The Highland Chieftain

by Amy Jarecki

  With the ship’s next roll, Dunn grappled to grab onto the legs of the bed as he hurled toward the wall.

  “She’s on her beam ends!” a voice shouted from the main deck.

  “Tack west,” bellowed another.

  In the dim light, Dunn fumbled for his new hose and boots, which had cost him thrice what he’d pay a cobbler. The ship jerked and jolted as she changed course until the rocking shifted from side to side and then bow to stern.

  Dunn gritted his teeth as he forced his foot into the boot. “Jesus Saint Christopher Christ, that bloody hurt!” Grumbling under his breath, he bumbled to his feet while the ship continued to lurch. Good God, he was no virgin to the sea, but even the most hardened of sailors might lose their guts in this storm.

  Biting back the pain, he staggered out the door and to the steps. He pulled himself upward using the rope rail, taking in a deep breath when his face met pelting rain. The deck awash with seawater, his feet slipped, causing a shot of pain from his heel all the way up to the small of his back.

  Clouds hung so low, there was little visibility as the ship broke through one enormous white-capped wave after another.

  “She’ll not weather this storm much longer,” shouted a sailor.

  A man wound a sail rope around a belaying pin. “We’ll run aground, for certain.”

  “Not on my bloody watch,” hollered Murdoch from the helm.

  Dunn barreled aft toward the ship’s wheel. “Where are we?”

  “Should be rounding Spurn Head—hold on to the timbers. Once we enter the Humber Estuary, the seas will calm. Mark me.”

  “I bloody will,” Dunn said, looping his arm through the ship’s rail and planting his feet squarely. “What were you thinking, sailing into this squall? ’Tis rough enough to roll her over.”

  “It hit us fast—no time to outrun the wind.”

  “Land ho!” shouted the navigator, lowering his spyglass just as a lightning bolt struck the mast. Sailors scattered as the great pole crashed to the deck, splintering the timbers.

  “Jib boom to port!” the master bellowed. “The mast is no’ done in. She has a good fifteen feet. Cut the rigging and bid the wind fill the main course sail!”

  Dunn watched as the men worked to regain control while a wave hit broadside, making the boat heel all the way to the top rail. Volumes of salt water gushed across the deck, knocking two sailors from their feet, the wave carrying them to the portside wall.

  He could do nothing but hold fast. If they made it to Hull, no ship in Britain would take a chance on sailing in the open sea until this storm passed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mairi sat before the looking glass while Aela removed the rags from her hair, revealing fresh and bouncy new curls. “I do not ken how you do it. I can barely pull a comb through my locks, they’re so thick.” Though she tried to sound cheerful, inside a wretched tempest brewed. Her father refused to tell her anything about his meeting with Seaforth. She only assumed Da had done the honorable thing and dispatched word requesting Dunn’s release.

  The maid smiled. “Practice, I suppose.” She twirled the length of hair in the back into a chignon and pinned it in place.

  Mairi glanced to the tray on the table in front of the hearth. “Thank you for bringing my breakfast so I could avoid eating with my father.” If she had to face his pinched expression one more time while he told her to tend to women’s affairs and practice her charm, she would scream.

  “I kent you’d prefer a tray. Besides, I’m most likely more eager to ride along the Thames than you are, m’lady.”

  “Oh yes.” Mairi clapped her hands together. “It will irritate Da to no end. We must slip out the servants’ entrance so as not to be seen. Then we can hail a coach on Church Street.”

  “Hailing a coach.” Aela sighed and set the brush on the dressing table. “It sounds ever so daring.”

  “As long as we are together, no one will pay us much mind.”

  “Lady Mairi?” called the butler while a knock sounded at the door. “Your father has requested your presence in the parlor straightaway.”

  “A moment,” she said loudly, then turned to Aela. “Curses, they’re starting early this morn. We were not fast enough.”

  The poor lass’s face fell. “Perhaps there will be time later.”

  “I truly hope so.”

  Resolutely, Mairi followed the butler to what she knew would be another introduction to a pompous nobleman. ’Twas only Wednesday and no more than five complete and utter aristocratic bores had graced the parlor thus far.

  “Lady Mairi MacKenzie, may I introduce the Earl of Buchan.”

  She affected an air of indifference as she stepped inside. Surprisingly, the earl wore Highland dress. Graying at his temples, the man looked to be at least forty, and was reasonably tall and slender, if not too thin. He bowed deeply. “M’lady, it is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  She curtsied, all too aware of her father’s watchful eye. “You are a Scot, m’lord?”

  “Aye, from the shire of Buchan, near Aberdeen.”

  Ah, that’s why she couldn’t place him. Aberdeen was quite a distance from Castle Leod.

  Da gestured to the settee. “I’ve ordered a pot of coffee and biscuits.”

  “Splendid,” said Buchan, waiting for Mairi to sit first, then taking the seat beside her.

  With a sigh, she took the seat on the settee. Doing so would be a great deal easier than listening to her father complain later. Buchan’s gaze slipped down and up as he smiled and pulled on the cuffs of his velvet doublet. “Your father tells me you have a fondness for dancing.”

  Her mouth popped open as she searched for words. True, she enjoyed dancing, but the only person she cared to dance with was Mr. Duncan MacRae. “Ah…my dance master once told me I am light on my feet.”

  “I should like to see you at the ball…dance, that is.”

  “She is as graceful as a swan,” said Da, as if he were a traveling tinker selling his wares.

  Her cheeks flooding with heat, Mairi gave her father a pointed look. “You are biased.” Hoping the time would pass more quickly if she were to ask the questions, she folded her hands and faced the earl. “Tell me, m’lord, are you here for the ball, or have you come to London on other matters?”

  “Alas, a bit of both, I’m afraid.” Buchan was polite and well-spoken, and by far the most affable courtier she’d met. However, Mairi doubted the man would last two minutes in a sparring session with Dunn.

  “Alas?” she asked. “Have things been unfavorable for you?”

  “They have.” The earl looked to Da.

  Cromartie nodded. “Go on, you may as well tell her. She’ll draw it out of you soon enough.”

  “Very well.” Buchan looked at her directly with a pair of soulful brown eyes. “My wife died giving birth to my son. It was a tragedy that cut me to the quick.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. You must be bereft with melancholy.”

  “I am—er—was. It has been a year, and the time is nigh for me to find a mother for Henry.”

  “And a wife,” said Da.

  “Aye, and a wife,” Buchan echoed, not as convincingly.

  “Do you feel you are ready to marry?” Mairi asked, curious. If her intuition was correct, he was no readier to wed her than she was willing to wed him.

  “I wouldn’t be here, otherwise.” He shifted in his seat.

  The butler stepped into the parlor carrying a silver tray. “Coffee and biscuits, my lord.”

  Cromartie certainly beamed with good spirits this day. “Thank you, Maximillian. Please set the tray on the table. Will you please pour, Mairi?”

  Trying to look pleasant, she did as her father asked, though she hadn’t acquired a taste for the Turkish drink that had taken London by storm. Even with milk, it was bitter and made her on edge. “How are your crops, m’lord?” she asked, opting for small talk.

  “Good so far, we’re expecting a bountiful harvest.”

 
“And your son, Henry, is it? Is he a happy bairn?” She took a bit of biscuit, savoring the sweetness and wishing she had a nip of Dunn’s whisky on hand to take away the stupefying boredom.

  “He is, as are my other children.” Looking away, the earl picked up a porcelain cup and sipped. “It is a fine day for a coach ride. They’re saying it will be clear by noon.” Light rain pattered on the window, though that hadn’t stopped Mairi from planning an outing with Aela.

  But Mairi had stiffened at the words other children. Nonetheless, she chose not to query him on the subject. After all, Buchan’s offspring were no concern of hers. “Fancy that, I was just speaking to my lady’s maid about the very same thing.” She beamed at her father. “Wouldn’t it be lovely for my lady’s maid to chaperone us on a ride along the Thames?”

  “Aela?” asked Da, stretching his collar.

  “How charming of you to think of your maid,” Buchan interjected with a warm smile. “Are the pair of you close?”

  “Quite close.” Mairi sat back, and twiddled her thumbs. She’d be able to keep her promise to Aela and a ride with the earl…without her father. Who knew how interesting the conversation might be without Da there to hang on every word?

  * * *

  It was only by the grace of God the barque managed to sail, damaged and broken into the port at Hull. Even if Master Murdoch had agreed to take Dunn to London, it wouldn’t have happened. And with the weather still blowing a gale, he had no choice but to disembark with Beastie and ride the remaining distance. As he left the village, he passed a signpost that read “London 178 miles.”

  At a fast trot with requisite rest, the journey would take him two and a half days, if not three. If nothing went wrong.

  He crouched over the horse’s mane and rode through the drizzling rain, shielded by not much more than a leather doublet and a woolen plaid draped over his head. Still swollen, his heel burned and stung, though the pain trumped the ache from the bruises he’d sustained from falling off his bunk on the ship. At least the ride would give his foot an opportunity to heal. Dunn had endured many injuries before. The foot was a bugger of a place to be injured, though he couldn’t think of anywhere on his body he’d like to be shot. In fact, a musket ball to the foot ought to bear a lower mortality rate than anywhere else. With no lead ball lodged in his flesh, the wound was clean.

  Neither rain nor wind nor sleet nor his agony would stop him. Three days until he again held Mairi in his arms. Squaring his jaw, he set his sights on the long road before him and cued his horse for a posting trot.

  He clenched his fist around his reins. Something always goes awry.

  And Mairi had no idea he was so close. There wasn’t even a way to send her a message—at least not one with a chance of arriving before he did. Had she gained an audience with Seaforth? Had Cromartie come to his senses? What was she doing now? Being fitted for gowns, most likely. He hoped.

  * * *

  The lady’s maid sat with her head craned out the coach window. Aela’s exuberance was amusing. “Look at London Bridge, m’lady. Do people actually live there?”

  “They do,” said the Earl of Buchan from his seat across the coach. “’Tis a treasure trove of shops, though very congested at this time of day.”

  Mairi sat back, enjoying herself for the first time since she arrived. “I kent she would fancy a ride along the Thames.”

  “She’s dear, her excitement infectious.”

  “Thank you for humoring me. I’m afraid my father has been a wee bit overbearing as of late.” Mairi dug her fingers into the velvet seat while the coach jolted and bumped along the cobblestones.

  Buchan didn’t seem to notice as he swayed with the motion, not paying much attention to the passing scenery. “He’s eager to see you happy and matched with a suitor who he feels is worthy.”

  “Aye.” Her gaze trailed away along with her voice. Surely, her father still cared about her happiness, though he had an odd way of showing it of late. “I think he’s nervous.”

  “I suppose I will be when it comes time for my first daughter to wed. She’ll be of age soon.”

  “First daughter? How old is she?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Aela popped her head inside and pointed. “Look, m’lady. ’Tis the Tower of London!”

  Too busy pondering Buchan’s revelation, Mairi ignored the lass. “If I am guessing correctly, you have more than one daughter and a newborn son.”

  “I do.”

  “Pray tell, how many children have you sired?”

  He stroked his fingers down his cleanly shaven chin while deep creases formed between his brows. “Nine. The eldest is a lad, aged eighteen.”

  “Nine children?” She didn’t bother hiding her astonishment. “My heavens, you have quite the ready-made family.”

  “I do.” He grinned. “Phillis and I always wanted a big family.”

  “Always? How long were you married?”

  “Twenty glorious years.” He closed his eyes and patted his chest as if bereft.

  “Nine children in twenty years?” Mairi asked, still flabbergasted and placing the earl’s age somewhere between thirty-five and forty. “She must have been with child a great deal of that time.”

  “Indeed, she was.” He proudly beamed.

  “How did you meet?”

  He shrugged. “She was a Forbes. Her family and mine have always been fast allies. I knew her most of my life.”

  “Did you love her all that time?” Mairi was prying, but she didn’t care. Besides, the earl seemed willing to openly discuss his affairs.

  “I suppose I did. As children, we oft played together. It was natural that we would marry.”

  “And you miss her.”

  He nodded, looking to his hands. “Very much.”

  “At least your marriage was happy while it lasted.” Mairi flipped open her fan and cooled her face. “Growing up, I always thought I’d become the Countess of Seaforth, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

  Buchan met her gaze. “I’d heard the news and I must express my regrets.”

  “There is no need. I would not have wanted to endure a loveless marriage.”

  “I think the best marriages begin with a solid friendship.”

  Mairi pulled off her glove and twisted Dunn’s ring on her finger, admiring it. “I agree. And…I would be remiss if I did not inform you that I am in love with another.”

  “Oh?” The earl frowned, though his eyes didn’t reflect surprise. “Is your father aware of this?”

  “Alas, yes. Though he does not believe a mere Highland chieftain to be worthy.”

  “I see. His decision must have been very difficult for him.”

  “I’m not certain if he is being difficult or obstinate but, nonetheless, he has refused his consent.”

  “I am sorry.” Pulling a pipe from his waistcoat pocket, Buchan dipped it into a pouch of tobacco. “Hmm. If we were to marry, at the least we would be able to support each other in our sorrows.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The eve of the ball arrived with overtones of doom. During the coach ride from the town house to the Banqueting House at Whitehall, Da announced they would be staying in London for another fortnight at the request of the Earl of Buchan. Regardless of Mairi’s efforts to convince the earl of her affection for Dunn, dear old Papa had eased Buchan’s concerns by telling him Mairi had merely been infatuated at a gathering of Highlanders, an understandable diversion to take her mind off Seaforth’s untimely retraction.

  “Have you sent word for Mr. MacRae’s release?” she asked, avoiding mentioning her visit with Reid MacKenzie. If her father discovered she’d gone behind his back, he’d be livid.

  Da opened his snuffbox and nipped a pinch. “I did,” he said, as if the decision had been his alone. “There was no sense in keeping him incarcerated now that you are in London, though it will take a fortnight for my orders to reach the castle. ’Tis best to ensure a clean separation once and for all. And if you marry Bucha
n, you mightn’t ever see the MacRae rascal again.”

  “So, you would hope.” Mairi sighed, dressed like a queen in a gold gown with gossamer lace while a wretched chasm stretched in her heart.

  The coach rolled to a halt.

  “Come, Mairi, would you give up the chance to marry an earl for a Highland chieftain? Think of your children, my dearest. If you married MacRae, they would be born commoners.”

  “Yet still members of the gentry. Is that so awful?” she asked as the footman helped her alight. “I would prefer my children to be sturdy Highland folk, well loved by a father who would dote on them, not by a man whose only care was to make alliances. Be careful, Father, your lust for riches and power is eating away at your sensibilities. I’m afraid if you do not stop, you will have no heart left.”

  After following her down the steps, Da grabbed her elbow and squeezed. “You will cease spewing this derisive drivel at once. Hold your head high and act like the proud daughter of a peer, or I might go off and choose the oldest, most hideous nobleman I can find to marry you.”

  With a subtle jerk, she yanked her elbow away. “I would never agree.”

  “I’ll see to it that your approval is not required.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “I suggest you do not put it to the test.” He presented her with a gloved hand. “Enough of this. You will make me proud this eve. I miss our amiability, dear. Let us put this business about MacRae behind us.”

  Never.

  Mairi glanced over her shoulder. The coach had moved on and was replaced by another. All around them people clad in opulent finery converged into the courtyard, processing through the enormous double doors. Only one year ago, excitement had flitted about her insides while she passed through the same entry into the Banqueting House with its ornately painted ceiling. But at that time her hand had been promised. Unfortunately, this visit made her throat swell closed while each couple was led inside and announced by the master of ceremonies in a booming voice.