Surrender To the Highlander

After sending the men off to finish preparations for their day’s journey, Rurik glanced over to see the two women sitting on a fallen tree. Although both wore the same clothing, the same garb marking them as part of a religious community, he still could not picture Margriet as living there. The flash in her eyes, when challenged or angry, was certainly not the patient acceptance he would expect in someone who had taken vows of obedience. And the way her hips swayed as she walked. Or the waves of raven hair that he knew still tumbled around her shoulders and down her back did not speak to him of someone who would live willingly under a vow of celibacy.

Turning to look at the men around him, Rurik realized that he seemed the only one affected by her in this manner. The others spoke to her in respectful voices, never meeting her gaze for more than a moment or two, never reaching out to touch her hand, and never staring at her the way he did. All treated both of them with the respect deserved and owed to women of the cloth.

Except him.

Regardless of his efforts to accept the situation as presented to him, he saw only a vibrant young woman who was wasted on the church. But, accept it he must, for his task was simply to return her to her father and be done with her. There were plans even now being made for his future and he doubted they would include the daughter of Gunnar, even though he was the High Counselor.

Aye, and if truth be told, plans were in place for the lady as well. Not royalty, her father was a rich and powerful man in his own right and he also served the Earl of the Orkneys and, in his name, ruled there when Erengisl was at his other properties or on some mission for the king.

From what he could glean from Sven’s and Magnus’s words and tales, Erengisl would be leaving the Orkneys for more important things, situations within the kingdom that needed his political insight and power, and he wished to leave one of his sons in Kirkvaw, and to place the other in charge of several of their properties in the Viipuri province and their family seat in Näsby.

Watching as Margriet reached out her hand in a graceful motion and accepted a cup of ale from one of the men, he realized that their fathers were the same—neither from royal blood but both had amassed wealth and power by serving those who were. And Rurik knew that they were much the same as well, for they would both be a pawn in their fathers’ larger plan. For all his ruminations he almost missed her actions at just that moment. He stepped back nearer to the trees so that his presence would not alert her that he was watching her.

Very discreetly, she reached into a pocket in her tunic and then put whatever was there in her mouth. He could almost feel her holding her breath as she chewed on something. And when she thought no one was looking, she poured most of the ale in her cup into Sister Elspeth’s. Then, she took a small cloth square and wrapped the chunk of bread and wedge of cheese given her to break her fast in it. She covered her furtive movement by hiding the bundle in her pocket with her motion rising from her seat.

Rurik thought it interesting. She did not eat the food he provided, but hid it away for…what? Later? For someone else? Sister Elspeth ate her food, slowly and steadily, but every morsel and drop given her was consumed. She asked not for more, so he would think her contented by it. Sven called to him across their encampment and he strode over to him, pushing the questions aside to handle the more pressing needs of his duties.

A short time later, he glanced over to see the women being helped onto their horses and he caught a glimpse of the joy on her face when she noticed the extra blankets folded as padding to soften the effects of riding long hours. Her gaze moved to his without a moment’s delay and he found himself once more contemplating the womanly curves of the one beneath the garb.

And as the corners of her mouth tilted up in a gentle smile, his breath stopped in his chest. But when she licked her lips and mouthed the words many thanks, his body shuddered and hardened so quickly he thought he’d been struck by Thor’s Hammer.

He realized in that moment that this journey was fraught with dangers he’d never considered when he agreed to the task. What kind of a man would lose control over a nun?

Rurik gave the signal for everyone to mount up and, within minutes, they were moving away from the clearing and back into the forest. He allowed Sven to take the lead, preferring to lag behind and consider his irrational actions.

Lusting after a nun? Was he daft?

Mayhap too many years of loving women, for he did love women, had brought him to this? He’d loved and touched and lusted after every sort of woman since he arrived in Scotland and began his life with his uncle’s people. Once awakened, his appetite grew.

In spite of the fact that his ancestors’ history of going a-viking and taking property and women— whether willing or no’—had died long ago, he’d never bothered to correct those living under the protection of the MacLerie who still believed it. And since that reputation handed down through generations continued among them, Rurik had tried his best to live up to the expectations of those willing to be wooed.

’Twas said he rarely slept alone, but he never took a woman who did not wish to be taken and that was true. But, once her willingness was clear and consent given, there were no restraints between them.

Rurik took in a deep breath of cool, mountain air and let it out, watching the column of riders ahead of him moving down the worn path and remembering in that moment some of the best of times and the best of women in his past. A wave of sadness passed through him as Nara’s image came to mind.

Regardless of his reputation and the wild stories told of his womanizing ways, when Rurik was with a woman who expected faithfulness, he was. He and Nara had been together for almost three years when his father’s first call had come. Whether that was behind her leaving, he knew not. He’d shared with her alone the truth of his life with his father, and only kenned that, before his friends returned the second time, she left both him and Lairig Dubh behind to travel to her own family in a distant village.

As their time on the road passed and he allowed himself to wallow in these unfamiliar maudlin feelings, he noticed that Margriet now shifted on her mount and took something from her pocket. As she tried to adjust to the movements of the horse beneath her, the small bundle nearly went loose. Grabbing for it, she held it close and he could tell she ate it in small bites. If anyone glanced at her at that moment, they could not tell what she was doing. He knew.

He knew because nothing she did escaped his gaze.

Not a thing.

Not the way her mouth curved when she spoke.

Not the way her hand lightly touched the surface of everything she could as they passed by.

Not the way her voice grew husky as she whispered her prayers over meals or before sleeping.

Not a cursed or blessed thing.

Realizing what he did, Rurik closed his eyes and begged forgiveness from the Almighty. Not the many gods of his ancestors, but from the One who truly ruled the heavens and earth.

For he was a man whose heart missed the one woman he’d allowed himself to love even while his body lusted after a nun.

Chapter Five

Nary a hint of a breeze offering a respite from the encasing heat of the habit she’d chosen to wear passed over her. Margriet cursed her own foolishness as sweat gathered on her brow and trickled under the wimple to trace a path down her neck, between her shoulders and onto her back. This was one aspect of her disguise she’d not thought through.

She expected that the habit would offer protection from the untoward advances of the men in the traveling group, and it had. The men treated her and Elspeth with deference and respect and kept a decent distance from them. None seemed to even consider that they were not nuns. None but their leader, for she caught him watching her at the oddest moments and suspected he knew something was amiss.

Or mayhap ’twas her own guilty conscience over the matter?

Her plan made sense; even the reverend mother seemed to agree that it was sound. That was before the journey began, before they left the enclosed valley that surrounded and protected the convent and its lands with an abundance of forests and streams… and blessed shade! They’d left the valley the morning before and still crossed a piece of land that offered nothing but flat, hard ground and nothing growing save for some short bushes and ground-hugging plants.

Aye, her plan had made sense at the beginning. However, the heat had not been one of her concerns and she did not ever remember any of the sisters complaining of it. Yet another bit of proof that she would never be suitable for the religious life. Then, as though he sensed her unspoken acknowledgement, Rurik turned and met her gaze. The moisture increased on her face and now she could feel it trickle down between her breasts. Made worse by her hair, now tucked under her tunic to hide its length, Margriet considered that mayhap she’d chosen the wrong course of action.

Again.

As always.

She sighed and turned her eyes from his. Reaching into her sleeve, Margriet tugged a square of linen free and dabbed at the sweat that threatened to soak her if left untended. It was very difficult to attain the same attitude of unruffled calm that the nuns seemed to have, especially when the clouds cleared above and the sun offered more heat than they needed this day. Looking around for Elspeth, she noticed the girl seemed to like it even less than she did herself. Touching the cloth to her forehead, Margriet wondered if the girl would keep her silence…and their secret until the journey’s end.

“Sister?”

Margriet turned to discover that Sven rode now at her side. He was the most pleasant of the men and he was always considerate of her comfort. “Have you need of something to drink?” He held out a skin and offered its contents to her.

“Many thanks, Sven,” she said as she accepted it, took several swallows and then held it out to him. The water was not cold, but it refreshed her nonetheless. He passed it over to Elspeth, who partook of it as well.

“You might wish to pour some on your cloth and cool your face,” he said and then the man blushed as he realized he spoke of something probably more personal than a man should to a nun. He stammered a moment or two before he got the words out. “My pardon, Sister, but your face is very red and I thought you might be…uncomfortable.”

Trying to lessen his embarrassment, Margriet replied, “I thank you for such concern for my wellbeing. I would not want to waste our supply on such a selfish thing, no matter that ’twould be a welcome relief in this heat.”

Fearing that her words did not sound religious enough, she added, “And I offer such suffering up in the name of Our Lord.” She raised her eyes heavenward and then closed them for a moment, mimicking the gesture she’d witnessed hundreds, nay, thousands of time during her years at the convent.

Margriet did unfold the cloth and try to find a dry patch to absorb the gathering beads of sweat. She knew not of the plans for their journey, but hesitated to use their water for her own comfort. Again, the thought that she’d made a mistake crossed her mind. Sven nodded and offered the water to them again, and after each took a few sips, he urged his horse into a quicker pace than she could maintain and took his place at the front of the group.

Where he rode this day.

She realized she was the topic of conversation when Rurik turned to look back at her and then shared more words with Sven. Margriet had barely a few minutes to wallow in her discomfort when Sven returned to her side.

“We will reach a river soon, so you should not worry over using the water to cool your brow,” he said.

Caught by her own lying words, Margriet fretted over what to do. The part of her that was melting in the heat wanted to grab up the skin and pour every drop of the remaining water over her head. But, the part of her that usually thought things through triumphed in this and she allowed him to pour a few drops on the linen, before dabbing her brow and cheeks with it.

“Many thanks for your consideration, Sven. I admit that this heat is unexpected and a trial.”

He moved his horse to walk next to hers and took the water skin from her. The group still moved at the same pace, but ’twas a slower one than they’d maintained the first two days of their journey. Those days were lost in a fog, for she could only remember the misery of leaving the convent behind and the pain of traveling on the back of a horse.

Her journey to the convent all those years ago she did not remember at all, having only eight years and mourning the loss of her mother. So, having naught with which to compare, she thought this journey must surely be the worst of her life.

She waited for the man to speak and when he did not, she fell quiet, sinking back into her thoughts of the journey ahead and the repercussions of her fall from grace. Sven drifted back to a place next to Elspeth and she could hear his words as he stumbled over the correct pronunciation of the words in Elspeth’s Gaelic tongue.

Looking at the rest of the men, she only then realized that they were a mix of Scots and those from her homeland in the Orkneys. Rurik, Sven, Magnus and six more sounded clearly at home with both the formal court language and that of the common people. Four of the others, as well as Elspeth, spoke only Gaelic.

Rurik was the only one who spoke all three.

Glancing ahead, she watched his silhouette as he guided the travelers along this road. Tall and muscular, both on and off his mount, he spoke little and gave few orders, yet there was no doubt that he commanded this group. Both the Scots and those from Orkney attended to his words and directions with a quiet acceptance, as one does with an acknowledged leader, much as the sisters did with the reverend mother.

The other thing she noticed about him was that he remained apart, from nearly everyone including Sven and Magnus. Those two—she glanced over at Sven, who was still speaking, or rather trying to, with Elspeth—were friends of long-standing. She could tell by their easy manner with each other. They also seemed to have some connection to Rurik, for they spent time with their heads together, plotting and planning, each day.

But what about Rurik?

As though her thoughts had spoken his name, he turned back and met her gaze. Margriet touched the linen to her face once more and looked away, unable or unwilling to face his intense scrutiny. There would be time on this journey to discover his secrets. Sven knew something about him and his reasons for overseeing her return and had referred to it while they walked in camp that first night. Before Rurik interrupted his words…

So, there were secrets here to be discovered!

As always happened when faced with a task, Margriet’s mind began to swirl and plan the best way in which to accomplish it. By the time they reached the river’s edge, she saw all the steps in the path to finding out who Rurik was and his reasons for taking on the mission of bringing her home.

* * *

The place chosen for their stop that night was pleasant. Looking around the area near her tent and the central fire, Margriet noticed the branches of the trees moving in the breezes that soothed her after the heat of the day. Any relief was certainly dulled by the layers of clothing she wore, but ’twas still more comfortable than the midday sun’s glaring rays when there was no shade to blunt them.

Now, sitting on a stool fashioned from the stumps of some fallen trees and eating a surprisingly well- cooked stew, Margriet watched as the men broke off into smaller groups divided, as near as she could tell, by language and origin. The Scots sat away from the fire, passing a skin of ale between them, while those from the north sat nearer.

Rurik did not eat, but paced around the camp, checking horses and supplies. Seeing an opportunity, she rose and went to the fire. Dipping the long- handled spoon in the cooking pot, she scooped out a serving of the food and carried it to where he stood now. His surprise sat plainly on his face, but he nodded and took it from her.

“You need not serve me, Sister,” he said before accepting an eating spoon that she also carried to him.

“I have so little to do, sir. Other than pray, of course. And ’tis the least I can do to show my appreciation.”

He ate a few more mouthfuls without saying another word. Sven walked over with a battered cup and a skin of ale, which he held out to Rurik. Handing her his bowl and spoon, she watched as he first poured some into the cup before offering it to her, while he simply opened his mouth and filled it with ale from the skin. After passing it back to Sven, Rurik took back his food and ate it in silence.

Margriet sipped from the cup as she considered which questions to ask first. If she were too aggressive, he would back away. Too soft in her approach and he would wile his way out of answers that would enlighten her about him and his past.

“Why do you not wish to escort me to my father?”

“Pardon?” he asked, stopping with his spoon halfway between the plate and his mouth.

“’Tis clear to me that you do not want this duty. Why did you agree to it then?” She lifted the cup to her lips and forced another sip, trying with all her might to remain calm and pursue her intentions to discover more about him.

She’d caught him by surprise, she could tell. His eyes widened even as his mouth stopped chewing the food in it. He tried to swallow then, but Margriet knew he would choke.

And he did.

When his breath collided with that food, he convulsed with loud coughs. The plate flew through the air as he leaned over and, with his hands on his thighs, tried to loosen the blockage from his throat. Without stopping to think, Margriet ran to his side and began pummeling him on his back.

A few minutes went by before he stopped choking and she continued delivering blows until he did. After what seemed to be ages of time had passed, he waved her off and Margriet stepped back. ’Twas then she noticed the quiet that surrounded them.

To a person, everyone in the camp stood, mouths agape, staring at them. No one moved as she adjusted her wimple back to where it should sit on her head and as she tugged her robes back in place. When she had regained her composure and her breath, for beating the warrior’s back with her bare hands was hard work, she cleared her own throat and turned back to Rurik.

“Are you well now?” she asked.

“Now that I can breathe again or now that you have stopped trying to pound me into the ground?” Sarcasm laced his words and the sting of it slashed at her.

Humiliation pulsed through her body, making her heart pound in her chest and bringing the heat of embarrassment to her face. Worse, she felt the burning of tears in her eyes and her throat, forcing her to look away from him.

Why had she thought that she could face down a man, and one such as this one, and get her way? Margriet lowered her head and turned, hoping to walk quickly to some darkened corner of the camp where she could wait until the horror of her actions dissipated or at least until everyone ceased staring. She’d only taken a few steps when his voice stopped her.

“Sister, my thanks for your assistance,” he said loud enough for all to hear. Rurik watched as she stopped, unsure if she would still bolt, as the look in her eyes declared, or if she would remain. He waited and then held out his hand to her. “And my thanks for bringing me food.”

He stepped closer, though not too close, and glared over her head at those who still gawped at her, ordering their gazes away with a nod of his head. Only the little nun still watched, though hers was a look of concerned observation rather than a curious one.

Rurik had not realized his words were as harsh as they were until he saw the horror and embarrassment fill her face. ’Twas the tears he spied in the last moment before she fled that undid him. When she still did not take his hand, he bent over and picked up the cup she’d been drinking from and motioned to Sven for the skin of ale. Once filled, he offered it to her.

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