Highland Daydreams (16 page)

Bram walked around the courtyard, patiently waiting for Lara to return from speaking to her brother. A guard had informed him that the two of them had taken occupancy in the garden earlier.

“Bram,” Lara called out, as she came running towards him from the garden gate.

Her smile and bright eyes made him wish he could take her into his arms and kiss her a thousand times, but in public they had to keep their distance.

“Bram, I worried ye had already left.”

“Nay. I promised ye I would stay and make sure that ye were safe. Did ye talk wit’ yer father?”

Lara’s smiled was quickly replaced with a lowered brow a tightness about her lips

“Aye. He is angry that I came here, and demanded that I return to Scotland at once, but I dinna have to worry about that anymore. Nor do I have to worry about Dermot ever again.”

“Why?”

“Tomorrow is my brother’s coronation. When he is announced king, he promised to offer me protection within these walls. He promised that he would send word to our priest to have the marriage annulled. Isnae that wonderful news?” Lara asked grinning from ear to ear.

“Aye, lass. I am glad that all has worked out fer ye.”

Bram’s eyes saddened.

“What is the matter wit’ ye? Are ye nay happy fer me?”

“Aye, lass. I am,” he said, and it wasn’t all a lie. Happiness was something he very much wanted for her, but he wanted to be the cause of it.

“What about ye? Now that I am safe, will ye be heading back to Scotland?”

“Most likely. I have planned to leave soon.”

“Will ye at least stay for the coronation?”

Lara’s pleading eyes were hard to resist. Bram pressed his palm against her soft cheek.

“Aye, lass I will.”

For the remainder of the day, Bram stayed close to Lara’s side, not wanting to miss any time he had left with her. They sat at one of the tables in the great hall with a few of the men from the village, drinking tankards of ale and sharing stories of battle. They talked and laughed until the wee hours of the night, as the servants prepared the castle for tomorrow’s coronation. Hundreds of guests were expected to arrive.

Lara had spent the rest of the day avoiding contact with her father. She wanted to believe that John’s talk with him about his plan would ease his mind. For when John became King, there would no longer be a need to continue the alliance with Clan Moray.

“Ride faster, ye eejits,” Dermot yelled to his men. They had been riding on Norse land for over an hour, and still had several more hours ahead of them. Traveling across the sea at night, they had arrived on the shores of Norway just before the sun crested the horizon.

Dermot was determined to get to Bergen as quick as possible and get his wife back. He had kept the ruse of the mournful husband for long enough, but when word came that Lara had somehow managed to escape her prison, he feared that the rights to her dowry and treasure would be taken from him. His anger grew the more he thought about the ungrateful wench. How dare she deny what belonged to him; both her treasure and her body! She was his wife, and she would love, obey, and honor him with her very last breath. Dermot wickedly chuckled to himself at the thought of being the cause of that last breath.

Never had he imagined settling for such a defiant lass. If it were not for his greed and taste for wealth, he would have denied his father’s order to marry her. Dermot wished to just kill her and not waste his time or strength prancing around as if he missed his bride. He was rather proud of himself for his clever idea to allow the English to take her instead of having to deal with her himself; it was quite convenient, actually, that they arrived when they had.

Dermot knew that if Lara had already arrived in Bergen, he would once again need to act as if she had been kidnapped, as everyone else in his clan had. His biggest concern was that Lara could somehow prove or convince her father that their marriage had not yet been consummated. That one minor detail caused their union to hang in the balance. According to their laws, if the marriage had not been consummated within a fortnight, the contract of union was automatically annulled, though there were always exceptions. Using the excuse that she had been kidnapped was one of those exceptions that he was certain the priest would sanction.  

“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.

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.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Dermot forcefully grab the shoulder of every black-haired lass in the courtyard, turning them to face him as if he expected to see Lara’s silvery eyes staring back. The women squealed at his assault, which quickly angered their male escorts. Commotion stirred and voices were raised.