Author: Elina Emerald
Publisher: Elina Emerald
Published: 2020-10-20
Total Pages: 217
ISBN-13: 0648970515
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Brodie’ The Bear’ Fletcher is a ladies’ man through and through. A Legendary Warrior on the battlefield, his conquests in the bedchamber are equally renowned. He is his own man. He belongs to no one. But a trauma from his past has him questioning his life trajectory. As Head Guardsman of the War Band to Chieftain Beiste MacGregor (BOOK 1), Brodie is often in the company of an infuriating mixed-race bowyer named Orla who challenges him at every turn. With the threat of Viking raiders from the North, Brodie finds himself at the mercy of the very woman who threatens to steal his heart. Orla ‘the Orphan’ has loved Brodie Fletcher for as long as she can remember, but he never once noticed her. Abandoned on the doorstep of ‘Morag the Oracle,’ she was raised with the MacGregor clan. A master huntress and trusted advisor to the Chieftain’s wife, Orla is a constant thorn in Brodie’s side, with her razor-sharp wit and a waspish tongue. Everything changes when Jarls from the North stake their claim. They will all discover firsthand what happens when you poke the Bear. Content Warning: Brawny alpha males, and feisty heroines. Not suitable for people under 18. It contains mature content, some violence and mild steam. If you like your medieval romance with a twist of suspense, action and adventure, and interracial romance, then you'll enjoy this book. *** Chapter 1 – The Beginning 1016 Royal Palace, Lake Hayq, Wollo Province, Abyssinia Queen Gudit paced the hallways of her palace. Worry and sorrow driving her repetitive behavior. She wore the signatory Habesha kemis made of white chiffon with a richly woven netela shawl draped across her shoulders. Despite the simple attire, no one would mistake her for anyone other than the Warrior Queen. Gudit had reigned sovereign over a vast kingdom for over thirty years and was close to destroying an Axumite empire twice the size of her own. To her detractors, she was a ruthless usurper, a rebel. To her supporters, she was a legitimate ruler from a dynastic family. Whatever the preconceptions, none could deny she was born to lead, and she did with fire and military acumen. But the Queen was foremost a mother who cherished her children. Losing her youngest daughter, the thing she mourned the most. At twenty-one, Izara had vanished after traveling to Yemnat. Months of searching had proved futile… until now. Gudit’s pacing ceased when Zenabu, her trusted advisor, approached. He bowed in reverence before saying, “My Nigisiti, I have received word from Ajani.” Zenabu ushered the messenger forward. He was a young, attractive man, dark-skinned with the lean physique of a runner who could cover long distances without rest. “Speak,” Gudit said in an authoritative voice. The messenger bowed. “Master Ajani says Li’iliti Izara was captured from the Port of Zeila by Norsemen.” Gudit turned to Zenabu. “What is these Norsemen?” “They are white, golden-haired raiders from a land called Norway,” he replied. The Queen whipped her head back to the messenger. “Continue.” “The li’iliti was seized as a gift for their king. A man called Ol… af Harald… sson.” “Ol… af? What kind of name is this? What are his demands?” “He made no demands, my Nigisiti. She was to become one of his thralls.” Gudit tried to school her features, but her rage got the better of her. She shouted, “Do you mean to tell me my daughter, a descendant from a thousand, year-old dynasty is to become the slave of some… Olaf?” Gudit threw the cup of wine she was holding at the wall. It narrowly missed the messenger’s head. The messenger replied, “Yes, my Nigisiti.” “What do you mean was? What are you not telling me?” Her hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat with the intent to squeeze. Zenabu intervened before the Queen lost all composure. He dismissed the relieved messenger and explained the rest. “It seems the li’iliti never arrived in Norway. Her captor…” He hesitated. “Her captor did what?” The Queen tensed, knowing that if her daughter were dead, she would reign fire upon these Norsemen. Zenabu cleared his throat. “Her captor took her with him. He did not return to his king.” The Queen visibly relaxed before confusion marred her features. “Then where did he take her?” “He took her to a foreign land surrounded by the sea. They call it… Orkney.” *** 1018 Birsay, Orkney Isles Izara Mezmer watched the raging sea from the castle wall-walk. Her raven black hair and iridescent dark skin glistened in the wintery sunlight. The signatory robes marking her as a thrall billowed as the icy winds lashed the material across her protruding belly. She was thousands of miles from her beloved homeland, staring at the vast expanse of ocean. She was in a foreign landscape as striking and terrifying as the Norse Jarl who had captured her on a Viking raid. “Git inside, it’s cold.” A deep voice rumbled from behind her before she felt a fur-lined coat being draped across her shoulders. Izara turned towards her captor. He was a fearsome-looking man with a firm jawline and rugged facial features. Fair skin with a head of thick black unruly hair. He looked so different from the other golden-haired Vikings, yet to her, he was striking. He towered above her. Violence and brutality pulsed from his very being. None of it had ever touched her. She had witnessed his rage unleashed upon others if they dared to cross him. But to her, he was always a protective lover with an abundance of kindness… but only to her. “I just needed air,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Whitna' bout the bairn?” “The bairn is fine.” “Did ye have another vision?” he asked. “It was nothing.” She lied. His worried eyes assessed her as he frowned. Izara furrowed her brow in return. It was a look she gave him when she was trying to read his mood. His eyes softened before he gathered her into his arms. Her back to his front, one hand gently caressing her stomach, cradling their unborn child. “I mis return to Caithness in the morn. There is trouble brewing with my half-brothers. Ah’ll need to go to Norway to petition King Olaf about their territories.” “Should I come with you?” Izara set her troubled eyes on him. “No love, ye are safest here. But I promise ah’ll return in time to meet our bairn.” Izara relaxed once again into his warm, comforting embrace as they stared at the Atlantic Ocean in silence. Clutching the rosary beads in her hand, she uttered a silent prayer that her premonition was false. But deep down inside, she knew she would not live long enough to watch their child grow. *** 1023 Lerwick, Shetland Islands The wind picked up its pace as five-year-old Orla curled up in her warm bed. She had been through many upheavals in her brief life. Abandoned at birth, she had moved from one household to another. Always hidden away. Orla learned to adapt and adjust to any circumstance, but no matter how much she tried, she could not shake the loneliness of being an orphan and having no last name to speak of. Startled by a sound, she opened her eyes to see Runa; the woman caring for her. “Wake up, peedie bird. Ye’re aboot to go on a journey.” “Where to?” Orla asked in a loud voice. “Shh quiet, no one must ken ye are leaving.” A familiar voice spoke behind her. It was Hagan, Runa’s husband. Orla had been living with the couple and their son, Torstein, for some time. Hagan was already gathering her things together while Runa started dressing Orla in warm clothes. In hushed tones, Orla asked, “Can I take Mira?” “No, lass, ye cannot take yer puppy. He will make much noise,” Hagan replied. “Whitna’ bout Tor, can he come?” “No, he is still away at sea,” Runa said, hugging her. Orla hugged her back but looked confused when Runa started wiping tears from her eyes. “Why are you weeping, Runa?” “Because ah’ll miss ye. Now mind on yer prayers daily and try to keep out of trouble.” Orla nodded. Then Hagan crouched down beside her. “Remember the silent game we played when ye were a bairn?” Hagan asked. “Aye.” “We mis play it again now, sweeting.” He stretched out his hand towards her. Orla placed her tiny hand in his big, calloused one and followed him through the darkened tunnels below the homestead that led to the ocean. When they arrived at the opening, Orla saw a longboat on the shore with men on board. Hagan picked her up, his loosened blonde hair flying behind him as he ran towards the sea. “Where are we, gan?” Orla asked, holding on tight as they moved faster. “To Scotland.” “Why?” “We mis hide ye again, lass.” “Hide me? Who from?” “A monster.” *** 1024 MacGregor Land, Glenorchy The Bear Orla hated Scotland. The children were mean because she looked different and talked strangely. They laughed and poked fun at her hair, her skin color, her clothes. Because she did not know who her parents were, they also called her, ‘Orla the Orphan.’ That slur hurt the most. To be reminded daily that she had no last name, and no kin, was like pouring salt on a festering wound. The kids also teased her because she lived with Morag ‘the Oracle.’ Although Morag looked scary with her long white hair and eerie eyes, Orla felt a powerful bond with her. She tried not to cry when the others said mean things, but she was only six summers old, and everything about the place and its people was strange to her. When the taunts became too much, Orla would run into the woods and sit near a large Rowan tree. Its branches, she imagined, were the arms of a loving parent reaching out to console her as she sheltered in its embrace. On one particularly bad day, feeling so alone, Orla was sobbing by the tree when a large boy stepped out from behind it. At first, she was terrified, thinking he meant her harm, but he told her not to be afraid. He just needed to sit and rest a while in the shade. Orla noticed he had cuts on his arms and when he turned his face fully to her, she gasped to see one side swollen and bruised. “Are you all right?” Orla asked tentatively as he winced when he sat down beside her. “Aye… just a wee bit sore tis all.” “What happened to you?” “I… fell off a horse.” They sat in silence for a while until he asked, “Why are ye crying, lass?” “The children here are very mean.” He nodded in understanding, then told her he came to the tree too sometimes when people made him sad. They talked for a long time about many things, and soon Orla realized she did not feel so alone anymore because that day she made her first real friend. His name was ‘Brodie Fletcher' and because of his size, they called him ‘the Bear’. He became her protector. From then on, whenever the village children teased her, Brodie would threaten them, and they would stop. Brodie even let her go hunting with him sometimes. Orla decided she wanted to be a hunter, just like him. Brodie introduced Orla to his friend. A boy named ‘Beiste’. He was the MacGregor chieftain’s son, and he was kind to her. Beiste became her second friend. *** 1026 Handfasted When Orla was eight years old and Brodie twelve, he told her he and Beiste were leaving to foster with the Murrays. They would be gone a long while. Orla ran to her Rowan tree, weeping because she would miss Brodie. He was her one loyal friend. He had been there for her when she had no one, and she had kept him company when his father hurt him. Over the years, Brodie’s father hurt him a lot. “What’s wrong, Orla? Dinnae cry. I’ll return someday,” Brodie said when he found her by their tree. “Brodie, you are my one true friend. What if you never come back? I will be alone forever.” Orla sobbed. “You’ll not be alone forever. There’ll be many men trying to court you, for you’re a bonnie catch.” “Not when I am different.” “Och, when I return, you’ll be married to a handsome man. But none as braw as me you ken.” He winked at her to break the somber mood. “No one will marry me, Brodie.” “Dinnae say that, Orla.” “Tis true.” “Well, how about we agree that if no one marries you, I will?” “Really? You promise?” “Aye. I do. Here, we can use my hair tie to create a handfast.” He held her hand and released the leather tie that bound his long hair. He then tied it around their wrists, securing it in a knot. “What does it mean?” Orla asked. “My aunt says tis what couples do if they want to be together but are not ready for marriage.” “All right, let's hand… past?” “Handfast Orla. With our hands together bound fast like this.” He lifted their entwined hands. “Now what?” she asked. “Well, there are always words spoken.” He cleared his throat. “I, Brodie the Bear, take you, Orla, as my wife if no one marries you.” Brodie nudged her. “Now you say it.” “I Orla the Orphan…” She paused awkwardly. Brodie interrupted and shook his head. “No, Orla. Dinnae call yourself that. How about… Orla the… Huntress?” Orla nodded and smiled. “I, Orla, the Huntress takes you, Brodie, as my husband, in case no one marries me.” “Done. Feel better now?” “Aye, Brodie. Thank you.” Orla beamed at him. “Och, tis alright, lass. Here, you take the tie and keep it as a reminder.” Brodie untied their hands, giving her the leather tie to hold. “Will you come and say goodbye to me before you leave, Brodie?” “Of course, we’re handfasted.” He winked at her. *** Keywords: Book 2, OTT male, mixed race heroine, interracial romance, Earls of Orkney, Scottish clans, Vikings, Romantic Suspense, Medieval Empires, action and adventure, Warrior women, Warrior Queens, Abyssinia, Norway, King Macbeth, Olaf Haroldsson, friends to lovers, feisty heroines, over the top males, Battle axe, shotel, Highland warriors. Warning: Brawny alpha males a feisty heroines ahead. Not suitable for readers under the age of 18. It contains mature content. Fans of the following authors are known to enjoy this Scottish Historical Romance series: Julie Garwood Michele Sinclair Diana Gabaldon Hannah Howell Donna Fletcher Maya Banks Kathryn Le Veque Mary Wine Terri Brisbin
