Page 76 of The Defiance of a Scottish Heart
He followed Brynja but then grabbed the dagger she left in the nearby tree to return it to her. “Lass, you forgot this.”
He held it out, hilt toward her, his gaze locked on her face, doing his best to remember every detail. Brynja was the most stunning lass he’d ever seen, and the fact that she could use a weapon like that amazed him.
“My thanks to you,” she said, taking the weapon from him. “Are you related to Sheona?”
“Nay, we are Grants. From Duart Castle.” He stared at her, enchanted. “Your hair. Where did you learn that?” It was a style exactly like his mother wore.
“My mother. She’s Norse. A Scot raped her and left her with me in her womb. Then he left. I prefer to think of myself as a Norsewoman, not a lass.” Her eyes carried a pain he didn’t like to see.
“I’m Hagen Grant. My mother is also Norse. But she wasn’t raped by my father. He married her. Scots can be good.”
“The only Norsewoman I know in the area used to be known as the Ice Queen. Her name is Sela. Have you heard of her?”
Hagen smiled. “Aye, I know her well. Sela is my mother.”
Brynja smiled, then spun on her heel and strode away.
Hagen felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He took a step toward her, but Jowell grabbed his upper arm. “We’re leaving. Let it go. She’s going to take her vows. That’s why she’s here.”
“Nay, she’s not.”
“How the hell do you know?” Jowell asked.
“Because I’m going to marry her.”
Hagen strode back to the ship, his steps a bit lighter than usual.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Merryn
Broc and Merryn strolled across the recently finished curtain wall of the new MacClane holding on Mull. When they’d made one full rotation, she stopped to yell over the side, “Tristan, it is lovely. I cannot wait to see everything inside.”
“Join me for a brief repast. We have cabbage stew simmering on the hearth.” Tristan waved at his sister, then stepped back inside the new keep.
Broc kissed Merryn, nuzzling her neck. “I love it when you are so excited. But I’ll have to keep my hands to myself for a bit.”
She giggled. “I have fond memories of last eve before we left Duart Castle. But I do feel a bit bad about leaving Shealee.”
“She looked completely happy to be sleeping with Tora and Sylvi last eve.”
Merryn rolled her eyes. “So true. She’s adjusted better than I have to everything. The storm didn’t bother her one bit.”
“Only because she doesn’t have the memories you have.” He led her down the staircase, taking in the fresh sea air as they descended, the sky cloudy but not totally gray.
Once inside the keep, Merryn’s brother called out to her. “Come sit. We have new chairs by the fire and Aunt Alma sent cushions. I have to admit that I treasure them. I believe it will be a cold winter here on the coastline.”
Broc offered, “I’ll help cut firewood before we go back to Duart Castle.”
“I’d appreciate that, though I’ve had the men cutting wood often once we finished the keep.”
“Where are they now?” Merryn asked, surprised to see the great hall so quiet.
“They’re modifying the cottage a bit. That’s where the men will be sleeping. And they’ve added some stalls to the stable,making one fit for sleeping with pallets. Broc, you did a great job leading that project. It’s a solid structure against the wind. We’ve got some sheep in a separate stall at the end for the winter months. We’ve come a long way, and I thank the Granthams for all their assistance. I feel we are well prepared for winter.”
“Our pleasure. We love to help our friends.” Broc glanced over at his wife and squeezed her hand. “We must ask again over our purpose, Tristan. Many are upset.”
“As I said, Taskill was here, but that was before the storm. I have not seen him since then. And it was a horrible thunderstorm. Do you see them often here on Mull, and are they all that horrendous?”
