* * *
Duncan Cameron acted as his brother’s guard of honor at the wedding, standing close to the couple as their vows were solemnized. Rhona had never looked more beautiful; her hair long and soft, and she wore a beautiful dress of red and blue; a radiant smile playing on her lips.
* * *
Rhona truly loved Iain Cameron and had always known that it was he who she would marry. Such was the order of things for those of noble rank. Iain Cameron had known it too, ever since the first childhood encounter.
* * *
On his wedding day, he could not have been prouder than to take Rhona as his wife. The two could now live together in all the happiness they had imagined.
* * *
On his part, Duncan Cameron remained unmarried. Women came and went, but none remained for long. He seemed content to act as his brother’s lieutenant, faithful, yet at times a little rebellious, and always out to prove himself. Through everything the brothers remained firm friends, often hunting with one another and making visits to the outlying crofts and villages of the Laird’s land.
* * *
Iain would trust his brother to care for Rhona when duty called him away from the castle, and never did Duncan Cameron break the trust placed in him, for he loved Rhona like a sister.
* * *
The years passed, and it was not long before the old Laird grew ill and died. The Glen lay in deep mourning, for he had been a just and noble ruler, protecting his people from the threat of English raiders, marauding bands, and the devilish designs of the Mackintosh Clan, their sworn enemies.
* * *
Iain and his brother mourned their father, his funeral rites ending with his burial in the castle chapel, chantry prayers offered for the repose of his soul. Their grief was short-lived, and Iain’s duty was to the clan, and he took up the Lairdship, determined to continue his father’s legacy. The old Laird had been ill for many years, and despite his goodness and benevolence to the people, much had been neglected. Iain made it his business to travel across the Glen, visiting farms and crofts, talking to the peasants and assuring them of his protection.
* * *
Thus, he became known as a just and righteous man whose reputation spread wide across the moor and heather, finally reaching the ears of the Mackintosh Clan and further inflaming the feud that had existed between them for centuries.
* * *
All the while, Rhona remained faithful to her husband, loving and supporting him, and later falling pregnant with his bairn. Despite the hardships of life, the three remained devoted and loyal to one another, the bonds of friendship and love running deep between them; ties that would sustain them in the trials to come.
Chapter One
On the Field of Battle
It was a leaden day when Iain Cameron fell, the sky dark and foreboding as the moorland echoed with the shouts of battle. The Laird had fought bravely in the rout, rallying his men as the forces of Mackintosh charged again and again. They were vastly outnumbered, but what they lacked in manpower they made up for in valor, fighting desperately to the last man.
* * *
Iain Cameron had stayed by the standard bearer, the pipes, and drums playing to the last charge. He was now a great warrior, strong and tall, with a shock of black hair and a face although still handsome, had seen its share of battle, weather-beaten and worn. He had stood strong against the last charge of Mackintosh might, but now the final rally had been called, and a swarm of the enemy clan was rushing towards their position.
* * *
At the front was Murdoch Mackintosh, commander of his father’s troops, the old Laird having died of a fever. His face was murderous with rage as he charged down upon his black steed straight towards Iain Cameron’s position. At his rear rode his brother Stewart Mackintosh, his second in command, rallying his men forward for the charge. The two brothers had fought many a campaign together against their sworn enemies and now came the chance to finally defeat them.
* * *
“Hold steady men,” Iain Cameron shouted, as the deluge of Mackintosh clansmen rushed towards them. Their shouts of war echoing across the moorland as the rain began to fall; a strong wind driving it in sheets across the heather.
* * *
As metal clashed against metal, and the small band of Camerons fought bravely on, Murdoch Mackintosh had his sights on one man: the Laird of the Camerons. Charging forward towards the standard bearer he cut down several men in his path until he was within a few feet of the brave Cameron Laird, who showed no fear, unsheathed his sword as Murdoch Mackintosh leaped from his horse and into the fray.
* * *
The two clashed, the long feud of history enacted upon the field of battle. Iain fought with honor, but the battle had tired him, and Murdoch Mackintosh reigned down blow after blow, forcing him back towards the standard fluttering in the breeze.
* * *
Around them, the battle raged, but the war-weary Camerons were no match for the Mackintosh clan, well used to war. The Camerons were defeated one by one, men were taken prisoner as the shouts of war subsided, replaced by cries of victory. The Cameron’s standard was knocked and trampled into the ground as the banner of the Mackintosh clan flew high over the moor as Iain and Murdoch fought on.
* * *
As the last of the Camerons turned to flee, they saw their Laird pitched in battle with Murdoch Mackintosh, fighting on the ridge of the hill, the rain now falling heavily. A silence descended upon the moorland, broken only by the clash of metal upon metal.
* * *
Murdoch Mackintosh struck his final blow, and the Cameron Laird fell to the wet earth, the cry of defeat rising from his men now ringing in their captor’s ears. Stewart Mackintosh ordered the prisoners to be bound, their swords removed; all honor gone.
* * *
It was a dark day for the Camerons, defeated by their enemies, their Laird now gone, and hope destroyed.
Chapter Two
Grieving for a Loss
“Is there any news, Duncan?” Rhona Cameron looked anxiously from the window of the keep and out into the courtyard of the Cameron castle.
* * *
She had expected news of her husband before now. The men had been gone for three days, responding to reports that Mackintosh soldiers had been burning farms and stealing livestock from Cameron lands in the north of the glen.
* * *
“Nothing, naw.” The Laird’s younger brother had been desperate to accompany the men into battle, but his brother had told him to remain, responsible for the safety of Rhona and the other women who waited anxiously at the castle for news of their clansmen.
* * *
“I am sure we shall hear something soon, my lady Rhona,” Cairstine Cameron, her friend and lady in waiting was also anxious. The two had been lifelong friends, Cairstine was a cousin of the Laird, and it distressed her greatly to see Rhona, so grief-stricken, especially as she was with bairn and the baby due so soon. Her husband, Alistair, was fighting alongside the Laird in battle, the two women united in their worry for the men they loved.
* * *
A fire was burning brightly in the hearth of the great hall, but Rhona felt chilled to the bone, anxious for news of Iain. She rested her hands upon her stomach, longing for her husband to be at the baby’s birth. But a woman’s second sense is strong, and in her heart, she knew that some tragedy had befallen him. Standing forlornly at the window, she looked out in lamentation for the man she loved, the rain falling across the glen and a mist shrouding the mountains, Cairstine put her arms around her friend in a gesture of comfort.
* * *
“I shall send out some scouts to see what can be learned, perhaps they are delayed with helping the crofters up on the moorland., tis a sad business when farms are burned, and livelihoods destroyed all in the name of a petty feud.” Duncan tried to sound hopeful for the two women.
* * *
“A feud which has cost many hundreds of lives these long year
s,” Rhona sighed wistfully and sat before the fire. Wishing for her husband would not bring him home.
* * *
Duncan sent out the scouts, three stout young men on horseback, but secretly he was worried too. His brother should have been home, and to have had no word was unusual. Iain Cameron had assured him that it would be a simple thing to see off the Mackintosh Clan, but what if it had been a trap? Duncan brooded as two more days passed with still no word, yet he remained cheerful and optimistic for the sake of Rhona, it would do no good to upset her, or worry her unduly.
* * *
Duncan Cameron knew it was his duty to protect Rhona, the noble daughter of their father’s cousin. He had loved her as a sister since the first day she had visited the Cameron castle when she was just nine years old. That day, both he and Iain had been captivated by her. Even at such a tender age, she had been beautiful, her long golden hair and deep green eyes giving her face a striking radiance: she had only grown in beauty as she had grown older. Now, he looked on in sorrow at her distress, trying to find words of comfort although fearing the worst.
* * *
It was four days after the battle that the news came, the scouts Duncan returning at full kilter into the courtyard. The commotion summoned the family to the windows of the keep as down below the remaining clansmen rushed out to assist: one of the scouts had been wounded by an arrow to the thigh.
* * *
“What tale have ye tae tell,” Duncan Cameron called as the men stood before him moments later.
* * *
“Your brother, our Laird, is dead, sir,” the men bowed their heads in sorrow. “We saw it with our own eyes, our soldiers defeated or captured; it was all that we could do to get away with our own lives.”
* * *
“Tae get away from what?” Duncan’s voice was shaking as he tried to take in the dreadful news.
* * *
“The Mackintoshes are coming this way sir, Murdoch and his brother Stewart at their head. We rode through the night, but they are burning the farms and terrorizing our people in the glen, they are just a few miles behind us.”
* * *
Duncan Cameron’s face turned ashen. He had spent his life looking up to his brother: strong, handsome, brave and fearless, now dead? In his brother’s absence, he would take charge of the clan. The rightful heir, if it were a boy, was yet to be born.
* * *
The lady in question had been listening at the door and burst into the room, tears running down her cheeks as she realized her worst fears.
* * *
“Iain is dead?”.
* * *
“Aye, lassie, if these reports are to be believed, naw nobler man shall this clan see in many a generation than my brother, his memory shall live on in his bairn though, and in our conduct. Now that he is gone, we shall show these Mackintoshes that we are not a people tae be cowed by threats and treachery,” his face set with his darkening mood; the shock now turning to anger as he thought of how to revenge himself upon the Mackintosh Clan
* * *
Forgetting herself, Rhona fell into Duncan’s arms, weeping uncontrollably as he held her close in comfort. She could not imagine her world without Iain Cameron, the brave clansman whom she had loved beyond words and who had loved her with all his heart in return.
* * *
“We cannot hope tae defeat them now,” one of the scouts hobbled forward, the wound to his leg a testament to the cruelty of their enemy.
* * *
“Aye, but so long as this bairn lives, we have hope,” Duncan’s arms remained around Rhona, resting her head against his shoulder, silent now, her cheeks flushed with grief, eyes red with tears.
* * *
“Come now Rhona, Iain would not have us let forget our duty tae this clan. Let us make ready for the arrival of the Mackintoshes,” and with that, Duncan led Rhona from the great hall, her eyes red with tears, the emotion so strong as to be almost unbearable, just as a shout came up from the battlements of the approaching Mackintosh men.
* * *
Her shock at hearing of her husband’s death was giving way to anger too, she was strong, the daughter of a nobleman, and she would face her husband’s killers in defiance. She was grateful for the presence of Duncan. He was a comfort and gave her strength; she loved Duncan as a brother, and now was grateful for his comforting presence.
* * *
The castle of the Cameron’s was centuries old, sturdy and well-built with a thick outer wall and keep. It could have withstood almost any siege the Mackintosh’s could have mustered. But without men and supplies, the chance of a prolonged defense was a futile notion, and finally, Duncan was forced to order his men down from the walls and assemble in the courtyard, the gates of the castle flung open.
* * *
“Naw more Cameron blood will be spilled this day,” Duncan remained close to Rhona, as the sounds of approaching horses could be heard through the glen.
Chapter Three
The Prisoners in the Tower
Murdoch Mackintosh was pleased with himself. When he and his men had set off from the castle at Glen Thriel some weeks earlier, he had not expected to send word to his father of victory over the Cameron Laird himself.
* * *
He had hoped only to steal livestock and horses from the peasants who lived in the upper glen and swore allegiance to the Camerons, causing chaos for his enemies and depleting their food supplies. Now he was riding at the head of the Mackintosh cohort, his brother Stewart at his side, having defeated Iain Cameron in battle and won himself the prize of Cameron lands. The castle was the jewel in the crown, and he had faced no opposition in his journey there.
* * *
“A fine victory, brother,” Murdoch turned to Stewart, as the two rode through the glen, “a fine victory indeed.”
* * *
“Aye, brother, but gained at a heavy cost.”
* * *
“Ye do not think that the lives lost this day have been for a noble cause?” Murdoch was surprised to hear his brother speak in such a way, “we have won, and now we ride on to the spoils of our victory.”
* * *
“I am weary of war,” Stewart replied, “all my life I have fought alongside ye and done so without complaint, perhaps now is the time for peace, naw more bloodshed.”
* * *
“A peace we have won together, brother, there shall be naw more fighting, unless we have cause for it from the remnants of the Camerons,” and spurning on his horse he made for the path ahead, rallying the men on.
* * *
Stewart Mackintosh remained uneasy. His father had sent them out to fight, and fight they had, burning the crofts of Cameron peasants and stealing from their lands. There had been little opposition, and in this last battle, Stewart had felt guilty at how easy victory had been won. He had no further wish to fight, longing for the day when he might settle down upon a croft and farm the land, a good woman at his side. The lot of the second brother was to pay deference to the elder. Stewart knew his place but also knew he had no wish to war as his brother did. Riding on, he dreamt of peace all too aware of what had just transpired and what now lay ahead.
* * *
Murdoch Mackintosh thought very differently. The sun was shining, reflecting off his chain mail shirt; the banner of the Mackintoshes fluttering before him. The horses were traveling at pace towards the castle, the gates of which were flung open. It all seemed far too easy. Victory had been won, and there had been a cost, but Murdoch was pleased, very pleased indeed.
* * *
Nevertheless, a thought played on his scheming mind far more than the pleasure he felt at defeating Iain Cameron. He had long heard tales of the wife of the Cameron Laird. Rhona Cameron was said to possess a striking beauty, the fairest maiden in the glen, with golden hair and deep green eyes and was said to enchant any man who saw her.
* * *
Murdoch knew his father would be pleased with the lands and we
alth, but the prize which Murdoch Mackintosh desired above all was that of Rhona Cameron. He would marry her, either by persuasion or force and thus his claim to the Cameron clan would be complete.
Stealing the Highland Bride Page 2
