Preview of “Unwilling” the next installment of the MacLauchlan Berserkers….
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Chapter One
The Scottish Highlands, Autumn 1411
“I want his death to be quick and painless. He’s my brother, after all.” Rory MacKay didn’t meet Connor’s eyes as he said this. Instead, he tracked the armored coach trundling along the river Tay where the water ran into the loch, which boasted the same name.
Connor MacLauchlan knew it was around noon, though storm clouds hid the sun. From their vantage point in the trees above, he counted twenty mounted highlanders in the coach’s vanguard. Twenty he could kill on his own, but it would be a blood bath. “I take pleasure in the death, but no’ in the killing. It willna take long once I start.”
Rory winced, but nodded. His doe-brown eyes closed as he took a bracing breath.
Considering the second born twin of the MacKay nobles, Connor worried about his conviction. Rory’s bronze hair matted to his handsome face where fat rivulets of rain had plastered it. He was a strapping lad, but even in his heavy hide cloak he didn’t compete with Connor’s own bulk. This was a good man doing evil for the sake of his clan. Yet the blood would stain his hands, just like it would saturate Connor come sunset.
“If yer having doubts, now would be the time to voice them,” Connor prompted. “We can ride away from here and never speak of this again.”
Rory’s shoulders slumped. “Nay. Since yer brother, Roderick, defeated our father at Aberdeen, Angus has been raiding all over Argyll. He’s split our clan and made us weak. Anyone who doesna swear fealty to him is terrorized. He’s pillaged and burned farms and houses… wi’ people still inside. I didna want to believe what I was hearing, but a woman begged refuge for her and a bairn at the Keep. She said he ran her husband through the belly with his sword, then made the dying man watch as he…took her.” Rory’s throat visibly worked over a swallow. “Angus is my twin. We used to protect each other from our brutal father. We used to play together in the fields and ride our horses along the coast until we could see the end of the world…” His eyes hardened. “He canna return to Dun Keep, MacLauchlan. I willna let him be the ruin of my clan. No more innocents can bear his tyranny.” A tear escaped the corner of the young man’s eye and he swiped it away with his bracer.
Connor’s saddle creaked as he reached out to clap Rory on the shoulder. “I have a brother of my own,” he said. “I’d die for him.”
Rory nodded his head in appreciation, his jaw working back strong emotion. “Actually, I thought it would be Roderick who answered my missive, what with you being Laird and all. Oh, and a Baron now, besides.”
“My brother is newly married. He promised his bride he’d build her an apothecary in Strathlachlan. There’s no tearing him away from her side for the time being.” Connor huffed out a chuckle at the memory of his brother following his wee curvy mate about the Keep like an addled puppy, a load of planks on his broad back. God save him from the same fate. Roderick was patient and steady as the day was long. Connor didn’t have the temperament to deal with a wife.
Besides, courting a Berserker could be deadly. And he had enough blood on his hands already. Better not to risk it.
“I see,” Rory let his mouth relax into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “There’s another conundrum of mine. The next Laird of our clan is betrothed to Lindsay Ross.”
“The Regent’s niece?”
“Aye. I’d not see her in the arms of my brother, royal beauty that she is.”
“I heard she’s also a royal pain in the arse.”
Rory shrugged. “I’ve never met her. But I wouldn’t give an animal I liked to Angus, let alone a noble lassie."
“Right.” Connor turned his attention back to the road. The Mackay had almost reached the foot of the loch. They would angle southwest, then, following the road along the river.
“They mustn’t reach Loch Lomond.” Rory pulled a heavy purse out of his saddlebag and handed it to Connor, who nodded.
“I’ll get them at Benmore. There’s forest for ambush and caves where I can camp for the night. Besides, Lomond’s too close to MacLauchlan land for my comfort. I’ll no’ let him get close to my clan.”
Pulling his hood up against the rain, Rory turned his horse.
“Go to a busy tavern tonight,” Connor ordered. “Buy everyone there a pint and maybe tumble a lass or two. Make sure you’re seen.”
“All right,” Rory nodded. “And… Godspeed Connor MacLauchlan.”
“I doona need yer God’s blessing,” the berserker murmured as the other man rode off into the rain. “I have a Goddess to keep me.”
When the berserker rage took him, he became lost in it. It was as though another beast lived dormant inside of him and burst free at the sight of blood. Only, Connor never disappeared into the grey oblivion. Nor was he merely a spectator. He became a mass of rage and wrath and indiscriminate destruction. Every man possessed some part of the spirit of the berserker. For some it was a whisper. For others a roar. But the nature of humanity tempered the beast with reason, logic, fear, love, and ambition.
For a few ancient blood lines, Freya, the Norse Goddess of war, unchained the beast within chosen warriors of the line and gifted them with unnatural strength and speed. The part of the mind that processed logic, consequence, and emotion became chained but never completely dormant.
Connor turned and watched the heavy coach make its unhurried pace through the late afternoon. Closing his eyes he waited to feel the requisite thrill before a good battle. God help the marauding tyrant within. For once his Berserker beheld the first hint of blood, there would be no survivors.