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

A soft but insistent knocking pulled her from her sorrow. Rising from the bed, she padded to the door. Morag entered, offering her arms. Katja did not hesitate to wrap herself around her old nurse.

  “Hush now, child. I’ve heard the news. I knew ye’d need help gettin’ ready for yer weddin’.” The old woman gently wiped the tears from Katja’s cheeks, carefully avoiding the tender area flowering into what would no doubt become a vivid bruise under her left eye. “I think yer blue gown makes ye look yer best.”

  Katja nodded and turned so the older woman could unlace the gown she wore. Using a basin of water and soap scented with bluebells, Katja washed away the perspiration of the morn. Once clean, she donned the chemise Morag handed her, followed by a sturdy wool gown dyed the color of a deep blue sky.

  With little time left before they were expected in the kirk, Morag released Katja’s hair from its thick braid. “We dinnae have time for fancy, but with yer hair, ye will look bonny even with somethin’ simple.”

  She created two thin braids on either side of her face then wove them together in the back, forming one long, slim plait down the middle, leaving the rest of Katja’s thick blonde hair loose, flowing almost to her hips. After Morag finished, she offered Katja a goblet of mulled wine. “Here, my sweet lamb. This will ease yer fears and sufferin’.”

  Katja took the cup and drank deep. The warmth of the wine seeped into her stomach, spreading throughout her body. In two long gulps she drained it, welcoming the calming effect. The old woman sniffed and wiped her eyes. Katja gently laid a palm on the woman’s withered cheek.

  Morag patted Katja’s hand. “Dinna fash over an old woman’s sentiments. I recall the day ye were born as if ’twere yesterday. Now look at ye, a beautiful woman grown. Yer new husband is a verra lucky man, my bonny lamb.”

  Katja gritted her teeth. Husband? How could she give herself willingly to a man who went along with her father’s shameful plan? She recalled the colored auras about him when she’d met him earlier. Accustomed to the lustful atmosphere of her father’s castle, she understood the red haze about Calder. Yellow? Could he possibly be happy to be here? She shook her head, dismissing the thought as she recalled the last color. Dark blue—he feared to speak the truth. In front of her father? Or was he normally a man who kept his thoughts to himself—or lied?

  Morag tucked a curl behind Katja’s ear, interrupting her reflections. “There now. We cannae keep them waitin’.”

  “But how can I bear a husband who would allow such an insult to my honor?” Katja demanded, her lips thinned with anger. “What must he think of me and the reasons behind my da’s haste—if he’s told him any reason at all?”

  Morag’s expression softened. “We dinnae know why he has agreed. ’Tis said his clan suffers terribly from the feud. We do know his da recently died because of it. Mayhap he had nae choice in the matter. Ye know the earl. He’s a hard, cold man when it comes to ye. Would he be any less with an enemy?”

  Katja chewed her lip. What did Christer say earlier? This situation would be to her advantage. She’d dreamed for years of escaping from her sire’s harsh grip. Leaving the only home she knew would be worth not having to live in fear of the earl any longer. But how could it be any better to be thrust into the possession of a man who would allow such shame to be brought upon his new wife? Would her husband be no better than her da?

  * * *

  Calder strode the top of the outer wall. He would be married in two hours. Two hours! The fact his marriage was a gift beyond any he could have hoped for steadied the indecision remaining. As laird, it was his duty to marry to benefit his clan, rather than for his own desire or heart. Such was the way amongst people like him and Katja. That he would accomplish both this day went beyond what he could grasp.

  He couldn’t help but believe his da would be happy at how the Fates smiled on him and their clan. Though armed with this knowledge, he still battled a creeping sense of dread. He tried to replace his misgivings with thoughts of the bonny Katja lying naked beneath him, moaning his name. Those images caused him to harden, quickening his pulse. He entered his chamber to prepare for the wedding. A hasty wedding aimed at shaming his new bride.

  As he finished washing, a knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

  “Come,” he called.

  His uncle sauntered into the chamber, a grin lighting his face.

  “How fare ye, laddie?”

  “I’m fine, Uncle.” Calder did not look up from dressing in his newly brushed plaide, leine and doublet.

  “Any doubts?”

  “Nae. ’Tis best for the clan.”

  “Aye, and a bonny prize thrown in to boot.” Finn chuckled.

  “Did ye have something on yer mind other than goading me, auld man?” Calder shot him a look of irritation.

  “Nae. Since my brother is at his eternal rest, I thought to stand in his place with ye.” Finn’s expression changed to one of affection.

  Calder smiled at the man who’d always been a second father to him. “Aye, I would be honored to have ye take his place.” It was a sad reminder his da wouldn’t see his three remaining children wed, nor ever hold one of his grandbairns.

  Finn looked him over. “Are ye not nervous? Ye seem as composed as if ye were aboot to go down the stairs to sup.”

  “A wee bit, but more still in shock. Part of me thinks ’tis the best thing that could happen. Another part of me warns ’tis a mistake, and I’m laying a poor foundation for marriage. As the second son, I’d always hoped to find love the way my parents did, rather than marry for an alliance.”

  “Aye. But as her brother says, she’s a smart lass. She’ll see the truth of our situation soon enough when she arrives at her new home. She will understand the why of it. By the looks of the way she tends her da’s keep, mayhap she will be able to ease yer burdens in many ways. We’ve been without a true mistress since yer ma died.”

  Calder winced at his uncle’s words. “There’s the other part. As an earl’s daughter, she should be beyond my reach. How can I make her happy when this is what she’s known all her life? True, we’ll accomplish much with what this agreement brings, but Fairetur will never be this grand.” Calder ran his hands through his hair with a frown. For all he and his clan gained, it seemed his bride faced nothing but loss.

  “What makes Fairetur home? Is it the walls, or the number of towers, or the tapestries in the hall?” Finn demanded, his hands fisted at his waist.

  Glancing out the window, Calder considered the question. “Nae, ’tis the people. Not the stones or stairs.”

  “Aye. From what we have seen, Lady Katja hasnae been treated well by her father. If we only think on what we saw last night when she entered the hall, ’tis clear she doesnae receive the respect she deserves. Her sire’s example seems to be followed by all. If ye treat her with kindness and honor, do ye think she will care how many towers ye offer?”

  Calder heard the truth in his uncle’s words and blew out a breath. Still, guilt gnawed his gut. How could this present path be kind or honorable?

  “Aye, I cannae replace the finery she’s surrounded with, but I can offer more caring and respect than she’s known here. But what of our people? Will they accept the daughter of the Earl of Caithness as their new mistress?”

  Finn rubbed his whiskers and had no answer for him—or quite possibly feared what the answer would be.

  * * *

  Standing at the door of the kirk, Calder swore a herd of wild horses thundered in his chest. He’d never felt his heart work so hard while his body stood idle. Ever a patient man, today the waiting rubbed him raw like sand in his trews. Dread grasped him by the throat, whispering that he reached too high with this marriage. Leaden fingers of doubt constricted his breathing. He wondered again how much time would pass before his wife forgave his actions of this day—if she ever forgave.

  He spied Katja approaching and his fears immediately evaporated. At least she came of her own volition, no matter how coerced. On the arm of
one of her father’s guards, she was a vision in blue, her pale hair shimmering in the sunlight. If he didn’t know better, he would believe her to be one of the fae.

  Her hair hung loose about her, flowing like a pale golden waterfall. Graceful, she glided toward him. The deep blue of her gown accentuated the golden tanned flesh of her neck, with a hint of her breasts showing at the top of the bodice. He lifted his eyes from the tempting sight and found her face etched with defiance—and bravery.

  His bride possessed spirit—that much was certain. Feelings of gladness, of a dream come true, coursed through him along with visions of what they would be doing soon—very soon.

  As she approached, he glimpsed a stain at the side of her face. She’d been recently struck? Previous pleasant feelings spiraled into rage. Who would dare strike the earl’s daughter?

  Immediately the answer flew to him. Her father. The man must truly be a fiend to add one more injury to the list on this of all days. Calder struggled to rein in his urge to leave his bride for a moment while he taught Sinclair a lesson about how to treat a woman. He forced himself instead to center only on her.

  “Are ye well, my lady?” he whispered in her ear as she arrived at his side.

  “Well enough, m’laird.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the priest, her face a mask of inflexible composure.

  He drove away thoughts of aught else, reducing the world to his bride and the priest as they stepped inside the small kirk. Pride rose in his chest when he took in her strength and courage as she recited her vows in a clear and forceful voice. No wilting flower, his Katja.

  His Katja.

  Wanting to reward her courage, to let her know he was greatly pleased with her, he faced her when it came his turn to speak. He repeated the vows, each word filled with as much meaning and sincerity as he could summon.

  When the priest announced them wed, Calder put all the promise of caring and protection she would find with him into that one kiss. He wanted no misunderstanding that she now belonged to him. He would take care of her with honor and affection, and looked forward to the day she could put her past behind her.

  * * *

  Katja’s new husband wrapped one arm around her and cupped her chin gently with his fingers, tipping it toward him. Slowly lowering his head, he placed his mouth on hers. Her heart lurched, her breathing tripped in her chest. Who knew a man’s lips could be so soft, so heated? Though brief, the burn of his kiss lingered. She resisted the temptation to place a finger to her mouth, to see if it felt as hot to the touch as it seemed. She was torn between railing at him for going along with this insult of a wedding, and grabbing him to resume their kiss.

  When she’d approached the kirk, she’d spotted Calder at the door with the priest. He’d worn the same kind smile she’d seen last night in the hall. She’d immediately sought the thin colors surrounding him, using the sight as she always did when she needed reassurance of a person’s thoughts. The yellow aura of happiness encircling him told her he wasn’t being forced into this union. Or, if forced, he was glad of it.

  What kind of man agrees to begin his marriage thus? How can he abide marrying me in shame? She gritted her teeth with knowledge. Gold and land, that’s how.

  She allowed her humiliation to fire her anger as she strode to his side. That they expected her to lay with this stranger immediately following the ceremony added more fuel to the flames rising within.

  His yellow aura soon blended with the bright red of lust. Typical of a man to look past all happening around him, thinking only with his cock. Ignoring that image, she took in his appearance. He was handsome in his white leine, woolen doublet and plaide. Though she knew not what kind of marriage they would have, at least her husband was pleasing to the eye.

  His charming smile had faded into something hard and dangerous, his eyes narrowing as his gaze snapped to the side of her face. The yellow and red aura around him darkened until the muddied red of anger swirled around him. She took satisfaction in knowing he angered over his new bride wearing a bruised face on her wedding day. At least he proved capable of understanding a portion of her humiliation. Once she arrived at his side, Ranald kissed her hand and placed it in MacGerry’s. A transfer of property. Her life now his to direct. Katja’s chest tightened. Together, she and Calder stepped inside the kirk, followed by those who would witness their blessing by the priest.

  As the ceremony began, Katja tried not to consider how different this day would have been were her ma still alive. How they would have planned together for weeks. There would have been the ritual of the women closest to her coming together to make her wedding dress, sharing tales of married life. Music, dancing, feasting and drinking would have gone on until the wee hours.

  Their bed would be blessed by the priest, with friends and family escorting them into their chamber, bestowing wishes of happiness, long life and many bairns. It would be her perfect day, her best day. Instead, she wedded in haste as if guilty of fornication—or worse, already with child. She glanced quickly at the man beside her. Surely he did not suspect that of her?

  No, it would not do to dwell on such maudlin thoughts. The blood of Vikings flowed in her veins! She would not cower behind the dreams of what would not be. She’d concentrate on what lay before her, meeting it head on as was her custom. He would soon know she carried no man’s child.

  Stealing another glance at the man next to her, she wondered again what kind of husband he might be. She only knew he possessed a kind smile and she saw none of the disturbing grey or brown colors of her deceitful sire about him. She also knew something unexplainable flowed between them. She canted her head sideways, almost expecting to see sparks arcing between them.

  When it came time to say her vows she steadied herself, speaking in a clear, loud voice. No one could claim she was a coward. When it was MacGerry’s turn, he faced her to speak the words of binding, as if he wished her to know he took his vows to her seriously, to tell her this meant more than uniting one clan to another and an exchange of wealth. Her stomach fluttered at his simple gesture in spite of the hurt and anger still swirling around her heart. The dark timbre of his voice curled about her like a warm blanket on a cold winter morn.

  At the priest’s pronouncement, her brothers each hugged her, shaking her new husband’s hand. Christer pulled her into his embrace with a whisper for her ears alone. “MacGerry had naught to do with this. In fact, he voiced opposition to the timing. Howbeit, he isnae opposed to wedding ye. He seems a good man. Ye might do well to trust him, sister. I wish ye happy.”

  She smiled for the first time that day, kissing him on the cheek in response. Trust? She would give no man her trust. She spotted Morag in the back of the crowd, wiping her eyes with a tattered square of linen. Her father strode past, a smile of victory on his face. Now bound to this man by God, Katja couldn’t escape the feeling of a sheep being led to the butcher.

  Chapter 4

  Calder was unexpectedly set afire by a passion he didn’t see coming. He’d certainly sampled his share of feminine delights over the years, but no single kiss ever moved his ardor or enflamed his emotions as this one did. Now, before a priest and surrounded by a clan he’d only known as hostile, he struggled to find his wits, stunned by the brief touch of their lips. His heart pounded, his lungs sucked air like a smith’s bellows.

  Keeping an arm around Katja’s waist, he faced the few well-wishers who witnessed their union. The first slap on his back forced him out of the bliss he’d fallen into with her in his arms, her mouth on his. The earl slunk out the door, reminding Calder of the tawdry circumstances in which he found himself.

  Katja’s brothers were present, along with a small number of people from the clan. Ranald, a handful of Sinclair soldiers, and the MacGerry men rounded out the rest of those in attendance. It was an embarrassingly small gathering for the wedding between the earl’s daughter and a neighboring laird. Particularly since their union marked the end of a long and bloody feud.

  Allowing the few who came
to see their lady’s wedding an opportunity to offer their blessings, Calder considered the next step in her father’s harshly contrived plan. He needed to win her trust quickly, to gentle her, assuring her he had her best interests in mind, put their wedding night behind them.

  Boar’s bollocks! He’d never had an unwilling woman in his bed before. And a virgin at that. He owned no skills of wooing. But woo her he must, and with haste.

  He found himself shaking the hand of brother after brother, and then the Captain of the Guard along with several other servants in attendance. Each crushing shake, each hard look seemed to blame him for her situation. Apparently, all knew how poorly her father regarded her. No one uttered a word about her injury nor gave any looks of surprise—as if seeing the earl’s daughter with the beginnings of a blackened eye was a common occurrence.

  Saint’s blood! What did I agree to?

  With their unspoken messages, her kin let him know his handling of her had damned well be better than what she knew here. He gripped her hand possessively, as if offering proof of his good intentions. The warmth of her flesh on his brought a sense of calm he didn’t have time to contemplate.

  Finally passing through the gauntlet of brothers and surrogate brothers and uncles to the door, Calder wanted nothing more than to get her alone. He had a burning need to explain, to distance himself as much as she would allow from her father’s schemes. Worried she would neither accept his explanation nor that of her brother.

  He would find out soon enough.

  His wife’s old servant opened the door of the kirk and Calder rocked back on his heels, confronted by a mountain of fur growling menacingly at him, with shining teeth that would make a Cù Sìth envious. Momentarily frozen, Calder heard his bride murmur something in a rough language then offer the hands they held together for the beast’s perusal. After a few sniffs and one wet swipe of the tongue, the monster uttered a whine of reluctant acceptance before taking his place at Katja’s other side.

  “Freki willnae harm ye now, unless ye make an aggressive move toward me,” Katja said matter-of-factly, a cold edge to her voice.