Page 17 of Surrender to the Highlander (The MacLerie Clan #2)

R urik strode down the long hallway on his way to the great room where his father awaited him. Although he would have preferred to have a more informal and less public first meeting than this, he could not avoid it any longer. Messengers had been sent to him in Orphir with an invitation to come at once to Kirkvaw where his father waited on his arrival. When the Earl of the Orkneys sent such a message, no one, not even his son, ignored the summons.

So with Sven and Magnus at his side and his men from Scotland at his back, he walked forward to be welcomed by the same man who’d sent him away nearly ten-and-three years ago. Rurik looked around as he walked and noticed the luxurious, but clean design of the building that was only a few years old. Not like his father’s other properties, which demonstrated Erengisl Sunesson’s wealth and power, this one fit the city and the islands.

They’d reached the door of the large chamber and stopped, remaining there, as was custom, until being called forward to greet Lord Erengisl. Rurik held his breath, aware that the first stumbling block could be at just this moment. Rising to his full height, he waited for the call. The herald nodded to him as he spoke in a loud voice, one that carried throughout the chamber.

“Rurik, son of Erengisl, come forward.”

He could not help the smile that he wore now as he walked forward to accept his father’s greeting. So many years had passed, so much yearning laid buried deep inside him for this moment that he feared it might pass too quickly. Several people spoke as he passed by, but he could only focus his eyes ahead, where a large chair sat in the middle of a dais.

And he saw the man in that chair.

’Twould appear that his father aged well, losing none of the vigor he remembered from the last time he saw him. Erengisl sat with authority in that chair and Rurik climbed the steps in front of it, pausing there. Meeting the gaze of his father’s deep green eyes, he knelt down and then bowed his head in respect. He remained low until his father rose from the chair and approached him.

Grasping the hand held out to him, Rurik stood and shook his father’s hand and accepted in that moment all he offered. After a few seconds, his father pulled him into a backbreaking hold and the hall erupted in cheers at their reconciliation.

When released, Rurik motioned for his friends to come forward and be presented. Erengisl welcomed them all to his court and his household. Bringing Rurik along onto the dais, Erengisl motioned to a young man at his side and Rurik recognized his half brother Thorfinn.

Although his coloring was that of his mother, Erengisl’s first wife, Magnilda, his height and bearing was that of his father. Only a year younger than he, Thorfinn may have carried his noble mother’s blood in his veins, but Rurik’s mother remained Erengisl’s favorite. And that accounted for the lack of warmth in his greeting after these many years.

“Brother,” Thorfinn said amiably, although Rurik knew it was only because they were being observed. “Welcome home.” He held out his hand in greeting.

How it must have been a bitter taste in his mouth to say those words! Things had ended badly between them when Erengisl decided to marry his present wife, Agnes, at the king’s behest, and he put aside Rurik’s mother, his mistress of many years. His mother had been the wife of Erengisl’s heart, before and even while married to Thorfinn’s mother, but marriages for those in Erengisl’s class were not based on love or the ability to produce sons—they were based on who gained the most in power or wealth.

And so, with his duty to his liege lord before him and at his demand, Erengisl was forced to give up Moireach and their son. Thorfinn, then only fourteen years old, had cheered the decision, swearing that the Scottish whore’s son would never share in their father’s inheritance. Now, as he stood side by side with him, Rurik wondered the price of his compliance.

Rurik took the hand offered and shook it. He did not miss the pleased look on his father’s face as he did. Apparently, it was important to Erengisl that his sons be reconciled as well.

“So,” Thorfinn said, his voice pitched low so that only he could hear it, “the whore’s son returns after all.”

Rurik felt better knowing the truth and knew he must watch his back. “I thank you for your welcome, brother,” he replied, not giving in to the desire to lash out and offer insult to answer insult.

“Come,” Erengisl said, waving them along, “I want you to meet those in attendance.”

He trailed his father out a door to the side of the dais and into a chamber that served as a meeting place. A group of men followed and took places at the long tables assembled there. Once served wine or ale by servants who stood along the wall, Erengisl introduced them one by one. The only one missing was Gunnar.

“Gunnar joins us on the morrow,” his father announced. “Come, Rurik, sit at my side as we discuss the situation of King Magnus.” Rurik walked to the seat indicated by Erengisl and noticed that papers already sat there. “Worry not,” he said, “Thorfinn will not mind if you sit in his seat while I explain the intricacies of the negotiations.”

The glint in his brother’s eyes spoke of more than minding giving up his seat of honor, it spoke of revenge for the slight. But once again, his words belied his true feelings, “Of course not, Father. I am pleased to help in any manner possible.”

Rurik knew men like Thorfinn. They hid their motives and goals under layers of politeness and carried out their attacks in the dark of night instead of the light of day. You never knew the direction it would come, only that it would happen. He planned on speaking to Gunnar about Thorfinn when the counselor arrived in Kirkvaw.

The discussions proceeded through most of the day, interrupted only by food and wine. Then, at nightfall, they finished and Erengisl invited him to a private dinner. Finally, they would talk as man to man, and father to son. After the public reception and meetings, Rurik admitted that, for the first time, he was looking forward to such a chance to talk with his father. Soon, everyone was gone and only he remained.

“You are not what I expected,” Erengisl said as he handed Rurik a cup of wine. “The last memory I have of you is you shaking your fist in anger at me as Gunnar dragged you from my hall.”

Rurik remembered the exact moment his father described. His mother had been put aside after being promised marriage and, as her son, he took up her cause. He did not remember his mother asking him to do so, but at that tempestuous age when every wrong look or word is a challenge to honor, Rurik took it up anyway.

“My mother was put aside, after believing your word that you would have her to wife when Thorfinn’s mother died. I remember it well,” Rurik said. After drinking some of the wine, he added, “Was it worth it?”

“Your mother understood, Rurik.”

“I asked not if she understood, I asked if losing her was worth all you gained in her stead.”

At that moment, his father looked aged, the glimmer in his eyes faded and Rurik knew he thought on the question asked…and he thought about Rurik’s mother, gone for nigh on ten-and-three years from this island.

“The king demanded the marriage. Agnes would not consent if Moireach lived in any of my houses. I had no choice.” His voice lacked the conviction of his earlier conversations and Rurik suspected that the answer he would give, if he could, would be no. “If you still feel that way, why did you return? I ask of you the same that was asked of me—to marry for the sake of an alliance.”

Rurik emptied the cup and considered the question and the obvious difference between the two of them. “But I come here with no claims on my heart to accept your offer and the marriage that comes with it.”

As soon as the words were let free, he knew them for the lie they were. He nearly laughed at the similarities now between father and son. The difference was that he could not claim Margriet or the child she carried. Something must have warned his father not to pursue the topic, for he ended it with a request.

“Agnes accompanied me on this visit and I would ask that you show her the respect due a countess…and my wife. After all, it is her kin involved in the marriage discussions for you.”

Rurik nodded, agreeing to his father’s request. He’d never met the woman—his mother and he being banished before she would set foot in Erengisl’s home—but this was only a courtesy his father asked.

“So you have grown older and wiser since I saw you last?”

“Ten-and-six years old is a terrible time,” Rurik offered as an explanation. Now he asked about his brother. “Tell me of Thorfinn. What is his place with you?”

“He is never satisfied,” Erengisl said.

“That can be a good thing, making him strive for more or better.”

“He earns nothing yet expects it all.”

“Father, I would not be the instrument used to divide you from him.” Rurik had thought of this when he considered the offer made to him. “There is already enough ill will between us.”

“You have indeed grown up, Rurik,” he said, rising from the chair across the table from him. “I have land enough for my two sons to share, as I did with my brother. Gunnar has recommended that you take control of my lands in Sweden and that Thorfinn be given the Orkneys and my lands in Norway.”

“I thought that you had power in name only here, through Agnes’s claim and not blood?”

“Aha! So you have studied it then?” He seemed pleased that Rurik came here with some knowledge of the situation. “You are correct. Unless Agnes bears me a son, I have no blood claim on these lands, other than that I possess them now and hold them in trust from the old earl through her. But Norway owns these islands and I serve Magnus’s and Eric’s interests here, so I see no end to my claim, at least not while I’m alive.”

Rurik understood his father’s plans now, he just did not know if Thorfinn would feel cheated by them. Standing as well, he thanked his father for the meal and excused himself. He’d heard and observed and learned so much today that his head was spinning with it. Walking through the halls, he noticed that servants bowed to him as he passed and the few others still in attendance acknowledged him or stopped to greet him.

A far different situation that when he left sixteen years ago. The thing that worried him most was that with each boon granted him, the desire for more increased. He did not feel greedy about this, he felt as though every dream was being fulfilled for him, everything he wanted was being given him.

There was so much to think about now, his own counselors to choose, and he hoped for Gunnar’s thoughts on that. Although he wanted to have Sven and Magnus at his side, he was not as certain about the three men who came from Lairig Dubh. There were most likely others whom his father would recommend, mayhap others due some small reward or honor who should be chosen.

Rurik turned down the final corridor that led to his chambers. It would take some time to learn everything expected of him, but he was committed to this now. His chambers were large and comfortable with a view of the harbor. A servant had prepared his bed, left a pitcher of ale and some bread and cheese on the table and had a fire blazing in the hearth.

He could get used to being treated this way.

“Lady Margriet? Your father is waiting for you and asks you to hasten your preparations.” Brynja, the young maid assigned to her care on her arrival at her father’s house, stepped into her chambers and delivered the message.

’Twas not about her preparations, for she sat fully dressed and arranged in the new clothing her father ordered for her. With a sigh, Margriet stood, walked to the door and saw her father there in the corridor. He had been patient with her, providing tutors even, to ease her way back into her place here.

They were about to depart for Kirkvaw, for Lord Erengisl had ordered Gunnar and his other counselors and vassals to be in attendance when his son was presented.

His son, Rurik.

Margriet only knew she could not face him without doing something irrational after discovering his lie. And now that she was reacquainting with her father and his family and kin here in the Orkneys, she had no desire to embarrass him with her actions. At least her actions now, for she had not yet revealed the sins of her past to him.

’Twas a near thing, she thought as she walked down the hall to him, for the seamstresses and servants almost discovered the truth when measuring her for the new gowns and tunics. Several tunics pulled tightly across her breasts, breasts now sensitive and sore…and swelling, it seemed, with each day that passed by, and she fought the urge to tear them apart to lessen the pain they caused.

And she’d begun to walk in the most unattractive way, waddling like a duck did. One of the young boys had imitated her as she walked past him and Margriet was stunned by it. Correcting it was another problem of its own, for her hips seemed to ever move like that and no amount of holding her back straight helped.

She was waiting, waiting and giving herself a chance to find Finn to let him know before her father discovered the fact of the pregnancy. She’d even traveled to the market town nearby, hoping to see him there among the merchants, but she did not. And she fought the fear that he was not really there and mayhap not even the person he said he was when they met in Caithness.

Her father motioned to the carts and horses waiting outside and swept her out the door as soon as he took her hand.

“I had forgotten about how much time young women need to primp and prepare themselves for almost any occasion,” he said.

“Forgive me for delaying you, Father. If you’d like, you could ride on ahead and I will join you there.”

Her father was not a foolish man, but he took her attempt for what it was—nervousness. “And deny me the pleasure of seeing you introduced to Lord Erengisl and his court? Do not think to do it!”

Margriet wanted to cry. Her father had been kind and generous and patient since she’d returned and she would be repaying him with a terrible failure and dishonor. Even as she searched for him, she feared being recognized by Finn before she could confess her sin, for it would mean having her father bear the brunt of it before all those he respected and served. She knew now that in sending her to the convent, he’d thought to protect her during the restless years in Orkney as the old earl died without sons and Erengisl took control in his wife’s name. For his concern and love, she would repay him with shame.

Her father had explained how he had urged Lord Erengisl to call Rurik home to prepare him to inherit his father’s lands in Sweden. Although Rurik considered himself in exile, his father had kept watch on him and his life since sending him away over a decade ago. At Gunnar’s urging, he was called home now to learn from his father and ready himself for the responsibilities ahead.

So when Rurik had said that her father would not approve of him as a match suitable for her, he’d meant that she was beneath him, not above him as she’d thought. For, and the servants were the ones to tell her, Erengisl planned a marriage for him, too. One arranged to his wife’s kin that would provide a strong alliance with the royal house of Denmark. Erengisl strove high for his bastard son, mayhap to make up for the years Rurik spent out of favor…?

“Nay, Father, I am but overwhelmed by my journey here and our reunion. Forgive my tardiness.”

He helped her into the cart and patted her hand. “There will be time enough for you to rest and become accustomed to our ways here once we are in Kirkvaw.” Then he mounted the horse he would ride alongside of the cart so they could talk. “Lord Erengisl has summoned me and we can delay no longer.”

“Aye, Father.”

The journey to the city would take most of the day, and it left her with much time to think on everything that had transpired between her and Rurik. And one thing that left her puzzled.

At that moment, when he was about to claim her, he knew she was simply Gunnar’s daughter and yet he’d offered her everything he had. Was that just to have his way with her or did he mean he would give up his father’s plans for her? She was beginning to suspect that men would say anything to gain their pleasure.

Her confusion over him was not aided by the fact that he was all her father talked about since her arrival. Oh, he’d asked the polite questions about the convent, her education, her life there and about the most trivial details of her journey here, but then the topic would change to him. Margriet was tempted to laugh when she realized that she was now referring to Rurik as Thora had when she was angry.

Apparently Rurik was everything and more that her father, and his, had hoped for. Even now, as they traveled the road between Orphir and Kirkvaw, he mentioned him again. Finally, she asked the question that had bothered her about this whole arrangement.

“If Rurik has only just returned, how do you know so much about him, Father? Surely, he did not display all this wisdom and good judgment before he was sent away?”

He laughed and shook his head. “I could tell the kind of man he would be when he left, but it took some convincing for Lord Erengisl to believe. And the earl has watched his progress with each passing year as Rurik has become an accomplished warrior and counselor and…”

“Womanizer?”

Her father laughed then, the laugh that men did when appreciating some attribute of another man—part appreciation, part envy and part disbelief. If Rurik was here at this moment, it would have been followed by a slap on the back or a knowing wink from man to man. That much she’d learned while traveling with his company of men. “Well, that as well, it would seem.”

She looked at him now in disbelief. “And you trusted him to escort me from the convent even knowing about his reputation with women.”

“How did you learn of such a thing, Margriet? Surely not from the nuns?”

“Men talk, Father.”

Now it was her father’s turn to look at her with an expression of incredulity. “I cannot believe that Rurik would speak of such a thing to you.”

Margriet shook her head. “Nay, Father, he did not reveal that to me. The others were not so discreet though.”

“Rurik has had his share of…involvements, Margriet, but he is a man of honor. I knew I could trust him with your safety and person.”

Her father chose the wrong words, for they brought to mind images of Rurik and “her person,” on the floor, wrapped around each other, skin to skin, in the throes of passion. Her breath became short and heat rose within her and she remembered the way his mouth touched—nay, possessed—hers and the way his hand caressed all the places on her body that…that…

“Margriet? Girl? Are you well?”

Her father’s voice broke in to her memories of what had happened that night and she touched her face, feeling the heat in her own cheeks now.

“I am but a bit overheated,” she said as she tried to think on something else and remove the image of his naked body, all golden skin, all muscle, all male strength, from her thoughts.

Someone called out to her father, which distracted him for the moment. Now, as she thought about that night, again, she realized that although she felt as though she was being overtaken by him, much as she felt when covered by the waves of the sea, completely washing over her and dragging her down into mindlessness, she knew Rurik was ever in control. Although filled with anger, so much that it could be felt and smelled, his touch was filled with desire and pleasure. And when that moment came, when she told him to stop, he did.

And that was why she never feared him, even then.

For he had shown himself trustworthy over and over on their journey. When he took notice of her distress while traveling. When he cared for her when she took ill. When he did not repeat the devastating kiss even though she wanted it as much as he did. All showed him worthy of trust. The trust she had given only in part.

Her father attended to other matters and Margriet lost herself in her thoughts for the rest of the day. She broke from her reverie when they approached the city of her birth and she found herself amazed at the changes to it since she’d last seen it.

Even though her memories were that of a child, she could see that it had grown in size and the number of buildings and streets. Still called Kirkjuvágr in Norn by the common folk or Kirkvaw or Kirkwall by the Scots, it was now the central city of the Orkneys and even Earl Erengisl had built a new palace here, not far from the Cathedral of St. Magnus, which rose above the rest of the city. She would stay with her father in the palace since his duties required his constant attendance on the earl and his concerns.

The size of the palace shocked her, for Erengisl had built it with the usual great hall of Norse castles and added not one, but three towers to that! As they approached it through the main gate, Margriet noticed that even the main part consisted of three floors, one beneath the ground and the great hall with its vaulted ceiling on the top floor. The extent of his wealth was displayed for everyone who visited here to see.

She must have been gaping, for her father laughed now. “Ah, I see you have no memory of this?” She shook her head. “And this is not even his most impressive castle, for that is Hultaby in Sweden.”

The cart rolled to a stop and a swarm of servants surrounded them, unloading their belongings and helping her down. Brushing her tunic free of the dust from the roads, she followed them to her father’s chambers. Expecting something else, she found he had several rooms together—a sitting room where he could entertain guests, a private area filled with his papers and books and records and two small sleeping areas. Though not each separate rooms, there were areas divided by curtains that hung from ceiling to floor that gave a measure of privacy within each section.

And in the middle of the one she was told would be hers sat a bed. Tempted to climb into it and not come out until morning, she waited for her father’s instructions. He’d gone immediately to the earl when they arrived and he came back to his chambers in a state of excitement.

“Come, Margriet,” he said, pulling her to her feet while Brynja fussed over her dress and her hair. “Lord Erengisl would meet you now and not wait for morn.”

“But, Father,” she said. “I look like something just dragged along the road. Can I not prepare myself for such an important meeting?”

Deep inside, Margriet was dreading this moment. Her father had described the earl’s ability to discern the truth and not to be put off by appearances, and she feared that, without a father’s love to blind him, he would see her truth before she could tell Gunnar.

Her father took her in his arms and held her close. “Fear not, Margriet. He will not find you wanting.”

Knowing he would not be dissuaded, she let Brynja make some final adjustment and then she followed her father from the tower where their rooms were located down to the main floor and over to the larger tower where the earl lived. They paused at the doorway while a servant announced them.

After living in an austere convent for the last ten years, the luxury of the earl’s chambers nearly overwhelmed her. The floors were covered in costly rugs and the walls displayed huge tapestries that both decorated and conserved the warmth in the room. Shelves held various treasured items such as gold and silver vases and bowls and cups. If she gaped then surely it was her lack of seeing such things at the convent all these years?

“Come, Gunnar, present your daughter to us.”