Page 4 of The Cursed Highland Bride

An image from her childhood flashed through Katarina’s mind, nearly choking her from the pain of her recent loss. Her mother had washed her hair just so. But with that memory came the horrific images of her mother’s demise. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run or fight. But being too weak and stunned to do any of those things, she sat in the tub and wept instead. She wept for everything that had been, that which had been lost, and for fear of what was to come.

If Agnes had noticed her crying, she said nothing. She went about her business, scrubbing her clean and making tsking sounds as she went. When Katarina was finally clean enough to suit the older woman, Agnes helped her stand up. As she stood there, the woman poured another pitcher over her body from her head to her toes to rinse away the remaining soap.

“That is better. The laird will be pleased. Ye are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Katarina feared to even ask.

“Ready for the wedding, o’ course.”

“What wedding? Who is getting married?”

“Ye are, lass. The wedding is yers.”

CHAPTER TWO

Katarina stood in stunned silence. Mine?

Without warning, the door to the room swung open, exposing the menacing countenance of a man old enough to be her father. His eyes raked over her naked form as he circled her in examination but she was powerless to stop him or cover herself. She was barely able to remain standing of her own accord. “What is yer name?” he asked, his voice demanding.

Katarina struggled to find her voice, but when she at long last spoke, it came out more as a hoarse squeak than actual words. Agnes took pity on her and wrapped her in a warm blanket, assisting her out of the tub and onto the chair.

“Speak up,” the man ordered impatiently. “Ye are nae a mouse.”

Katarina’s anger flared, giving her strength. “Katarina Buckland,” she managed to answer hoarsely. “Who are you?”

“I am Laird Alistair Morgan.” He shook his head in disapproval of her. “Och, ye dinnae speak properly. The Viking will ken that ye are nae my daughter.”

Katarina frowned in confusion.

“Ye are nae Scottish?”

Katarina shook her head and immediately regretted it. She looked to Agnes for help, but the woman remained silent. She must be afraid of him too.

“Repeat after me, exactly as I say it. Do ye understand?” He glared down at her as if she were an imbecile.

Katarina was furious and mimicked him harshly. “Do ye understand?”

His brows arched in surprise. “That is nae bad. Try again.”

“That is nae bad,” she repeated mockingly.

The man, clearly not realizing he was being mocked, nodded his approval. “That’ll do. From this day forward ye will speak as a true Scotswoman. If I hear ye speak in any other way, I will have ye beaten. Ye will undergo lessons on how tae be a Scottish noblewoman o’ good breeding. Ye will learn quickly, or ye will be punished. Ye are tae take my daughter’s place and wed the Viking beast o’ Orkney. Ye will pretend tae be her until a time o’ my choosing. Do ye understand?”

“And if I refuse?” Katarina knew that she was playing with fire, but she no longer cared what happened to her—she only cared about her sisters.

“I will kill the rest o’ yer family.”

Katarina attempted to lie. “I have no family. Your men killed them all.”

The man stepped forward and slapped her across the face. “Speak correctly even when ye lie, or ye will be disciplined. We both ken that yer sisters are rotting away in the bowels o’ my home even as we speak. I can either let my men have their way with them and then kill them, or I can keep them safe and alive. The choice is yers.”

Katarina swallowed the bile that threatened to choke her. “When am I tae be wed?” she asked, gritting her teeth in determination. She would not let this man win. He would not touch a hair on her sisters’ heads, not if she had any say in the matter.

“Ye have a fortnight tae learn all ye need tae. Should ye fail, ye will wish that I had killed ye.” With that, he turned and left the room.

* * *

Orkney Islands, Scotland