Celtic Fury

  Celtic Fury

  by

  Ria Cantrell

  Acclaim for Ria Cantrell:

  “Gripping Story. I couldn’t stop turning the pages.”

  —Patrick Stephen, Xavier Stone Collection

  “I feel in love with the characters. I want the type of love Brielle and Rory have in my life”

  —Tina Montgomery, avid romantic reader

  “Ria, I want more. Please hurry up with your second novel. It’s beautifully written.

  —Tara Reynolds, mother of three and a helpless romantic

  Other Books by Ria Cantrell

  Celtic Traveler (Coming Soon)

  Celtic Tempest (Coming February 2013)

  Celtic Fury

  Copyright © 2012 by Ria Cantrell

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your favorite ebookstore and purchaseyour own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my dad, who watches over me from heaven. I hope this would have made you proud of me. I also would like to dedicate this story to the love that crosses barriers. To Paul, my husband, who helped me see that love is not confined to our own backyards, but extends across this vast world of ours.

  Acknowledgements

  When I began writing, I never thought my dream would be realized to put my story out to the world. For so long, I wrote strictly for my own enjoyment. It was not until recently, posting blogs on a public site that I realized people did read my words and in fact wanted to read them. This gave me the courage to push forward and put my story to virtual paper. I would like to thank my friends Lisa, Theresa, Wynn, and Debbie, who were my test audience for Celtic Fury. Their support and encouragement has been such a blessing to me. They made me believe that my story needed to be told and that others would like to read it , too. To the countless other friends and family members who have been with me every step of the way, encouraging me and being my cheerleaders, I thank you.

  I would like to thank my family for encouraging me to pursue my dreams. My sister Andrea has always been my biggest advocate. My mom has supported me through the trying times that help mold a writer. I would like to thank Jill K. for putting me in touch with my literary advisors and promoters. Without her insistence and support, I think this book would have never come to pass.

  This brings me to Lani and Patrick. Thank you for your persistence and encouragement to get my book published. Thank you for your endless suggestions. Thank you for the amazing artwork for the cover of Celtic Fury and for your dedication to have my story produced and available for public enjoyment. Thank you for the many hours you put into the reading, editing and advising of the final product of Celtic Fury. I hope we have many more projects and stories to tell together.

  Lastly, but by no means least, I want to thank my husband Paul, who has always stood beside me and has helped my dream of being a writer to be achieved. Paul read the first draft of Celtic Fury and was able to see the many aspects of me in the various characters I have created. He has been a positive influence in my life since the day we first met. He has encouraged love to grow in my heart, thus helping me create and believe in the tender moments you will find in Celtic Fury. I am a lucky girl to have such a team of positive angels with me.

  I hope you have liked reading Celtic Fury. I have enjoyed creating this story for you. When I wrote it, I did not research the clans, but just went on instinct. It was only after doing some cursory research that I learned the clans did war with each other. It is wonderful to have the fictional inventions validated by history. While there are many similarities with the actual clans, I wrote this asa purely fictional tale. Any names or circumstances are coincidental and do not reflect historical fact. I hope you will continue following the story of the MacCollum family in Celtic Tempest and then further in Celtic Traveler. I have enjoyed writing this story for you. Blessings all!

  Celtic Fury

  *Prologue I*

  1365 – Scotland – the Highlands

  Ruiri MacCollum sat astride his warhorse and looked over at Caitlyn McLeod. She had agreed to wed him after very little persuading. He smiled, daydreaming about the pretty lass riding at his side. She was hopelessly in love with him and when he was with her, he felt like his life was complete. Like his brothers, he had grown up big. He thought a little lass like Caitlyn would fear a man of his size, but she loved him and made him feel like he was the most delicious thing she had ever feasted on. He was riding with her to set their banns. They would be wed within the month.

  He thought, “T’is good we will wed soon.” She told him only days ago that he was going to be a father. She thought he would be furious but he was elated. He was young but his ma and da were young when they started their family. He loved Caitlyn and that was all that mattered now.

  Two of his brothers flanked the sides of him and his bonnie wee lassie. The bridal party was making their way to Caitlyn’s birth home. She had lived on MacCollum land since her parents passed from a bout of fever. She had lived with her maternal grand parents, but now she would visit her elderly grandfather and Rory and she would marry. Rory would forever regret those musings. His mind had wandered and he was not as alert to his surroundings as he should have been. He knew they were fast approaching Campbell lands. The blood feud between the two clans was something Rory grew up knowing. It was part of his daily life. The clans were bitter enemies for as long as Rory remembered, but his romantic reverie had dulled his warrior's instincts to complacent premarital bliss. Mostly what was left of the Campbell forces in this area were known as rogues and renegades. The rest of the clan had moved on to the lowlands, but there was a faction of Campbells that were like rabid dogs. Rory should have been paying attention to his surroundings, when he was quickly reminded where he was as an arrow buzzed past his head.

  He leapt from his horse and pulled Caitlyn to the ground. His brothers were on their feet instantly freeing their claymores from the scabbards on their backs.

  Rory made Caitlyn crouch low next to a tree and he said, “Stay here, lass.” And without looking back, he charged into the fray. It turned out there were only six renegades bent more on robbery than an actual blood feud. While the MacCollum boys were outnumbered two to one, they made a quick end of those bent on their own destruction.

  The fighting was over quickly and Rory returned to where he left Caitlyn. She was sitting very still and upon his approach, Rory was met with a grim reality. An arrow protruded luridly from his beloved Caitlyn’s chest.

  He ran to her side and she said, “Ruiri…I am sorry…I stood up to see…if you were alright…”

  Rory sank to his knees and gathered her into his arms. She was cold; unnaturally cold. Murmuring softly against her hair, Rory said, “Sshh, Sweeting. Be still. It’s going to be alright…” Rory choked on his own sob as he forced the lie from his lips.

  “Forgive me Ruiri…”

  “There is nothing to forgive.”

  But as he began to say they would get help, he felt her life slip away. In that instant, his hopes and dreams died along with the life of his bride and their unborn child. His roar of anguish split through the now silent trees; vibrating like a mournful knoll as his heart burst in his chest.

  * Prologue II*

  Rory sat perched on his war-horse, looking down on the battlefield below him. The raiders would no longer threaten his cla
n. He had made certain of that. From where he sat, he could still see the fallen raiders; locked in the horror of death where they fell. Their blood still pooled like crimson puddles beneath them. Blood and grime streaked the Wolf of the Highland’s face and arms. Only now was his heartbeat returning to normal. He had been lost to the blood lust that powered him through battles and made him nearly invincible. He clucked his tongue, turning his horse away from the bluff and joining his brothers and father as they mustered from the fray.

  Once again their luck had held and not one of them had been lost. The raiders had been steeling their livestock for weeks and then they had abducted a young woman from her home. She was a new bride in the Clan MacCollum and that was reason enough for their forces to meet out the justice due to these renegade criminals. It was one thing to fight raiders of livestock, but to have to return a beaten bride to her home after unspeakable things had been done to her only fueled the bloodlust that fanned Rory’s need to be the legendary avenger. Highland Wolf…he heard the rumors and hated them, but his prowess on the battlefield had gotten him that name.

  After Caitlyn had been murdered, he fought with a relentless fury that few could tame. The scene below him fortified that very legend. It certainly would not quell the stories or aid him in any way. While he never fought a battle unprovoked, if he was called to the fight, he fought to the death. Some said that when the Wolf of the Highlands did battle, he was like a feral beast that was unaware of the death he could meter. It was not true, of course. Rory was always aware of every cut inflicted by his sword or dirks.

  Wiping the blood from his sword, he secured it across his back and saw to the woman they had fought to rescue. She was frightened and dazed. Poor thing, he thought. She would never be the same. Rory wondered if she would have been better if she had not lived, for living with the memory of what had been done to her was as good as death. Caleb MacCollum, his father, was trying to comfort the girl, but Rory knew that look. She was broken beyond repair. She had suffered violation that damaged not only her body but her soul. No amount of vengeance could erase what had befallen her. Looking at this ravaged lass made Rory furious all over again. Neither his brothers nor father tried to stop him as he rode away in anger and despair.

  Chapter One

  -1375- England –

  Bronwyn looked out into the bailey of the keep, scanning the men arriving back from their latest campaign. She lifted her little daughter in her arms and tried to still her small son who was excited to see his father and uncle return.

  “Do ye see papa and Uncle Rory, mama,” he asked, barely able to restrain his happy anticipation.

  “Not yet, Ian. Uncle Erik is back though, surely yer’ da and Uncle Rory are not far behind.”

  “I wanna’ see, mama. I wanna’ see,” the adorable little three year old begged.

  “Alright.” Bronwyn unfastened her plaid and she gently placed her baby on it. Hefting her wiry son up so he could see down into the bailey. Ian shouted down,

  “Uncle Erik…Uncle Erik” and he waved furiously to get Erik Ragnorsen’s attention.

  The blond giant heard the call above the din in the bailey and he waved up to the excited little boy. He smiled up and pointed to the men arriving in the outer flanks of the approaching soldiers. Bronwyn’s heart leapt with joy as she spotted her beloved husband and then her brother bringing up the rear of the formation. The men had only been gone two weeks, but it always felt like a lifetime. Bronwyn busied herself with her babies while her men were away, but she was overjoyed to see them safe and hale and back home where they belonged. Seeing her beloved Drew sent that familiar longing through her. They had been married nearly four years and still she felt like a new bride whenever she looked at him.

  Little Ian was shouting, “Da, Da…Uncle Rory.”

  “Be still, Ian. Yer’ Da will be up soon.”

  Bronwyn looked down from her spot on the castle wall and saw the solemn look on Rory’s face. Her heart broke every time she looked at her precious bother these days. He had stayed on in England after she had married Andrew, seemingly content to change his path in life. She had been overjoyed to have him close to her while she adjusted to married life in England, far from her highland home. Rory and she had shared a close bond all their lives and she was happy to have him with her now. Besides her beautiful husband, Bronwyn thought Rory was the most handsome man of her clan. The women loved him. He was huge, with broad shoulders; muscled and toned, not like some of the men of her clan that had bulk, but in a rounded way. Rory had eyes the color of golden wheat, flecked with green, which always made a person stop and notice. Those eyes earned him the name of the Highland Wolf…that and his legendary temper. How he hated that name! But Bronwyn had the utmost respect and love for her brother. While her own hair was chestnut and wavy, Rory’s hung straight to his shoulders; darker than hers and that only made his eyes more brilliant and striking. When he smiled, he could charm anyone. The children adored him.

  Frowning, Bronwyn thought, “Ahh, Ruiri, how long it has been since that smile reached yer’ eyes.” In the nearly four years since her wedding, Bronwyn observed Rory becoming more and more solemn and withdrawn.

  Three months after her wedding, there was a terrible incident involving a woman named Daria. Daria had been Drew’s lover prior to him meeting and falling in love with Bronwyn.

  She claimed to be with child from her union with Drew, but as the months passed, she continued to not show signs of carrying a child. Drew confronted her with the lie. The woman had been affected and spite and jealousy caused her to plot an evil scheme. She abducted a newly born child from the village and claimed it as her own. Ever the defender of the innocent, Rory took up the cause along with Drew to rescue the child and return him to his distraught mother. Only they hadn’t been prepared for the darkness that had infected Daria’s soul. Tracking Daria closely, they cornered her. She stood perched on an outcropping of rock; a dangerous drop below her. Threatening to jump with the child, she would not hear what Drew had to say, she was convinced he had driven her to this point of no return. But with the honeyed words of Rory, she relinquished the child to him, only to jump to her own death on the rough rocks below. In saving the child, Rory could not save the woman, and though he knew that she was filled with hatred; twisted with jealousy and a sickness that plagued her mind, he could not forgive himself for not being able to spare her. He blamed himself for not being able to prevent her self-demise.

  Bronwyn had been a teenage girl when Rory suffered the loss of his future bride Caitlyn, and she saw him claw his way back from that tragedy; never speaking the name of the woman he had loved.

  Bronwyn knew Rory blamed himself for Caitlyn’s untimely death and he slaked his hurt by being with women he could or would never love. He had told her long ago that he “just wasn’t the marryin’ kind,” and he left it at that.

  Passion was a common bond in the MacCollum clan. Bronwyn had witnessed it between her own mother and father. Her four brothers were madly and passionately in love with their wives. She could not tire of the joys of love and passion with her husband Drew and so she knew that Rory was not so unlike the rest of them.

  Women adored Rory. He was known for his skills in romancing the girls, but Bronwyn worried that his heart would never heal with the casual dalliances he allowed himself to experience. He took the death of the disturbed Daria personally; no more able to save her than he could have saved his beloved Caitlyn. His heart was so pure and Bronwyn hoped that one day the right woman would ease the brokenness in her dear brother. She was grateful that Drew and Rory had forged a bond of sorts. The two men had had a rocky start, what with Drew being English, but they shared one thing that united them; their love for Bronwyn. They were more like brothers than in-laws.

  Lost in her musings, Bronwyn was startled when Drew came behind her and kissed the back of her neck.

  Ian squealed in delight. “Papa, papa, did you have a venture?”

  “Aye Laddie, come give yo
ur da a hug.”

  The little boy fairly leapt into his father’s arms and Drew kissed his chubby little cheek.

  Bronwyn stooped down and picked up baby Jenna, “Look who has come home, Baby. See, there’s yer’ handsome Da?”

  The baby cooed and gurgled, as Drew laid a kiss on her downy little head. Just then Rory arrived and he smiled at the happy family.

  “Uncle Rory!” Rory plucked Ian into his arms and hugged the little boy, allowing Drew to kiss Rory's beautiful sister.

  He felt a stab of longing watching Drew kiss Bronwyn, knowing how much they loved each other. Seeing their love for each other and knowing they needed to be alone, Rory said, “How about ye come along with yer uncle Rory? I need a helpful squire to tend me.” Bronwyn cast a grateful look at Rory. He smiled and said, “See to yer’ man, Bronnie. He has been piqued and foul and I suspect ye know how to fix him.”

  “Why is Daddy foul, Uncle Rory?”

  Rory rolled his eyes and he said, “He misses yer ma very much. Makes him grouchy.”

  Drew hooked his arm around Bronwyn’s waist, as Ian trailed next to Rory. Turning back he said, “Dunna’ be grouchy with mama, daddy.”

  “Alright, Son. I promise. Be a good boy for your Uncle Rory.”

  “Aye, Daddy. Are you going to kiss mama?” Smiling, Drew said.

  “I am, son.” Drew replied.

  Toddling after Rory, he exclaimed, “Da kisses mommy very much.”

  “Aye, laddie. T’is because yer’ ma likes it. Come along. I have a present for you,” Rory said, lifting Ian in his arms and hauling him off to his chambers.

  Once inside his room, Rory plopped his giggling nephew on his bed, tickling him. He never grew tired of the sound of laughing babies. He adored the little boy, who felt almost like a son. While he knew he would probably never have children of his own, he loved how little babies giggled and talked. Rory did not think of himself as a tender man, but something about the little ones made tenderness well in his heart.