“My Laird, once we find yer runaway bride, will we be returning directly to Foley?” one of his men asked.

“Aye, we will no’ waste another minute on this Godforsaken land. I dislike these Vikings as much as I do the French and the English,” he replied. Both he and his guard laughed at his remark. “I wish to retrieve me bonny wife and return home.”

Dermot had to be cautious of revealing his motives for rescuing his wife. With only a few short hours left, Dermot rehearsed the words needed to be said to ensure possession of his bride.

Sitting in a chair next to the side of her bed, Bram watched Lara as she slept. Her black hair sprawled out across her pillow, and the covers tightly snuggled around her. After too many shots of whiskey she had fallen into a coma-like sleep. With only a solitary candle lit, he studied her face, wanting to remember every curves and shape. She truly was the most beautiful lass in all of Scotland, and now that she was on Norse lands, all of Norway as well.

Brushing a wisp of hair away from her face, he whispered, “Lara, I dinna ken why I do’ nay have the courage to tell ye this, but the last few days ye have brought forth a light inside of me I ne’er ken existed. Ye saved me from the darkness that night, like the angel of mercy. When I am no’ with ye, I feel as if part of me is lost; and when I see yer smile, I am whole again. I would sacrifice all I have, all I am fer ye.”

Bram sat back against the back of the chair and continued to watch her sleep until the sky began to lighten and rays of orange could be seen transcending over the vista of mountains and valleys.

Lara woke with a pounding headache. Never had she drank so much ale and whiskey, but as soon as she emptied her cup, Bram, her brother and the other men filled it cup back to the rim. They were celebrating John’s last night as a vassal.

Wanting to show that a lass could keep up with a man, she did not back down from the challenge. Over the night, the group of them challenged themselves into a drinking contest, which ended very badly for her. Lara had spent the night throwing up in the privy while Bram once again held her hair. The last thing she recalled was Bram carrying her up to her room and laying her on the bed. After that, she had passed out.

With her head pounding, every sound made her feel as if she stood next to the church bells as they rang in her ears. Lara took the pillow and placed it over her head to drown out the noise. It seemed to be getting louder and louder. Even the light from the window seemed to burn her eyes. Lara rolled over, feeling the urge to empty her stomach, but the result was only dry-heaves.

“Ye will be wanting to drink this, lass,” Lara heard Bram say from somewhere in the corner of the room.

Lara sat up, her hair hanging over her face like the long thin leaves and branches of a willow tree. Brushing her hair to the side, she slowly opened her eyes and saw a blurry image of Bram standing next to her bed holding onto a mug.

“What is it?” her voice hoarse and scratchy, as if she had spent the entire night yelling.

“Tis ale.”

“Oh nay,” Lara said and fell backwards, landing on the bed, then covering her head with the blanket. The idea of drinking any liquor made her stomach cringe. She swore that she would never again drink any substance that would cause her head to spin and stomach to roll. Bram laughed out loud.

“Lass, I promise, it will only make ye feel better.”

Under the blanket, she mumbled, “How can drinking poison make me better?”

“Just drink it, ye stubborn lass.”

Lara popped her head out from the covers and sat up. With shaky hands, she reached for the mug and drank the cold ale. Soon, her stomach settled and the pounding lessened. Bram sat on the chair next to her bed with an all-too-confident grin on his face. The look aggravated Lara, and if she felt up to par, she would have gladly dragged him out to the loch and drowned him.

“Feel better?” he asked, still grinning.

Lara took in a sharp breath and released it hastily, loud enough for Bram to hear her snort in response to his comment. She did not like the enjoyment he got out of proving her wrong all the time. Bram was very much like her brother, in the sense that he often teased her in a playful way, but the feelings she had for him where more than brotherly love, and the kiss they shared told her that the care he had for her was just as strong. A wave of sadness went over her like a dark cloud. Today was their last day together, and what a journey it had been. She knew in her heart that she would never forget her Highland warrior.

Looking at his tousled hair and clothes, Lara realized that he had not changed.

“Did ye sleep here last night, in the chair?” she asked.

“Aye I did. I wanted to be close in case ye fell ill again.” Bram stood and raked his fingers through his hair. “The coronation is to start when the sun is at its highest in the sky. Ye should get dressed,” he suggested.

“Where are ye going?”

Bram could hear a pitch of sadness in her voice.

“I need to gather my things and prepare my horse for my journey back to the port. My boat leaves later this evening and I do no’ wish to miss it. I will leave ye now to dress, my lady,” he replied and walked towards the door.

As Bram grabbed the handle, he felt his heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. While watching Lara sleep, he’d whispered a promise to her to not steal anymore kisses, or speak words of love and devotion. Her brother had vowed to protect her, and as king, he had greater power than Bram ever would. She would be safe among family. Bram opened the door and walked out into the corridor. It was time to go home.

Chapter 20

Visitors from near and far gathered in the bailey and the courtyard as they waited for the coronation to commence. While farmers, smiths, and other commoners waited for the new king to present himself on the castle’s balcony, the Lords, Earls, and other nobility waited to be seated in the cathedral. Charging through the gates, Dermot and his men searched for William Fergusson or some sign of Lara.

Donning a borrowed dress that the maids had brought her, Lara finished readying herself by braiding her long black hair, intrinsically linking each braid starting at the crown of her head and allowing the length of it to flow down her back. The dress she wore was dark burgundy and reminded her of a bright-colored rose when it first started to bloom. The v-shaped neckline was stitched with gold thread, and matched the golden slippers peeking out from the skirt.

As sister to the king, Lara assumed that she would take her place by her brother’s side during the ceremony, whether her father agreed with it or not. With her brother’s new position, she no longer felt she needed to fear her father. It was not the first time she had angered him in her seventeen years, nor would it be the last. In the past, his lectures had been repetitive, but usually his anger subsided, and he moved on, pointing out other things Lara had said or done to upset him. The only liberty she had was permission to move about the castle and come and go as she pleased.

As Lara made her way from the great hall to the courtyard and into the mass of visitors, she froze at the sight in front of her. Suddenly, as if caught in a storm, Lara spun around, pushing past the crowd to shield herself from the group of kilted men displaying Clan Moray insignia and colors.

“He’s here,” she whispered to herself, her hands trembling.

Scanning the courtyard, she looked for Bram and John to seek protection, but neither of them could be found among the men. She thought to blend in with a group of women who were talking amongst themselves along the castle wall and scurried over to them.