The Viking's Highland Lass (2 page)

He struggled to get up, and somehow through sheer willpower, despite the way his vision was blackening, he finally managed to get back on the horse and headed north again. Somehow, he would reach his home. He glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn't see the girl or the shieling she had spoken of.

He'd rested long enough. Thankfully, the ale and food in the packs on the horse had kept him alive or he would never have made it this far. He just hoped the girl wouldn't alert her clansmen before he was well on his way. Better, if he was well out of their reach. If he was to die anywhere, he'd rather do it while he was free than lying half dead on the ground, chained in a dungeon.

T
en years later
, the Scottish Highlands

T
he impending battle looming
, Lady Brina's da and his men were eager to fight with the Vikings over yet another dispute concerning territory and livestock again The Norsemen had settled near their lands less than a year ago and as soon as her people had their first clash with them, Brina had wondered if the injured lad she had found near her shieling so long ago had survived and was living among them. How the world had changed. Her da was no longer a sheepherder but the chief of their clan. She still couldn't believe how her father had become chief either, after such a humble beginning as a sheepherder. But he'd been so ruthless in battle when called to fight and so good at rallying their clansmen, when she was four and ten summers, he'd been elected chief of their clan upon the death of the other.

She'd always wished her mother had lived to be the lady of the keep, but she had died when Brina was two and ten and the newborn son along with her. Brina still missed her mother.

Now her da wanted Brina to wed a man who had been elected Tanist, the chief who would take over when her da no longer ruled, Seamus MacDougald, whom she despised.

Brina had felt the battle would be like any other, until she had the vision. She'd just left her bedchamber and was hurrying down the narrow winding stairs, intent on serving the first meal, when the candles lighting her way dimmed. The sun had not even risen in the morning sky when Brina's vision grabbed hold, the world in a blur, like a dream, but not a dream. A vision of a future happening.

Men dressed in plaid in a glen a long ways from home fought against their enemy, furs and tunics, the embroidery work that of the Norsemen, swords clashing, clanking, powerful swings, and thrusts aimed at cutting down their opponents. Horses rearing and whinnying. Men fighting on foot. In the midst of battle, a man struck a mighty blow at her da on horseback.

Her heart in her throat, she gasped.

It was as if nothing else was there, no one else, no ongoing battle, no more men or horses or swords or targes, just her da falling from his horse and landing on the rocky ground. She wanted to run to him, to care for him, protect him, even if he didn't care about her. But he was her da. Worse, if he died, she would be forced to wed a brigand who had no heart.

And then the scene changed. She was running down several flights of stairs from her tower room to the door that lead to the inner bailey but it was locked. She bolted to another door, intent on reaching her horse in the stables and riding her onto the battlefield to see to her da. But she couldn't find it as if the door had just…vanished.

“My lady,” one of the cooks said, and Brina stared at the stout woman, wondering how she'd gotten from her bedchamber all the way to the kitchen without ever realizing it, while lost in the vision. “Are you all right?”

“Aye.”

“We are getting ready to feed the men going into battle,” Salora said, directing the kitchen staff to serve the porridge and bannocks.

Brina's skin still prickling with concern over the vision of her da, she reminded herself she had not seen him dead. Only knocked from his horse. Brina took a deep breath and let it out, then as she usually did, she carried some of the porridge to the waiting men where they were already drinking ale and eating bannocks, serving her da and his second-in command.

“May I have a word with you?” she asked her da as she placed his porridge on the trestle table, hoping to warn him of what would befall him on the battlefield and to be prepared.

His nearly black beard was streaked with gray, the same with his long hair, now tied back. His brown eyes studied her for a moment, then he said, “You are late in coming to the hall. Salora had to serve my bannocks this morn. You sleep in when others are busy preparing for battle?”

She shook her head.

“Do you want to wish me well then?” He asked the question with a sneer, as if he knew she wouldn't care if he lived or died.

Which wasn't true. She did care. Just because he didn't seem to have any feelings for her, didn't mean she felt the same way about him.

The problem was she had never told anyone of her visions. Not her da or anyone. Would he think her mad? But she had to tell him. She would never forgive herself if she did not warn him when maybe her words could help him in seeing the danger before the man struck him from his horse.

“I worry about you on the battlefield. You must be extra vigilant this day.”

Her da smiled in a mean-hearted way. “You have never worried about me before. I am always vigilant. How do you think I have managed to live so long? Be off with you so I might visit with my men before the battle.”

She couldn't tell her da exactly what was on her mind. He would think she was cursed, a witch, maybe dangerous to him and his people. “Just…be careful.”

“And me?” Seamus asked, his golden hair hanging about his shoulders, his brown eyes challenging her. “Should I be careful too, Brina?”

“You will be fine.”
Unfortunately
. She set Seamus's porridge in front of him, then hurried off. She had tried to warn her da, but she was afraid to do much more than that. She caught Lynette's eye. The woman was about four years older than her and served as her companion. She knew nothing of Lynette's family, but the woman was mindful of her position as Brina's personal companion, and nothing more. It bothered Brina that they couldn't have been equals and truly friends, even sisters. But every time she'd pushed for more, Lynette had stepped back as if not wanting the friendship, or afraid of having it.

They had practically grown up together, her uncle and aunt, who had had also died, raising Lynette at the shieling not far from her own. And when her da hadn't been around, Brina and Lynette had played like sisters. But that had all changed when Brina's mother died. Her da had forbidden Brina see Lynette, but wouldn't give a reason. That was until he became chief, Brina became a lady, and Brina's uncle and aunt died of a sickness. Their son, Christophe, had joined the guards in service, and Brina's da allowed Lynnete to be her companion.

Brina was delighted, hoping they could become fast friends now, but it hadn't happened.

Lynette never seemed to find any pleasure in a man's company, nor did she seem to enjoy any of the festivities her da would have from time to time. Brina thought she was like her in that respect. Lynette's hair was a light brown, but her eyes just as blue. Lynette was the same height as Brina, maybe a wee bit taller.

The one thing they did enjoy doing together was plying their talent at archery. Not just for a social pastime either, but as a way to defend Anfa Castle if they needed to.

Brina never confided in anyone about her feelings concerning her da or Seamus and his men. Not even with Lynette. Likewise, Lynette never discussed how she felt about anything either.

Though they both had their roles to play in regard to the running of the household, Brina thought Lynette was distant acting about belonging to the clan. She'd tried to talk to her about it, but Lynette wouldn't or couldn't tell her anything about herself. Maybe she'd been too young when Brina's aunt and uncle had taken her in.

Yet there was something even odder about her. The way Brina would catch Lynette watching her and Brina wondered if she knew that Brina had a gift. Maybe she was afraid of Brina. She wished she could confide in someone, but she dared not.

As soon as thirty of the Auchinleck clansmen ate their fill and left the castle to fight with their neighbors, a group of Vikings who had settled near their lands, Brina was filled with dread. Every time they fought, she feared her da would be injured or killed. Since she had seen him fall from his horse in a vision hours before it could have happened, she feared what would become of the clan under Seamus's rule. And what would become of her.

Her da was a difficult man to live with, his temper triggered by anything—but it was the man he had taken into the clan that she dreaded most since her da had declared Seamus would marry her when it was time. If her da had truly died and not just been injured in the vision she'd seen, she knew Seamus would force the marriage as soon as he could.

She had hoped the time would never come. That instead, Seamus would fall in battle.

But she was always packed and ready for the eventuality because as her da grew older, it was inevitable. Could she escape the confines of the castle without anyone being aware of it though? That was her biggest fear. Seamus would want to kill her, she was certain, if he should catch her stealing away.

She finished her duties downstairs, supervising the kitchen staff and then the rest of the household staff for hours, before she headed up to her bedchamber to make last minute preparations to leave.

She had every intention of doing so and finding her way to her mother's family—the MacAffin, who had allied themselves with the MacNeills. Making it there by herself would not be easy, but she was bound and determined to do it. And hope they would take her in and not return her to her da for his disposition, believing he might still be alive, and she was his responsibility.

She had just reached her bedchamber when she felt the strangest sensation of falling.
Her arm burning, she was lying on top of a man garbed in furs, his beautiful blue eyes staring back at her. He looked shocked and then his very kissable mouth curved up just a hint.

Where had she seen those beautiful blue eyes before? Like a brilliant sky after a refreshing rainstorm?

She came back to her senses and realized she was having another vision.

Who was the man? She'd never seen him before. Yet there was a vague familiarity about him nudging at some distant memory—his eyes that had held her hostage and wouldn't let go. Because of the vision, she suspected their paths would collide when she escaped the castle. Would it be a good thing or not? She couldn't get the vision of his blue eyes out of her thoughts when she heard the men returning then to the castle, horses' hooves pounding the ground in the inner bailey, shouts for help, chaos. Weeping women cried out when they learned their loved ones had been wounded or killed.

Brina hurried back down the stairs to find to her da when she saw some of the battle-weary men in the keep. They refused to look her in the eye as if afraid to acknowledge her unpleasant fate or maybe their own. They were dirty, bloodied, and a couple of the men limping.

She hated the fighting. Forever, she'd feared this day would come. Her da had been a hard man, having lost his wife, her mother, when Brina was younger. She'd always wondered if her mother had lived, would her da have been any less cruel.

“Where is my da?” she asked several of the men.

Everyone shook their heads. She rushed outside and searched all over the inner bailey, looking for her da, but other than a handful of wounded men, and two men who died after being brought back to the keep, her da was not among them.

“Where is my da?” she asked Seamus as he dismounted and a lad led his horse away.

She didn't wish to speak to the devil himself, but she had no choice since no one else would enlighten her.

“He is dead.” Seamus smiled a little as if amused to see her distraught over the matter.

“Where is his body?” She wouldn't believe it until she saw him for herself. What if Seamus had ordered his men to leave her da on the field, injured and dying so that he could take over?

“Several of our men were left in the glen—all of them dead. A winter snowstorm approaches. We will bury our dead when we can. Prepare yourself to be my wife on the morrow.” Then Seamus headed inside the keep, two of his men joining him.

She hurried into the room off the kitchen where they'd taken the wounded men, and helped to clean and bind their injuries. And then she slipped away to her chamber and paced across the rush-strewn floor, the fading light disappearing from her narrow window. She couldn't leave until Seamus was celebrating their victory with the clan.

She prayed another man would step forward and show the clan he had the courage and skill to fight Seamus and stand up for her people. But everyone seemed so ill at ease after returning from battle that she assumed no one had the mettle to challenge him. She couldn't say that any man truly made her heart sing. If her cousin, Christophe, returned and became chief, he would take a wife of his own and then she would be without a position. Better that than having to wed Seamus, she reminded herself.

But Christophe was gone again, not interested in clan politics, maybe even dead. They hadn't heard from him in two years. She assumed his leaving had to do with the way her da had favored Seamus over him. Mostly because he wasn't heavy handed like Seamus was. Now, she almost wished her da had wed her to some other clan chief to strengthen ties between the respective clans, rather than leave her to this fate.

She pulled on her brat and headed back down the stairs, intent on finding her da in the glen and ensuring he had not been left wounded on the field to die alone. She would do what she could for him.

As soon as she hurried outside and headed for the stables, one of Seamus's men roughly seized her arm, stopping her. “Where do you intend to go, Lady Brina?”

She held her chin high, narrowing her eyes at him, not to be cowed by the man who towered over her, mud and blood spattered all over his clothing, face, and hands. He was a frightening figure, but she would not be intimidated. “To the glen where you were fighting to find my da. To say my good-byes.”

“He is past needing them. Return to the keep as Seamus will wish you to join him at the table. We will take care of your da on the morrow as Seamus has said.”

She assumed Seamus wished to wed her because he was from one of the other branches, and he thought marrying her would give him more of a say with her people. Her clansmen had decided who the next clan chief would be. It was not like in the Lowlands where they followed the Norman Teutonic way of naming the chief's son to guide the clan next. Here, the old ways remained. The strongest and most dominant of men would gain the position. Like an alpha wolf would take over a pack, the man who was best at leading the clan into fights—the strongest, most aggressive would be chosen. Which was just why her da had taken over once the old chief had died.