Handfasted to the Bear: Reformed Rogues Book 2

by Elina Emerald

  Wearing one of her new garments and slippers, she took her bow and quiver and settled in for a morning of shooting.

  The archery range was sophisticated, with page boys on hand to assist with the retrieval of arrows and moving the targets across the field.

  Soon Orla became lost in the activity. Hitting the selected targets each time.

  Such was her skill and concentration Orla had not realized she had attracted an audience who clapped and cheered.

  Some even came forward to challenge her and wagers were placed.

  For the first time in a long time, Orla could just enjoyed herself without the threat of an attack hanging over her head.

  Eventually the noonday refreshments were served on the lawns and Orla was inundated with male courtiers requesting archery advice. Orla was happy to oblige them.

  But one man, stood out from the crowd. She recognized him as the Castle bowyer. He came forward carrying a beautifully handcrafted bow and quiver. Orla was impressed.

  “The name’s Arrowsmith. I’ve been wanting to make your acquaintance since you shot your first arrow.”

  Orla reached out her hand to shake his. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Arrowsmith, I am Orla Fletcher.”

  “Your skill is impressive. May I?” He gestured towards her bow. Orla handed it over to him. He turned it over, held it to the light and whistled. “Aye, tis a beauty this one. Yew wood, copper inlay?” he said.

  “Aye.” She replied with a blush.

  “Who crafted it?”

  “I did,” Orla said.

  He looked shocked. “And ye craft the arrow shafts as weil?”

  “Aye. When I was six my adoptive ma talked the bowyer into letting me apprentice with him.”

  “Och, I bet he was none too pleased about that,” Arrowsmith said.

  Orla laughed. “He refused to take on a girl but eventually he gave in and I had a talent for it, so he ceased complaining.”

  “I suspect he got the better end of the bargain if you produced work like this for him.”

  Orla stared at his bow, “Your bow is very impressive, did you make it?”

  “Aye, I sure did.” He handed it to her.

  Orla held it up to the light and said, “Ash wood, pearl inlay?”

  “Och I think I’m in love!” he winked. “Those are the most sensual words I’ve ever heard from a woman’s lips.”

  Orla chuckled in return.

  “Your bow is the most beautiful I have ever seen. You truly are a Master bowyer, Mr Arrowsmith.”

  He blushed bright red at her praise and in a bashful voice said, “Go on with ye lass, tis just wood and bits of shell.”

  Someone clearing their throat interrupted them.

  When Orla turned, she saw Brodie standing beside her, and he was none too pleased.

  Orla was so happy to see him she did not care why he was angry, only that she had missed him.

  Without warning, she threw her arms around his middle, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

  Brodie stared down at her in surprise and pulled her further into his side, smiled and kissed her forehead.

  “Mr Arrowsmith, this is my husband Brodie Fletcher.”

  “Please to meet ye, sir, ye are a verra lucky man.”

  “Aye, and I ken it,” Brodie said.

  They shook hands before Arrowsmith excused himself.

  When he left Brodie said, “I cannot leave you for half a day without men throwing themselves at your feet.”

  “He was not throwing himself at my feet.” Orla rolled her eyes.

  “Aye, he was trying to seduce you with his pretty bow and arrows. In another ten minutes he would have carried you off to Gretna Green.”

  Orla just grinned before she became serious. “I missed you this morning, are you still angry with me?”

  “No love, I just needed to clear my head. I was sparring with the men. But I missed you too much.” Brodie said.

  “I am sorry, husband, I will not put myself in danger again. But you need to promise me that no matter how angry you are with me; you will not turn your back on me.”

  Brodie saw the genuine hurt in her eyes and his heart melted. “Aye, I promise love.”

  He kept gazing at her, then his demeanor suddenly changed when he said, “We need to go right now.”

  “Where?”

  Brodie did not answer, he just picked up her bow and quiver, grabbed her hand and marched across the lawns.

  Orla hurried to keep up. She was looking around, expecting an attack any minute. “What is it, Brodie? Is someone following us?”

  “No, I was angry last night and forgot to do something important. It is now urgent.”

  Brodie dragged her to their chambers. He opened the doors, slammed it shut and locked it.

  “Is it something to do with Dalziel? What did you forget?” Orla asked.

  Brodie dropped her weapons on the floor and started removing his clothes. “I forgot to make love to my wife, and tis unforgiveable. I intend to spend the rest of the day making up for my… lapse in memory.”

  “Ooh…” Orla gasped as Brodie stalked towards her.

  ***

  Several hours later, Orla lay naked, sprawled on top of her husband. She was exhausted and gasping for air. When she finally caught her breath she said, “Brodie, remind me to make you angry more often.”

  Brodie burst out laughing.

  ***

  Chapter 13 – The Arrival

  The following week, courtiers filled the Great Hall as the noonday feast was being served. The King and Queen invited Orla and Brodie to sit at the High table as guests. The fare was rich and the company pleasant.

  Midway through the meal a horn started blowing in the distance, then bells started ringing. There was the sound of shuffling and running feet.

  Brodie stiffened, as a weird tension descended over the Hall.

  Macbeth looked at Queen Gruoch and nodded. The Queen stood and hastened all the women out of the room. She grabbed Orla’s arm, saying, “Come my dear, we must go.”

  Orla hesitated and turned to Brodie.

  Brodie squeezed her hand and said, “Go love, I’ll find you.”

  The guards ushered the women out. Orla turned back to see Brodie, Dalziel and Macbeth heading towards the main doors of the Great Hall.

  Orla followed the Queen through a winding labyrinth of corridors and passageways. The Queen never faltered making turn after turn.

  Some ladies screamed when one section they entered was not lit plunging them into darkness.

  “Hold your tongues lest the enemy find us!” Gruoch reprimanded.

  The women became silent.

  Eventually they came to a large doorway. The guards opened it and ushered the women inside. It opened up into a grand chamber, enough to fit them with comfort. There were slits in the walls they could just see outside the castle.

  “What is this room?” Orla asked.

  Gruoch said, “We are in the highest chamber above the Gatehouse. Tis the strongest part of the Castle. Those slits in the wall are arrow loops. Come, I have need of your skill.”

  Orla followed behind the Queen who opened another door, and inside, the room was full of weapons.

  Gruoch pulled out a bow and quiver filled with double blade iron head arrows. “Here, take these and position yourself at an arrow loop. If I give the signal, fire at anyone who comes over that hill.”

  The other ladies in the room fretted when they realized the Queen was expecting them to fight as well and defend the castle.

  Some even began weeping. Gruoch scowled.

  “Ladies! Cease the hysterics. If you cannot fire a weapon, then move away from the walls.”

  All except two women moved away from the walls.

  Queen Gruoch shook her head in disgust and muttered, “No wonder we lost the Battle of Brunanburh!”

  They waited and stood at the ready. Orla kept her eyes on the horizon.

  After what seemed like forever, a rider came
forward waving a banner.

  “Hold,” Queen Gruoch said.

  When he came closer, the banner was more prominent. It was a serpent against a white mark.

  A row of Norsemen waited along the Hill side, just out of range of the archers' long bows.

  Orla was surprised when Gruoch cursed and dropped her bow. “That bloody idiot! Trust him to arrive with no warning.”

  “Whose banner is that?” A woman asked.

  “Tis the banner of Norway,” Gruoch said. “And that big lout in the middle of those riders is Macbeth’s cousin, the Jarl of Orkney.”

  Orla stilled and gazed over the horizon. No one else in the room realized what she did.

  She was staring at her father.

  ***

  Jarl Thorfinn and King Magnus and their men rode through the main gates of Macbeth’s fortified Castle. The portcullis was raised, and they gathered in the inner Bailey.

  Macbeth boomed in an irritated voice. “Why did you not send a missive? We thought you were invaders. My men could have killed you!”

  “Ha, they can try,” Thorfinn said. “I wanted to test your defenses.”

  Macbeth said, “Thorfinn please tell me you didn’t attack any of my men?”

  “Hmm, just a handful. They will be fine once they sleep it off. Ye need to keep them on their toes. Kill a few to motivate the others.”

  Macbeth just shook his head.

  King Magnus sat on his horse beside Thorfinn and found the interaction between the cousins humorous.

  Thorfinn made the formal introductions, and King Macbeth greeted King Magnus with the reverence and respect he deserved.

  Magnus decided he liked this King of Alba, and he was glad he insisted on travelling with Thorfinn.

  Once they greeted the courtiers and other members of the Royal family, they were shown to special chambers reserved only for visiting dignitaries. It gave them time to rest before they would partake of a welcome feast.

  The Castle was in a frenzy with a Jarl of Orkney and a King of Norway visiting at the same time.

  The only person not jubilant was Moddan. It worried him. Not only had someone drugged him and stolen his secret letters, but now the Jarl of Orkney was in the same Castle as his daughter. Moddan could see all his carefully laid plans beginning to unravel. He was becoming desperate, and a desperate man was a dangerous one.

  ***

  That night Orla, Brodie and Dalziel sat talking in the sitting room of their guest bed chambers. Macbeth thought it wise that Orla remain out of sight until he could arrange a private meeting with Thorfinn.

  Orla was too nervous to go back to the Great Hall for festivities, so she was happy with the plan. Brodie was also fine with it because he wanted to keep Orla close now that there were more people in the Keep.

  They needed to prepare themselves for the meeting. It was a good thing they took the time to rest, because the next day their lives were going to change irrevocably.

  ***

  The Tempest

  The following day a private luncheon was organized in the Upper Hall, allowing the King and Queen to entertain their distinguished guests in private. Brodie, Orla, Torstein and Dalziel were also in attendance with a small retinue.

  The guests milled about the room, taking refreshments as they waited for the Jarl and King Magnus.

  A hush came over the group as Jarl Thorfinn Sigurdsson entered the Hall.

  His aura sucked all the air out of the room. He cut a menacing figure with shoulder length raven black hair and bushy eyebrows. His face held a frightful severity. Defined cheek bones, broad nose, stern lips and shrewd eyes. He wore trews, boots and fur lined vest over a long-sleeved tunic. His fingers adorned with large silver rings. Ink markings lined his neck and hands. He looked every bit a Viking.

  There was nothing friendly about him.

  Orla shuddered at the sight of him. There was no warmth at all. He radiated violence, and she wondered if there was any softness to such a man.

  King Magnus was ushered to the dais where he took a seat beside Queen Gruoch, and Jarl Thorfinn stood beside Macbeth.

  The Jarl spoke in gruff tones to Macbeth, who seemed unruffled, “Whit is dis? Why was I summoned from my rest?” He paced, agitated there was no peace as if his mind constantly ticked.

  “Calm, cousin. I have invited you here among friends because I wish to introduce you to someone special,” Macbeth said.

  “Verra well, get it over with, I’ve no patience for formalities.” Thorfinn grumbled.

  Thorfinn looked about the room when he caught sight of Orla. He stopped dead in his tracks and just stared. His fierce gaze pinning her to the spot.

  Orla stilled. A myriad of emotions crossed Thorfinn’s features she could not keep up. He was looking directly at her and only at her.

  “Izara?” a strangled cry left Thorfinn’s lips before he leapt from the dais and stormed towards her. His features contorted to reflect the discomfiture of a raging tempest within.

  Orla was trembling. The Jarl grabbed her by the arms, and he started shaking her. “Who are you? Whit is dis?” he roared.

  Too shocked to react, Orla felt the jarring effect of his actions. His turmoil was palpable. And Orla witnessed something cross his expression. Agony. In his eyes, she saw it then: it was pain, soul deep, unfathomable pain.

  She heard Macbeth and the Queen both shouting, “Thorfinn, stop it!”

  Brodie followed this shouting, “Dinnae touch her!”

  Orla lost sight of the Jarl, the hands that clutched her arms released and instead she was pushed backwards. The Jarl disappeared from view and all she saw was Brodie’s back directly in front of her. His hand resting on his sword, ready to battle the Jarl.

  Ever the protector, Brodie stood between her and an unyielding force.

  “You dare defy me?” Thorfinn bellowed.

  “Aye, I protect what is mine!” Brodie responded.

  Orla did not want Brodie thrown in the dungeon. He was in the King’s castle he could not attack a nobleman.

  “Brodie…” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Please dinnae make any trouble with the Jarl.”

  She peeked out from behind Brodie. Her eyes met Thorfinn’s again. “I beg your forgiveness, Jarl Thorfinn.”

  Orla furrowed her brow, trying to read Thorfinn’s mood.

  Thorfinn noted her expression, and a change came over him. His eyes softened immediately, then he smiled as his entire demeanor gentled.

  Given the severity of his facial features, his smile was scarier than his scowl, but Orla willed herself not to flinch.

  Macbeth approached them, “Cousin! Is this any way to treat my guests?” He raised his eyebrow then said to Brodie, “Ye can stand down now. I believe there is much we need to discuss.”

  ***

  Family Reunion

  In the privacy of a small chamber next to the Upper Hall, Thorfinn ‘the Mighty’ Jarl of Orkney, formally met his long lost, daughter. He also clenched his fists as he sat through the explanation of how she came to be at Macbeth’s Castle. He made a mental note that anyone involved in the death of his beloved Izara would die.

  Long gone was the gruff, menacing man who initially greeted Orla in the Hall. A softer, kinder version replaced him. One who insisted she sit beside him and ordered servants about, ensuring she had enough to eat and drink. He even had a chamber maid bring a fur-lined cloak for her to wear because the room felt chilly.

  Brodie was pleased Orla had time to speak with her sire, but he was in a dark mood because he could not get near her. Such was the level of fuss Thorfinn made over her. And only towards her. To everyone else, the Jarl behaved like a disagreeable tyrant.

  Brodie bided his time as he stood patiently beside Dalziel, watching Orla bask in the glory of her father. But what disturbed him the most was the rapt attention King Magnus seemed to pay his wife.

  Magnus gazed at Orla like she was an oasis in a desert, and he was parched. Brodie knew that look because that w
as how he viewed his wife. He clenched his jaw when Magnus offered to hand feed Orla some grapes. Orla politely declined, which was a good thing, or Brodie would have ended up in the dungeons for murdering a Monarch.

  Dalziel quietly observed everyone in the room. He did not miss Magnus’s interest in Orla or the affection Thorfinn had for his newfound daughter.

  He had a gut feeling it was going to become an issue. Dalziel just hoped the contingency plans he had in place were enough to safeguard Brodie and Orla.

  ***

  Thorfinn was still reeling from the knowledge that he had a daughter. His mind was already strategizing his next moves. Upper most was giving her everything she had missed out on in life. He wanted the world to know who she was and that she was now under his protection.

  Thorfinn said, “You look so much like your mor. Right down to the confused furrow of your brow. Izara always gave me that look when she was unsure.”

  “Was she happy?” Orla asked.

  “Aye, it did not start out that way. I had captured her on a raid and gads did she fight me like a Valkyrie. But I never touched her with violence. I loved her with my very being.”

  “Did she love you in return?” Orla needed to know what her mother went through.

  “Aye, eventually she softened towards me. We eagerly awaited your birth. I even offered to let her visit her homeland once you were safely delivered.”

  “Where were you when she passed?” Orla asked.

  “Raiding Scotland?” Macbeth said with a questioning brow.

  “No, I was in Norway discussing the control of Orkney with King Olaf.”

  “And would you have really let her visit her homeland?” Magnus asked.

  “Aye. But she never got around to telling me who her family were.”

  Orla noticed a look of concern cross Macbeth’s face before he masked it.

  “So, what is your full name?” Thorfinn asked.

  “My name is Orla, but I didn’t have a last name until—”

  Thorfinn cut her off. “Your name should be Zala, it wis Izara’s choice if she had a girl and your last name is Thorfinnsdottir.”

  “No, her last name is Fletcher!” Brodie growled.

  “Who is this irritating man?” Thorfinn rumbled in exasperation. He looked at Macbeth and tilted his head towards Brodie. “Well, Macbeth? Are you gan to remove him, or shall I?”