Pride of the Clan

by Anna Markland

  Tannoch swayed, fingering the brooch. “I hafta sit. This maudlin’ sentimentality takes it out of a man.”

  He slumped into their father’s chair. Rheade knew he would never admit his injuries had taken a toll on his strength.

  Their brother needed to heal, in more ways than one. “Much as I would love to continue this conversation,” he quipped, “my bride is anxious for my attentions. Get some rest. Life will go on as before. Ye’ll be our chieftain, and Logan and I the carefree—”

  He’d been about to say bachelors, but—

  Tannoch looked up at him through half-closed eyes and raised his stump. “Nay, Rheade, life will never be the same again.”

  ~~~

  She’d only recently taken up her position at Dunalastair, but Hannah had wasted no time asserting her authority as lady’s maid to the chieftain’s sister-by-marriage. A wooden bathtub filled to the brim with hot water stood ready.

  Margaret eyed the water. “How did ye manage this?” she asked.

  Hannah shrugged. “Folk here like my lord Rheade. There was no fuss when I explained it was for ye.”

  The servants who’d carried in the pails of water had indeed seemed happy in their task. She trailed a finger through the water. “I’m in need of a bath—”

  Hannah winked. “Aye. ’Tis the morn after yer wedding night.”

  Margaret felt the blush heat her cheeks. She wanted to sink into the tub, but a little voice urged her to wait for Rheade. It was a wife’s responsibility to help her husband bathe.

  One of her duties at Ogilvie House had been to assist her brothers with their bath in the winter. She’d scrubbed their backs and washed their hair. It was expected of the girl of the family. And of course her brothers had been gentlemen, never rising from the water until she’d left the chamber.

  In the summer the family spent a good deal of time swimming in Oban Bay and baths weren’t deemed a necessity. How glad she was for those precious memories now.

  “Shall I wait?” Hannah asked, jolting her from her daydream.

  “Wait for what?” Rheade asked as he entered.

  Margaret didn’t bother to reply. As soon as he set eyes on the tub, he’d know.

  “Aha! Wonderful. A bath,” he exclaimed, throwing off his plaid. “Ye can go, Hannah. My wife will assist me.”

  He grinned at the blushing maid.

  She hurried out as he drew his léine over his head.

  Margaret took the garment from him. “I see ye no longer have the brooch.”

  He shoved down his trouzes and stepped out of them, holding his arms wide. “Aye. Why am I naked and ye are still clothed?”

  She went into his arms, inhaling his male scent as she rested her cheek against his chest. “I plan to do my wifely duty and help my husband bathe,” she explained, curling her hand around his manhood. “Are ye always in this state?”

  “Aye when I’m near ye,” he replied. “And ye’ll be in the tub while ye do yer duty.”

  LYING ABED

  “My parents raised their children to believe only sloths stay abed after dawn,” Margaret whispered.

  Rheade tightened his grip around her waist and draped one leg over hers. “I sense ye are trying to make a point,” he drawled, kissing her nape.

  She relished the softness of the golden hair on his leg against her skin. “Aye. It must be midday, and yet I am content to lie here with ye.”

  “If we consider the matter carefully,” he replied, blowing on her neck, “I did actually rise earlier for a meeting with my chieftain, whereas ye have lain abed all day.”

  She turned to face him, feigning outrage. “I got up with ye, Rheade Robertson.”

  He pulled her to his arousal. “Only because ye canna abide being in the bed without me.”

  She traced a fingertip over his lips. “’Tis true. I never shared a bed with anyone afore this. Now I canna bear the idea of sleeping alone.”

  He sucked her finger into his mouth. It was astonishing how such a small gesture of intimacy fired her body with intense longing. “Ye’ve awakened the wanton within me, husband,” she breathed, licking his nipple.

  “That’s a good thing, Margaret,” he growled, nestling his shaft between her legs. “Mmm. Wet.”

  He coaxed her to turn her body so her back was pressed to his chest. “Open yer legs,” he whispered, placing a gentle hand under her thigh.

  She tensed, unsure of what was about to happen. “What are ye doing?”

  “Dinna worry,” he reassured her, “’tis a different way of making love.”

  His shaft probed, causing her private place to clench.

  “Guide me,” he whispered.

  She put her hand between her legs and pushed the swollen tip of his manhood inside her sheath. She gasped when he plunged deep, deeper than before.

  He cupped her breasts, squeezing the nipples, hard.

  She reached back to dig her fingertips into his thrusting hip as his maleness filled her, heated her. She relished his grunts, the sheen on his skin, the increasingly delightful sensations that combined into a frenzy of all-consuming euphoria that carried her over the edge of a precipice. She screamed as she fell, but knew she was safe in Rheade’s strong arms because he growled his reassurance as his seed filled her.

  ~~~

  He’d teased Margaret, but Rheade was surprised by his own indolence. He supposed the tumultuous events of the past months had caught up. Never one to linger between the sheets, he was content to lie with his dozing bride in his arms, breathing in her scent—the scent of a woman well-bedded.

  They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms after their last lovemaking. He was fairly confident he’d penetrated deeply enough to plant a bairn.

  He’d given only fleeting consideration to being a father, but the notion filled his heart with expectant pride. He smoothed a hand over Margaret’s flat belly, imagining her growing round with his son.

  She stirred. “Tickles,” she whispered.

  “Mmm,” he replied, tucking away for a later time the knowledge she might be ticklish. “I was petting my bairn.”

  She snuggled closer. “Already?”

  He was about to reply when someone tapped at the door.

  “Probably Hannah with food,” Margaret said with a sigh. “Shall I let her in?”

  “Enter,” he shouted. “I am peckish now ye mention it.”

  She lifted the linens, eyeing his contented manhood. “Doesna seem like it to me.”

  He grabbed her. Mayhap this was the time for tickling. “I mean for food, wench.”

  “Leave the tray, Hannah,” he shouted over the giggling shrieks of his wife.

  Someone cleared their throat. Definitely not Hannah. Margaret gaped at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty and amusement.

  He came to his knees and stuck his head out between the draperies, the sight of his wife’s rigid nipples fixed firmly in his mind. “Logan! What are ye doing here? Go away. We’re busy.”

  “I can tell,” his younger brother replied, his voice edged with sarcasm. “I regret the interruption, pray forgive me, Margaret, but Tannoch has asked both of ye to come to the Hall.”

  “For what?” Rheade replied, noticing Logan still wore his best plaid.

  His brother shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. “He has summoned me as well, and the elders of the clan. He’s making an announcement about Blair Castle within the hour.”

  He turned and left before Rheade had a chance to protest.

  “What’s this about?” Margaret asked.

  Still on his knees, Rheade gathered her into his arms, unsure of how she might react to his suspicions. “I fear he plans to give Blair Atholl to me. It will get me out of his hair and ensure Blair’s controlled by a family member.”

  She made no reply, but he felt the tension in her body.

  “I ken ye dinna want to live where Robert Stewart—”

  She silenced him with a fingertip on his lips. “Tannoch would only give ye the castle i
f he trusts ye. We’ll soon rid Blair of its ghosts.”

  REWARDS

  Margaret expected the people gathered in the Hall to be seated ready for the evening meal. She was taken aback at the sight of a large crowd of clan folk on their feet. Men stood with legs braced, arms folded across their chests. Women soothed restless bairns hoisted over their shoulders, or corralled unruly youngsters. Youths slouched against walls eyeing groups of giggling girls.

  The odor of unwashed bodies assailed Margaret’s nostrils, though it seemed most had made an effort to look their best. The children’s hands and faces were clean, their hair combed.

  A rousing cheer went up when she and her husband entered. Her frayed nerves settled. The folk of Dunalastair loved Rheade, and she supposed the bed linens Hannah had discreetly removed from the chamber were now flapping in the breeze atop the flagpole.

  Tannoch beckoned them to join him and Logan on the dais.

  The crowd quietened, every enquiring face turned to the chieftain, but his stern features betrayed nothing of what he was about to say.

  His eyes ranged over the crowd, until only an occasional cough or the hiccup of a child intruded on the silence.

  “Queen Joan has ceded Blair Castle to our clan,” he declared.

  Raucous cheers greeted this pronouncement, though Margaret was certain news of the Queen’s gift had already reached the ears of most.

  When calm was restored, Tannoch continued. “Blair Atholl is a fine edifice, its lands extensive.”

  Murmurs of Aye rippled through the crowd.

  “’Tis fitting such a demesne be forfeited by traitors and given to a loyal clan.”

  More loud cheers.

  Tannoch glanced at Logan. Margaret’s legs began to tremble. She gripped Rheade’s hand.

  A rare smile cracked Tannoch’s face, but its accompanying frown belied any hint of happiness. “Ye ken I was wounded in pursuit of the assassins, so Blair is out o’ the question for me. Canna deal with the stairs.”

  Polite laughter ensued, as if folk weren’t sure whether they were meant to be amused or not.

  “In these uncertain times, ’tis vital Blair be in the hands of a strong leader, a man I trust; a warrior the clan can depend on.”

  Margaret hazarded a glance at Rheade. Most in the crowd looked to him. His face gave no hint of his emotions, but his grip on her hand tightened. The knot in her belly refused to loosen.

  “And thus, with the clan’s blessing I appoint my younger brother Logan as laird of Blair Atholl.”

  Margaret closed her eyes as indignation soared into her throat. “Nay,” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  ~~~

  Rheade hooked his arm around Margaret’s waist and hastily pulled her to his side. The nay he was sure she was about to utter emerged instead as a strangled yeah. She scowled at him, her hand on his chest, her eyes full of anger, for his sake.

  His disappointment was for her. Logan had always been Tannoch’s favorite, but this decision was an insult to his new bride. His younger brother had no wife, no one to fulfill the role of Blair’s chatelaine.

  Tannoch’s announcement had been greeted by a strange silence. Eyes darted from one member of the family to the other.

  Rheade took a step towards Logan.

  His brother avoided his gaze.

  “He knew,” Margaret hissed, confirming Rheade’s suspicion.

  He looked to Tannoch. The chieftain had a peculiar grin on his face.

  He’s enjoying my humiliation.

  “I have another announcement,” Tannoch said softly.

  His tone of voice took Rheade aback. He’d never known his brother do anything but bellow if he wanted attention.

  “Ye ken I’m a man of few words, but this day there is much to be said. However, I beg yer indulgence while I sit.”

  Rheade’s mouth fell open when Glenna appeared from the back of the Hall, ushering two men through the crowd. “I barely recognised her,” he murmured to Margaret. “She’s cut her hair.”

  “Aye,” his wife replied. “She actually looks like mistress of a castle, and folk are paying her heed.”

  The men positioned the large ornate chair they’d carried on the dais, then retreated. Glenna assisted her husband to sit, adjusting the plaid to cover his stump, ensuring the trefoil brooch was in the correct place. For once, Tannoch didn’t shoo her away.

  Margaret curled her fingers into the edge of Rheade’s plaid. “He seems to be enjoying it.”

  The crowd watched, many of them gaping, as if fascinated by the scene unfolding before them.

  Tannoch tucked his big feet under the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles.

  “Just like Da,” Rheade muttered under his breath.

  Tannoch stroked a finger and thumb of his left hand down the sides of his beard then leaned forward. “Since I was a boy, I’ve been jealous of my brother Rheade.”

  Crivvens!

  Several people coughed nervously.

  A bairn wailed.

  Sweat trickled down Rheade’s spine.

  Glenna stood like a statue, one hand resting on the back of her husband’s chair.

  “In return, my brother showed me only love and respect.”

  “Which probably wasna always easy,” Margaret whispered.

  Rheade shrugged, wondering who had conjured this new Tannoch. Mayhap his wounds had stolen his wits.

  “The reasons for my envy are complicated, and not entirely clear to me, but in return for Rheade’s love and loyalty, I stole credit for capturing the Stewarts. I hoped mayhap to win a title.” He chuckled. “Imagine, me, an Earl!”

  Again the crowd seemed uncertain how to respond. Some tittered, others stared open mouthed.

  “Aye,” Tannoch affirmed. “’Twas Rheade and Logan and their comrades who captured the Stewarts.” He winked at Margaret. “With the help of Rheade’s new wife.”

  Every head swivelled to Margaret.

  Tannoch chuckled. “Mind, we willna ask what Rheade and Margaret were doing alone together in one of the turret rooms at Blair.”

  Nervous laughter trickled through the Hall.

  Rheade feared he might have been stricken with a deadly fever. His body was on fire, Margaret’s steadying presence the only thing keeping him from bolting. Tannoch was working up to some monstrous humiliation. Belittling him was one thing. He was used to it, but if he picked on Margaret—

  “And,” Tannoch continued, “without Rheade’s vision, we would never have unearthed Graham.”

  Applause broke out.

  “So. The assassins have been caught and punished. Our clan enjoys the Queen’s favor and has been rewarded with a handsome castle that now has a new laird. There remains but one last thing.”

  To Rheade’s surprise, Tannoch beckoned Glenna to unpin his brooch, then came to his feet, this time without assistance. He held out the brooch. “For several years Rheade Robertson wore this pin. Ye all ken it belonged to my father.”

  He looked over at Rheade then continued. “I’ve been yer chieftain, and I’ve led the clan as I deemed fit.”

  Murmurs of agreement wafted over the now riveted crowd.

  “But—”

  Mouths fell open as Tannoch uncovered the stump of his right arm and raised it for all to see. He’d left off the bindings that usually concealed the ugly brutality of it.

  Rheade’s heart filled with pity and pride. “I canna believe he would reveal his weakness,” he whispered to Margaret.

  Women turned away. Bairns made noises of disgust only bairns can make. Men gritted their teeth. The loss of a limb meant destitution and isolation.

  “Dinna pity me,” Tannoch roared, brandishing the severed limb. “This is my badge of honor. I gave my right arm to capture Graham. ’Twas worth it.”

  He paused, his gaze ranging over the crowd before it came to rest on Rheade. “However, ’tis no longer possible or fitting for me to continue as your laird.”

  The adder coiled in Rheade’s gut hisse
d. “What is he doing?” he muttered under his breath.

  “He’s making ye chieftain,” his wife whispered in reply.

  Tannoch held out the brooch to Margaret. “I canna pin this on yer husband’s plaid, Lady Margaret. I’d be obliged if ye can do it for me.”

  Rheade feared his knees might fail him as his grinning wife pinned the trefoil brooch onto his plaid.

  “I declare Rheade Donnachaidh Starkey Robertson chief of this clan,” Tannoch thundered.

  A loud Aye echoed from the gathering.

  “Will ye declare yer loyalty to him?”

  “Aye!”

  “Is there any man, woman or bairn present who opposes his right to be chieftain?”

  “Nay!”

  Loud shouts and cheers filled the Hall, but Rheade heard only his heart thudding in his ears. The responsibility of lairdship was something he’d never sought, but he was his father’s son, and with Margaret as his helpmate—

  He swallowed the lump in his throat as Tannoch embraced him.

  “’Tis a big relief for me to turn this o’er to someone I trust,” his brother whispered, clamping his good hand on his shoulder. “I’ll try not to interfere.”

  Rheade looked into Tannoch’s eyes and saw there the love he’d craved all his life. “Margaret willna let ye,” he replied.

  Tannoch laughed. “Now,” he declared, turning his attention to the boisterous crowd, “as my final act as yer laird, ye’re ordered out o’ the way so tables can be set up for supper.”

  Folk scurried to comply as a smiling Glenna came to assist him from the dais.

  The elders approached Rheade to offer their congratulations and support. Margaret stood at his side, accepting the courtly gestures with grace.

  When they were the only ones left on the dais, she turned to him. “Did ye notice Tannoch gave ye no opportunity to refuse?”

  GREEDY MEN

  Blair Castle, Two Years Later

  “I’ll take Jocelin, my lady.”

  Hannah’s whisper jolted Margaret from her doze. Confused, she looked down at the babe nestled to her breast, sound asleep. She lifted the six month old into Hannah’s arms and hastily covered her bare breast, relieved she’d dozed off in a shadowed corner away from the Great Hall.