Page 4 of My Highland Bride

Men.

God save us from their stubbornness, my mother is fond of saying.

The sun is high by the time we descend into the valley. It is an unusually warm summer’s day, full of promise. Though I attempt to assist the others in setting up our camp along the edge of the field full of tents, my efforts are mostly ignored. I do not, in fact, have any knowledge of how to erect a tent, as I’ve never slept in one. Nor have I been this far from Blackwell Castle before.

As I wonder how I should occupy myself, if not allowed to help, a hand goes around my waist. Startled, I scream until a familiar voice speaks my name, and I realize the perpetrator is none other than my brother.

“Warin!”

I spin around and toss my arms around my older brother. He squeezes me back, then holds me at arm’s length.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, both surprised and mayhap a bit proud. Though only four years my senior, Warin often plays the role of a second father to me. A role to which I am accustomed, and for which I am at times grateful, at times annoyed. Right now, I cannot help but beam in delight under his scrutiny.

“Are you surprised?”

His hands still grip my shoulders.

“I could not be more surprised if the queen herself were standing before me.”

Like our father, Warin has no great love for the queen. For Edingham, aye. But after Father had a falling-out with Queen Cettina’s father, our family has remained as removed as possible from the politics of the capital.

“Were you frightened?”

“Aye,” I admit. “The first crossing was not so bad. But the second.” I close my eyes, thinking of how the water swirled around as we crossed. Visions of my beautiful sister bombarded me, so relentless my entire body was shaking by the time we reached the bank of the river. Father pulled me from my mount and held me in his arms as the others continued on their path.

For a man considered one of the greatest Highland warriors who ever lived, he was surprisingly free with his affections. It was the reason my mother fell in love with him, or so she says. Theirs was a love match, something few of their station could claim.

“Shh,” Warin says, pulling me back to him. “Do not think on it. I’m proud of you, sister.”

Love swells in my chest. He is so much like father in some ways, but he lacks the worst of Father’s bluster. He is more quiet and thoughtful. But he’s no less skillful as a warrior, and I suspect he’ll be this tourney’s champion. He deserves it. By the time my brother releases me, my hands have ceased their trembling.

“Why are you here?” I ask. “Father said you were still in Murwood End?”

My brother had a notion the year before to travel all of Meria before settling into his role as Father’s successor, the next Lord Moray. We hadn’t expected to see him here.

“I thought to surprise him. And I come with news from the North.”

We look back toward the tents, Father now nowhere in sight.

“Likely three mugs into his ale.” He points to a bright red tent. “Lord Beine.”

“Ah, I hadn’t seen the crest before.”

A friend of father’s, the Highland lord is notoriously short-tempered. I’ve never seen evidence of it myself, but one story places his temper as the catalyst for a battle that saw nearly half of his men killed.

The kind of friend one would not wish to make an enemy of, I suppose.

“What news from the North? Did you stay long in Murwood End? What is it like?”

Warin slings his arm around me as we walk toward our newly erected tents.

“The kind of news Father will not like,” he says. “They say the king’s Curia commander and Stokerton both paid Murwood End a visit at the same time.”

I shield my eyes from the sun as we walk.

“A coincidence?”

Warin shrugs. “Perhaps. But after the Oryan sunk, calls for a counter-attack have only increased. It seems even the North is not immune to our fight.”