The Laird of Stonehaven

by Connie Mason

  “You know why I annulled your marriage, do you not?”

  “Aye. Because I didna attend you at Inverness, MacArthur and MacKay suggested that you punish me by ending my marriage to Blair. If you recall, sire, ’twas your intention to execute me along with the five Highlanders you suspected of treason. Had a flood not prevented my departure, I would be a dead mon now.”

  James frowned. “ ’Twas a mistake. I sent the other lairds home.”

  “Too late to save the five that died. And for what reason? I know naught of intrigues. I played no part in plans to seize the Crown from you. I was falsely accused.”

  James held up his hand. “I am not here to revisit past decisions, be they right or wrong. I am here to interrogate and pass judgment on a woman accused of witchcraft.”

  “Blair is innocent.”

  “I was told you would deny the charges. MacArthur warned me you would lie to keep the wench’s dowry.”

  “Dowry be damned!” Graeme blasted. “I want it not.”

  “Nevertheless, the law states that a woman’s dowry belongs to her husband upon marriage.”

  “I will renounce it. Let MacArthur keep it.” He paused, then blurted out, “Blair carries my bairn.”

  James stroked his beard. “A bairn. That complicates matters. You have given me much to ponder. You may go now,” he said dismissively. “Good night, Laird Campbell.”

  Graeme bowed and took his leave. He didn’t return to the hall but went directly to the master’s chamber. He found Blair sitting on a bench before the hearth, staring forlornly into the dancing flames. She didn’t bother to look up when he entered.

  He perched on the bench beside her and took her cold hands in his. “I just came from the king.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes filled with sadness. “ ’Tis the end,” she whispered.

  “Nay!” Graeme denied. “ ’Tis the beginning.”

  He rose, bringing her up with him, holding her close, kissing her, desperately needing to prove that he would let no one harm her. He wanted to smooth the worry lines from her forehead, to make her forget the reason behind the king’s visit, if only for the time it took to love her.

  Blair wrapped a hand around his neck, kissing him with a fervor that left little doubt that she wanted the same thing as he.

  “Make me forget, Graeme,” she whispered against his lips. “This might be the last time we will be together.”

  “Nay, lass, we will always be together. Never doubt it.”

  Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bed and followed her down. He undressed her slowly, adoring her with his eyes and then his hands and mouth as he bared her body. Tenderly he kissed her stomach, where his baby grew, then returned to her mouth, ravaging it with his lips and tongue.

  Blair felt her troubles dissolve as Graeme loved her. At that moment in time her whole world lay beside her in the bed. Pleasure replaced fear. Tomorrow didn’t exist. There was just today, this man and their love for one another.

  Blair shuddered as he weighed her lush breasts in his hands, then brought them to his mouth and suckled her nipples, first one and then the other.

  “Your clothes,” she murmured. “I want your naked flesh against mine, warming me with your heat and vitality. I’ve never felt so cold in my life.”

  He whispered intimate endearments as he flung off his plaid and shirt and boots, returning to her in mere seconds. “I love you, Blair,” he whispered in her ear.

  He teased her moist center with his thumb, rubbing the swollen bud of her femininity until she arched and cried out. Her silky curls were moist with her essence, her tender folds slick and distended, pulsing and heated with arousal.

  His fingers slid between the lips of her sex. It was all he could do to keep from spilling as her sweet essence titillated his senses. He stroked her gently, laving her with the dew of her body, teasing the tiny pearl of her womanhood, feeling it tighten into a hard ball at his touch. Then he slid two fingers deep inside her, drawing out her pleasure.

  “Please, Graeme, I need you inside me.”

  When Graeme continued his sweet torture, Blair took control. Thrusting his hands aside, she rose up on her knees and moved over him. Then slowly, sensually, she took the head of his sex inside her and gently squeezed. The hot, wet tug of her sheath drew him deep inside her.

  They began to move at the same time, his hard shaft sinking deep. Her body, already heated with passion, surged into orgasm. Throwing her head back, she screamed her delight as her muscles convulsed around him.

  Graeme held himself in check until she reached the crest. Then he released his restraint, pounding into her, carrying her to another orgasm at the same time as he spilled his seed into her.

  Gradually his heart slowed and his breathing returned to normal. Lethargy overtook them as Blair sank down on top of him, her head resting on his chest, her trembling thighs holding him close. Gently Graeme lifted her away and brought her into his arms.

  Blair sighed happily. For a few minutes she had almost believed that no one could touch her, that Graeme would keep her safe. But the fact remained that the king had traveled to Stonehaven to condemn and punish her. Even worse, she feared that Graeme’s clansmen would speak out against her. Contentment fled as coldness crept into her heart.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Graeme’s arms tightened around her. “Naught bad will happen to you, love. You’re mine, and I shall take care of you.”

  Since the king was supping in his chamber, Blair and Graeme took the evening meal together in the privacy of their own room. Afterward, they returned with one accord to the bed and made sweet love long into the night.

  Blair’s trial began the next morning. Word of the king’s visit had spread, and the hall overflowed with clansmen from the village and surroundings.

  The king sat in the laird’s chair. Graeme was seated on one side of him and Niall MacArthur on the other. MacKay sprawled in a chair beside Niall. Blair sat before the king on a stool, looking small, vulnerable and frightened. Everyone else stood, bodies pressed close together to accommodate the crowd.

  “Let us begin,” the king said, waving his hand for quiet. A hush fell over the hall. “Who brings charges against the alleged witch?”

  “I do,” Niall said. “I lived with Blair at Gairloch and saw her cast spells with my own eyes. There is no doubt in my mind that she practices witchcraft.”

  “What kind of spells?” the king asked, leaning forward.

  “She talks to spirits. ’Tis eerie, I tell ye. Blair uses black magic to summon evil forces. She sees things before they happen.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ve seen her magical powers at work.”

  The king’s piercing gaze settled on Blair. “What do you have to say for yourself, Blair MacArthur? Your brother brings serious charges against you.”

  “I am not a witch, sire. Surely I am not the only Scotswoman with the ‘sight.’ I claim to be naught but a healer.”

  “Aye, ’tis true,” a woman called out.

  “Who speaks?” King James asked. “Step forward.”

  “I be Mab, Yer Grace,” Mab said, dipping low into a curtsey. “Lady Blair used her skills to bring my bairn into the world. If not for Lady Blair, my bairn would nae have lived to see the light of day.”

  “I am Blair’s confessor, sire,” Father Lachlan spoke up. “She is sweet and good and a true child of God. She is special in His eyes.”

  “The woman is a witch, never doubt it!” Gunna pushed people aside until she reached the king. “Mab’s bairn was born dead and the witch breathed life into her.”

  “Silence!” the king ordered. “Who are you?”

  “I be Gunna, the midwife.”

  “Does anyone else wish to accuse Blair MacArthur?”

  His gaze fell upon MacKay. “What about you, Donal MacKay? You were vocal enough when you and Niall MacArthur brought charges against the lass.”

  MacKay glanced at Graeme, then quickly looked away. Graeme returned his
gaze, a warning inherent in his lowered brows and narrowed eyes.

  “Mayhap I was mistaken,” MacKay muttered.

  “What!” Niall roared. “Are ye daft? Ye told me ye saw Blair call lightning down from the sky. Ye said it struck the ground beneath yer feet.”

  “It was storming something fierce,” MacKay mumbled. “Mayhap I was mistaken. Mayhap the lightning came naturally with the thunderstorm.”

  “What say you to that, Blair MacArthur?” the king asked.

  “I was trying to escape MacKay during a fierce thunderstorm. Niall tricked me into visiting Gairloch. He held me prisoner there until MacKay came for me.”

  “For what purpose?”

  Graeme had explained to Blair that she wasn’t to mention the treasure unless MacKay testified against her, so Blair told another version of the tale.

  “Niall had promised me to MacKay before Father died, but Father wouldna allow it. He wed me to Graeme instead. When you annulled my marriage to Graeme, MacKay sought once again to wed me. He knew I wouldna agree, so he and Niall concocted a plan to bring me to Gairloch under false pretenses. When MacKay arrived, he brought me to his keep.”

  “Ye left with MacKay readily enough,” Niall charged.

  “I had no choice. You said you would kill the escort Graeme sent with me if I didna go with MacKay.”

  “Is that true, Niall MacArthur?” the king asked.

  “Blair misunderstood,” Niall denied. “What has this to do with my sister being a witch?”

  “Niall doesna wish to part with my dowry,” Blair continued defiantly. “He never relinquished it to Graeme. MacKay promised Niall he could keep it if Niall gave me to him.”

  The king’s puzzled gaze settled on MacKay. “Do you love Blair MacArthur?”

  “He loves her not!” Graeme shouted. “I love her.”

  The king sent Graeme a quelling glance. “I am sure MacKay can speak for himself.”

  “Er . . . I dinna love Blair MacArthur.” MacKay licked moisture onto his suddenly dry lips. “I . . . planned to exploit her powers.”

  “In what way?”

  “I . . . er . . . I wanted her for her ability to foretell the future,” he lied. “Being aware of my enemies’ plans would be a great boon.”

  “Ah, I see. Are you rescinding your charges?”

  “The charges are false,” Graeme argued. “Heed me, sire. Charging Blair with witchcraft is a travesty of justice. Niall MacArthur is a troublemaker. He despises Blair because their father favored her. Douglas MacArthur left Blair a wealthy woman, and Niall covets her wealth and lands. If Blair remains wed to me, he must eventually part with her dowry. Greed lies behind his unjust charges.”

  “I asked MacKay a question,” James said, silencing Graeme with a look. “Speak, Donal MacKay. Are you rescinding the charges?”

  “Nay!” Niall screamed, leaping from his chair. “Deny the charges and deny our friendship!”

  “Sit!” James ordered, pointing a finger at Niall. “I would hear what MacKay has to say.”

  “I . . . I may have been mistaken, sire,” MacKay stammered. “I saw naught to indicate that Blair MacArthur practiced witchcraft. Niall’s hatred of the lass and unfounded rumors clouded my judgment. Aye, sire. I rescind the charges.”

  “Traitor!” Niall charged. “I spread those rumors. I’ve always hated Blair. She was beloved by our kinsmen for her healing skills while I was scorned because they saw no good in me. But I lie not. Everything I said about spirits and magic spells is God’s truth.”

  “Who speaks in defense of Blair MacArthur?”

  Several people stepped forward.

  “She healed my burns,” said one.

  “She saved my limb when I nearly severed it with an ax.”

  “She prepared soothing teas to cure my bairn’s cough.”

  “She prepared herbs to cure my headache.”

  “She eased my labor when I birthed my bairn.”

  And so it went. Finally the king called a halt. “Enough! Who besides Niall MacArthur and Dame Gunna speaks against the accused witch?”

  A profound silence fell over the hall.

  “What say you in your defense, Blair MacArthur?”

  Tears blurred Blair’s vision. She was touched by the trust Graeme’s clansmen had shown in her. She hadn’t expected such an outpouring of love and respect. No one condemned her but Gunna and Niall, her own brother.

  “Have you heard of the MacArthur Prophecy, sire?”

  James squinted at Blair as if trying to recall something. He shook his head. “Nay, but you must remember I spent many, many years in England. The Prophecy of which you speak is a myth, is it not?”

  “Nay, sire, ’tis not a myth. I was destined at birth to become a healer and was gifted by God with certain powers. Some call me a Faery Woman; others are not so generous.”

  “Do you reject God, Blair MacArthur?” James asked, leaning forward.

  “Nay, sire. All that I am is God’s doing.”

  James sat back, his fingers tented beneath his chin. “What say you, Graeme Campbell?”

  “You know my feelings, sire. Blair is all that is good and caring; naught about her is evil. I beg you to restore our marriage. Blair carries my bairn and my heir.”

  “Hmmm,” James said, fingering his goatee. “Mayhap I acted precipitously. I was angry when you failed to show up at Inverness as ordered, and I let MacArthur and MacKay talk me into ending your marriage.”

  “I have never betrayed you, sire. If you recall, I fought against the English on French soil. I was personal guard to Joan the Maid. My clan has ever been and always will be faithful to our king.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  Graeme rose and dropped to his knee. “Before my clansman and God, I hereby renew the vows of fealty my father swore to yours.”

  James appeared impressed. Rising, he grasped Graeme’s shoulders and raised him up. “Because of men’s greed I planned to execute a faithful subject. Thank God for the flood that prevented you from reaching Inverness for your execution. I acted rashly, but rumors of sedition among the Highlanders caused me a great deal of anguish.”

  “Neither I nor my clansmen would ever betray you.”

  “Aye, I hold you blameless.”

  “And Blair? She carries my bairn. My life wouldna be complete without her.”

  “Come forward, Blair MacArthur.”

  Blair rose and approached the king on unsteady legs.

  “Do you wish to remain wed to Graeme Campbell?”

  Blair smiled. “Aye, with all my heart, sire. He is my life, my love.”

  “Do you deny all charges of witchcraft?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you love God and promise to obey His commandments?”

  “I have always done so, sire.”

  James motioned for his secretary. “Sir Raymond, prepare a document restoring the marriage of Blair MacArthur to Graeme Campbell. I will set my seal to it when it is done.”

  Blair dropped to her knees and grasped the king’s hand. “Thank you, sire. I will name my son James in your honor.”

  “Douglas James,” Graeme amended. “I would honor Blair’s father for giving her to me.”

  “So it should be,” James said, hiding a smile behind his hand.

  “Sire, I protest!” Niall said. “Ye’re making a big mistake.”

  “Return to your home, Niall MacArthur, and be glad I do not impose a punishment for attempting to keep your sister’s dowry for yourself. If you do not release Lady Blair’s dowry into her husband’s keeping, I will call you to task.

  “And you, MacKay,” James continued. “You are guilty of making false accusations, even though you rescind them now. I traveled here for naught when I am needed elsewhere. Return to your keep and do not let me hear of any more trouble between the MacKays and the Campbells.”

  “Aye, sire, thank you, sire,” MacKay said, anxious to escape the king’s wrath. He owed Campbell a great deal for keeping his secret
and planned no more raids on his neighbor. As for Blair, Campbell was welcome to the witch.

  The king rose and waved his hand dismissively. “You may all return to your homes.”

  Graeme extended his hand to Blair, and she started toward him. She took but two steps when alarm bells reverberated inside her head. She spun around, searching for the source of danger. A cry caught in her throat when she saw a wild-eyed Gunna rushing toward her, a slash of sunlight glinting off the dirk she held in her hand.

  Chapter Twenty

  Blair’s legs felt as if they were rooted to the ground. She glanced at Graeme and saw that his attention had been momentarily diverted by the king and he was leaning close to hear what James was saying. No one else was close enough to stop Gunna. The king’s men-at-arms were busy ushering people from the hall, and Graeme’s guardsmen were making their way to the tables piled high with food and drink.

  Gunna’s crazed screech did what Blair had been unable to do. It brought everyone’s attention to Blair and what was happening, but Blair held scant hope that anyone could reach her in time to prevent her death.

  “Die, witch!” Gunna screamed. “May the devil take yer soul.”

  Blair heard Graeme call her name, bringing her out of her trancelike state. Gunna was almost upon her; Blair didn’t know which way to turn to escape, and Graeme was still too far away to help her.

  Then something strange happened. Gunna was but steps away when she tripped over an unseen obstacle. Blair watched in morbid fascination as Gunna crashed to the floor. Graeme reached Blair a moment later, gathering her into the protective circle of his arms. She buried her face against his chest, striving to control her trembling.

  Father Lachlan knelt beside Gunna and turned her over. Then he hastily crossed himself and shook his head. “Gunna is dead. God rest her soul.”

  Blair spun out of Graeme’s arms. “How did she die?”

  “She fell on her own dirk, lass,” Father Lachlan explained. “The blade embedded itself in her heart. She died instantly.”

  “I saw her fall and still don’t understand how it happened,” the king said as he joined them. His probing gaze went from Blair to Gunna and back to Blair. “And I don’t want to know. Take the dead woman away.”