Pledged to a Highlander (Highland Promise Trilogy 1)

She took light breaths to calm her turmoil. This was what she had wanted for as long as she could remember—to be Royden’s wife. The circumstances were not as she had imagined them to be, but her love for him hadn’t changed even if he had. But would her love be enough? Or would she find herself wed to a stranger?

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Bethany.

“I am happy for you both. You and Royden were always meant for each other. All will be good now,” Bethany said with a joyous smile.

Oria wished she had the woman’s confidence. However, as she stood at the cleric’s approach, her legs—weak from trembling—reminded otherwise.

It was a quick ceremony. Fergus and Bethany were the only witnesses to it. Royden signed the document Fergus presented to him, and it was done.

She and Royden were husband and wife. She should have been happy but she felt more relieved than anything. Royden was safe and she wasn’t homeless. Not thoughts a new bride would expect to have on her wedding day.

“Fergus and I have things to discuss, and there are things I must see to. We’ll talk later,” Royden said, dismissing her and turned to walk away with Fergus.

“Since the day has you occupied, I’ll ride to Learmonth and see to gathering my possessions and return before nightfall,” Oria said.

Royden swerved around to face her. “You will not go anywhere. I’ll send someone to see to it. You will remain here.”

“I prefer to see to it myself and let those at Learmonth know I won’t be returning,” Oria said, annoyed that he dictated to her.

She had been blessed with the gift of freedom from Burnell. He never dictated to her or made demands of her. In a way, he had spoiled her giving her such freedom and she hadn’t realized it until this moment.

“Whether you prefer it or not, I forbid it,” Royden ordered sharply and once again dismissed her by turning away.

“You forbid me to go?” she asked, his dictate stirring her anger.

“Aye, forbid,” he reiterated with emphasis, annoyed she questioned him in front of Fergus.

“Come, my lady, I will fix you a nice brew,” Bethany said.

“Oria no longer bears the title,” Royden reminded with annoyance. “She’s simply mistress now.” He turned to Fergus. “Come, there are things to discuss.”

Oria hurried after him and once outside she saw him stop and speak to a lad of about ten years and the lad ran toward her horse while her husband and Fergus continued on.

“Come, Mistress Oria, a chill fills the air. Come in and sit by the fire and enjoy a hot brew,” Bethany encouraged, having followed her outside.

“Not right now, Bethany.” Without a glance toward the woman, Oria hurried toward the lad who was about to take the reins of her horse. “Leave her be, lad,” she ordered.

“Chieftain Royden ordered me to tend the horse,” the lad said.

Oria took the reins from him. “I will let the chieftain know I chose to do the task myself. Go and see if Bethany has a treat for you.” She looked to Bethany. “He needs a treat.”

Bethany nodded with a smile and waved the lad to her, though her eyes sent a warning to Oria that she ignored.

Without an ounce of doubt to her actions, Oria mounted her horse and took off, and she didn’t take her time going through the village. She set a fast pace and flew right past her husband.

Royden and Fergus stumbled out of her way, almost tumbling to the ground.

Fergus laughed. “You’re going to have your hands full with that one.”

Royden looked around for a horse.

“Take mine,” Fergus offered, pointing to a chestnut colored stallion.

Royden didn’t hesitate. He threw himself up on the horse and took off.

Penn approached Fergus and they both watched him.

“He handles himself far better than I expected for a one-handed man,” Fergus said.

“He’s no fool. He already suspects I am here to provide information to the leader of the mercenaries,” Penn said.

“You like your new home, Penn?” Fergus asked.

“I do. And I love my wife and look forward to our bairn being born,” Penn admitted.

“Then do what you’re told so you don’t lose what you love just as I am doing,” Fergus said.

Royden couldn’t believe Oria had disobeyed him. She’d always been compliant, never arguing with him, always thoughtful and agreeable. Where had that woman gone? And how had she learned to ride with such skill and confidence—and speed?

He raced to catch up with her, glad Fergus’s horse had speed of his own. They were racing across an open meadow and the land spread out beyond offered slight hills that wouldn’t slow her down much. If he didn’t reach her before then, he doubted he would be able to catch her.

He crouched over the horse and picked up speed. It wasn’t easy to pluck someone off a racing horse or jump onto one from another racing horse, and at one time, he didn’t have the skill or the confidence to attempt either feat. But the time came when he had had no choice, necessity had dictated it and anger had driven him. If he hadn’t taken a chance, Arran would have died. After that time, he didn’t fear attempting either feat again and again and again, until he was skilled enough to do so with confidence rather than fear.