The Highlander's Viking Bride: Book 2 in the Hardy Heroines series Read online

  Sinclair’s predatory smile flashed briefly. “When her grandda died, he left specific provisions for his only granddaughter. The gold and lands can only be released upon her marriage.” Disdain saturated the earl’s words.

  “What does she say of the match?” Calder asked.

  Sinclair’s face hardened. “She willnae be told until the wedding. I willnae have her running away or saying nae yet again. An agreement of peace is too important to both our clans.”

  Calder shook his head, stunned. “I’ll nae have an unwilling bride in my bed. ’Tis a sure path to misery.”

  Sinclair’s expression darkened. “We both know the likelihood of yer clan surviving the winter hearty and whole. I offer peace, a large amount of gold to feed yer people this winter and lands to keep ye from starving in the future. I will include enough sheep, cattle and grain to sustain yer clan through the next few months and from which to grow new herds. In exchange, we will have peace, but ye must wed and bed my daughter, and depart at the end of this day. I dinnae wish to lay eyes on her again. Those are my terms. They arenae open to negotiation.”

  Too astonished to form a coherent answer, Calder stared, transfixed.

  Finn spoke first. “’Tis a generous offer, laird. Might my nephew and I go for a wee stroll whilst we discuss it?”

  Sinclair waved his hand in response. “Take as much time as ye need. I notified the priest this morn. He awaits us at the kirk. My offer expires once the sun sets.”

  Finn grabbed Calder by the arm and dragged him from the chair, nodding politely to Sinclair before departing the room.

  Once in the bailey, Calder glared at Finn as he paced. All around them, large and well-maintained outbuildings stood in tribute to Sinclair prosperity. The ping of a hammer and anvil drew his gaze to a blacksmith as he cajoled a piece of metal into the shape of a horseshoe.

  “How can a man do such a thing to his own daughter? She will have no wedding dress, no time to prepare, no celebration with friends or family. What kind of man is this Sinclair? Something is amiss. There must be something verra wrong with the lass,” Calder fumed.

  “Or something verra wrong with her da. She is the woman ye have been dreaming of, aye?”

  “Aye.”

  “Ye know we will nae get such a generous offer without ye agreeing to the marriage?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then where lies the problem?”

  Calder spun to face his uncle. “The problem is, I’ll have a wife who doesnae wish to be married. ’Tis a sure way to a cold bed. As the daughter of an earl, she is too far above my touch. I am nae a man who marries a woman of noble blood. There is a reason why Sinclair wants to rid himself of his daughter. I need to know why.”

  “Excuse me gentlemen, may I ask about yer argument?”

  Caught in their discussion, Calder hadn’t noticed Christer Sinclair’s approach. He stared at the man with suspicion. A sidelong glance at his uncle’s countenance proved Finn wary as well.

  “I take it from yer lively conversation father has offered my sister to ye.”

  Calder studied Christer for a moment longer before answering. “Aye, along with all the gold and lands in her tocher. He willnae tell her till ’tis time to be wed, nor give her a choice in the matter. I dinnae wish to take home an unwilling bride, no matter how bonny she is.”

  Christer grimaced as he rubbed his chin. “I understand. Did my da tell ye why he wishes to proceed in such a fashion?”

  “He said she refused every match he’s made for her,” Calder replied.

  Christer snorted. “I’ll wager he dinnae tell ye all those matches were to men his age or older?”

  Finn spat on the ground, his disgust clear.

  “As I thought,” Christer said with a nod. “Our sire has never treated my sister with the respect she deserves. I have done what I can to protect her, but for reasons of his own, he resents her. Katja serves faithfully in keeping our home. She is a good lass, though a bit headstrong and lacking refinements expected of an earl’s daughter. She would make ye a fine wife.”

  Calder leveled a skeptical look at the young man.

  “Our mam died when we were young,” Christer explained. “Katja was raised by our grandmam. Amma passed when Katja was but ten and two summers. She grew up around brothers rather than women who would teach her to be a lady. Ye have seen the kind of women my father keeps about the castle.” Christer paused, eyeing Calder, compelling a response.

  Calder nodded, remembering the less than subtle offers by the serving women since their arrival.

  Christer gave Calder a hard look, then continued. “The MacGerry have a reputation of being a close-knit clan. Such warmth is the verra thing Katja needs after so many years of scorn. If ye favor her at all, ye would grant her a boon by taking her to wife. Even if she dinnae see it now, she will if ye’re patient. Otherwise, my father will continue to seek those matches which most benefit him, rather than seeing to her happiness. As her brother, I want what’s best for my sister and the clan, but have little influence with the earl.”

  “Yer da wants her wedded, bedded and out the gates by the end of the day. Otherwise, the transaction is cancelled.” The contempt in Calder’s voice was palpable.

  “Sweet Mary!” Christer spat, shaking his head. Silence hung in the air while the gravity of the situation sank in. He stared into the distance before his gaze returned to Calder.

  “Ye have little choice if what we hear of yer clan is true. I will speak with her, make her understand the situation. I will tell her of yer reluctance to agree to the earl’s plans. She knows she must marry. Ye are by far the best choice she has been presented with. She will agree with that. I willnae lie, Katja will be angry. But if ye treat her well, she will come ’round, ye have my word. Will ye do it?”

  Calder leaned a shoulder against the rough red stone wall forming the Sinclair keep and furiously rubbed his forehead, trying to ward off the pain rising behind his eyes.

  Finn’s urgent voice rose. “Laddie, ye must. When we ride out those gates today ye will have gained the fortune we so desperately need, the peace we have lacked for three generations, and the woman ye have been thinking on for years.”

  Christer’s eyebrows shot up. Calder noticed his reaction and waved him off. “I’ll agree, but I’m holding ye to yer word. Explain the circumstances to her. I dinnae wish to worry about my wife gutting me in my sleep.”

  Christer and Finn both smiled at his answer. Christer clasped Calder’s in rough reassurance, then strode to the keep.

  “Weel laddie, let’s dinnae keep yer new father by marriage waitin’.” Finn’s mouth widened in a grin.

  Calder shook his head. “Have Cole travel home with the news. Send two of the men with him. Tell them to prepare a welcome for our new lady.”

  “Aye, my laird.” Finn winked, his eyes full of mischief as he clapped his nephew on the back, hoots of laughter trailing in his wake.

  A sense of dread filled Calder’s gut as he considered the web he found himself caught in. Every possible reason why the man would want to rid himself of his daughter in such a shameful way rose to his mind—each more distasteful than the next. With jaw clenched in determination, he strode in Finn’s wake.

  When they arrived at the great hall, the midday meal awaited them. Joining Sinclair and his sons at the high table, Calder met Sinclair’s gaze. “I agree to yer terms.”

  The man’s face broke into a toothy smile as he gripped Calder’s shoulder. “Wise decision, Laird. We shall be kin today. I took the liberty to draw up the contract.”

  At their sire’s words, Bjorn and Patrik glanced at the two of them, surprise on their faces. Christer wore a grim frown, but kept his silence.

  Studying the agreement, Calder noted the terms were as generous as discussed. Something about seeing in writing all the MacGerrys would gain confounded him, increasing his suspicion. The amount of gold, land, sheep, grain—it was all too much. All this to relieve the man of a long-standing enemy a
nd his only daughter? Something felt very wrong. However, he had no time to ferret it out.

  Calder reminded himself he’d made the best possible decision for his clan. He was doing Katja a favor by taking her away from a man who barely deserved the title of father. She might come from noble blood, but at least he knew how to properly care for a lass. That he would wed the woman of his dreams this very day? There might be a good chance his dreams would become something much darker.

  He agreed with this cruel plan against his better judgment. For being forced to marry the laird of her father’s enemy, he could only hope she would forgive him. If not, they were both young enough to look forward to a long, miserable marriage.

  * * *

  “I hear the MacGerrys have been shut up in the earl’s solar since the morning meal.”

  Katja glanced at the older woman beside her. She could always count on the Sinclair cook as a source for gossip. All the women bent over the table slicing vegetables turned their attention to hear more.

  “What are those thieving curs doin’ here, anyway?” Mab, a kitchen maid, asked.

  “The way my man tells it, they’re here to seek a truce,” Dora, wife to one of the laird’s guards, answered.

  “Humph. The day those low-born outlaws abide by a peace agreement is the day ye’ll bow to me as queen.” Cook placed a fist on her ample hip, waving a cleaver like a scepter with her other hand. The women laughed at Cook’s prediction.

  Katja glanced at the women as they returned to their chores. With the fall harvest complete, there was plenty to keep them busy. It had been a prosperous season, which would ease the harsh winter storms drawing near.

  This morning they cooked, preserved and stored the last of the harvest for the coming change of season. Pickled vegetables and fruit preserves lined the storeroom shelves. Grains and legumes lay drying, and would today be placed in secure bins to keep out vermin. The smell of fresh cut vegetables filled the air, and the sound of chopping pounded out an unsteady rhythm.

  Incessant gossip kept everyone close and attentive. At the end of the long center table, some of the women salted recently butchered meat and fish for drying and smoking. Katja moved among them, keeping a detailed account of the amounts and their storage locations. It was her job to see to the food supply, making sure it lasted through the harsh months. She also created lists, prioritizing tasks to be done once the cold drove everyone inside.

  Katja noticed the serving women bringing the remnants of the midday meal into the kitchen. She hadn’t stopped to eat, grazing instead on the food while they prepared it. Christer waved to her from the doorway.

  “Come, sister. Father wishes to speak with ye in his solar.”

  The fine hairs on the back of Katja’s neck rose at this ominous request, but she dragged the kerchief from her hair and followed him into the passage, unrolling her sleeves as she went. Freki rose from his spot by the door and ambled a few feet behind. “Why his solar, Christer? What is it?” Apprehension crept up her spine.

  “I cannae say, but promise me ye will hold yer tongue this time.” His stern expression melted into one of concern.

  “So ye know, but refuse to tell. ’Tis bad if ye are asking me to hold my tongue.” She lifted her chin, daring him to deny it.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, Christer tugged her by the arm further down the passage to a private alcove. “Katja, ye know I dinnae approve of father’s ways nor his schemes. Believe me when I say the situation at hand will be to yer advantage. I cannae say more.” He met her eyes with a look imploring her to trust him.

  She stared intently at his face, seeking the meaning behind his words, then gave him a short nod, ignoring the apprehension creeping through her limbs. She braced herself, muttering, “I will not lose my temper, I will not lose my temper,” all the way to the earl’s solar. Laying a hand on her companion for strength, she drew a deep breath.

  Katja knocked on the door. Her father’s rough gruff call came through the thick portal. “Enter.”

  Opening the door, she quietly uttered a command for Freki to stay behind and slipped inside the room.

  “I have told ye nae to use that curst language in my home,” Henry snarled. Katja grimaced. She hadn’t realized he’d heard her speak. Since her mam’s death, Henry forbade the Norn language, though her mam had spoken it to all of her children, teaching them of their Norse heritage. It enraged Katja to know her da scorned her mam’s beautiful legacy, declaring it tainted her Scots blood. She knew why he thought so, but refused to give him reason to reconsider.

  “’Tis why I only use it with my animals,” she murmured. Averting her gaze, Katja waited to hear his plans for her.

  “’Tis past time for ye to wed.” Henry’s harsh voice and expression carried no fatherly affection. “Too long now ye have avoided yer duty of marrying for an alliance to benefit yer clan.”

  Bracing herself against the familiar tirade, she gritted her teeth, knowing she’d done her duty without a kind word for years. She refrained from answering, remembering her promise to Christer.

  Her da rose to his feet. “Ye will defy me no longer. Ye shall marry the MacGerry laird.”

  It was as she thought. He used the offer of her hand as an incentive for a new alliance. She chewed her lower lip. At least the MacGerry wasn’t an auld man, but a braw handsome one not many years older than she. Marriage to forge peace between clans was something Katja could embrace, though it galled her to submit to her father’s demands. She knew this wasn’t the whole of it. Meeting his gaze evenly, she waited for the rest.

  “Ye will be wedded and bedded this afternoon, leaving with the MacGerry before nightfall.”

  His words struck her like a blow to the stomach. She struggled for a moment to speak. The repercussions of his demands besting her normal stoic obedience. “But I have no wedding dress. The banns havenae been called. There is to be no feast or celebration?” She faltered, upset by his declaration, defying tradition and canon law.

  As soon as she spoke the words, the answer appeared in his mocking smirk. He wanted her married and out of his sight as soon as possible, and the ability to thwart her in the bargain pleased him. Katja knew her grandsire left written instructions for her dowry in both coin and lands. She’d endured her sire’s bemoaning about it for years, complaining the tocher was too good for the likes of her. If her sire could manipulate the provisions of the old laird’s will claiming the coin and land for himself, he would. But her afi had been respected by all, and the clan elders would see his wishes carried out as requested.

  There would be no celebrating her wedding with friends and family. No days of planning and anticipation. He would take advantage of this situation to inflict as much hurt and humiliation on her as possible. This, his final punishment for not being a son, or at least not being a daughter he could use to deceive others. Not for the first time, Katja was glad she’d kept her ability to see to herself.

  “So I am to be married off hastily, in shame as if I were a fallen woman?” Katja leaned forward, hands clenched, her stomach roiling as though she had eaten something foul. The promise to Christer flew from her mind.

  Her sire’s sneer deepened. “Ye have ever been a disappointment. I grow weary of the daily reminder of yer lack and wish to be rid of ye. Generations of Sinclair women have inherited the sight.” Contempt thickened his tone. “But ye, with yer mam’s Norse blood, have failed me.” He rose from his desk and moved to perch on the front edge. His expression turned to one of gloating.

  “Since ye have said nae to all others I have so diligently offered as a fit husband for ye, ye willnae have the opportunity to say nae again. Ranald stands outside this door to escort ye to yer chamber. Ye have one hour to prepare. If ye dinnae come to the kirk, ye will be married by proxy. Either way, ye will be another man’s burden after today.”

  Chapter 3

  Her da’s implied insult that she would act cowardly and not go to the kirk pushed her temper beyond her control. “Ye are a horrible ma
n. I dinnae know why my mam ever married ye,” she spat, glaring a challenge at the man. Anger thrumming in her gut, she did not react swiftly enough to escape her sire’s wrath. The next moment she lay on the floor, lights sparkling in her vision, a burning pain emanating across her face.

  Henry stomped to the door and called for Ranald. “Get her out of my sight!”

  Freki’s body catapulted through the air as Sinclair opened the door, a growl rumbling in his chest. Katja’s hand fumbled at the hem of her skirt, reaching for the dagger strapped to her calf, only to remember she had left her blade in the kitchen, pinning a hapless fowl to the table. Catching her breath, she quieted Freki with a word.

  The strong hands of the earl’s captain gently grasped her arms, lifting her upright. “Come, Lady Katja, ye must prepare.”

  Freki nuzzled his head against her arms where Ranald held her. She scratched him behind the ears to let him know all was well.

  “I am honored to escort ye to yer wedding, milady.” Ranald tipped his bonnet. His sympathetic expression tempted her to struggle for a smile, though her face hurt. He was as a beloved uncle to her, one of the few among the Sinclair clan she would miss. He’d always been kind, looking out for her as much as possible when her sire never did. Yes, she would miss him.

  Once in her chamber, she walked to the mirrored glass mounted on the wall and took in her appearance. Her hair hung loose from its braid, her gown stained and disheveled from working in the heat of the kitchen. Her eye and cheek merited concern. Blood already rose to the surface of the skin above her brow and her eyelid and cheek showed signs of swelling.

  Seeing her reflection brought the weight of the earl’s hatred down on her, and she collapsed onto the bed and wept. Tears for the loss of those few who truly cared about her, and grief for the love she’d never received from her da. Freki crawled onto the mattress with her, nosing her until she hugged him close.