Magnar (The Wolves of Clan Sutherland Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Mary Morgan

  Magnar

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Glossary of Old Norse Terms

  The Nine Noble Virtues of Wolf Lore

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  Other Books by Mary Morgan

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “Which would you prefer? Halvard or me? Make your choice, Elspeth. Did you not consider I do not favor this union either?”

  Confusion marred her features. She fisted her hands on her hips and glanced upward. “Did you argue against this marriage with King William?”

  “Aye.”

  “Yet he convinced you?”

  “Aye.”

  When she returned her gaze to him again, resolve and a bit of stubbornness filled them. “Why, Magnar?”

  “The king will permit me to continue with my duties with the elite guard, including an important task which requires my attention after our marriage.”

  Chewing on her bottom lip, she nodded slowly. “Then you will be absent most months from Steinn?”

  “Most assuredly, and when I am there, Erik will be my focus.”

  Her face softened as she moved slowly toward Magnar. “Therefore this marriage is in name only for Erik’s protection, aye?”

  Annoyed with the direction of his thoughts, he looked away. How Magnar longed to tell the lie on the tip of his tongue. The word ached to be released. He turned and stared into her jeweled eyes in an attempt to offer her any hope of what she wanted to hear.

  When she placed a hand on his arm, she whispered, “Tell me honestly, Magnar.”

  He swallowed and removed her hand from his arm. Placing it securely over his heart, he stated, “Our marriage will be binding in all ways, Elspeth—in name and body. You may worship your God and I shall do so with mine, but ken this, you will be mine completely.”

  Praise for Mary Morgan

  “If you love time-travel romance with independent heroines and virile heroes, you’ll love this book. Fans of Outlander will love this one.”

  ~N.N. Light Book Heaven

  ~*~

  “Readers who enjoy romance blended with a combination of history and the mystical will be utterly enchanted by this clever ‘weaving’ of a tale.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews

  ~*~

  “Morgan’s stories are as unique as they are brilliant. They are compelling, bold, and so very successful. To Weave A Highland Tapestry (A Tale from the Order of the Dragon Knights) was everything I had hoped it would be and then some.”

  ~Coffee Pot Book Club

  ~*~

  “A fascinating timeslip romance that takes us back to visit the “Dragon Knights” we have met in previous books in the series.”

  ~Warrior Woman Winmill Reviews

  ~*~

  “Mary Morgan weaves a delightful and enchanting tale around the reader’s heart with this spellbinding magical romance!”

  ~InD’tale Magazine, February 2020 Issue

  Magnar

  by

  Mary Morgan

  The Wolves of Clan Sutherland

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Magnar

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Mary Morgan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Abigail Owen

  Editor Amanda Barnett

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2020

  Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3289-5

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3290-1

  The Wolves of Clan Sutherland

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  During our trip several years ago to Northern Scotland and the Orkney Islands, my husband and I were fortunate to have a personal guide escort us. David Ladd was exceptional in his knowledge—from referencing the names of flowers in the most obscure places to the wildlife and history, especially during our travels on Orkney. He took us on an amazing adventure, oftentimes off the well-worn path, revealing spectacular vistas. I shall always treasure our time with him and for allowing me to crawl into the Tomb of the Eagles in South Ronaldsay, Orkney. For a few hazarding moments, I worried David and my husband when I had trouble getting out of the small tomb.

  ~

  I dedicate this story to David.

  Thank you for providing me

  with a vast wealth of inspiration for Magnar!

  Glossary of Old Norse Terms

  Hamnavoe - Current day town of Stromness, Orkney

  Hnefatafl - Viking chess

  Kærr - Dear, close, beloved

  Kirkjuvágr - Kirkwall

  Njörd - God of the Sea and Winds

  Orkneyjar - Orkney

  Skald - Norse bard/poet

  Skinnleikr - Viking skin throwing game

  The Nine Noble Virtues of Wolf Lore

  * Learn to control the beast within. If not, the man will cease to exist.

  * First lesson for the wolf—the man is always Alpha.

  * Scotland is our home. Orkneyjar calls to our soul.

  * When conflicted, follow the path of the stars. Odin will shine his light upon you.

  * Keep your weapon as strong as Thor’s hammer.

  * Discipline your beast to honor the code of the Brotherhood.

  * Honor the Gods. Do not beg at their feet for mercy.

  * When All Father calls you to His table, storm proudly across the void.

  * Remember your ancestors and honor their wisdom.

  Prologue

  What began as a magical, whispered thought deep within a dark forest between a druid, raven, and Norse Seer, eventually took shape within the minds of seers and druids who belonged to five ancient clans that carried blood from both the Norse people and the Picts.

  While feuding clans and marauders continued to ravage the Scottish realm, the blood of their victims seeped into the land, and the people wept as they cried out for vengeance. Despite the pleas for war from their people, the chieftains, after seeking counsel from their druids and seers, sought another plan to ease
the conflict tormenting the clans.

  These chieftains called for an order of guards to protect their current king and those who would follow to reign over Scotland. Though these ancient clans had ties to two different countries—Norway and Scotland, they deemed the strongest king should rule over both.

  After much debate, they came to a settlement. If the King of Scotland was to govern over both countries, he would require strong men to protect, serve, and even spy on his behalf. Men whose bloodline would be filled with the magic of the Norse God Odin and the Pict God Dagda—a bridge linking all of the people’s beliefs.

  The runes were cast on a stormy night, and the men were chosen. ’Twas on a Moon Day within the Black Frost month on Orkneyjar, that the blood of a wolf and an eagle were mixed with a powerful magic.

  Each man selected from these ancient tribes entered the stone chamber—to be one with the bones of the wolves. What emerged was dominant and commanding—feared by those who witnessed the pairing of each man with his wolf.

  And as the centuries bled into the next within the boundaries of Scotland, the wolves became more of a myth—one told by bards on a cold winter’s night. Especially the tales of the leader of these mighty wolves. Known as the barbarian, Magnar MacAlpin is honor-bound to one clan. Loyal to one man—King William The Lion of Scotland.

  Without his knowledge, evil stalks this warrior. Eventually, the lines between predator and prey will blur, leaving behind a deadly carnage in its path.

  Though this warrior moves with stealth-like mastery, he is cloaked by the veil of darkness. The light of the full moon shimmers not from the steel of his weapon, but the silver within his eyes. He walks between the shadows of man and wolf—descended from the first and tied to the second.

  Magnar from the house of Alpin, King Kenneth MacAlpin.

  This is his tale.

  The MacAlpin Wolf Saga.

  Chapter One

  Orkneyjar Isles ~ Early June 1206

  Bracing his forearms on the bow of the longship, Magnar ignored the rough edges biting into his skin. He kept his focus fixed on the shore near the town of Kirkjuvágr on the Orkneyjar Isles. The land beckoned him toward her alluring bosom, tempting him with a song of welcoming. Stirring the blood flowing through his veins and calling forth the beast within his body.

  Magnar clenched his jaw at the invasion. We shall not linger long on this isle.

  How long had he been gone this time? Twelve moons? Or was it thirteen? Time merely concerned him when there were tasks to complete for his king. Furthermore, there was no need to seek the solace of the land here. The last time he walked on these shores, it was to his ship after harsh words were spoken in a conversation with his mother.

  And on that day, he vowed not to return until man and beast had tempered their anger.

  His beast rejoiced at the summons from the Seer, but Magnar still fumed at the order. No doubt she would demand that he meet with his mother and mend the rift. He’d considered refusing. Even crushing the missive within his fist that spring day when the messenger placed it in his hand.

  The Seer refused to state clearly her reasons for the visit, and this inflamed his anger. Regardless, he could not disobey her request. A vow he made when he took an oath to protect both countries upon his initiation into the elite guard.

  As he stared out into the depths of the sea, images from another time sifted through his memories.

  “What are you?” she demanded in a raspy voice, heavy from the smoke within their small enclosure.

  “A man,” he affirmed with steely calm.

  “Nae.” She shook her head. “What are you?”

  He placed his palms upon the coarse wood of the table. “A man.”

  She smacked the table with her gnarled fingers. “What are you?”

  Magnar fought the surging power within his body. His fingers dug into the wood, leaving ugly scars within the grain. The wolf gnashed his teeth within him—more at the fury of Magnar’s denial of what he truly was.

  Controlling his beast was easy. Yet resisting the Seer would only increase her wrath. “A man.”

  Fury blazed in the depths of her eyes.

  “And a…wolf,” he affirmed with contempt for uttering the words out loud.

  A blast of sea spray snapped Magnar out of his thoughts from a bitter reminder of the lesson he had learned in his youth. After his terse words with the Seer that day, she’d ordered him to remain in his wolf form for one full month. He’d nearly gone mad.

  Not since that time had Magnar challenged the Seer again. Nor the woman who replaced her after her death.

  And never had he allowed the wolf to roam free for more than one day. A vow he made to both—man and beast. An oath that had kept them alive.

  The longship rose high and slammed back down with a violent force, knocking one of his hardened warriors from his stance by Magnar’s side.

  Wiping the water from his eyes, he rose to his full height.

  “The air is warm,” remarked Rorik, resuming his position.

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Then Odin favors our return. If not, storms would hinder us from landing.”

  “I feared the tempest we left behind in Scotland might follow us on our journey.”

  Magnar glanced at his friend. “You sense the unrest, too?”

  Shrugging, Rorik leaned against the bow. “A whisper on the breeze. Not a prophecy.”

  “Are you now a soothsayer?”

  “Nae, nae.” Rorik turned away from the approaching shoreline. “Be careful the words you speak, or Ragna will hear you and cast out my tongue and eyes.”

  Magnar snorted in disgust. “The Seer poses nae threat to you or the men on this ship.”

  “Do you not fear her? Even when she called you home—”

  “This is not my home,” interjected Magnar tersely. “Furthermore, when did you ever fear a woman?”

  Rorik shook his head solemnly. “Ragna might be young and a beauty, but she is the Seer and mighty powerful. And when will you make your peace with both countries?”

  He regarded his friend for a few moments and then cast his sight outward. “When they stop calling me the Barbarian of Orkneyjar.”

  His friend arched a brow but remained silent.

  Magnar blew out a frustrated sigh. “Since I chose to further my training in Scotland—” He waved a hand dismissively. “—the people here regard me as a savage. As if they are any better, aye?”

  Rorik shifted his stance. “Have not the Northmen judged themselves above all others?”

  Chuckling softly, Magnar nodded. “We are a mixture of both—Scottish and Northmen blood. An advantage for us. Nevertheless, we must endure this hostile greeting each time we set foot upon this land.”

  “You are incorrect. It is merely fear that makes them lash out. There are a few who might envy what we are but many honor us. I ken they fear you more than any other wolves.”

  “Nae matter. We shall remain nae more than one night.”

  “Are you not curious as to why the Seer has called you home?” asked Rorik, running a hand through his beard.

  Magnar bit back the words to remind his friend again that this was not his home. “Her summons was not detailed.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Not the word I would have chosen,” stated Magnar, bracing his hands on the bow. “Annoyed. She removed me from an important assignment tasked by King William.”

  “I heard it was given to Ivar.”

  “Without my blessing,” added Magnar.

  Rorik smacked him on the back. “Aye, you are our leader, but even you cannot ignore an order given by King William.”

  Magnar fought the smile forming on his mouth. “True.”

  He inhaled deeply as they drew near their destination. The bloody scent of his previous training haunted him here on the Orkneyjar Isles. This land was unlike his wild and rugged Scotland. Too ancient. Too barren. Too much magic.

  Though he was born on Kirkjuvágr, his
heart belonged to another country.

  Magnar raised his fist, a sign for the oarsmen to slow their speed. He noted, as they drew even closer, the arrival of several men on horseback. The stiffness in his shoulders disappeared when Berulf, his old friend, waved to him. After returning the gesture, Magnar waited until the longship came closer to the beach, and in one swift move, he jumped over the side.

  The seawater came up to his waist—a frigid welcome back, and he embraced the cold. He gave no care to the shouts from the men on the ship. Or the bark of laughter from Rorik, who followed his lead and jumped overboard. Making long, steady strides, he greeted his friend on the sandy shore.

  “Hail, Magnar!” exclaimed Berulf, embracing him in a strong hug.

  Magnar smiled. “Greetings, old friend. The Seer foresaw our approach?”

  Berulf laughed. “She did, and I am not too old to spar with you.”

  “Do I detect a challenge in your tone?” Releasing his hold, Magnar stepped aside and approached one of the horses.

  “Always.”

  “When you have bested this man, you can fight with me,” teased Rorik, smacking Berulf on the back in greeting and handing Magnar his axe. “A fine welcome to see you here.”

  “If I recall, you owe me a barrel of uisge beathe,” remarked the man.

  Rorik pointed over his shoulder at the men offloading supplies. “Done.”

  Magnar placed a gentle hand on the animal. “You have brought my father’s horse, Alf.” Different emotions engulfed Magnar as he stroked the horse’s rich chestnut mane. When his father had died years ago in Scotland, Magnar’s mother had taken the horse with her to Kirkjuvágr. She vowed to never return to a land that stole the man of her heart.

  Berulf approached on the other side. “I knew you would want to ride him on your journey to Ragna.”

  The horse snorted softly.

  “Aye, my friend. I have been away far too long.”

  “After you have visited Ragna, come seek me,” said Berulf.

  Magnar secured his axe to the side of the animal and then mounted his horse. “I look forward to sharing a cup of ale with you.”

  “And a game of hnefatafl,” suggested the man as he walked toward his horse. “Come, Rorik. You can tell me about your adventures.”