“But how can ye be king if ye are of nay royal blood?”

John wickedly smiled and explained, “Because we told his people that I am his cousin. My coronation is tomorrow evening. Once I am king, I promise ye that ye will have nothing to worry about again. Ye must tell nay one of this secret. Nay e’en yer Highland companion. Ye must promise me.”

“Nay, of course, Brother.”

Lara drew in a comforting deep breath. She knew that if Dermot did arrive, she had both Bram and now her brother to protect her. She smiled and gave her brother a bear-sized hug.

Bram mingled in the great hall with the crowd of men after he found Lara’s room empty. He had checked on her in the wee hours of the morning, but she lay asleep, and he did not wish to wake her. Instead of returning to his own room, he had gone downstairs to break his fast. Before he knew it, alarms sounded announcing the king’s arrival, and several dozen riders rode through the gates.

When Bram could not find Lara in her room, he assumed she had found her father and was somewhere in the castle speaking to him. He only hoped that her father would listen. From what Lara told him, he was not too sure the man could be trusted.

All night, Bram could think of nothing but the passionate kiss he’d shared with Lara. It was anything but innocent. When he felt her kiss him back, he knew that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, though she refused to admit it. Still, he needed to keep his feelings to himself for now. He had no idea what today would bring. Whether he would send her back to her husband or get the marriage annulled lay in the hands of her father. Bram knew that if there was an annulment, he would ask for her hand. But would she accept? Bram’s palms began to sweat when the thought entered his mind. His chest tightened with both anticipation and anxiety.

The King of Norway came bursting through the tall double doors, greeting several of the men in the room. Bram had never met King Eric Magnusson, but had heard that the man was fierce in battle. He overheard a group of men talking about the King’s recent campaign battling the Danish army and the success it had brought to his people.

King Eric was a tall man, with long, wild black hair and a pale complexion. He looked exactly as one would imagine a Norse Viking would. There was something particularly odd about him. He walked with a proud gait but seemed to favor his right leg over his left, and he appeared to be clutching onto his left arm. There was also something oddly familiar about him, though Bram had never seen the man before.

As a man experienced in battle and a warrior since childhood, Bram sensed that the King’s injuries were far greater than he displayed. He knew how a man looked when trying to hide battle wounds. Bram observed the other men in the room. Not one of them seemed to have taken notice of the King’s condition. Bram assumed that King Eric was either too proud or too stubborn to admit his health was declining.

King Eric raised a cloth to his lips and coughed profusely against it. Before he slipped it back into his pocket, Bram noticed the blood stain upon it. It became all too clear to him. The King wasn’t just injured, he truly was dying. That much had not been a lie.

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.

Chapter 19

“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.