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Lotta wrapped a dark cloak around her shoulders and walked away from the village that she called her home, although it never would be the same as the village she had grown up in. Laird Callan had shown her a great kindness in taking her into his home, but sometimes she wondered if it had been more of a curse than anything else. If things had remained as they had been, she would have been married by now, but because Fiona was older by a year, the laird insisted that she should be married before Lotta. Lotta also assumed that the fact she was his trueborn daughter had a lot to do with it as well. She didn’t blame him for wanting the most prestigious marriage for Fiona; it merely annoyed Lotta that Fiona was dragging her heels.

She had never understood Fiona from the time she had begun to live with Laird Callan. Fiona seemed to exist in another world entirely, one where the usual rules did not apply to her. But she was going to be in for a rude awakening when she realized that men did not want warriors. How could she be so blind to what was so obvious? Lotta could have screamed, and it was all thanks to Fiona that she was being held back as well. How was she supposed to live her own life when Fiona stood in the way? She had to try and think of how to traverse this obstacle, but she couldn’t always think clearly when she was in the Callan village. But the Callans had friendly relationships with a lot of clans in the area, and Lotta especially still had ties from her family’s previous alliances. So she ventured down a long and winding road to the Fletcher clan, which was a humble, hardworking clan filled with industrious people. Their village wasn’t as big as the one in which she lived, but the people were honest and kind, and the best thing of all was that there was no Fiona to annoy her.

Lotta greeted the people of the town and made her way to Laird Fletcher’s home. Laird Fletcher was a slender man with a pale complexion, but there was something about his eyes that was intense and brooding. He was sitting at a table inscribing something on parchment. He looked up at Lotta as she entered the room and rose from his chair, coming to her and embracing her. He placed a kiss on each of her cheeks and complimented her on her appearance.

“Life with the Callans is treating ye well,” he said.

“Aye, it is indeed,” she said, but there was a slight sigh to her words.

Laird Fletcher led her to the table and gestured for her to sit down. He returned with a cup of wine and some crumbly bread. He was not an aged man, but he was thoughtful, and his movements were slow.

“What is on yer mind, lass? Are ye missing yer parents?” he asked.

“All the time,” Lotta replied with a wry smile. “But that’s nae what’s the matter with me. I am just frustrated.”

“Why would that be, lass?”

Lotta sighed and sipped the wine. “I want tae be married, but Laird Callan wants Fiona tae be married before I am. She doesnae seem tae want tae be married, and sae I’m left waiting for her tae change her mind before I can dae anything. If my parents haed nae been killed, they would hae arranged a marriage for me by now. I know they would nae hae stood in my way.”

Laird Fletcher nodded slowly and formed a steeple with his hands. “I feel as though I must bear some responsibility myself. If my clan haed been more powerful, then perhaps I could hae taken ye in, and as my only daughter, I would hae given ye everything I haed tae make ye happy. But it was nae safe for ye here.”

“I understand,” Lotta said, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s made worse by the fact that we hae some new men living with us. If I had my way, I could hae one of them like that”—she snapped her fingers as she said this—“and I thought that maybe seeing some new men might get Fiona’s attention, but she is still stubborn.” Lotta shook her head in despair.

“New men, ye say? And where did these new men come from?”

“They’re Vikings. Laird Callan was afraid that he didnae hae enough men tae be strong, sae he spoke with the Hoffstad clan, and they gave him some men.”

Laird Fletcher straightened his posture. A thoughtful expression flickered upon his face, and he licked his lips nervously. “More men? That must be a boon tae him,” he said.

“Aye, it surely is, and I thought it would be a boon tae me as well, but there’s no such luck.”

“It is indeed quite a problem for ye. I can see how it must be frustrating for ye. I dinnae suppose ye know what Laird Callan is planning tae dae with these men? Daes he hae any designs on other territory?”

Lotta shook her head. “If he daes, he haes nae mentioned it tae me. I think he just wants tae make sure the clan can defend itself if it gets attacked, but who knows what gaes through his mind,” she said. It was an offhand comment, but one that Laird Fletcher took to heart. His brow furrowed, and he began tapping his fingers against the surface of the table. Lotta didn’t really pay any attention to this. She was more concerned with the rich taste of wine and her own struggles.

“I think…I think there may be a way we can help each other out,” Laird Fletcher said in a quiet voice. Lotta arched her eyebrows and looked at him. “I know that my clan is nae as impressive as the Callan clan, but we are a hardy people and, of course, I hae a son who is ready tae be married. If the Callans see themselves as weak, then perhaps they would be happy tae hae as many allies as they can get. Dae ye think ye would be able tae present a betrothal on my behalf between my son and yer sister? I’m sure that Laird Callan would nae be able tae refuse such an offer, and then ye would be free tae marry whoever ye want.”

Lotta licked her lips. While she liked Laird Fletcher and the hospitality he always provided for her, she hated the idea of living here forever. But the thought of sending Fiona here was almost too good to pass up. The wheels turned within her mind. Laird Fletcher was right. If Laird Callan was so concerned with not appearing weak, then surely he couldn’t refuse a marriage proposal that would form an alliance with a neighboring clan? Fiona would finally be in a position where she wouldn’t be able to refuse. It was almost too good to be true. Fiona should have taken matters into her own hands when she could; for now, her fate was not her own. It was Lotta’s, and Lotta was going to ensure that she was the one who would be free to marry whomever she chose. With Fiona out of the way, Lotta would have her pick of men, and there wouldn’t be anyone there to scold her for her choices.

She could even have a strong Viking if she chose…

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, my laird. I’ll be happy tae pass along the message. In fact, I’ll get on with it right away,” Lotta said with a wide smile, gulping down the rest of her wine before returning home.

“Is a patrol truly necessary?” Varrik asked.

“There are always threats lingering nearby, and we cannae become relaxed, lest we let our guard down,” Fiona replied.

They were patrolling the perimeter of the village, walking out to the edge of Callan territory, which spread across wide fields and forests. Her father had asked Fiona to show Varrik the territory, so she was going to do so in a way that tested his vigor and stamina.

“The Highlands are still dangerous,” she continued. “There are bandits, Vikings, and beasts in the forests. Each of them are desperate, and they’ll be willing tae take yer head off if ye are nae careful. It’s best that we get them before they ever get near tae the village,” she added. “Did ye nae patrol when ye lived with Rune Dolph?”

“We never had much need for it. There were few people who ever thought it wise to attack a Viking village and any who did paid for it swiftly.”

“Aye, well, we prefer tae handle things a wee bit differently than that,” Fiona said.

“I’m sure you do. Can I ask you something about your sister?”

“What’s that?” Fiona asked, unable to hide the bitterness from her voice.

Here it comes, she thought. The fawning and the desire about how Lotta is such a sweet, pretty young thing, about how lovely she is and how womanly she is and how she would make a good wife.

Fiona was about ready to spit bile at Varrik. She had hoped that he would show better judgment than this. She turned with a weary look on her face and was about to let fly when suddenly Varrik’s body shape-shifted, and the expression changed on his face. Her instincts kicked in as well when she heard the low rumbling growl of a wolf. She turned, her hand falling to her blade. The wolf was huge. Its eyes gleamed gold. Its fur was white but was dusted in black, making it seem as though night was creeping over its hide. Its teeth were bared, sharp fangs were clenched together, and its lips rumbled. Fiona was about to draw her weapon when she was unceremoniously flung aside, shoved to the ground. The shock was so abrupt that she was barely able to get her hands out quickly enough. The impact stung her palms, and she looked up to see Varrik locked in combat with the beast.

Varrik charged forward like a lion, roaring and strong. He seized his sword and swung it through the air, swiping at the wolf. The wolf dug its claws into the ground even more tightly and looked as though it was going to lunge. Varrik growled back, shouting at the wolf in an effort to make it seem as though he was the one who was the alpha beast. Fiona pushed herself to a kneeling position and saw the wolf lunge, leaping toward Varrik. It was either foolish or it was desperately hungry. The claws were outstretched, and the jaw opened wide, ready to take a chunk out of Varrik, but Varrik was no usual prey. He was armed, dangerous, a predator himself. He braced himself, remained calm, and then struck as the wolf was in the air. He sliced across in a smooth motion and then stepped aside. The wolf landed in a heap and quickly got up, limping as blood flowed from a wound on its leg. Varrik twisted around, ready to defend himself in case the wolf decided to attack again, but the wolf seemed to have learned its lesson.

It slunk back, making itself small, recognizing that Varrik was the superior hunter. Blood was left dripping against the green grass, leaving a scarlet shadow behind. The wolf limped away, defeated and humbled. Varrik turned around and looked for Fiona, his hand ready to help her up, but Fiona was already back to her feet and glaring at him.

“What dae ye think ye are daeing?” she yelled, her voice so sharp it scratched her throat.

Varrik looked at her nonplussed. “I was fighting the wolf. I made sure you didn’t get hurt.”

Fiona stared at him and then threw her hands up in the air, turning to march away.

Why daes he hae tae be sae difficult? Why daes he hae tae be sae gallant?