Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Dahlia left, and Arne extracted his son from Ivar’s arms. “Ye must let yer uncle rest a wee while, son,” he told the little boy. “He has bumped his head.” Thorsten apparently did not like the idea of his uncle being hurt and promptly began frizzling.

“Ach, give him here. I’m all right, I tell ye,” Ivar grumbled, reaching for him and glad when his nephew was back on his lap again. The warm little body was comforting to him in a way nothing else was.

“Horseys, play horseys, Nuncleevar,” the little boy demanded, and Ivar obediently jogged his knees up and down to simulate riding a horse. Thorsten, mollified, let out gales of childish laughter as he bounced.

“So, come on then, are ye nae gonnae tell us how ye got that egg on yer head?” Arne said.

Reluctantly, because he knew he would never hear the last of it, Ivar gave them a brief outline of what had happened in the wood the night before.

“What, and she just came out of naewhere and attacked ye?” Haldor asked in obvious disbelief when he had finished recounting the shameful tale.

“Aye.” Ivar replied, now allowing Thorsten to jump on the bed.

“A wee lass jumped ye and kicked ye in the head, just like that?” Arne inquired, apparently unable to stop laughing. Ivar regretted telling them.

“’Twas naethin’ tae dae with her size,” he grumbled in his defense. “’Twas the element of surprise.”

“So, who was she then?” Haldor asked curiously. “One of the lassies from the village?”

Ivar shrugged with difficulty, as Thorsten now had his arms around his uncle’s neck from behind and was hanging off him and jumping on the bed at the same time. “I’d never seen her before. Anyway, when I came around, she was gone, and so was the fawn. There was nae sign of her.”

“And she wielded a dirk, ye say?” Arne said, appearing to think who it could have been. “Ye’ve nae upset any of the lassies, have ye? Enough tae make then want revenge.”

Ivar looked at him with irritable amazement and did not even bother to reply.

“Well, if she had a dirk and it sounds like she was prepared tae use it, then I reckon ye got off lightly with a kick in the head,” Haldor said at last, chuckling.

“Take nae notice of them, Ivar,” Sofia said with sympathy. “It sounds tae me like we have some mad woman roaming our woods, Haldor. Maybe ye’d best send some guards out tae track her down before she hurts anyone else,” she suggested, looking at her husband worriedly. “We’ve important guests comin’, and I’d nae like fer any of them tae get injured.”

That seemed to sober Haldor up somewhat and he nodded. “Aye, I will.”

The door opened then, and Dahlia came back in bearing a beaker. She took it over to Ivar and handed it to him. “Drink this. The healer says it’ll work quickly tae help with the headache.”

Ivar eyed the brackish liquid with suspicion.

“Drink!” his sister commanded. With a heavy sigh, he threw the potion down his throat, wincing at the bitter taste. He slammed the beaker down on the table, hampered by the antics of his young nephew, who was now clinging to his back like a limpet, seemingly bent on making him his pony.

“Arne, will ye take the lad? Can ye nae see Ivar’s sufferin’?” she added. Arne removed his son from Ivar’s back and held Thorsten’s hands while the boy bounced on the bed crying, “Horsey! Horsey!”

Sofia quickly filled Dahlia in on how Ivar had gotten his lump, and she stared at him aghast. “Are ye sure he’s nae spinnin’ us a tale?” she asked dubiously.

“I’m nae spinnin’ a tale!” Ivar protested, his words echoing hollowly in his head. “’Tis the truth, I tell ye.”

There was a loud knock on the door. “Come in,” Haldor said, clearly not bothered that it was Ivar’s chamber. The door opened, and a manservant’s head came around the door. His eyes sought Haldor.

“The bride’s party have been sighted at the pass, me laird,” the man said with a respectful nod.

“Och, that’s grand news, is it nae, Ivar?” Sofia said, clasping her hands in excitement as she looked at him, her eyes dancing. “She’s almost here!”

“Aye, grand,” Ivar replied with false enthusiasm, just keeping the sarcasm from his voice. Or so he thought because Dahlia gave him another one of her hard looks.

“Right, thank ye. We’ll be down directly,” Haldor told the servant. “Have the gates opened and send the escort out to meet them on the road. I reckon they’ll be here about noon, so tell the kitchens tae make sure luncheon’s ready in the main parlor. And while ye’re at it, alert the allotted servants that they’ll be on call shortly.” The string of orders flowed out effortlessly before Haldor dismissed the man.

Amongst all the nervous tension, the boiling resentment, the dull ache in his head, and the injury to his manly pride at having been bested by a lass, Ivar still found room for guilt. He knew this marriage meant a lot to Haldor for political reasons, and that behind his brother’s smooth commands lay a mountain of organizational work and forward planning that he had played no part in. All he had to do was turn up at the right time and say the required words.

But why should I feel guilty? I’m the bait, the lamb tae the slaughter in all this. ’Tis me life bein’ sacrificed.

“About time,” he complained irritably, getting up from the bed. “Why is she so late? What did they dae, swim over from the bloody mainland?” The waiting had been agonizing, and now the time he had been dreading was almost upon him. With the way he was feeling, it was too much. Yet he knew he had to go through with it.

“That’s nae very fair, Ivar,” Arne said, letting his son bounce all over Ivar’s bed gleefully. “Ye ken there was a storm at sea last night. Their ship didnae get in ‘til late.”

“Aye, I ken that, but why did they nae come straight here? Why keep me waitin’ all this time?” he grumbled, not about to be so easily pacified. He knew he was being unreasonable, but sympathy and understanding were beyond his capabilities at that point.

“Good manners,” his sister told him, giving him a hard look. “They stayed at the inn last night, clearly. As they got in so late, they didnae want tae disturb us in our beds. And I expect the bride wanted to rest and look her best before arriving here tae see her groom.”

It was a sound argument, but Ivar just sniffed and mumbled, “Sounds like an excuse tae me.”

“Can ye stop bein’ so selfish and think of yer bride for once? She’s left her home and come all this way tae meet a stranger. Whatever ye’re feelin’, ’tis worse fer her. So, buck yer ideas up and put a smile on yer face fer once, will ye?” Dahlia berated him, clearly losing patience.

“Aye, Dahlia’s right. Shut yer whinin’ and pull yersel’ together, Braither,” Haldor said briskly, rubbing his hands together. “Now, are we all ready tae go down and make them feel welcome?”

“Aye, let’s go. I cannae wait tae meet Anastasia. She sounds like a lovely lassie,” Sofia said with undisguised excitement. “And her younger sister as well. Dahlia, willnae it make a nice change tae have some more ladies around here tae talk tae?”

Dahlia rolled her eyes and nodded. “It’ll certainly make a nice change nae tae be outnumbered by these great lummoxes. We might have some interestin’ conversation over dinner instead of talkin’ about swords and fightin’ or horses and sheep and the like,” she said archly, glancing at Haldor. Everyone laughed at that except Ivar and Thorsten.

“Right, let’s go and greet yer bride, Ivar,” Haldor said, offering Sofia his arm. She took it, and the family paraded from the room, with a giggling Thorsten thrown over his father’s shoulder.

Ivar, feeling like he had a millstone in his gut, his head still tender, trailed reluctantly behind them as if going to the gallows.

Catalina was feeling much better the next morning, all traces of the sea sickness gone. It was nearing noon, and they were nearly at their destination. She was practically hanging out of the carriage window, tense with a mixture of excitement and wonder, as their party meandered slowly down from the high mountain pass into the broad valley below.

The horses of their escort clip-clopped sedately alongside them, and the carriage wheels rolled smoothly, making easy progress along the well-tended road that unfurled like a ribbon as it took them ever closer to Anastasia’s new home.

She could not seem to take her eyes from the breathtaking vista that had opened up before them, and not even the light drizzle falling from the slightly overcast April skies could dull the splendor that was Castle MacLeod.

The magnificent stronghold of the mighty clan seemed to her to perfectly reflect its reputation of power and wealth. All around seemed peaceful and orderly, a testament to the wise and just rule of the famed Viking Laird of Harris, the renowned Haldor MacLeod.

Catalina’s eager gaze took in the fertile valley spread out on all sides like a rich tapestry, dotted with farms and fields filled with grazing livestock. She admired the broad swathes of moorland, just now blazing purple and gold with heather and gorse and traced by myriad pathways. The edges merged with fallow pastures in varying shades of green and the dark pockets of forests of oak, beech, birch, and pine.

The beauty around them thrilled her to her core, and she wondered what it would be like to live in such a place.

The castle itself stood on a slight promontory above the valley floor, a giant sentinel looking out over the extensive MacLeod lands, deterring enemies. As they drew nearer to the gatehouse, from what she could see, the mighty edifice itself comprised a large cluster of tall, rectangular, grey stone buildings, of many different sizes, huddled together like cloaked conspirators.

Slender towers with arrow slits for windows and pointed roofs stood at each corner of a high curtain wall which enclosed an impressive battlemented roof. High above, the clan flag flapped damply in the slight breeze, emblazoned with a Viking longship, its prow a dragon’s head, set against a white background and superimposed upon the dark blue saltire cross of the Scots.

Perched on its rocky promontory, the hulking structure stood out proudly against the grey-white backdrop of the low mountains encircling the valley. At the rear and sides of the castle curled the shimmering waters of a great loch. She fancied it resembled the silver setting of a beautiful gem.

“Och, Anastasia, ’tis a beautiful spot tae have yer home, is it nae?” she breathed.

Anastasia was looking out of the other window. “Aye, it certainly is,” she replied, her voice tense. Catalina supposed nervousness was to be expected on such a momentous day, but she guessed there was more to Anastasia’s anxiety than that.

They had exchanged a few harsh words that morning while getting ready at the inn. Anastasia seemed convinced their hosts were going to be angry with them for being late. While doing the bride-to-be’s hair for her, Catalina had dismissed her concerns. “Quit yer frettin’, Sister. How can one be deemed ‘late’ when there’s nae fixed time of arrival?” she had pointed out. Anastasia had fallen silent, but the tension continued to roll off her in waves.

And as for Dunstan, he had spoken hardly a word all morning. He was riding next to Anastasia’s side of the carriage, and Catalina noticed the pair exchanging glances through the window now and then throughout the short journey to the castle, both looking as miserable as sin.

She was distracted from her thoughts when she saw the castle gates swing open and a small, mounted escort ride out.

“Och, look, Ana, they’ve sent some men tae meet us and take us the rest of the way,” her excitement growing with every turn of the wheels.

“Aye, I can see,” Anastasia said, her reply muffled as she leaned her head out of the opposite window. Catalina heard her sister take in a deep breath, as if she was steeling herself for what was to come. Catalina sat back in her seat for a moment and looked at her sister.

“Ye look beautiful, Ana,” she told her softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Take it from me, when that husband-tae-be of yers lays eyes on ye, I dinnae care how tough he is, he’ll fall on his knees with gratitude at bein’ sent such a lovely bride.”

“Hmmm,” Anastasia murmured, her eyes far away for a moment. “’Tis nae all about looks, Cat. ’Tis the character inside that counts.”

Catalina had no time to ponder her sister’s cryptic words, for the MacLeod escort reached them just then. She crossed to Ana’s side, and they both watched from the window as Dunstan exchanged greetings with the head man. The two men then rode side by side, talking, as the carriage finally came up to the open archway of the castle, and they rolled into a broad, paved courtyard and stopped.

The men dismounted and their horses were led away. While they waited for the carriage door to be opened, the sisters gathered their things and then looked at each other in silence for a moment. Catalina could see something like fear in Anastasia’s eyes behind the tranquil mask she had assumed. Anger flared again inside her for her sister’s plight, against the men who had schemed to control Ana’s life and rob her of her beloved sister.