Return of the Rogue

S
he twirled in circles, her skinny little arms stretched out from her sides and a broad smile on her thin face. She would twirl and twirl and when she stopped, her head still spinning, the barren moor would magically dance in front of her eyes.

She laughed with glee and clapped her small hands until the dancing stopped, then went in search of wildflowers. The yellow ones were nice, but the violet ones were her favorite. The pretty color matched her eyes, or so her mum told her when they picked flowers together.

A frown suddenly captured her face. She wished her mum were with her today but she had too much work to do. Though her stepfather, Calum Tannach, expected her to help her mum, her mum would often chase her off to have fun, joining her now and again when she was certain Calum wouldn’t learn of it.

Today her mum had shooed her off, telling her to have a day of fun since it was a special day. It was her birthday. She was eight years old today.

A smile quickly reclaimed her thin face. Her mum wouldn’t want her to waste her birthday feeling sad. She would be waiting to hear of her fun day.

She rushed around picking flowers. They would make her mum smile. Her mum didn’t smile very often. She wished she would but she didn’t, but the flowers never failed to bring a smile, even a small one.

She stopped, tilting her head to the sky. Was that thunder? It was cloudy and gray. Then she heard the distant rumble again, only this time the ground quaked beneath her small feet. She stumbled backward; clutching the few flowers, she cast a glance across the moor.

She squinted at the black specks in the distance then rubbed her eyes, but the black specks remained, growing larger by the second.

Warriors! her mind screamed, and fearing they could be from a marauding clan, she did what she had been taught—she ran.

She clutched her flowers tighter as her skinny legs pumped faster and faster, the quaking growing stronger beneath her pounding feet. She told herself to keep going, don’t look back, but fear forced a quick glance over her shoulder and the shock of the riders bearing down on her caused her to stumble.

She landed hard on her backside and instinct had her crawling backward away from the riders as fast as she could.

The ground shook and the thunderous roar of horses’ hooves vibrated the air and tears filled her violet eyes as she struggled to avoid the rush of horses.

With a sudden yank, she was snatched off the ground, swung up in the air and planted with a thud in the lap of a
large warrior. He reined in his horse sharply, holding her tight, and then slowed the animal to a trot.

She sat in shocked silence, too frightened to move or speak, though not to stare at him. Her first glance had her thinking he was the devil himself, his dark eyes matching his dark attire, his look grim and his mouth angry.

“Look,” he ordered, his hand grabbing her chin and forcibly turning her head.

She began to tremble. The horse stood at the edge of a cliff that she knew dropped off sharply to the North Sea.

“That’s where you were going.”

She shivered at the thought, tears pooling in her eyes until they spilled one by one down her thin cheeks. She would have died if not for the warrior, never to see her mum again. She stared at him, unable to speak and not knowing if she should, since she recognized him. He was Cavan Sinclare, eldest son of Laird Tavish Sinclare of the Earldom of Caithness, a fierce warrior.

He hoisted her up and off the horse, depositing her on the ground. He leaned his face close to hers, so close that his warm breath tickled her nose when he spoke.

“Watch what you’re doing, lass. Next time someone may not be there to save you.”

Honora woke with his words resonating in her head. It was always that way with the recurring dream, near twelve years now. She stretched her arms above her head, sighed and let the dream fade. She need not be thinking of the past today. Today she began her future. Today was her wedding day.

She snuggled under the wool coverlet, the sun yet to rise, and wondered for the hundredth time if this
was right for her. But then, what did it matter? The choice wasn’t hers. Her stepfather had arranged the marriage; she had little to say about it.

She had never imagined marrying a Sinclare. Actually, two years ago she
feared
marrying one; the one Sinclare she had prayed she would never set eyes on again. Her stepfather, Calum Tannach, had other ideas. He approached laird Tavish Sinclare, to offer her as wife to his son Cavan. Calum had touted her virtues and how she would serve the future laird well, being an obedient and dutiful wife. He had used a strong hand in raising her, he said, and guaranteed that she would not flinch if her husband saw fit to do the same.

He had been right about that. Calum Tannach had not only forced his stepdaughter to take his name when he wed her mother, but used a forceful hand on her more often than Honora cared to remember.

She would never have been able to defy her stepfather and refuse to wed Cavan, and so she was relieved to receive the news that Cavan had no interest in wedding her. He claimed she lacked strength and courage, and he wanted both in a wife. Her stepfather had been furious and, of course, taken his disappointment out on her.

Not enough strength and courage? She certainly had it that night when her stepfather delivered a good beating on her for not being good enough for Cavan Sinclare. He called her worthless and said it was a good thing her dear mother had passed five years before and was not there to witness the shame she had brought the family.

Honora had hoped to find a love that would help her escape her stepfather. But Calum Tannach had plans for her to wed a man of his choice, and he ordered her to keep herself pure or else. She did as she was told; not that it was difficult, since no man showed interest in her. Meanwhile, she hoped, even prayed, to find herself wed to a good man.

Her prayers had been answered, and oddly enough, she would wed a Sinclare. A year ago during a battle with a northern barbarian tribe, Cavan Sinclare and the youngest Sinclare brother Ronan were taken captive. Artair and Lachlan, the two remaining brothers, could not find them. It was known that Cavan and Ronan had been wounded, and many believed them dead, though Artair and Lachlan refused to accept that. They intended to find their brothers and bring them home.

Taking advantage of the situation, Calum Tannach approached Tavish Sinclare about a union between Honora and Artair, next in line to lead the clan Sinclare. This time her stepfather wasn’t turned down, though Artair made a stipulation. He would meet with Honora and then decide. Her stepfather warned her not to ruin this opportunity for him or indeed she would be sorry.

Honora had trembled when meeting Artair, not knowing what to expect from him, and not having any experience in dealing with men. He towered over her five feet five inches, and while lean in body, his strength was obvious in his sinewy arm muscles and bulging veins. And to say he was handsome was not doing the man justice. His brother
Lachlan claimed always to be the most handsome brother and the favorite of the women. But everyone knew—though none would say, especially in front of Lachlan—that Artair was the handsomest of all the brothers.

Dark brown eyes dominated his striking features, and his long hair matched their color, though the bright sunlight sparked red strands. He was firm in voice and confident in stance, Honora detected fairness in his eyes and her trembling faded as he spoke with her.

He had asked her if she was agreeable with the arrangement, and after she nodded, fearing her voice would fail her, he explained what he expected from his wife.

“Honor our vows, respect my word, give me sons and daughters, and I will do the same for you and always see you safe from harm.”

That had sealed it for Honora. She would no longer need to fear her stepfather. She would be free of him and wed to a man who would always keep her safe. It was more than she had hoped for, and it with a smile she accepted his terms.

Over the months that followed, she learned more about her future husband and realized that he was a man of his word, dependable and practical, as well as gentle with her. He was not loud, nor did he boast or drink himself drunk. He took his duty to the clan seriously, though he smiled and laughed often enough. He would make a good husband, she hoped, and now she was relieved that her wedding day was finally here.

A knock sounded at the door before it opened, and Addie Sinclare, Artair’s mother, entered the room with an anxious flourish.

“The sun is up,” she said, “the feast is being prepared, the great hall is being decked in splendor, and now it is time for the bride to prepare.”

Honora sat up, ready to jump out of bed, Addie Sinclare having intimidated her since they first met. Not that the woman was harsh or mean. She was simply beautiful, confident and generous, and Honora envied her strong nature.

“No. No. Stay where you are,” Addie insisted, tucking the cover around her. “Part of preparing is relaxing for the big day ahead of you.”

Honora smiled at the startlingly beautiful woman. Her red hair showed traces of gray yet curled softly around her narrow face, which bore few lines for a woman two years from fifty. She was slim in shape and stood almost four inches over her. She was a remarkable woman, and Honora wished she had just a fraction of her strength.

“An hour or so in bed and then it’s a nice leisurely bath, hair preparation, and finally time to dress and be ready to take your vows…and then,” she said with an exhausted sigh, “it’s time to celebrate, and a wonderful celebration it will be.”

“I am lucky,” Honora said.

Addie laughed. “It is my son who is lucky to be getting such a beautiful and gentle bride.”

No one had ever told her she was beautiful or gentle. Plain and frightened was how she had thought of herself and how she believed others thought of her.

Honora noticed how the woman’s dark green wool tunic sparked her green eyes, and how she had rolled up the sleeves to the pale green linen shift beneath, ready to tackle whatever chore was necessary. How she wished she could be that confident and determined to face anything that came her way.

The hours rolled by, and Honora found herself pampered as she never before. She had been relieved when Addie insisted that she spend the night before her wedding day at the Sinclare keep, and her stepfather had not protested, especially when a room was provided for him as well.

Honora knew Calum would not raise his hand to her in front of anyone. He always delivered her punishment when they were alone, though now, from this day on, she would not have to worry about his heavy hand any longer.

Her husband would protect her.

It was with a sense of peace and strong resolve that she prepared to take her vows, though apprehension poked at her now and again. What could go wrong now? she asked herself. She was to wed the next laird of the Clan Sinclare. The marriage documents had been signed and the Sinclare seal affixed. Today she would become a Sinclare.

Several hours later, with a tear in her eye, Addie said to her, “You are a rare beauty.”

Honora, for the first time in her life, felt beautiful. Her rich purple velvet dress flowed from beneath her full breasts to her feet in a magnificent swirl, inserts
of silk violet catching the eye. The same silk violet threaded along the dipping bodice and into the long sleeves. Her long black hair parted in the middle and fell straight down the middle of her back, while a green wreath laden with violet wildflowers rested on her head. Her cheeks were tinged a deep pink from the excitement of it all, and her narrow lips glistened like a flagrant, dew-kissed rose.

She took a deep breath and followed her future mother-in-law out the door. Addie had changed into a dark red velvet dress that hugged her shapely body, and when they came upon laird Tavish Sinclare, she could see how the two fit each other so perfectly and how much love there was between them. She could only hope she would find the same in her own marriage.

The great hall was aglow with candles and a roaring fire. Greenery was decked with berries and trimmed the mantel, tables, and dais. Tables were laden with pitchers of ale and wine, and platters of sweet breads and fruits; succulent meats, stews, and pies would soon join them. And clansmen dominated the room, so many there were not enough seats for everyone.

Her glance finally settled on Artair, and he smiled and walked toward her. He was so very handsome, and wore his plaid of dark green and black with honor. His hair shined as if recently washed, and the sleeves of his dark green linen shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the lean muscles of his forearms.

He reached his hand out to her, and she took it with some hesitation. She had to get used to holding hands and being kissed, and refused to even think about the intimacy she would share with him.

“I am a lucky man,” Artair said, squeezing her hand.

“I said the same myself to her this morning,” Addie said with a pat to their joined hands.

“Honora is the lucky one,” Calum Tannach said, joining them.

Honora stepped closer to Artair, away from her stepfather, and was grateful when Artair slipped his arm around her. Calum might have cleaned himself up, even washing his shoulder length gray hair and garbing himself in the Sinclare plaid, but he would always be a nasty and mean man.

“And it’s a grateful and obedient wife she’ll be to you, Artair, I can guarantee that,” Calum boasted. “I raised her right.”

“I have no doubt you did, Calum,” Artair said. “But shortly she’ll be my wife and she will concern you no more.”

“Yes, well—but—”

“Time to start the ceremony,” Tavish interrupted, and they followed him to the front of the dais.

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