The Viking's Honor: The Viking Series, #5

By Marti Talbott

During a raid in Ireland that took her family, her home and all her food, a Viking intentionally let Shannon Carr live. She certainly did not see it as a kindness and the unexplained reason he let her live often haunted her. More pressing still was her need for revenge, so she set out to find the Vikings in Scotland. 

In England, Brightie Tweddle prayed rumors of a giant in the north were true and believed he alone could save her from an abusive brother. The moment she made good her escape, she too headed for Scotland.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: MT Creations
• Release date: Feb 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386967064

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.

Book preview

The Viking’s Honor

Book 5

(The Viking Series)

By

Marti Talbott

© 2017

During a raid in Ireland that took her family, her home and all her food, a Viking intentionally let Shannon Carr live. At first, she did not see it as a kindness, but as time passed, the reason he let her live often haunted her. More pressing still was her need for revenge, so she set out to find the Vikings in Scotland.

In England, Brightie Tweddle prayed rumors of a giant in the north were true and believed he alone could save her from an abusive brother. The moment she made good her escape, she too headed for Scotland.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

VIKING BLOOD

CHAPTER 1

More Marti Talbott Books

CHAPTER 1

IN THE LAND OF THE Scots, there lived an eagle with eyes that saw what other eyes could not.

It had dark brown feathers, save for a patch of white at the base of its tail and distinct white markings woven into its wing feathers. The top of the eagle’s head and the back of its neck glistened golden in the bright Scottish sunshine and its powerful talons enabled it to snatch its prey, sometimes right from the grasp of a fox or a bear. When it took flight, it spread its colossal wings thereby majestically displaying the fingerlike feathers at the tips. It often, and effortlessly, glided above wooded mountains, peaceful lochs, rolling hills, and bluish-green grasslands in search of a meal. Yet, few could claim seeing one and those that did, watched the skies repeatedly hoping to catch a glimpse of another.

It was no ordinary eagle, for this one often sat atop the highest tree in the northern mountains of Scotland and watched the people in the MacGreagor village below.

BY THE TIME HE WAS fifteen, Payton MacGreagor was already taller than all other men and the clan feared he would never stop growing. Keeping him fed and clothed was a full time job for a mother who had one older and two younger children to care for. It took double the cloth of a normal man’s shirt to make one for him and three times as much to make pants that were long enough. More often than not, what he wore had patches on the elbows and knees. The soles of his mended shoes were often worn all the way through, but the clan’s cobbler prided himself on keeping ahead of that problem.

Payton was a bit unsteady on his feet, as if he knew not where his body was at any given moment. For this reason, his father, Laird Colby MacGreagor, established a particular running course, making his son know between which wooden posts he could squeeze through and which he could not. In no time at all, Payton mastered that course and three more besides that increased in size the same as he did.

At eighteen, Payton had grown a foot more and were he not a loveable sort, he might have been greatly feared even in his own clan. Yet, when an animal was hurt, it was Payton who tended it long into the night hours, happy when it survived and downtrodden when it did not. Dogs followed him everywhere, horses came when he called and chickens, it was rumored, laid extra-large eggs just to keep him fed. It was not true, the eggs were the same size as always, nor was it true he was bothered by talk that he had become a giant. Payton was just Payton, doing his father’s bidding, helping the clan with the heavy lifting, and never knowing an animal large or small he did not love.

The woodworkers added a room to the laird’s house tall enough for him to stand without bending, and long enough for him to sleep in at night. As well, they made new and longer bows and arrows for Payton as he grew, the last of which was a very fine bow that held the string as taut as anyone had ever seen. His aim was as amazing as he was large, allowing him to make his arrows hit the mark eight times out of ten. Therefore, it was a daily challenge among the young men to out-shoot Payton. Some did, most did not, even after they made Payton stand much further away from the target.

Sadly, Payton had grown too big to ride a horse. The MacGreagor horses were not large enough to comfortably carry Payton’s weight, nor tall enough to keep his feet from dragging on the ground.

Rumors of a giant with a round face, and unmanageable light brown hair was bound to spread by virtue of neighbors who had seen him, but it was not the only fascinating news in Scotland. Word came of a massive horse – one with thicker than usual muscles, upright shoulders, a broad short back, powerful hindquarters, and a stature of seventeen hands tall. It was assumed that where there was one, there were also others.

Regrettably, such a horse could only be found in England.

Two generations had come and gone since the MacGreagors moved from the eastern coast of Scotland near the North Sea, to a plateau at the foot of the northern mountains. Hidden behind a hill, the villagers enjoyed peace and a good deal of prosperity. The land kept a vast heard of sheep well fed, and the plentiful wool was used to barter for tools, weapons, animal skins, and occasionally something made of gold or silver to delight the lasses.

Originally built in a hurry before winter set in, time had allowed for the adding of extra rooms to the cottages and bigger and better storage cellars. In front of the MacGreagor village was a river and on the other side of the river, the land sloped downward offering a stunning view of the blues and greens of Scotland’s rolling hills. Moreover, from the end of the path they could see who, if anyone was coming up the base of the mountain.

No finer place to live could any of them ever imagine.

Spring brought hard work as well as a fun time of year. The hard part was sheering the sheep – the fun part was watching the men try to catch them. For the occasion, the women made honey cakes, took the elders and the children to the top of the hill where they sat, ate, and thoroughly enjoyed the show. That was the fun part. The hard work came when it was time for the women to wash the sheered wool and either put it in bags to be bartered, or spun into wool for clothing and new sacks.

Spring was also a time for planting and for that, the MacGreagors brought carefully preserved seeds out of the cellars and prepared the land. Their winter stores had served them well, and spring marked the beginning of a new cycle of life. They grew fresh vegetables and harvested them in the fall, hunted rabbit and deer, and butchered cows – the meat of which they salted and dried to eat in winter. In fall, they once more gleaned the precious seeds to be stored for planting the following spring. Occasionally, they dried fish just in case, but so far the river had provided plenty and throughout most of the year.

Scotland suffered few famines, but illness returned with the winter weather each year. Some illnesses were worse than others, but all had the power to kill. Helpless mothers knew not how to save their children and many little ones died before they reached the age of five. Those over the age of forty were considered elders and they too succumbed to various illnesses each year. All clans suffered and the MacGreagors were no exception. Therefore, they held close the children that survived and carefully listened to what the elders could teach them before they died.

On the other side of the MacGreagor hill, Clan Chattan once lived. Chattan horses were sought after far and wide due to their beautiful and unusual black and white markings. They kept but one black stallion to breed with the white mares and the horses sold very well, until the year the elusive stallion came no more.

Long ago, the MacGreagors promised to build a castle for the Chattan, but there never seemed to be enough time and after the old Chattan laird died, the promise was forgotten. Intermarriage between the MacGreagor and the Chattan clan threatened to meld one into the other, until the young Chattan laird put his foot down and forbid it. So angry was he that he packed up the remnants of his people and moved them down the mountain to join with another Chattan clan. That was fine with the MacGreagors. There were other opportunities for a man who wanted a wife, to find one outside of his own clan. Each year, several of the unmarried men rode south to barter for salt and spices, and occasionally one or more came back with a bride from Clan Gordon, Clan Murray, Clan Farquharson, Clan Lyon, or Clan Ogilvy, all of whom lived in the lowlands not far away.

Indeed, the MacGreagors lived quite well until one looming problem threatened to wipe them all out. The Vikings had taken up residence in the northern tip of Scotland and were rumored to be steadily spreading south. The people tried not to be too concerned, but just in case, the men began to practice their fighting skills each and every morning. Rarely did they have reason to quarrel with a neighbor and most had never been in a battle, which made it even more necessary to practice. Other than that, there was little they could do save posting scouts in the hills to alert them of approaching danger.

LAIRD COLBY MACGREAGOR, a stout man like his predecessors, was nearly forty years of age when talk among the people brought to mind a certain question. Therefore, he called his council together to consider the answer. Over the years, the men added a great hall to the Laird’s house, a room just large enough for a long table and chairs, and it was there they sat to discuss the serious business of the day. On one wall was a threadbare tapestry, yet it was still pleasing to look at. On the opposite wall was the usual array of weapons easily gotten to if the need arose. Rarely used, most thought the great hall was a somewhat unpleasant place to be. A hearth at one end kept the room warm enough, that is, when it was not filling the whole cottage with smoke. Laird MacGreagor had yet to sufficiently entice Hensen into cleaning the chimney. Hensen was light enough not to fall through the thatched roof, if he was careful, but claimed heights made him swoon.

No one believed him.

Fortunately, the hearth was not excessively emitting smoke on this, a particularly important occasion, and a bouquet of fall flowers added much needed color to the otherwise uninviting room. Laird MacGreagor kept a flask of his best wine on hand, and poured half a goblet full for each man before he took his seat at the head of the table. He waited until the men quieted before he began, I say we ask the English to help us fight the Vikings and drive them out of Scotland. The Vikings raid and kill as many English as they do Scots.

Hensen scratched the side of his thin, short beard and frowned. He wore the same baggy long pants the others wore with a loose fitting shirt that allowed easy movement. Aye, but they attack along the coasts. Did our fathers not leave the coast for that very reason?

And now the Vikings make their homes in the far north. I fear they shall someday want our land, therefore, no other choice have we, said Laird MacGreagor.

A man with a wife and four children, Wallace was the most thoughtful member of the council, and normally took his time thinking through a problem before he spoke. Not this time. The English? Have you gone daft? Once they set foot in Scotland they shall think they are welcome to stay.

True, brothers Hensen and Moan agreed. Little more than a year apart, they were the youngest members of the council who rarely agreed on anything. If nothing else, they could always be counted on to make a gathering lively.

Laird MacGreagor ignored Wallace’s outburst, took a drink of his wine and then set his goblet down on the table. We must do somethin’. We are in more danger than most and cannae fight them alone.

Aye we can. We are well trained and... Moan started to say.

And if we lose? Laird MacGreagor asked. They shall kill our women and children. I cannae let that happen, nor can you. Our only hope is to attack them afore they attack us and for that we are in need of many more than just MacGreagors.

We must bury our silver and gold, Elder Connor muttered. Everyone, he noticed, ignored the suggestion.

’Tis Moan who is daft, Hensen couldn’t help but say, to which his brother swatted him on the arm.

Laird MacGreagor is right, Wallace admitted, completely ignoring the brother’s usual spat. They are in danger and we must prepare a place for the women and children to hide.

Elder Connor asked, Hide them where?

Behind the waterfall would do. Wallace’s suggestion quieted the discussion for a few moments.

’Tis not a bad idea but they will not all fit under the falls. We must hide a cottage in the trees with a roof to keep them dry should it rain, and... said Moan.

And if the Vikings set the forest on fire? Colby asked.

Elder Connor thoughtfully stroked a dark beard that matched his bushy eyebrows and tied back hair. They very well might, for they shall surely burn the village. They always burn the villages, or so ‘tis said.

I agree, said Laird MacGreagor. We must consider to where the women and children should run, and tell them to grab warm cloaks and what food they can before they flee. Agreed? All the men nodded.

Perhaps we should just tell the Vikings we too have the blood of Vikings, Elder Connor said.

Hensen scoffed, You imagine they shall come to talk first before they attack?

What’s this? Moan, asked. We have the blood of Vikings?

’Tis true, Laird MacGreagor admitted. We are the decedents of the first MacGreagor who was himself a Viking. He was stranded here, married a Scot and made Scotland his home."

I dinna believe it, Moan scoffed.

Good, said Laird MacGreagor, then you’ll not be tellin’ anyone else about it. What Scottish clan shall look kindly on us if they know?

He’s a point, the elder said. We came here to hide our heritage and we have hidden it very well. Yet, now we may have to fight our own kin.

I shall fight them gladly, Hensen said with a bit of a puffed chest. They are no kin of mine, if they are so loathsome as to force lasses and kill children.

Nor mine, Wallace agreed.

Then you are willin’ to fight with the English? Laird MacGreagor asked. Again there was a moment of silence while each of them pondered the answer they would give.

Perhaps we should first ask the other clans if they are willin’ to fight with the English against the Vikings, said Elder Connor. Payton is in need of a horse and we must send men to barter for one. Let them ask the other clans.

I’ll go, Moan quickly said. I have yet to see all the clans and if the lasses are as handsome as Cara, then I shall take a wife.

If she will have you, Hensen snickered.

Why not, I am as handsome as you and then some, Moan shot back in a tone of voice that was louder than necessary.

Laird MacGreagor knew where this would lead. The brothers were always eager to challenge each other. Very well, I shall choose three lads to find a horse for Payton and to ask the clans. When he stood up, so did the others and one by one, they filed out of the great hall.

Wallace lingered behind to have a private word with his laird. Why do you not put those two off the council?

Do you not recall, I lost a wager with their father. He hoped it would grow them both up some.

He hoped wrong, Wallace mumbled just before he went out the door.

Just as Hensen stepped through the door, his brother pushed him from behind and the wrestling match was on. Soon everyone came to watch. It was something Laird MacGreagor enjoyed as much as anyone. Moan and Hensen’s father always stood nearby, saying nothing but repeatedly and disgustedly shook his head. Their mother kept a hand over her horrified mouth, their sister giggled, and everyone else applauded each move no matter which had most recently pinned the other to the ground.

Standing behind the gathered crowd, Payton enjoyed the wrestling match too.  

MORE THAN ONE UNMARRIED man wanted to go south to find a horse for Payton. Reasons for going on an adventure happened rarely, especially for the younger men. That Laird MacGreagor’s eldest son, Jamison, should lead the journeymen was a given, but who should he choose to send with him? Should he send the largest, the best fighters, or the ones less likely to find a bride among the MacGreagors? One thing was for sure, it was not often he made a decision in cases such as this that did not upset someone.

Therefore, when morning came and word spread of the upcoming excursion, seven men stood in a row with hopeful looks on their faces awaiting Laird MacGreagor’s decision. At length, Laird MacGreagor decided to treat the clan to a contest – a target shooting contest. He sent the men to fetch their bows and arrows, and then pulled a half burned stick out of the previous night’s fire. Next, he walked to a tree at the edge of the forest and used the burned end of the stick to draw a circle on the tree trunk. Finished, he turned around, took several paces away from the tree, and then marked a line in the dirt behind which the men were to stand.

Watching their father, each with their arms folded, stood Payton and his older brother, Jamison.

I shall miss you, said Payton.

Jamison smiled up at the man who stood nearly two feet taller than he. And I you. If you dinna have to walk all the way, I would choose you to go with me.

Father says the Scots would find me more frightenin’ than the Vikings.

Perhaps, but I wish it just the same. Jamison watched the first archer miss the tree altogether and tried not to laugh. However, the gathered clan held not their laughter, and the loser hung his head and walked away.

He be too young anyway, Payton said.

The next to shoot was Hensen, who, as expected, hit the target dead on. Hensen is a good man, even if he is short for a MacGreagor.

Payton nodded and leaned down to pet a dog that was begging for attention. He picked up a stick, looked to make certain he would not hit anyone, and tossed it away for the dog to chase. The next two archers were not much better than the first, but when it was Moan’s turn, Payton smiled. Moan and Hensen shall win.

Aye,

Payton was right, and although Laird MacGreagor looked none too pleased, he gave his word and his nod to both of the delighted brothers. With the contest over and the people wandering off to tend their chores, Laird MacGreagor came to stand with both of his sons. Have I chosen wrongly? he asked Jamison.

Nay, Jamison answered. They are both good fighters and why would they not be? They fight each other often enough.

You must keep them from fightin’, for they’ll not see danger, said Laird MacGreagor.

Before or after I keep Moan from takin’ to wife the first lass who smiles at him?

Laird MacGreagor chuckled. He is a bit too eager. Perhaps you might persuade him that a hasty wife is not always the best wife.

Me? Jamison objected. You are his laird.

And so shall you be one day. Laird MacGreagor turned his attention to Payton and before he walked away, he said, Son, we are in need of your help this day.

Payton grinned, watched his father leave, and then softly nudged Jamison with his elbow. He means to keep me busy so I shall not miss you so greatly.

"I shall miss