Handfasted to the Bear: Reformed Rogues Book 2 Read online

  Brodie shouted, “No! Orphan… go home!”

  Orla paused, looking stricken at the term. She moved closer when he yelled, “Go home Orphan, ye dinnae belong here!”

  Then she fled.

  After what felt like an eternity of hell, Brodie could barely see through his swollen eyes. Feeling like he was drifting in and out of consciousness, he heard a roar and then his father was thrown backwards and landed on his backside in the mud.

  Chieftain Colban MacGregor stood over Brodie protectively. “Enough, Owen. Yer son has had enough.” Colban MacGregor was a menacing man, and if anyone could gainsay Owen Fletcher, it was the Chieftain.

  “This does no concern ye. My boy needs to be taught a lesson or he will become weak like his ma.”

  “Yer wife was ne’re weak, Owen,” Colban said.

  “My wife was a harlot who left me for another man!” Owen yelled.

  “Yer wife left ye because ye are a drunkard who beats women and defenseless boys.”

  Owen got to his feet and ran straight at Colban, hellbent on knocking him down. But what Owen failed to realize was the MacGregor Chieftain was not a defenseless twelve-year-old boy. He was a grown man, a skilled warrior, and a vicious opponent.

  Colban maintained his protective stance over Brodie, providing a shelter from the storm. He braced and took the full impact of Owen’s body weight. Then he used that momentum to spin Owen around just enough so he could grip his neck in a firm choke hold.

  Brodie could just make out his father struggling to loosen the arm bound around his neck. His face was going red, then blue until he passed out from lack of oxygen. Only then did Colban release him.

  Brodie watched as the Chieftain threw his father’s unconscious body onto the ground and called Beiste.

  “Son, take Brodie to the Keep while I deal with this sorry excuse of a man.”

  Brodie saw Beiste appear in his line of vision. His humiliation was complete. He was ashamed, his best friend had witnessed such a pitiful display.

  Beiste leaned forward and carefully helped Brodie to his feet, taking most of Brodie’s weight as they walked. When they passed Brodie’s father, Beiste spat on the ground where he lay. “I mean no disrespect, Brodie, but your da is a coward. Tis lucky he didn’t kill you.”

  Brodie was dazed, blood was streaming down his face from lacerations and cuts as he tried to breathe through broken ribs. He had to admit, after all the years of abuse he had endured, this was by far the worst.

  Then Beiste said, “If twas not for Orla asking for help, he might have done just that.”

  Brodie just grunted. He was in too much pain to do anything else.

  The next day, Brodie and Beiste went away to foster with the Murrays where they would train to become Warriors. Brodie did not look back. The Chieftain had saved him from certain death, and he would make the Clan proud. He no longer had any room in his heart for weakness of any kind.

  Orla waited by the rowan tree for hours, hoping Brodie would meet her to say goodbye.

  He never did.

  ***

  1035–The Return

  Brodie returned nine years later with a large procession of MacGregor warriors. A wildly handsome man, he was almost unrecognizable. He was open and affable, but there was a hard edge to him. Underneath the charm and carefree demeanor lay a simmering rage.

  The entire Keep had been in a frenzy of excitement to prepare for their return. Women were primping themselves, hoping to catch a warrior’s eye, and families were awaiting a reunion with their sons.

  Orla was now seventeen, and she was eager to welcome Brodie home. She thought of him many times over the years and hoped they would have time to talk. She wanted to show him the bows and arrows she had fashioned and catch him up on village news.

  Orla had worn her best dress and tied back her curly hair using the handfast leather tie.

  When Brodie rode past, Orla called out his name and waved. He looked stunned when he saw her, then a shuttered expression came over him. He gave her a brief nod and continued riding.

  Orla followed behind, wondering if maybe he did not recognize her. Maybe he had forgotten her.

  When the warriors reached the Keep, Orla hovered close by hoping for another opportunity to speak to Brodie. It never came.

  Brodie dismounted his horse inundated with female admirers. Orla watched as he took the hand of a woman named Saundra and they disappeared into the woods together. She saw them kiss, and her heart shattered for some unknown reason.

  That summer she watched Brodie go into the woods with a long succession of different women. One replaced another and another. Worse was the realization that this Brodie was a stranger to her. The old Brodie had died, replaced by a colder version.

  One sunny day Orla sat under her rowan tree mourning the loss of her old friend. She stared at the horizon, lost in thought.

  “Orla, why so sad?”

  It startled her to see Brodie casually leaning against the tree. She quickly wiped her tears away and feigned a smile. A rebellious part of her was happy he had sought her company, like old times. Her joy was short-lived however when she heard a woman giggle behind him. Brodie looked irritated, but it was enough for Orla to realize he had arranged a tryst with one of his women at their tree. Their tree.

  Brodie raised an eyebrow at Orla, challenging her to say something. Orla just shook her head in disgust and walked away without a word. She knew then, the Bear who protected her was no more. He had left a long time ago, and never returned. No one ever returned for her.

  That afternoon Orla walked to the rocky outcrop above the Training Grounds. She pulled the handfast leather tie from her hair and threw it over the edge.

  After that summer, Orla never returned to the rowan tree again. Her place of solace forever tarnished. She also refused to pay Brodie Fletcher any more attention going to great lengths to avoid him. Orla’s heart would remain closed off where he was concerned.

  ***

  Chapter 2 – Present Day

  1042 - Kirkwall, Orkney

  “Far, Open up!” Torstein Hagansson pounded on the door of his parent’s cottage.

  “Whit, is it son?” Hagan Alfsson ushered Torstein inside and barred the door behind him.

  “Orla’s in danger.”

  Runa, his mother emerged from the bedchamber in her nightgown. “Whit’s happened?”

  “Rognvald has returned. He kens she’s alive,” Torstein said.

  The blood drained from Runa’s face. “But hoo?”

  “He found letters from Brusi to Einar. He doesn’t want the Jarl to discover her existence.”

  Runa collapsed into a chair. “Ye have to git Orla now.”

  “I leave for Glenorchy tonight with my men. I only came to warn ye.” Torstein turned to his father. “Take Mor away from here. It willna be long afore they come for ye both.”

  “We’ll leave at once. But son…” Hagan grabbed Torstein’s shoulders in a firm grip. “Take her to Dunsinane. Macbeth will ken what to do.”

  “Why would the Scottish King—”

  “He’s her kin and the only one who can find the Jarl.”

  Torstein stared at his father as the missing pieces fell into place. He knew then; he had to move fast.

  ***

  MacGregor Woodlands, Glenorchy

  Brodie

  At twenty-eight years of age, Brodie Fletcher was a heartbreaking rogue. Ever since he was old enough to seduce women, he had led a life of lasciviousness and an overindulgence of sexual pleasure. That was all it was, physical pleasure. He made no emotional attachments, and the women he invited into his bed were of a similar mindset.

  His one draw-back was he could never remember their names. Before, during, or after his carnal relations. But he made sure he satisfied his bed partners, which is why a night with Brodie elicited a night of wanton pleasure for the women involved.

  As his prowess in the bed chamber became legendary, women sought him out.

  For years h
e had accepted a simple life of sensual pursuits. But in the past two summers, he noticed a gradual change in his sexual proclivities.

  They became non-existent.

  His interest in women had waned to the point he found abstinence more pleasurable than seduction. Judging by the disastrous night he had just spent with Helda. Or was it, Zelda? When he could not summon enough passion to even become aroused, Brodie took this as a clear sign he was undergoing some strange metamorphoses.

  It all came down to one woman. Orla.

  The only female who looked at him with disdain and contempt. Theirs was a tenuous relationship at best. At worst, it was outright hostile.

  Brodie knew if he were on fire, Orla would set up camp around him and roast a wild boar over the flames.

  Yet he could not stay away.

  Which is why Brodie was stalking Orla through the woods. It was not an effortless task given how fast the vixen could run. He was practically out of breath half the time. But the exhilaration of the chase made him feel alive.

  It was always that way with her.

  Even when they were arguing, and her barbs were shredding his fragile ego, he felt energized. She was the only woman who could get under his skin and tear out his sinews. She was that… irritating… and utterly captivating.

  Brodie had known from childhood Orla was special. At eight, she ran circles around him. At seventeen she had the power to bring him to his knees. And now she was a formidable force of sheer beauty.

  Brodie kept himself hidden in the dense woodlands and watched as Orla stopped near a tree. She crouched down, her bow and quiver strapped to her back. She pulled out a dirk from her boot and made a scuff mark on the tree close to its roots. She touched the dirt, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them. She stood and started running again. Brodie wondered who or what she was tracking.

  He kept pace with her from a short distance away. He thought it ironic that the ‘Huntress’ was being stalked by the ‘Bear’.

  He watched as Orla came to a clearing and slowed to a walk. He heard her muttering and cursing to herself.

  Brodie was trying to make out what she was saying when something caught his eye in the distance. Someone was standing in the shadows. Brodie saw a flash of flint. His feet were already moving as he sprinted straight towards Orla. His heart pounding with panic. He prayed he reached her in time.

  ***

  Orla

  Orla was called many names over the years. Orla black moir, Orla the bastard… Orla the orphan. Some snickered and uttered insults to her back, jealous she had risen to such a high position within the Clan. While others were more forthcoming with their insults. Whatever the name, she had learnt to ignore it, hold her head high and work hard.

  That hard work paid off as she earned the respect and friendship of many in the Clan.

  Orla was a skilled bowyer fashioning weapons for some archers who did not mind a female crafting their bows. She was also a close confidante and advisor to Amelia MacGregor, the Chieftain's wife.

  From the moment they met they were kindred spirits, and nothing had changed. Except, Amelia was now a mother of two precious bairns who the fearsome Chieftain, Beiste MacGregor, doted on. It was heartwarming to watch how much love the once cold hearted ‘Beast’ held for his wife and bairns.

  As Amelia’s advisor, Orla was constantly in the Keep attending to matters regarding the Chieftain’s family. And therein lay the problem. Anything regarding their safety also involved Brodie Fletcher.

  As Beiste’s Head Guardsman, Brodie was a constant thorn in her side. He overrode her decisions, interfered with her events, questioned her whereabouts, and often shadowed her if she went to the village.

  If he was in a surly mood, they would bicker over every little thing. Their arguments would end in a shouting match where Brodie inevitably call her an ‘orphan’ before she stormed off. Now, they were arch enemies and Orla was tempted to shoot his ass with an arrow the next time they crossed paths.

  “Turd… swine… coos dung!” Orla cursed to herself as she stomped through the woods in pitch darkness. Annoyed with that infuriating man.

  Of all the nights for her to patrol the woods, she had to stumble across him sneaking out of Zelda’s cottage half-naked and wreaking of cheap perfume. Ugh!

  Orla cringed at the unwarranted pain that image slashed across her mind. Then she tamped it down. What did she care who he cavorted with? There were far more important things to be concerned about, like Norse invaders making their way across Scotland.

  Orla needed to concentrate and do her part to maintain the safety of Clan MacGregor. Vigilance. She had to stop thinking about that man-whore.

  Caught up in her own musings, Orla had stopped paying attention to her surroundings until she heard a twig snap.

  In the silence of the woods, it could herald a wild animal or something sinister. She stilled, held her breath and looked towards the direction of the sound. She remained quiet, a hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. Her heightened senses on alert.

  Then she heard it. A low keening sound slicing through the air followed by an urgent whisper, “Orla, get down!”

  She turned in time to catch an enormous shadow looming over her before she tumbled to the ground. A split second later, an arrow embedded itself in the tree behind her.

  Orla stared in shock at the arrow, then stared directly into the face of Brodie… bloody…. Fletcher! Her body pinned beneath his.

  “What–”

  Brodie’s large hand clamped over her mouth. “Be quiet.”

  Orla yanked her head away from his hand, “Get off me. You reek of stale flowers.” She hissed. Brodie glared at her before they both heard footsteps approaching and movement in the distance.

  They froze, their bodies melded together quietly breathing as one. She could hear voices, two men talking.

  “I ken she’s dead. I heard something fall over there.”

  “Aye, Vidar, yer arrows rarely miss.”

  Orla felt Brodie’s body tense at their words as he was scanning the woods. In a fast but silent sequence of moves, Brodie stood and lifted her into standing position, “We go now.”

  He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and started running towards a large boulder. He set her down once they reached it and shoved her behind him, “Quiet. I need to see who they are.” With those words, he dismissed her and stared out into the night.

  Orla glared daggers at his back. It was so typical of Brodie to run roughshod over her. If the situation were not so dire, she would have smacked him in the back of the head. It was while she was glaring at his broad, muscular shoulders, she realized two things. First, someone named ‘Vidar’ had tried to kill her and second, Brodie had just saved her life.

  ***

  Brodie

  Brodie’s heart was pounding, adrenalin coursing through his bloodstream. He was livid and trying to decipher what was happening. All he knew was some cur just tried to shoot Orla. But why? He could not fathom it, neither did he have time to relive the feeling of pure fear when he thought she was in danger. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he had not followed her tonight.

  As his mind drew upon several scenarios, the most pressing was finding out what these men were about, and the second was never letting Orla out of his sight again. The woman was a beacon for trouble.

  The men came closer. Brodie clutched the hilt of his sword. They came to the spot where the arrow was lodged. “Looks like ye missed Vidar.”

  “But I heard someone fall doon here.”

  “We must find her, or the Earl will kill us instead.”

  The men stepped out of the shadows; Brodie saw them for the first time. He recognized neither of them. Their manner of speech was also strange. They were not part of the MacGregor clan. He wondered why the sentinels in the trees had not alerted them to the danger.

  As the men approached, Brodie had a plan of attack. It would be fast and simple. Jump out, knock them unconscious, tak
e them back to the Keep for questioning.

  He was about to move forward when an arrow flew from behind him, hitting one man in the neck, killing him instantly. The remaining man was startled and started running. Brodie cursed and turned to see Orla nocking a second arrow on the bowstring and taking aim.

  He deflected her shot. “No! We need him alive for questioning.” He ran in pursuit of the second man.

  Orla started running alongside him.

  “Get back behind the boulder now,” he shouted at her.

  “I’m faster, I’ll catch him,” Orla said as she sprinted past Brodie.

  “Orla, no!” Brodie was trying to stop her, but it was too late she had already veered to the right to head off the assailant and was standing directly in front of him braced to tackle him head on. But Brodie beat her to it and took him down from behind.

  The man hit the dirt so hard he knocked himself out.

  Brodie stood up and stormed over to Orla. “What the bloody hell was that? I told you to stay behind me.” He roared.

  “I was trying to help. I almost stopped him.”

  “How? By placing your body in front of a man who just tried to kill you. Why didn’t you hand him your dagger and say, ‘Here I am, just stab me right in the chest.’ Maybe that would have stopped him.” Brodie made a hand gesture of an invisible knife stabbing his chest.

  Orla was about to lash out when she realized she had just placed herself in prime position to be killed. “Ooh,” she said, looking contrite.

  “I swear if you ever do that again I’ll take a strap to your backside and tie you to my bed for a week!” Brodie yelled.

  Orla just blushed then looked indignant.

  Brodie stomped back over to the unconscious man, hefted him over his shoulder and started walking back to the Keep. “We need to notify the others. I’ll send men to scour the woods and collect the body.”

  They walked in silence for some time before Orla said, “Just so you ken, I didn’t mean to kill that man. I just wanted to stop him from running away.”