Surrender to the Highlander(Terri Brisbin)(11)

Margriet took a sip and then another, and he waited in silence while she  regained her wits. Well, if the truth were told, she'd not lost her  wits, only her control. He suspected that losing control was something  that did not happen often to the lady, nun or no'. Instead of staring at  her now pale face, he turned back to the task he'd left when she'd  brought him food-checking the supplies for the next day's journey.

After seeing her distress on the first days of their travel, he'd agreed  to several changes in their plans. First, they broke the distance into  small bits so that they could travel more slowly each day. Second, they  changed their route, deciding to follow more of the rivers north then  across the coast to the village of Thurso, where they would take a boat  to Orkney. Third, although they carried most of their food with them,  they now sent men ahead to the small settlements along their path to  barter for fresh food and necessities.                       
       
           



       

Although his assignment was to bring her home, he had only the wild seas  and winds of winter to limit his time to do that. That might be  stretching it a bit thin, but he knew any arrangements would wait until  their return and so the only rushing he did was that which he wished to  do.

Or so he told himself over and over again since meeting the woman called Gunnar's daughter.

She moved behind him and he turned to face her. In that moment, watching  her eyes and her expression as they changed from dark and untrusting to  something more open and welcoming, he knew he must answer her question.

"Returning you to your father is my duty, one I accepted and will carry  out as requested. Duty though is no' always conveniently timed and that  is my hesitation."

Could she hear the lie in his words? This was a duty he did not want  and-even more now that he'd met her-one that he regretted. She had not  wanted to leave the convent, as she said over and over again, but she  had no choice in the matter. Her father called her home to her duties to  their family and honor.

As his called him.

His explanation pleased her at some level, for she raised her face to  him now, not cowering or hiding any longer. The light of the setting sun  behind him brightened her eyes and made her lips look fuller and  softer. She spoke again, now, and this time her voice strengthened to  what he knew it could be.

"You speak the Highland tongue as though you were born to it," Margriet said. "Are you Scot and not from Norway or Sweden?"

"My mother is Scottish, from the west."

Rurik decided that was all he need reveal. In spite of the offer relayed  to him by Sven and Magnus, he would believe it only when the words came  from his father's mouth. Allegiances changed. Arrangements changed. No  need to hold himself up to shame if more promises were broken.

She did not ask another question, but seemed to think on his words.  Sipping from the cup, she watched him as he continued his inspection.  When he stepped away, she followed, never missing a thing he did.  Finally, when the constant observation irritated him, he looked at her.

"Is there something you need, Sister?" he finally asked. "I cannot pay  attention to the task at hand if I am conversing with you."

"Nay," she said with a shake of her head.

The wimple that had tilted precariously while she beat his back was now  back in place, hiding the hair he knew would be bouncing around her  shoulders if freed from its constraints.

Great Frey's Eyes, he lusted after a nun! With each attempt to rein it  back and tamp it down, it reared again with the slightest gesture that  reminded him of the woman beneath the garb. A shake of her head and he  was lost? How could he have so little control?

When he thought she would return to her meal and the others, she did  not. Instead, she finished the ale in one tilt of the cup and then  looked at him.

"I wished to walk to the river and need your permission," she said. The  lowering of her head for a moment would have appeared to anyone watching  as acquiescence, however only he could see the flash of anger that  darkened her eyes to a darker shade of blue.

Margriet Gunnarsdottir did not ask anyone's permission to do anything,  they seemed to say, and he suspected it for the truth. Rurik nearly  laughed at her attempt to placate him, but decided this bore watching.

"Sven, come!" he yelled. When his friend approached, he pointed at  Margriet. "Escort the sisters to the river's edge. There might be a  cooling breeze there to ease the heat."

She spoke no words of thanks to him. She said nothing at all and only  granted him the smallest of nods in exchange for the consent she sought.  Rurik knew the area was safe, for both he and his men had searched it  thoroughly before setting up their camp. And, if she were gone, he could  finish his work before the sun set.

Or so he told himself.

And that was but another lie heaped on the ones he already said or  thought. He'd been living a lie for years, portraying the man those with  whom he lived and fought next to expected him to be, and he'd lost the  man he truly was. His sudden arrival without explanation at his uncle's  holding, his upbringing in Sweden and Norway and on the Orkneys and his  appearance-tall, blond, strong-all helped him create the facade of a  Viking warrior of legend. He resisted a smile as he remembered but a few  of the women and their reactions to him. On the verge of full manhood,  their brazen interest in his growing sexual prowess spurred him on and  he discovered that he loved women … and they loved him.                       
       
           



       

Now, he must find the truth of the real man within before confronting  his father and the demands that family and honor required. Still though,  his practiced behavior of the last ten years was more comfortable than  examining his character, and so he found himself watching the sway of  her hips as she walked away.

His gaze followed them-her-as Sven led the women across the camp and  toward the river. Sister Elspeth walked with her head down, in prayerful  contemplation or in her usual silence he knew not, and in a demeanor  closer to what he thought a nun's should be. The young woman only spoke  to Sven, who seemed intent on learning her Gaelic. Rurik shook his head  and turned back to his task.

Why Sven bothered himself with the effort he could not understand, for  there could be nothing between them and Rurik knew that Sven would not  return to this or any part of Scotland. But the young sister laughed  softly and corrected Sven's mangling of the words he tried to say. He  decided there was no harm in it. After all, learning another tongue was  no' such a bad way to spend the time on the journey.

A few minutes passed and Rurik mastered his lack of control and  completed his inspection. Night approached, but the morn would find them  ready to travel. He wanted to take advantage of the fair weather they  had now before reaching the blustery and stormy northern edge of the  country.

As they traveled farther, the conditions would surely deteriorate and  their progress would be slowed. No more summery days with heat like  this. No'many days of full sun beating down from above. Nay, he expected  that the rain showers and winds of the far north would greet them soon.  He surveyed the gathering once more and was about to see if any stew  remained in the pot when her scream pierced the calm.

Rurik pulled the sword ever at his side from its scabbard on his belt  and took off in a full run, calling out instructions to the men as he  passed them. Branches slapped at his face and arms as he pushed through  the dense brush. He ran not on the path where the women had walked, but  into another area so that his arrival at the river would not be where  expected. Better to surprise an attacker than give them the advantage of  knowing where you would be.

The scene that met him as he reached the river's edge was like something  from one of the farcical entertainments that Jocelyn planned at Lairig  Dubh. One nun sprawled out in the water, the other standing on the edge  trying to reach her. Sven standing nearby, laughing like a madman, not  helping at all. Then, before he could do anything, the second nun went  flying into the water as well. His men crashed through the bushes and  circled the bank of the river waiting for his orders.

Sven caught sight of them first and frowned at him. Then the two women,  both now mostly under water save for their wimpled heads that bobbled on  the surface, noticed them standing at the ready for battle. Rurik could  tell the exact moment when Margriet realized that she was the cause of  their presence. And their fully armed presence at that. The obvious  enjoyment left her face in a rush and she tried to stand up.