Terri Brisbin - Surrender To the Highlander



Nothing she did escaped his gaz e.

Not a thing.

Not the way her mouth curved when she spoke.

Not the way her hand lightly touched the surface of everything as they passed by.

Not the way her voice grew husky as she whispered her prayers over meals or before sleeping.

Not a cursed or blessed thing.

Rurik closed his eyes and begged forgiveness from the Almighty. Not the many gods of his ancestors, but from the One who truly ruled the heavens and earth.

For he was a man whose body and soul lusted after a nun.

Praise for Terri Brisbi n:

‘A welcome new voice in romance…

you won’t want to miss.’

—bestselling author Susan Wiggs

SURRENDER TO THE HIGHLANDER‘…a carefully crafted plot spiced with a realistic measure of deadly intrigue and a richly detailed, fascinating medieval setting.’ — Chicago Tribun e

‘…a seductive, vivid love story’

— Romance Reviews Toda y

TAMING THE HIGHLANDER‘TAMING THE HIGHLANDER is a lively, frolicking tale of life in the highlands; truly a must-read.’ —– Historical Romance Writer s

THE COUNTESS BRIDE‘The author uses a time in history that is fraught with war, deceit and uncertainty to move her characters into love, conflict and danger. Brisbin woos her readers with laughter and tears in this delightful and interesting tale of love.’ — Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Terri Brisbinis wife to one, mother of three, and dental hygienist to hundreds when not living the life of a glamorous romance author. She was born, raised and is still living in the southern New Jersey suburbs. Terri’s love of history led her to write time-travel romances and historical romances set in Scotland and England. Readers are invited to visit her website for more information at www.terribrisbin.com, or contact her at PO Box 41, Berlin, NJ 08009-0041, USA.

Recent novels by the same autho r:

LOVE AT FIRST STEP

(short story in The Christmas Visit )

THE DUMONT BRIDE

THE NORMAN’S BRIDE

THE COUNTESS BRIDE

THE EARL’S SECRET

TAMING THE HIGHLANDER

Look for POSSESSED BY THE HIGHLANDER Coming September 2009

Terri Brisbin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to two groups of women

who have supported me in the last two years

and one special person—

First, the wonderful women in the office

of Dr Linda Graziano in Cherry Hill, New Jersey.

A caring group of professionals, they are also avid

romance readers and have been asking

for Rurik’s story since they first read

TAMING THE HIGHLANDER.

Linda, Patricia, Pat, Helen, Shelley, Deb and Amy—

here he is! Enjoy! (And thanks!)

And to the warm and amazingly helpful women and

avid romance readers in the Stratford, New Jersey,

office of Dr Jerome Pietras. To all of you who helped

me ease through difficult situations and appointments,

many thanks and this one’s for you, too!

And this is for Melissa Endlich, my editor,

who has been a help to me more than she will ever

know over this last year. She understood

and loved Rurik as much as I did.

Saying thank you is not nearly enough.…

Chapter One

Lairig Dubh, Scotland 135 6

His sword sang its death song and the sound pulsed through his soul, giving him strength and resolve. Swinging it over his head and aiming its sharpened tip down, Rurik Erengislsson allowed the Viking buried deep within him to rise as he became one, in that instant, with the messenger of death in his grip. Only his control, exerted at the last moment, kept the deathblow from being delivered to the man lying at his feet in the dirt. Raising his face to the sun, he screamed out his battle cry like a berserker of old, loud and long, until it echoed out past the buildings of the yard and even over the walls surrounding the keep of Lairig Dubh.

His opponent judiciously allowed him the moment of triumph and did not move. The sharp tip of the sword held at Connor’s neck was, no doubt, part of what held him motionless, waiting for Rurik to relent. When those watching erupted into cheering, he lifted the sword away and reached down to his vanquished foe, the man he called laird.

“I was beginning to think this was the end,” Connor MacLerie, Laird MacLerie and the Earl of Douran, said under his breath. “There was an expression in your eyes I did not recognize, Rurik.”

The laird brushed the dirt from him and held his hand out for his own weapon, which Rurik had tossed aside during their battle. A boy ran to pick it up and bring it back to Connor.

Rurik cleared his throat and spit in the dirt. “I do not kill those I serve.”

Connor nodded at the gold armbands he now wore. The laird was an observant man. “The sword. The armbands. I suspect they are related to the visitors who stand in my hall and await your arrival there.”

“Visitors?” he asked.

Nodding to another of the lads who stood watching, he leaned over and gave him instructions before handing his blade to the boy. Facing Connor once more, he knew that an attempt at feigning surprise would not be missed and would be considered an insult by the laird, who was also his friend.

“They come looking for Rurik Erengislsson. They carry word from the Orkneys…from your father.”

The news was nothing he did not already know. Two previous visits by them had not gone unnoticed, but they returned north after being unsuccessful in their quest each time. In spite of his ability to avoid them, Rurik had not been able to cast the items they sent to him away as easily as he had their written missives.

“I know,” he said. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Rurik shrugged. “I do not wish to speak to them.”

Connor’s not-even-furtive glances over his shoulder told Rurik that the men approached from behind. Although quite capable of knocking them to the ground, he understood that Connor had welcomed them and had thus protected them with his name and hospitality. Attacking them, even if to give himself time to escape, was not possible without making the MacLerie himself an enemy. And the urge to run was growing, disconcerting him even more.

“That sword held over me in your hand tells me otherwise, Rurik.” Connor clapped him on the shoulder. “You cannot run from your past forever. ’Tis a lesson I learned and one that you should consider.” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. “You need not repeat my mistakes to learn from them.”

That sword had been his failing. The armbands, although appealing to him, did not carry the importance of the sword. He damned his own weakness in not simply burying it when it was delivered to him. Rurik gazed over to watch the boy following his instructions on how to clean it. Giving in to the inevitable step he must take, he nodded at Connor and turned to face the two men who had dogged his every move for more than three months.

They need not remove their hoods for him to recognize two of his boyhood friends now grown. Rurik held out his hand to each in turn. Memories flashed through his thoughts reminding him of how much trouble three boys, who were all bark and no brawn, could get into when they had too much time and not enough guidance.

“Sven. Magnus.”

The hesitation lasted only a moment more, until Sven reached over and pulled him into the crushing clinch given by one friend to another. Reluctant to admit even to himself how good it felt, Rurik pulled away. Magnus’s reaction should not have surprised him, but it did and he barely missed having his wits knocked out of him by the blow when it came. The silence in the yard grew as he climbed to his feet, brushed some dirt from his breeches and began to laugh.

“Connor, come and meet these two worthless…”

They both jumped him when he turned back to the laird and he continued laughing as they all hit the ground. He held his own in the battle for a few minutes and then Rurik pushed them away, ending the fight and the uncomfortable beginning between them. Connor approached then and he introduced them in the Gaelic spoken by the clan here. When the laird invited them to seek the comforts of the hall, Rurik shook his head. He did not wish to hold the coming conversation in front of those here.

Leading the two out of the yard, through the gate and toward the village, Rurik felt the knot in his gut tighten. What kind of mistake was he making in wanting to hear their message?

He’d lied to Connor and knew the truth of it in his soul—he feared the words sent by his father. He dreaded the choices he would have to make once they were spoken. Swearing not to return to the northern islands was fine when there was no invitation, but now what would he do?

Sven and Magnus did not speak on the way to the cottage Rurik maintained here in Lairig Dubh for his use. A woman from the village watched over it when he was gone and kept it clean and stocked while he was here. Rurik smiled as he thought on the other things that the lovely Daracha provided to him during his stays. His body hardened and his mouth watered in anticipation of such things happening this night after the village quieted.

Sven and Magnus would have to sleep in the keep.

He pushed the door open and let them walk in first. Leaving the door open to allow the breezes to flow through, he pulled the few stools and chair near the small table and pointed for them to sit. Going to a storage cupboard, he took out a skin of ale and three cups. Filling them, he sat and nodded at Sven, the one who would most likely deliver the message.

“We have sought you for nigh onto three months now, Rurik. Why have you avoided us?”

“I had no interest in your words or the one who sent you,” he offered, not certain he believed the excuse, but it sounded like a good one.

“And now?” Magnus asked. “Why did you want to hear it now?”

Rurik looked around the cottage and wondered himself about the reasons that drove him to avoid them for months, as they’d said, and now approach. “It was time.”

Sven and Magnus snorted, almost in unison, exchanged looks and then shrugged before drinking more of their ale. The tension around them dissipated, as though now that they knew he would hear them out, they did not have to worry about his trying to leave them behind.

“He wants you to come back. He is willing to recognize you as son and heir,” Sven said, not bothering with niceties.

“Heir?”

The word slipped out before Rurik could stop it. The longing tore through him and his gut tightened. Years and years of fighting it and, with one word, it won.

“He needs someone to oversee his lands in Sweden. And there’s a marriage offer to be considered.”

Rurik tried to fight the smile and was as successful in that battle as he had been with trying to hold back the hunger for exactly what had just been offered to him. “Marriage?”