Page 5 of To Tame a Viking Warlord

"Brodie Fletcher! You fought Tor on purpose, didn't you?"

Brodie was grinning outright. "Aye, every time I launch myself at that golden oaf, ye spend the rest of the night proving your love to me until my pecker nearly breaks. Why would I not?"

"You lying wretch!" She swatted his arm and gave up the argument. Then she sighed.

"What are ye sighing about?"

"I'm worried about Tor. His easy smiles are all appearance. Did ye see him turn away every woman in the hall? I think he's lonely, or lovesick, or both."

Brodie snorted. "That fool kens nothing about love to be afflicted by it."

"I'm going to ask Ma to have a word with him. She may help with his malady."

"Wife." Brodie hauled her against him. "Ye are spending far too much time thinking on another man while in our bed. Cease at once."

***

Morag's Healer Cottage, MacGregor Land

THE ANCIENT DOOR CREAKED as Torstein ducked beneath the low frame, his shoulders nearly spanning its width. Herbs hung from the rafters in neat, fragrant bundles, their bitter green smell mixing with peat smoke. Morag sat hunched at her table, sorting dried roots into small piles, and did not turn at the sound of the door. Morag was Zala Fletcher's adoptive mother. Torstein’s parents had rescued Zala when she was a babe and sent her to Morag for protection. Zala ended up being raised amongst the MacGregor clan.

"Welcome, Golden Hair," she said. "I have been expecting you."

"Greetings, Morag. Zala sent me. She said you wanted a word, and she threatened to take away my manhood if I did nae visit in person."

Morag chuckled. "Aye, I raised a stubborn lass who can grapple with the best."

Torstein handed over a parcel and left it on the table. "'Tis a gift from my mother."

Morag glanced at the wrapped package and replied, "Och, just what I need to guard against the cold. Thank her for me."

Torstein was stunned because Morag had not even opened the parcel, and only he knew there was a new stitched fur-lined coat inside. "How did ye ken what she gifted ye?"

"I may be ancient, but my senses remain sharp, Viking. I saw it before ye stepped through the door." She turned at last, eyes pale as morning mist, and gestured at the stool across from her. "Sit. Close the door behind ye, mind. ''Tis a cold draught for these old bones, and I've had my fill of grandbairns running me ragged all sennight."

She grumbled it, but something in the set of her mouth told him she would not trade the chaos caused by Brodie and Zala Fletcher's rambunctious children for anything quieter.

"So what did ye need to see me about?"

A strange light came into her face, not quite of this world. "I sense your restlessness, son of Hagan. Your soul still seeks its other half."

Torstein stiffened. The words ripped open something old and tender, a memory he'd buried over time.

"What do you speak of?" His voice came out sharper than he intended.

"I speak of land that lies south, where your destiny awaits." Morag's gaze did not waver. "Your inner spirit paces your hall like a wolf in a cage, because the time draws near when you cannot refuse the path set before you."

"Did my men put you up to this? Have Leif and Njal been running their tongues again?"

"I have spoken to neither. Your heart still beats incomplete, warrior, and so does hers."

"I thought you needed to speak to me about Zala or the jarl," Torstein said. "Not tales of love."

"Did ye now." Her face creased with amusement. "Then why does your pulse quicken at my words?" She did not wait for an answer. "The woman you seek, she exists, Torstein."

He stilled for a moment at those words then shook his head. "Any fool can spin a tale of a mysterious maiden," he replied, though he did not move from the stool.

"Her eyes you will remember first," Morag continued, as if she had not heard him. "Dark, and ancient beyond her years. She will challenge everything ye believe about the world. And you will treasure her for it."