The Chieftain's Bride

Northern Scotland, late 1500s. She twirled in circles, her skinny little arms stretched out from her sides and a broad smile on her thin face. She would twirl and twirl and when she stopped, her head still spinning, the barren moor would magically dance in front of her eyes. She laughed with gree and clapped her small hands until the dancing stopped, then went in search of wildflowers. The yellow ones were nice, but the violet ones were her favorite. The pretty color matched her eyes, or so her mom told her when they picked flowers together.  A frown suddenly captured her face. She wished her mum were with her today but she had too much work to do. Though her stepfather expected her to help her mom, her mother would often chase her off to have fun, while she and one of their guards went into the nearby wood, only to join her after when she was certain it had been a long time playing alone.  Vevina remembered feeling reckless during her flower picking adventure and decided to go find her mother. She was eight years old at the time. She saw them standing facing each other behind a tree. Her mother was sobbing, but her voice sounded different. The young male guard was moving his hips furiously between her mother's legs. Vevina was too young to understand what was happening but she knew that she shouldn't have been there.  She rushed back to the field and stopped, tilting her head to the sky, was that thunder? It was cloudy and gray. Then she heard the distant-rumble again, only this time the ground quaked beneath her small feet. She stumbled backward, clutching the few flowers, she cast, a glance across the moor. She squinted at the black specks in the distance then rubbed her eyes, but the black specks remained, growing larger by the second.  Warriors! Her mind screamed, and fearing they could be from a marauding clan, she did what she had been taught- she ran. She clutched her flowers tightly as her skinny legs pumped faster and faster, the quaking growing stronger beneath her pounding feet. She told herself to keep going, don't look back, but fear forced a quick glance over her shoulder and the shock of the riders bearing down on her caused her to stumble. She landed hard on her backside and instance had crawling backward aways from the riders as fast she could.  The ground shook and the thunderous roar of horse' hooves vibrated the air and tears filled her violet eyes as she struggled to avoid the rushing of horses.  With a sudden yank, she was snatched off the ground, swung up in the air, and planted with a thud in the lap of a warrior. He reined in his horse sharply, holding her tight, and then slowed the animal to a trot.  She sat in shocked silence, too frightened to move or speak, though not to stare at him, thinking he was the devil himself. Her first glance had her even more shocked. It was not a man but a woman. Her bright golden eyes matching her bright golden attire that hid behind the black cloak, her look grim and her mouth angry.  "Look," she ordered, her hand grabbing her chin and forcibly turning her head. She began to tremble. The horse stood at the edge of a cliff that she knew dropped off sharply to the North Sea.  "That's where you were going." She shivered at the thought, tears pooling in her eyes until they spilled one by one down her thin cheeks. She would have died if not for the female warrior, never to see her mother again. She stared at her, unable to speak and not knowing if she should. She didn't recognize him back then. But she was Astrid Sinclare, the eldest born into the chiefdom, a fierce female warrior and a future leader. She hoisted her up and off the horse, depositing her on the ground. She leaned her face close to hers, so close that her warm breath tickled her nose when she spoke. "Watch what you're doing, lass. Next time someone may not be there to save you." Vevina woke with her words resonating in her head. It was always that way with the recurring dream, near twelve years now. she stretched her arms above her head, sighed, and let the dream fade.  She need not be thinking of the past today. Today she began her future. Today was her wedding day.  She snuggled under the wool coverlet, the sun yet to rise, and wondered for the hundredth time if this was right for her. But then, what did it matter? The choice wasn't hers. Her stepfather had arranged the marriage. She had little to say about it.  She had never imagined marrying a Sinclare. Actually, two years ago, she feared marrying one at all. Her father had other ideas. He approached the clan's leader, to offer her as wife to any of his sons. He had touted her virtues and how she would serve the future chieftain well, being an obedient and dutiful wife. he had used a strong hand in raising her, he said, and guaranteed that she would not flinch if her husband saw fit to do the same.  He had been right about that. Her stepfather had not only forced her to take his name when he wed her mother but used a forceful hand on her more often than she cared to remember. She would never have been able to defy him and refuse to wed a stranger, and so she was relieved to receive the news that a Sinclare had no interest in wedding her.   Her stepfather had been furious and, of course, taken his disappointment out on her. He gave her a good beating, calling her worthless and a w***e just like her mother, and said it was a good thing that her mother died in childbirth to a bastard. Vevina had hoped to find a love that would help her escape her stepfather. But he had plans for her to wed a man of his choice, and he ordered her to keep herself untarnished and pure or else. She did as she was told, not that it was difficult since no man showed interest in her. Meanwhile, she hoped, even prayed, to find herself wed to someone with a good heart.  Her prayers had been answered, and oddly enough, she would wed a Sinclare.