uncle, who had taken him in without question and without rancor for his beginnings. Although hesitant to reveal so much about himself, Rurik knew that he must in order to make such a decision wisely.
“I will think on it, Magnus. I need time.”
Sven and Magnus exchanged another look and then both of them peered around the interior of the cottage. Their plan was obvious; their distrust or suspicion palpable. They turned back to face him.
“The laird’s hospitality will be extended for you both in the hall. You will have no complaints about the amount or quality of his food or the cleanliness of his keep.”
He stood and waited while Sven and Magnus finished their ale. They began the walk back with him to the keep. It did not take long before women gathered along the path near his cottage. Smiling, he nodded at them as they passed. Sven and Magnus noticed them as well.
“Stay away from the virgins. The laird will take offense if you tangle with them and leave. There are enough others,” Rurik said, nodding his head in the direction of several of the women with whom he’d spent time since Nara’s departure, “who are willing.”
Sven and Magnus now smiled at the women as they passed, nodding to one or another. Men had needs; women filled them. And when the women were willing, pleasure followed.
“One thing you should know,” Rurik said in a low voice. “They believe that all men from the north are like me, if you get my meaning.”
His reputation as a lover of women, and a great one at that, had been built over the years here with the MacLeries. He had shared enough nights of wine and women with Sven and Magnus to know that they would not disgrace him or their ancient heritage when it came to their treatment of women here.
Rurik and his old friends made their way to the keep, where the laird and lady provided for their comfort, and then back to the village, where the women provided them another kind of comfort.
Five days had passed since Rurik heard his father’s offer and still he had made no decision. His uncle said nothing, although Rurik was certain he’d known the topic of the message. Dougal had never once spoken of what had happened to his sister, Rurik’s mother, and Rurik had never asked how much he’d known. The one thing that was certain was that Dougal had taken in and provided for the son of his sister and had been his staunchest supporter in every step he took in becoming part of the Clan MacLerie.
Now, Rurik found himself hesitant to raise the issue and he turned for counsel to his friend. After the evening meal, Rurik sought out Connor’s favorite place in the keep—other than his wife’s bed—and found the laird there, high on the walls, observing the comings and goings in the yard.
“So, when do you leave?” Connor asked as Rurik approached.
“I have not yet decided to answer his call.”
“Rurik,” Connor said, slapping him on the shoulder, “you decided as soon as the words were said. Even before,” he said, nodding his head at Rurik’s sword. “The moment you took that sword out of hiding and used it, the deciding was done.”
“I…” Rurik began but could not continue denying it.
Connor shook his head. “There is no need to deny the truth to me. And Dougal understands as well, but does not wish to talk about it with you.”
Rurik did not have words to express his surprise or his gratitude for the understanding of the two people closest to him in life. Before he could embarrass himself, Connor held out his hand. “May I see the sword?”
“I would have thought you’d seen it close enough from the ground?” Rurik chided. Taunting was much safer than to speak of what he was feeling.
“’Twas clear to me when I looked in your eyes and realized the man standing over me holding death at my throat was not the Rurik I knew that you’d made your decision.” Rurik slid the sword from the scabbard and held it out, hilt first, to Connor. “A beauty,” he said in a voice filled with appreciation for the work of art that a weapon like this one could be. “Is it your father’s then?”
“And his father’s before him. I saw it hanging behind his chair in his hall when I was growing up. Five generations of warriors in his family have used this sword.”
Connor stepped back and took a two-handed hold on the hilt, swinging the sword above and around his head. Rurik knew that the sword was perfectly balanced and as lethal as it was beautiful. He watched in silence as Connor moved through a few swing-and-thrust motions with it. Only another warrior could truly appreciate a weapon such as this and, clearly, Connor did.
“And now it is yours?” he asked.
“Aye, ’twould seem so.”
“When do you depart?” Connor asked. Then he added quickly, “And have you told Jocelyn yet?”
Rurik shook his head. The lady had become a good friend, but she would not take well to the news that he was leaving. And he would miss her also.
“Coward!” Connor said, one of very few who could accuse him of such a thing and live to tell of it. “Very well, I will tell her after you have gone.”
Rurik returned the sword to its place and nodded. There was too much for any words to convey properly, so he held out his arm to Connor.
“Laird,” he said, bowing his head.
“Friend,” Connor replied, taking his hand and arm in a tight grasp and shaking it. “You always have a place here with the MacLeries, Rurik. Know that always.”
Rurik found his throat tight as Connor released him. With a quick nod and a turn, he walked away from the laird and toward his destiny.
Chapter Two
Convent of the Blessed Virgin Caithness, Scotland
Margriet sat on the steps leading up to the small chapel and held her hands over her ears. If another of the holy sisters began to wail, she would—God forgive her—be tempted to strangle her. Granted they were only novices and young at that, but already Sister Madeline and Sister Mary were caterwauling as loudly as she’d ever heard anyone scream. Sister Suisan had fainted again, so at least her crying had stopped.
The reverend mother, Mother Ingrid, overwhelmed at the sight of the warriors at their gates, promptly ran to the church, fell to her knees in prayer and would not respond to any questions or requests. Although Mother’s manner was usually one of calm and control, Margriet guessed that when confronted with such a formidable group of outsiders anyone’s calm could be disturbed. That left Margriet, as was their usual custom in recent days, in charge of the others and she was uncertain what to do.
“Lady?” a soft voice broke into her quiet cone of thoughtfulness.
Margriet looked up and realized it was Sister Sigridis and she was not whispering but shouting at her. She dropped her hands. “What is it, Sister?”
“He is calling for ye again.”
“Yes, Sister. He has been doing that for two days now.”
“Do
