. From missives received in Thurso, he knew his father stayed in Kirkvaw while on this visit to the Orkneys from his lands in Sweden. He, too, would take a few days to rest before presenting himself there and entering the mire of arrangements, introductions and preparations that would be his life from this day forward.

  He guided Margriet to her father’s house alone and with nary a word between them. Rurik could not help but notice that she grew more nervous with each passing minute and realized that she may not remember her father from her childhood.

  Although it had been many years for him as well, he did carry the memories of a man who’d been a good friend to him during the difficult times when Rurik’s mother fell from his father’s grace. One of very few who stood by his side during the ugly mess that ended with him in Scotland and Erengisl married to the old earl’s daughter as a favor to his king. The softer personal feelings involved between a man and woman meant nothing where the king was concerned.

  “He is a good man, Margriet. You can rely on his judgment,” he said as a servant ran out to take hold of their horses and he helped her dismount for the last time.

  Her hands shook and she paled with each step forward. Almost to the doorway, she stopped and gazed up at him, a look of complete panic filling her eyes and he feared she would faint dead away.

  “I cannot do this, Rurik. I cannot,” she said, taking a step back and looking as though she was about to run off.

  He took her hands in his and held her steady. When she met his eyes, he repeated to her the first words she’d spoken to him when she acknowledged her identity.

  “You are Margriet Gunnarsdottir. Do not forget that.”

  She took in a deep breath now and nodded at him. When the door opened and an older man stepped from it, she let her hood fall to her shoulders. Then she walked at Rurik’s side to meet the man she did not remember as father. Gunnar shouted at the sigh
t of her, causing tears to stream down Margriet’s face.

  “I did not expect you to resemble your mother so much, Margriet! You have grown to be a beauty like her. So much like her, my eyes could not believe it,” Gunnar said, opening his arms to her. After a brief hesitation, Margriet allowed him to pull her close and hug her.

  It was a good start, he thought, as they all entered the house and he watched as Gunnar called out orders for her comfort and told her of his arrangements for her stay there until they visited Kirkvaw. Overwhelmed and surprised, he thought by the warmness of the welcome after such a separation, Rurik knew she would be cared for and knew Gunnar would handle the news of her condition with much wisdom and care.

  He stood aside as Gunnar introduced her to his household and she handled things remarkably well for someone about to bolt just a few minutes before. She did glance over at him several times, but less and less as Gunnar brought her back into the place and family she’d been gone from for these last ten years. Gunnar noticed him standing there and came to him.

  “I have not yet said how good it is to see you, Rurik.”

  “And you, Gunnar.”

  “She has grown so much that I would not know her, but you, you have grown into a handsome man. And so big!” Gunnar was no small man himself, but Rurik did tower over him now, grown at least a foot more since their last meeting thirteen years before. When Gunnar held out his hand, Rurik took it in greeting. “My thanks for delivering her safely into my arms.”

  “I was honored that you asked me to carry out that duty for you, Gunnar. You were ever a true friend to my mother and me.”

  Gunnar looked across the room to where his daughter talked with the woman who had served as her nurse. Content that she was getting on well, he smiled. “Does your father know of your arrival yet?”

  “I will send word in the morn, Gunnar. I was not certain we would make it here before sunset. How is he?”

  “Impatient as ever,” Gunnar said, slapping him on the shoulder…the shoulder Margriet had sewn together not long ago. “The many delays have made him on edge, for he’d hoped you would arrive before summer.” His father’s counselor leaned over and spoke quietly to him. “You know the situation between the king and his sons. Your father agreed to assist in the negotiations before year’s end.”

  “So his letters said.”

  “He wants you in place before he leaves for Norway.” That would explain his father’s impatience.

  “The delays were not intentional,” he said.

  “Come now, Rurik. I knew you as a young man. Were you not waiting to be wooed home?” Gunnar laughed now. “That was why I suggested he send the armbands and the sword. Did they not entice you to consider his offer?”

  Now it was Rurik’s turn to laugh. He should have recognized Gunnar’s mark on this, from first invitation to last. “They did, Gunnar. I knew he was serious when the sword arrived for I have never seen it outside his hall in Hultaby.”

  “As I assured him would be your reaction.”

  “So, ’tis your hand behind this whole reconciliation then?”

  Margriet walked over to them then, ending their discussion, one which would need be finished before he met with his father.

  “You know my father well, Rurik?” she asked.

  “I knew him as a boy when I lived with my father,” he replied. An uneasy feeling moved along his spine as he realized her probable reaction to his parentage.

  “And we will be working together on many issues and concerns for your father now that you have returned.”

  It took about the same length of time for her to recognize his omission as it did for him to understand her sin. But she asked the question anyway.

  “You know his father?” she asked, all the while staring at him.

  “I have the honor of working for his father, Margriet. You know that I serve Lord Erengisl. And now I will serve Rurik as well.”

  He remembered wondering if a man’s head could explode and now Rurik wondered it about Margriet, for her face grew dark and red and her lips sputtered as she realized the deception played upon her. He’d done it in part to protect her from thinking she was not good enough for him, but ’twas also for his protection, too. Though from her expression, she would not understand that part of it.

  Sometimes in battle, the prudent thing was to retreat and fight another day. Thinking that the best course of action, now he bowed to Gunnar and excused himself. Margriet could do nothing now, but he knew she would have her say at some point. Rurik only knew he had some explaining of his own to do to her when that day came.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rurik strode down the long hallway on his way to the great room where his father awaited him. Although he would have preferred to have a more informal and less public first meeting than this, he could not avoid it any longer. Messengers had been sent to him in Orphir with an invitation to come at once to Kirkvaw where his father waited on his arrival. When the Earl of the Orkneys sent such a message, no one, not even his son, ignored the summons.

  So with Sven and Magnus at his side and his men from Scotland at his back, he walked forward to be welcomed by the same man who’d sent him away nearly ten-and-three years ago. Rurik looked around as he walked and noticed the luxurious, but clean design of the building that was only a few years old. Not like his father’s other properties, which demonstrated Erengisl Sunesson’s wealth and power, this one fit the city and the islands.

  They’d reached the door of the large chamber and stopped, remaining there, as was custom, until being called forward to greet Lord Erengisl. Rurik held his breath, aware that the first stumbling block could be at just this moment. Rising to his full height, he waited for the call. The herald nodded to him as he spoke in a loud voice, one that carried throughout the chamber.

  “Rurik, son of Erengisl, come forward.”

  He could not help the smile that he wore now as he walked forward to accept his father’s greeting. So many years had passed, so much yearning laid buried deep inside him for this moment that he feared it might pass too quickly. Several people spoke as he passed by, but he could only focus his eyes ahead, where a large chair sat in the middle of a dais.

  And he saw the man in that chair.

  ’Twould appear that his father aged well, losing none of the vigor he remembered from the last time he saw him. Erengisl sat with authority in that chair and Rurik climbed the steps in front of it, pausing there. Meeting the gaze of his father’s deep green eyes, he knelt down and then bowed his head in respect. He remained low until his father rose from the chair and approached him.

  Grasping the hand held out to him, Rurik stood and shook his father’s hand and accepted in that moment all he offered. After a few seconds, his father pulled him into a backbreaking hold and the hall erupted in cheers at their reconciliation.

  When released, Rurik motioned for his friends to come forward and be presented. Erengisl welcomed them all to his court and his household. Bringing Rurik along onto the dais, Erengisl motioned to a young man at his side and Rurik recognized his half brother Thorfinn.

  Although his coloring was that of his mother, Erengisl’s first wife, Magnilda, his height and bearing was that of his father. Only a year younger than he, Thorfinn may have carried his noble mother’s blood in his veins, but Rurik’s mother remained Erengisl’s favorite. And that accounted for the lack of warmth in his greeting after these many years.

  “Brother,” Thorfinn said amiably, although Rurik knew it was only because they were being observed. “Welcome home.” He held out his hand in greeting.

  How it must have been a bitter taste in his mouth to say those words! Things had ended badly between them when Erengisl decided to marry his present wife, Agnes, at the king’s behest, and he put aside Rurik’s mother, his mistress of many years. His mother had been the wife of Erengisl’s heart, before and even while married to Thorfinn’s mother, but marriages for those in Erengisl’s class were not based on love or the ability
to produce sons—they were based on who gained the most in power or wealth.

  And so, with his duty to his liege lord before him and at his demand, Erengisl was forced to give up Moireach and their son. Thorfinn, then only fourteen years old, had cheered the decision, swearing that the Scottish whore’s son would never share in their father’s inheritance. Now, as he stood side by side with him, Rurik wondered the price of his compliance.

  Rurik took the hand offered and shook it. He did not miss the pleased look on his father’s face as he did. Apparently, it was important to Erengisl that his sons be reconciled as well.

  “So,” Thorfinn said, his voice pitched low so that only he could hear it, “the whore’s son returns after all.”

  Rurik felt better knowing the truth and knew he must watch his back. “I thank you for your welcome, brother,” he replied, not giving in to the desire to lash out and offer insult to answer insult.

  “Come,” Erengisl said, waving them along, “I want you to meet those in attendance.”

  He trailed his father out a door to the side of the dais and into a chamber that served as a meeting place. A group of men followed and took places at the long tables assembled there. Once served wine or ale by servants who stood along the wall, Erengisl introduced them one by one. The only one missing was Gunnar.

  “Gunnar joins us on the morrow,” his father announced. “Come, Rurik, sit at my side as we discuss the situation of King Magnus.” Rurik walked to the seat indicated by Erengisl and noticed that papers already sat there. “Worry not,” he said, “Thorfinn will not mind if you sit in his seat while I explain the intricacies of the negotiations.”

  The glint in his brother’s eyes spoke of more than minding giving up his seat of honor, it spoke of revenge for the slight. But once again, his words belied his true feelings, “Of course not, Father. I am pleased to help in any manner possible.”