The Viking's Bride: The Viking Series, #4

By Marti Talbott

At sixteen, Effie Chattan was careful to make only those promises she knew to be easily kept, but a foolish promise born of exasperation and stubbornness was about to become her undoing.

Forced to leave their land, good friends Ward and Branan led the MacGreagors north to find a new home, but good land came at a heavy price and one of them was about to fall victim to Effie's promise.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: MT Creations
• Release date: Jun 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533722485

Marti Talbott

Marti Talbott (www.martitalbott.com) is the author of over 40 books, all of which are written without profanity and sex scenes. She lives in Seattle, is retired and has two children, five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. The MacGreagor family saga begins with The Viking Series and continues in Marti Talbott’s Highlander’s Series, Marblestone Mansion, the Scandalous Duchess series, and ends with The Lost MacGreagor books. Her mystery books include Seattle Quake 9.2, Missing Heiress, Greed and a Mistress, The Locked Room, and The Dead Letters. Other books include The Promise and Broken Pledge.

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The Viking’s Bride

Book 4

(The Viking Series)

By

Marti Talbott

© 2016

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

The Viking’s Honor

CHAPTER 1

More Marti Talbott Books

At sixteen, Effie Chattan was careful to make only those promises she knew to be easily kept, but a foolish promise born of exasperation and stubbornness was about to become her undoing.

Forced to leave their land, good friends Ward and Branan led the MacGreagors north to find a new home, but good land came at a heavy price and one of them was about to fall victim to Effie’s promise.

CHAPTER 1

EFFIE CHATTAN DID NOT know a lot of things, but she knew this – she was not going to marry either of the two men taking turns splitting wood on the flat land in front of her home. True, the wood would help the small Chattan clan keep warm come winter, but the men cared not about that – they were there simply to impress her.

She wore the same loose-fitting apron dress all the women wore. Normally, she wore a long scarf to cover her hair and keep it clean as long as possible, but on this day it was too warm to keep her head covered. Instead, she sat near the top of a hill with the wind gently lifting her unbound, long auburn hair, and mentally counted five things she would rather be doing, one of which was washing clothes in the river – a task she sorely hated. That most of the clan was watching to see what she would do, annoyed her even further. Some even placed wagers, or so she heard.

Behind her, the most magnificent horse anyone had ever seen nibbled on the plentiful grass. Some said Effie was as handsome as her horse, but she did not think that possible. The horse was as black as night save for its rump, which was white with black spots. The mare’s mane had grown long and full, and its tail was at such a great length as to nearly touch the ground.

Long ago, the Chattan herd began with only four white mares and no stallion at all. Even so, foals and fillies were born each spring with remarkable black and white markings. The black stallion was a ghost, they believed, for only the shepherd had ever seen him. Once they discovered the generous revenue gained from bartering such beautiful horses, the fillies were kept, and the foals sold as soon as they were old enough, in an effort to keep the herd pure. Seldom did they return from market without gold and silver coins to add to their coffers. Obsessed with getting a good look at the stallion, Laird Chattan offered a generous reward for its capture. To this day it remained unpaid.

The land upon which the Chattan village sat was a wide plain of some length situated on the north side of a mighty river. The broad, level expanse of treeless land was divided into two parts by a hill that ran from the river to the foot of heavily forested mountains, often snowcapped in winter. There were various other mounds and hills too, but not as big or as high as that one. Across the river, the land gradually sloped downward, allowing breathtaking views of the vivid green and blue-green Scottish terrain.

The clan needed but three milk cows and a bull, all of which were free to roam wherever they liked. More often than not, the cows could be seen grazing amid their herd of horses and respectable flock of sheep. When the calves were old enough, they too were taken to market to barter for weapons, spices, oats, and wheat. Other than that, the Chattan lived a normal life, weaving their own cloth in winter, sheering sheep in spring, saving some, and then taking the rest of the wool to market. They grew their own vegetables and the land provided rabbit, deer, and enough fish in the river to insure none of them would ever go hungry.

To an outsider, the Chattan looked to have no problems at all. They would be wrong.

The clan was too small – so small in fact, the families lived in just nine cottages with one occupied by a widow, her six children, and the widow’s elderly mother. The cottages and the laird’s house were situated in a row on top of a respectable mound well away from, yet facing the river. It was in the laird’s house that Effie lived with her father, her mother, and five sisters ranging in ages from fifteen to seven months. Five cottages on one side of the laird’s house and four on the other were connected by a narrow front courtyard, with footpaths that led to the flatland below. Occasionally, a wild boar happened upon them, but that was rare.

The Chattan traveled to, and received visitors from other clans, by virtue of a wide path that ran not far from the river and ended on their side of the plain, for theirs was the last village before going into the mountains.

Effie, pay attention! her father commanded.

She was used to his admonishments and paid him no mind.

The foray of men coming from other clans to win her hand in marriage began in spring, with two that challenged each other to a game of stone put. She enjoyed watching each man try to throw the heavy stone farther than the other very much, and even laughed and cheered. Indeed, she enjoyed it right up until her father asked which of the two she had chosen to marry. She stared into her father’s eyes for nearly half a minute before she grasped the meaning of his words. Furious beyond measure, she could think of nothing to say, got up, walked to her horse, swung up on the mare’s back, and rode away.

That began it and two or more unmarried men came nearly every week. Some tried to persuade her, some tried to impress her, and some even looked far more interested in her horse than in her. The latter might have influenced her, for to Effie, admiring a magnificent horse said more of a man’s character than all the chopped wood and stone tossing in the world.

Effie’s circumstances were her father’s fault. Laird Chattan was obsessed with the clan’s unusual situation, for the women gave their husbands too many daughters and not nearly enough sons. Even Effie’s mother had not produced a son, and therefore Laird Chattan’s hope for the future lay in his eldest daughter, Effie. It was unusual, and perhaps even unheard of, for a grandson to be next in line to lead a clan, but it was the only hope he had – unless or until his wife finally gave him a son. It was for that very reason that Effie’s father continued to implore men from other clans to attempt to woo her. Laird Chattan cared not from which clan his future son-in-law came or what he looked like. He had but one stipulation – the man who finally won the beautiful Effie had to give up his own clan and become a Chattan.

Clan Chattan had no castle but hoped to build one someday. After all, all the best clans had heavily fortified castles and many weapons. But then, all the best clans had enough men to do the building. On the other hand, they lived in an out of the way place and had not been attacked in ages. When a dispute arose, Laird Chattan preferred using diplomacy, trickery, and even enticements to keep his people out of battle. So far, it worked well for him.

Effie found the splitting of wood boring, although she appreciated that she would not be put upon to do the work herself. Still, what kind of man would be willing to put on such an exhibition, and how was she to admire such a man? With winter coming, the men surely had their own wood to split.

She smiled when her little sister lovingly petted the horse’s nose and then sat down beside her.

Neiline studied one pile and then the second pile of wood, but it was impossible to tell which was the higher. Why do you suppose they keep comin’?

Father promises them I shall choose one for a husband, but I never do.

How are you to choose? They all look the same to me.

Father says I am to choose he that is strongest, so I may have strong sons.

Neiline wrinkled her brow. And daughters?

Effie put her arm around Neiline. You are wise for one who is not yet eight years.

Neiline hugged her sister back and then pulled away. I care not to have a husband.

Nor do I. Lasses, as you well know, are put upon to have the children, to care for them, to carry the water, to wash the clothes, to cook the meals, to work the land, to milk the cows, to churn the butter, and to please their husbands. While...

While their husbands take their mid-mornin’ nap?

Effie couldn’t help but giggle. Precisely. Fortunately, not all lads take naps, but how am I to know which do and which do not until after I marry him? I should be far more impressed if I knew even that much about them.

Only four of our lads take naps. Uncle Roddy does, as do Gilroy, Ellar and Quinn, but are we not all happy Quinn sleeps? Quinn does far more wrong than he does right when he is awake.

True. At least the other four lads do not sleep in the day.

Aye, but Thomas likes carin’ for the dogs and his sheep. The other three see to the horses, hopin’ to catch the stallion and collect the reward.

True as well, Effie said. She glanced at the men chopping wood and then looked away. ’Tis boredom, I am convinced, that makes a lad sleep when he ought to be workin’. They do help in the garden and carry our heavy washin’ baskets when they are awake, but the wives must keep the children quiet when they sleep. I dread bein’ married to a lad like that. I dread it so very much.

Have you told father the sort of lad you fancy?

’Tis unwise to tell father anythin’ at all. If I told him I prefer a lad who is not slothful, he would surely make me ride from village to village until I found just such a lad.

And you would rather not?

I would rather not.

Then I shall not tell him either. Neiline heard her mother call, got up, and rushed down the hill. Chickens, cats, and dogs scattered out of her way, but the geese were not quick enough and Neiline nearly tripped over one. She rounded several large rocks, a tree stump, and then ran up the path to the laird’s house where her mother stood in the doorway waiting.

Effie watched her go, and rolled her eyes when she realized nearly the entire clan was sitting or standing in front of the laird’s house watching her. Embarrassed as well as annoyed, she lowered her gaze and took no notice that the men had stopped splitting wood.

Instead, she let an exceptionally beautiful orange butterfly land on the back of her finger. She admired the small black dots and the black and white trim along the edges of its orange wings. Even so, she held her smile for fear her father might think she was smiling at one of the wood-splitters.

Effie, did I not say pay attention? her father barked once more. A painfully thin man with red beard and long slender fingers, Laird Cailean Chattan ignored the freshly torn hole in the side of his long pants that revealed a bony knee. He sat beside his friend, Laird Farquharson, on a smaller hillside and disgustedly shook his head. I canna think where I went wrong with her.

Farquharson nodded. I fear I have no good advice to give on that account.

Nor have I. I do my best to guide, flatter, and scold when necessary, but ‘tis useless when it comes to Effie. She’s a way of her own.

A younger man and considerably more fit, Laird Farquharson usually came to visit but once a month. That was before Chattan expressed a desire to marry Effie off. Farquharson was amazed at Effie’s inattention too. I bring this day my best lads and she does not take to either of them. Will she have no husband at all, do you suppose?

Irksome, I tell you. She is out-and-out irksome. Chattan’s expression was positively downtrodden when he said, Each morn I vow not to make the same mistakes with my other daughters – if ever I can know what those mistakes might have been.

Perhaps you might do well to put your hopes in another of your daughters.

Chattan considered that. Neiline favors me and does what I say. However, she is but eight and Effie dinna turn contrary until she was eleven. I have no assurance Neiline shall not do the same. If only I had a son.

If only Effie would marry and at least give you a son-in-law.

Aye, and bestow upon me a healthy grandson.

Expressing regret, Farquharson shook his head. One look at Effie and a lad would be daft not to give his very soul to have her.

Chattan drew in a deep breath. The truth be told, I dinna envy the lad who marries her. She is ill-disposed and if he can abide her at all, I shall be astonished.

Farquharson watched the butterfly take flight from Effie’s finger, and then caught his breath as Effie stood up and turned to glare at her father. I dare say, there are times she looks out-and-out dangerous. Has she yet killed anyone?

Not yet, lest you count poor Michael Forbes and he had it comin’. He tried to steal her horse and she ran him through with her sword.

Laird Farquharson let out a long, slow sigh. I remember that. ‘Twas indeed just and no one could blame her.

The Forbes tried, but I convinced them otherwise. They agreed not to attack if I gave over two Chattan mares. It pained me greatly, but I let them have their choice.

Aye ‘twas wise of you.

There was no mistaking it when Effie was unhappy. Either she ignored her father completely, or her dark eyes flashed an unmistakable warning, as they did just now. Chattan watched his daughter turn back around, put her hands on her hips, and frown at the two men.

In her usual raspy voice, Effie shouted, I shall have neither of you to husband. Be gone and go quickly.

Laird Farquharson leaned a little closer to his friend. Why do you not just betroth her against her will?

Chattan was shocked. And find my throat cut the next mornin’? Nay, I’ll not cross her. She shall want a husband someday, all lasses do, and then I shall...

If that be the case, perhaps you might ease your demand and let her live with her husband’s clan. That way, you can turn your attention to your next eldest daughter.

Chattan looked at his friend with a hopeful glint in his eyes. Do you think to ask for her yourself? She might like you.

I would and quickly, but my wife would not take to it.

Chattan chuckled and then his expression turned to surprise. I never knew you had a wife.

I tend to keep my misery to myself. Laird Farquharson smiled, stood up, nodded his goodbye, and then motioned for his men to meet him at the horses. With Effie watching, the three men quickly rode out of sight.

IN LESS THAN A WEEK, and just as Effie mounted her horse and meant to go for a long ride, her father called to her. What is he doin’ still awake in mid-afternoon? she moaned. It could only mean one thing, particularly since he had two unfamiliar men standing beside him. She thought to keep right on going, but she had already looked back, which he witnessed, unfortunately. The only way to keep her father from lecturing her long into the night was to do as he said. Reluctantly, she rode back to the top of the hill and waited for the exhibition to begin.

This time she was put upon to watch the two men, one on each side, attempt to fell a tree on the other side of the hill, so she was forced to turn her horse around. This time she paid attention. She side-sat atop Ras’ bareback with her arms folded in wild anticipation, for she had not been this entertained in ages. As soon as the chopping began, an entire flock of birds took flight which actually made her giggle. This exhibition promised to be very entertaining for she simply could not wait to see upon which man the tree fell.

One is from Clan Lyon, and the other Clan Ogilvy, her father announced as he came to stand beside her horse.

She was dumbfounded and gawked at him. Her father had clearly gone daft this time. The Lyon and the Ogilvy constantly fought over the unmarked boundary of their two lands, and marriage to either one would likely draw the Chattan into the battle. Why her father did not see that was beyond her. Furthermore, both were poor in strength and in Effie’s opinion, equally unsightly. To her dismay, when the tree began to fall, both men sprinted out of the way and the tree did not crush either of them.

For a split second, she was disappointed – until the noise spooked her horse and she nearly fell off. Just in time, her father got out of the way and as soon as she calmed Ras, she turned her ferocious glare on first one and then the other tree cutter, causing the men to run for their horses and ride away.

Effie had had enough. She dismounted, marched to him, and put her hands on her hips. Father, I demand you stop this foolishness! Each lad is worse than the last and those two are unbearable.

Chattan raised both his eyebrows. You demand? He put his hands on his hips as well, and looked down on her. I demand you marry and give me a grandson.

You would do better to demand a son from my mother.

Have I not already these many years?

I would not know, now would I? Go to your nap, Father. You waste your time on me.

He tightly folded his arms and refused to budge. Why do you spite me so?

Because you fight a battle you canna win. I shall marry when I desire it, not because you hope for a grandson.

You shall do as I say, Effie, or... He knew his mistake and bit his lower lip. Punishing her, no matter the manner, had never worked before.

Or what? she dared him.

Or...or...or I shall betroth you against your will to the next unmarried lad I happen to see.

You must mean an Englishman, for have we not already seen every unmarried lad in Scotland?

Nay, not an English – unless you give me no choice.

Effie’s irritation had turned to such anger she could actually feel the heat rising from the top of her head. You would happily betroth me to a stranger?

Aye, the first stranger I see.

Effie narrowed her eyes. No doubt, you already have a stranger in mind.

How could I? I’ve not left the village in months.

Aye, but did Laird Farquharson not suggest a particular stranger? Where have you hidden him, father? Until then, she had not noticed several members of the clan watching them and lowered her voice. It was none of their affair, after all.

Chattan lowered his voice too. Blame not Laird Farquharson, for he has naught to do with this. I have come to this conclusion all on my own thinkin’.

She narrowed her eyes yet again. I dinna believe you. There is trickery in your thinkin’ somewhere. There always is.

When she started to walk down the hill toward home, he quickly followed. Darlin’ Effie, I would never try to trick you.

She kept walking, hoping to quickly tire him out. Not more than once a day.

Well I do not trick you now.

Near the edge of the river where the others could not hear what was said, she finally stopped and turned to face him. What are you truly up to?

"Just this – if you do not agree to marry a stranger, I am forced to send for more lads to impress you. What choice have I? All the Chattan lads of