When they reached the tree, Merida was seated on a bench where Morag loved to sit on the days when the sun shone down on Cragenlaw. The twins had planted their backsides on the grass at her feet and, as he and Ghillie approached, she patted the space next her on the bench and said, “Sit here beside me Uncle Nhaimeth.”
Uncle—and him the shortest of the lot by at least a head and shoulder; but he was used to that, so he simply plonked his arse on the bench and asked, “What story is it to be today: the Green Lady, the ravens, or the white stag?”
As Heimdall flew down frae the top of the Keep and alighted on Ghillie’s shoulder, one pair of blue eyes and three identical sets of green, the same as his Rowena and her sister Melinda, the only guid thing they had e’er got frae Henry La Mont. When they spoke it was with one voice, clear and pure as crystal as it leapt up into the green leaves o’erhead.
“The prophecy,” they said, as if Nhaimeth hadnae already known they would.
Dhugal Robertson of Sgian and his wife, Maggie McArthur, counted themselves fortunate to have been allotted Maggie’s auld chamber, such a crush of folk as there was at Cragenlaw for the wedding of Rory and Ainsel as well as the anniversary of her father’s rescue by her mother all yon years ago when both had been young.
Dhugal looked at Maggie wearing a kirtle and feeding their son, looking rather less like the grand sword fighter he had met at Sgian while he was still a broken man. Motherhood had changed her—not, he decided, that he liked either of her life’s roles any better than the other. In fact, he had learned that whatever his sweet wife applied herself to, she always excelled. She had taken on him, and he felt a better man for it.
“Just think,” Maggie said, “my mother was years younger than I am when my father put Rob in her belly.” She giggled and looked down at Euan Robertson, their bairn of six weeks, guzzling at her breast. “We can be thankful that bairns are not born full grown, though this one is going to be a size if he keeps eating this way.”
Dhugal hunkered down at her side and smoothed his palm o’er Euan’s almost hairless scalp as he took the opportunity to kiss Maggie, then, with a smile on his face, he whispered in her ear, “Tell him to leave some for me.”
“Dinnae complain, he takes his love for food after his father.” She lifted one dark brow and sized him up. “There’s definitely a lot more of ye then there was when ye married me, but that’s understandable; ye needed a wife.”
“A wife and my land back,” he confirmed, grinning, for as if he had said something profound, wee Euan let go his mother’s nipple and stared up at him. Dhugal couldnae resist, he ran one fingertip round the nipple that his son appeared to have done with, and having done so stuck it in his mouth and sucked, noisily. “Naught wrong with that, the bairn must be full.”
“It’s me that’s going to have my hands full if he does take after his father,” she scolded as she lifted Euan on to her shoulder and patted his back. It was time they went down to the Great Hall anyway. The McArthur would expect them to do their duty by looking after the many guests.
A great stir appeared to be happening at the foot of the winding granite stairs and, standing on the third step frae the bottom, Dhugal recognised the man whau had given him back his land and his name, Robertson of Sgian, King Alexander. Nae wonder there was a stir, everyone trying to bow and nae room in such a wee space to perform the necessary sweep of the arm.
“Yer majesty,” Dhugal performed an elegant bow, head low and arm sweeping past his knees. Beside him, he felt Maggie curtsy and felt certain she did it to perfection, even with wee Euan in her arms; she had spent some time practising since Alexander attended their wedding, on the chance they should ever meet the king again. Standing on the stairs head and shoulders above the rest of the men grovelling in surprise at seeing their King, Dhugal caught Alexander’s eye, “This is a pleasurable surprise yer majesty. Has the McArthur been informed of yer arrival?”
Tall and handsome, King Alexander sent him a smile that looked to knock the others afore him on their collective arses. “Nae, Dhugal, I was about to send someone in search of him.”
One hand in Maggie’s, Dhugal made his way through the stunned servants and clansmen whau had been adding their mite to the preparations for the morrow, commanding, “Outside all of ye except anyone whau knows where the McArthur and Morag are. Ye can go and inform him of the King’s presence and fetch him to the Great Hall.” Finished issuing orders, he turned to the King. “Ye’ll remember my wife, Maggie McArthur?” And when Alexander dipped his head in her direction, Dhugal finished by suggesting, “If yer majesty will allow me and wife to conduct ye into the Great Hall, I’m sure we can find ye somewhere much more comfortable than this crowded entrance.”
And that’s what they did, acted hosts to the King and his coterie until the McArthur arrived to hear the King apologise. “Ye must excuse me, McArthur, for arriving without an invitation, but I heard tell there was another wedding about to happen at Cragenlaw as well as another celebration, and decided I couldnae miss it, though I trust the entertainment willnae be quite so bloody as the last time.”
The McArthur let out a loud bellow of laughter that only a chieftain of his age and stature could do afore a King. “I can assure only that there is naught planned, but then last time the entertainment hadnae been planned either. We’ll make sure yer well guarded.” He looked at Dhugal, saying “Mayhap we can have Dhugal sit opposite ye.”
The King shook his head and smiled at Dhugal. “Nae ye cannae expect yer daughter’s husband to risk his life to save me a second time.”
“Aye, yer right, yer majesty, he has a son to take care of now, as well as a wife,” remarked the McArthur, and the way he said it, Dhugal thought that his father-in-law might have survived the shock of his only daughter’s hasty wedding. Almost a wife and a widow on the same day, his Maggie, and although he was said to have saved the King’s life, Dhugal had always thought it was bad marksmanship that had put Alexander in danger, for it had been Dhugal the villain had intended to kill.
“Aye, a son. I can see he has been busy since the last time we met,” the King jested and of course they all laughed; he was the King after all. While Dhugal felt a wee bit bemused o’er his huge change in circumstances, the McArthur made plans for an appropriate place for the King to be quartered. It struck Dhugal then how different two brothers could be. King Edgar had robbed them of their clan lands; Alexander had restored them.
Rather than put his host to o’er much trouble, the King’s servants had brought the Royal tent for him to sleep in; all he needed was a small grassy place to have his servants put it up. Long afore time for the evening meal, King Alexander was settled in his handsome tent next to the bonnie tree growing among the patch of grass to the eastern side of the Keep. Later that night as he and Maggie settled down to sleep, she murmured, “I wonder how the Green Lady feels having a Christian King camped under her tree?”
Dhugal couldnae think of any answer suitable for the occasion.
Rory hadnae expected to have a King attend his wedding, and while he awaited his bride afore the priest with Calder, his groomsman, it struck him that if aught was needed to confirm the standing of the Comlyns and the McArthurs, it was today. King Alexander sat in the front row of the chapel, with his father and mother, holding Axel, as well as his Aunt Morag and the McArthur. If Olaf could look down frae Walhalla, Rory was certain he would be congratulating himself at giving Rory and his granddaughter a nudge at just the right time to set this day in motion.
Then all was forgotten as he turned to see Ainsel at the entrance to the chapel, escorted by Ghillie—minus Heimdall, thank the auld gods—and with them, Gilda, whau stood up for Ainsel. His cousin had insisted that his bloodlines had much of Ainsel’s in them and, since he had played a big part in this day ever coming to pass, he was within his rights.
Ghillie was a guid few years younger than either of them, but once again Rory was aware of his mother saying ‘an auld head on young shoulders’
.
Rory took Ainsel’s hand to promise to love and honour his beautiful lass, and worship her with his body. And he would too, for all the days of his life. Soon the bonnie ring he’d had made was sliding onto her finger, and although he wasnae sure if a kiss was called for, he thought it only fitting, as did the congregation whau gave them a clap and a cheer.
Soon they were outside the chapel, hurrying towards the hall, being pelted with flowers and petals, and as bride and groom entered the Great Hall, with Ainsel brushing the wedding flower fragments off her bonnie kirtle, his wife—shield-maiden—laughed up at him, “Well, at least it isnae herring.”
“At least,” he nodded, dipping his head to sniff her neck and drop a kiss behind her ear, starting his marriage off by saying, “My wife smells of honey and thyme, my favourite perfume.”
Epilogue
Everywhere Ghillie looked, Cragenlaw was a riot of colour and sound. Roast meats scented the air, but where Ghillie was taking his wee coterie of relations, the smells were more pungent.
They were in the stables, up in the loft, the place where his father and Rob had talked unobserved, shared secrets and dreams, become more brothers than friends. A guid quiet place for the cousins and their aunt to discuss if not treason then at least a form of patricide.
Ralf spoke up first, “We have to do something about La Mont. I’m nae saying we do it now—we need a plan first—but the ideal would be to kill him afore he dies of natural causes and some other bluidy Norman ends up with Wolfsdale.”
“Aye,” agreed, Henry. “The auld scoundrel might be my grandfather, but he tried to kill Ralf, and he needs to pay.”
Heimdall fluttered upon Ghillie’s shoulder as if urging him to have his say. “He’s my grandfather as well and he took the newborn bairn that was my mother Rowena out into the woods and left her for the wolves. If it hadnae been for the gypsies, neither she nor I would be alive right now. He needs to pay twice o’er frae me.”
“And he’s my father, and though he didnae kill my mother when he first struck her with his sword, he might as well have. It was only thanks to Kathryn that she survived long enough to give birth to me. He definitely has to pay for his cruel deeds.”
Harry took up the four young bloods’ desire for vengeance. “We’re all agreed then, when the time is right, we will journey south to Wolfsdale and administer justice.”
“Aye,” said Ralf, “but we must tell nae one.”
“Aye,” Heimdall accompanied Ghillie’s agreement with a screech.
“Aye,” said Merida. She stared at Ghillie. “But what of yer mother, Ghillie? Will she see what we’ve planned? Will she try to stop us?”
Ghillie turned to them, one after the other, looked each in the eyes, then said, “She may, but I dinnae see her doing aught to prevent us; it’s all part of the auld gods’ plans, the prophecy.”
Merida held her hand out and one by one they laid their hands atop it. “To the Prophecy,” they chorused. The lass was the only one who had aught else to say: “It’s very wicked.”
All Ghillie could bring to mind as they climbed back down the ladder was: but so was Henry La Mont. Wicked!
The Beginning of the End
Thanks for reading CHIEFTAIN’S REBEL. I hope you enjoyed it.
If you’d like to know more about me, my books, or to connect with me online, you can visit my webpage www.franceshousden.com follow me on twitter @HousdenFwriter, or like my Facebook page, Frances Housden9, also follow me through my publisher’s page here www.escapepublishing.com.au
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You’ve just read a book in my CHIEFTAIN series. The other books in this series are THE CHIETAIN’S CURSE, CHIEFTAIN BY COMMAND, THE CHIEFTAIN’S FEUD, CHIEFTAIN IN THE MAKING, and THE CHIEFTAIN’S DAUGHTER.
This book was published by Escape Publishing. If you’d like to sample some more great books from my fellow Escape Artists, please turn the page.
BESTSELLING TITLES BY ESCAPE PUBLISHING…
Chieftain in the Making
Frances Housden
The award-winning Chieftain series continues in a new, full-length novel about duty, determination and the power of love to heal all wounds.
Rob is the McArthur heir and is determined to prove himself, a resolve that leads to his capture in a battle on the wrong side of the Borders where he is held for ransom at Wolfsdale. He never expects to fall in love with Melinda La Mont, his Norman captor’s daughter, but payment of the ransom means their separation.
And though Rob may have lost his heart, he has kept his head and his secrets: La Mont’s manor belonged to his grandfather and Rob knows all of its mysteries.
It takes another battle and the death of the Scottish King to return Rob to Wolfsdale and Melinda. Abduction and capture is the only way to bring Melinda back into his life—and his bed. But she comes with a surprise: twin sons, and an anger that Rob cannot seem to calm. When Melinda reveals that her father considers her sons—his grandsons—his heirs, and will stop at nothing to bring them home, Rob is forced to reconsider his rash decisions, and take responsibility for his actions both in the past and in the present.
The Chieftain’s Daughter
Frances Housden
Frances Housden returns with her best-selling, award-winning Chieftain series in this short novel about a young woman with a strong will and a sharp mind, and the man who has nothing to offer but his heart.
Maggie McArthur never thought she would meet her fate in a clash of swords. She may wield a sword more skilfully than a needle, but it was more luck than proficiency that led to her piercing Dhugal Robertson through the shoulder. Frightened she has killed her opponent, Maggie stays to give him aid and ensure he returns to Sgian House safely. She may be the Chieftain’s daughter, but she is perfectly capable of playing the healer for a few days until she is sure Dhugal will survive. The tender feelings he seems to inspire is nothing more than concern. After all, no suitor has ever raised her interest, so why should a penniless warrior with no clan to call his own?
Dhugal’s pride should be as wounded as his shoulder from being bested by a woman at sword play, but the sight of beautiful black hair spilling from under his opponent’s bonnet has not only distracted him from his injury, but intrigued him, body and soul.
But his attraction is doomed from the beginning. Though he could fall heart-deep for Maggie, she is the daughter of one of Scotland’s most powerful Chieftains, and Dhugal is head of a penniless, homeless clan, a clan stripped of both pride and material possessions. What father would accept the troth of such a suitor? What woman could accept the hand of a man who has nothing to offer but love?
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England, 1659: Following the death of Cromwell, a new king is poised to ascend the throne of England. One by one, those once loyal to the crown begin to return …
Imprisoned, exiled and tortured, fugitive Daniel Lovell returns to England, determined to kill the man who murdered his father. But his plans for revenge must wait, as the King has one last mission for him.
Agnes Fletcher's lover is dead, and when his two orphaned children are torn from her care by their scheming guardian, she finds herself alone and devastated by the loss. Unwilling to give up, Agnes desperately seeks anyone willing to accompany her on a perilous journey to save the children and return them to her care. She didn’t plan on meeting the infamous Daniel Lovell. She didn't plan on falling in love.
Thrown together with separate quests – and competing obligations – Daniel and Agnes make their way from London to the English countryside, danger at every turn. When they are finally given the opportunity to seize everything they ever hoped for, will they f
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The Protector
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The Scottish Highlands meet The Bachelorette in this new historical romance from Allison Butler…
Heiress of clan Gordon, Mairi has been given a gift: the choice of her husband. Her father has found three worthy suitors and each is coming to the Keep. She will spend time with every man and make her decision. But love is not a luxury Mairi allows herself: she is driven by duty, driven by the memory of the failure eleven years earlier that cost her father everything. She will choose a worthy husband, one who will serve the clan wisely, and take nothing for herself – especially not the dark-haired stranger tasked with her protection while she makes her decision.
Lowlander Duff may not know his origins, but he knows how to wield his sword. Granted one year’s leave from his duties to the Elliot Clan, Duff travels to the Highlands in search of his past. Instead he finds an arrogant beauty in need of rescue. Impressing her father, the head of clan Gordon, he is named her temporary protector and must keep her safe as she is courted by three potential husbands. What Duff doesn’t expect is the low hum of jealousy and the rising wave of attraction that makes protecting Mairi easy, but keeping his distance impossible.
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