The very thought of Eric’s illness saddened Lara. She knew that they had little time together before his health truly declined. Having not known he was her real father until now, she did not want to miss any opportunity to get to know him. She had so many questions about who her family was and where she had come from.

The ceremony went on for most of the afternoon and into the evening hours, followed by a grand feast in the gathering room. Bram sat next to Lara on the dais at the high table, along with King Eric, Queen Isobel, and John. Never had he felt so out of place and uncomfortable. He was a Highland warrior, and here he was sitting in front of fine linens and fancy tableware. This was nothing like Dunakin. At home they had nice things, but nothing to this extreme.

During the meal, Bram and John talked about uniting the Highland Clans and other politics, but his mind never left Lara. Underneath the table, he slipped his hand into hers. Rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, he stirred, wanting to touch more of her. He prayed that this night would end soon so that he could be alone with her. After this evening, he would ask for Lara to be his wife, and together they could return to the Highlands.

The corners of his mouth twitched at the thought of what his brother Rory and cousin Ewan would think of him as a married man. Had someone told him that one day he would find the love of his life and marry he would have told that person that he would rather roll ‘round in cow dung than be tied down to only one woman. Thankfully, he’d never made that bet.

“It is good fortune that my sister found ye and brought ye here. I have a proposition for ye. I want ye to stay here and lead my army,” John graciously offered.

“That is verra generous of ye, My Lord, but my place is home among my clansmen.”

“We are among friends; ye can call me John. Come, join me fer a drink so I may convince ye to stay!”

“Forgive my ignorance, but I dinna think ye can persuade me, e’en wit yer finest whisky,” Bram smiled in return.

“Och, only a fool would turn down such a noble position. At least join me fer the bloody drink,” John interjected.

Bram looked to Lara.

“Tis fine. I will be here when ye and my brother return. I had hoped to speak to King Eric and Queen Isobel, mayhap now is a good time to do so,” Lara said.

Bram followed John down a long winding corridor, then down a flight of stairs at the end of the hall. The stairs were narrow, and reminded Bram of the staircase at Dunakin Castle that the servants used when cleaning and bringing up buckets of water to fill the tubs. The stairs led to a cellar room, where cartons were stacked along a wall and shelves were filled with bottles.

“Whisky!” Bram exclaimed, as he picked up one of the dusty bottles to examine it.

“Aye. The inhabitants of the castle store their best wine and whisky down here. They were distilled by the local monks. They only serve the watered down jugs to their guests, and keep the strong and rich-tasting ones fer themselves. It’s cool down here, so it makes the stuff taste even better,” John explained, as he grabbed one of the dusty bottles of whiskey and opened it, taking a big swig.

“When do ye hope to return to Scotland?”

“I had planned to return soon.”

“Ye have been a great service to my sister. Tis too bad ye will nay reconsider my offer. I am sure ye will be sadly missed,” John said, as he picked up a heavy red bottle from the shelf.

“Truth is, I wish to marry her.”

“Marry? Well, that does change things a bit.” John cocked his head to the side. “Shh…did ye hear something?”

Bram quieted his movements, listening for the sound John had referred to. Turning around to look at the other end of the room, Bram heard a shuffle. Before he knew it, he was hit over the head with a hard object. He took one step forward to regain his balance before everything turned black. Bram fumbled and went crashing down onto the cold dirt floor.

Lara sat on the edge of her chair for several long moments before speaking to her father. Looking at his features, she could see many similarities to her own.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she tapped him on the shoulder to gain his attention.

“My Lord, I was wondering, I hoped to…” Lara stuttered. Even though he was her father, he was still a King.

“Lara, I had hoped to speak to you as well. Will you join me?” he asked, standing up and holding his arm out to her.

Lara hesitantly took it and folded her arm around his. Together, they walked to the library.

“Lara, ye are heiress to the throne of Norway. It is both your duty and your right. This is your home now if you wish to stay.”

Lara smiled and replied, “I wish it verra much. I have so many questions to ask I just dinna ken where to start.”

Eric sat down on the chair adjacent to her, and regaled her with stories about his past, her mother and all of the events that led up to now. He explained that his illness was an untreatable lung ailment, and that the healers believed he had little time left; a year, perhaps two.

“Lara, ye are my legacy. When I perish, I know that my blood runs through you, and because of that I will live on forever.”

His bittersweet words brought tears to Lara’s eyes. Eric stood from his chair and gathered Lara into his arms, wiping her tears away. Her whole life, this was all she’d ever asked from the man she thought was her father. To be loved as a father should love his daughter.

Lara returned to the great hall, waiting for John and Bram to return. But hours had passed and there were still no signs of them. John was a gambling man, and had been known to drink himself into a stupor, so it was plausible that they were out somewhere doing something reckless. But what didn’t make sense was that no one else seemed to know where they were. As King, he would have guards on watch for protection. Would John really be naïve enough to go off alone?

Much like a rabbit, Lara nervously began eating a slice of apple, taking several tiny bites at a time. She wasn’t even hungry, but she needed to fidget with something to distract herself, and the apple was the only object she could find. Had she her needles and thread, she could have stitched an entire tapestry in the time that she waited. Finally, Lara stood and thought it best to wait upstairs in her chamber. Perhaps they would come for her there.

Chapter 24

With his eyes closed, Bram examined the bump on the top of his head. His hair felt wet. Was he bleeding?

“Bloody hell,” he said out loud, as he opened his eyes and looked down at his hand. The liquid was bright red, but did not ooze like blood. Bringing his hand up to his noise, he smelled the sweet smell of red wine. Someone had hit him over the head with one of the bottles, he presumed, continuing to rub the lump on the side of his head.

Remembering that he was not alone, he called out, “John,” hoping to hear his friend, but no one responded. Bram staggered to his feet. Had someone tried to kill him and take John prisoner? Bram searched every nook and corner of the room from which he thought the attacker had come. Bram felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach, and his nerves felt like pins and needles. He ran out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time. He was desperate to get to Lara, for he knew now that she was still in grave danger.

Lara stepped inside her room and closed the door behind her. She hoped that her brother and Bram would return soon. As she began to turn around, someone grabbed her from behind and firmly pressed a dagger to her throat. Lara was too afraid to scream or struggle with the sharp end of the blade pressed so close to her throat. If this person wanted her dead, they easily could have killed her. The hold on her was strong and almost painful as he pressed his arm tightly against her stomach. Pulling her away from the light of the window, he turned her around and pushed her up against the wall, keeping the dagger against her throat.