Kilty Pleasures (Clash of the Tartans Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  “Then you can stay here and guard my gunboat. Kyla MacKeegan had better be aboard when I return. You’ll suffer the consequences if she isn’t.”

  “What about the men?” Adrian asked, drawing the dagger from his belt.

  Corbin shrugged. “They’re of no importance. I’ll find another crew.” He picked Lily up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. “Keep an eye on them while I disembark. Seems I’ll have to find a horse myself.”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Kyla had a difficult time hiding her amused contempt as he climbed the ladder to the dock impeded by the sword.

  When Lily looked up briefly, Kyla mouthed, “All shall be well.” But the despair didn’t leave the bairn’s eyes.

  “What a fyking idiot,” Delft muttered as Corbin strode away.

  “That’s no way to talk about my laird,” Adrian said with a broad grin. “Even if ’tis true.”

  To Kyla’s immense relief, he turned the dagger and handed it to her, hilt first. “Good lad,” she said hoarsely, filled with regret as she gripped Broderick’s finely-wrought weapon—her only link to the man she was beginning to have strong feelings for when he was so cruelly murdered. She would consider it her talisman.

  Nicolson clamped a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “I ne’er dooted ye for a moment.”

  Adrian leaned into his mentor. “As if I’d aid a mon who tried to drown me,” he rasped. “His father was a better laird, but he was no match for his son’s bullying.”

  “This is all well and good,” Delft interrupted. “Lochwood’s an idiot right enough, but he’s dangerous, and he has my laird’s sister.”

  “We must let him get ahead and be careful to stay out of sight,” Kyla replied. “Delft, ye and yer men will watch over the gunboat while Nicolson, Adrian and I follow him to Carlisle.”

  One in a Million

  Darroch MacKeegan might be a master mariner in the wild Hebridean seas, but Broderick had grown up beside the tidal waters of the Solway. “We willna make it in time,” he said, expecting an angry retort.

  Kyla’s father clenched his jaw more tightly than before, if that were possible. “I ken. The tide’s going out too fast. What do ye recommend?”

  Broderick didn’t hesitate. “If we turn now, we’ll make it to Bowness. We’ll still be high and dry there, but at least we willna be aground in the middle of the Firth.”

  MacKeegan gave the order without question and the birlinn turned as the crew heaved on the oars.

  They joined several vessels moored in Bowness, waiting for the tide to turn.

  “How long?” Darroch asked, pacing the deck.

  “About six hours.”

  “Too long. Can we go overland to Carlisle from here?”

  “Possibly, but Gretna is a direct route with a major road connecting Scotland and England. We have no horses; in Gretna we’d be more likely to find someone to transport us.”

  “We canna just sit for six hours and do nothing.”

  Broderick risked putting a hand on Darroch’s shoulder. “I’m as anxious as ye to get to Carlisle and rescue our ladies, my laird, but we have to consider what’s the best course of action to achieve Lochwood’s downfall.”

  MacKeegan arched one eyebrow, but didn’t shrug off Broderick’s hand. “If I’m nay mistaken, ye care as much about my daughter as ye do about yer sister.”

  Admitting his feelings for Kyla might alienate this powerful man who probably had naught but disdain for all Lowlanders. However, MacKeegan would also perceive the lie. “Aye, but in a different way. I’m drawn to her.”

  Darroch chuckled. “Lots o’ men are drawn to her. She’s a beautiful lass.”

  Broderick shook his head and looked out at the horizon. “Nay, ’tis stronger than that. I’ve kent her only a very short while, and we didna exactly get off on the right foot, but I canna foresee my life without her now.”

  He’d never had the opportunity to talk about such matters with his own father who was so wound up in clan hatreds he wouldn’t have listened anyway. Yet, it was surprisingly easy to reveal his feelings to Darroch MacKeegan, though he had no intention of mentioning how Kyla’s admiring gaze had bolstered his courage in one of the darkest moments of his life.

  The Highland chief walked away to the prow, inhaled deeply, then came back and looked Broderick in the eye. “I love all my children,” he said hoarsely, “but my daughter is one in a million.”

  “She told me a little about her childhood,” Broderick replied.

  Darroch’s eyes widened. “That she didna speak for seven years?”

  “Aye.”

  “Till she met Blue?”

  “Aye.”

  “That my father wanted her cast out?”

  “Aye. And she loves ye for nay allowing that to happen.”

  “She told you all this?”

  “And more.”

  Darroch slapped him on the back. “I may have been wrong. I was certain my daughter would ne’er fall in love with a Lowlander, but evidently something about ye has overridden her anger over the Lanmara.”

  Heat rose in Broderick’s face, despite the cool sea breeze. “Weel, I wouldna go so far as to say she’s in love with me.”

  “But ye hope she is.”

  “Aye,” Broderick rasped.

  “Listen, laddie, I doot she’s told ye about the mix-up that occurred when Isabel and I were betrothed to be wed. Someday, she’ll tell ye the tale. Suffice it to say, clan hatreds between the MacKeegans and the MacRains intensified as a result. I ne’er imagined that, when all was said and done, I couldna wait to wed Isabel. She’s in my soul. Life without her would have been…weel, no life at all.”

  “I understand. Kyla’s fortunate to have two loving parents who love each other. Even if I hadna met ye, I could tell she’s cherished. That’s why ye followed her, though I warrant she isna aware ye did.”

  Darroch winked. “Right again.”

  They both smiled, then Darroch eyed him. “I ken a little of yer father’s history.”

  Broderick let out a long breath. “He was a difficult mon.”

  MacKeegan laughed. “Trust me, difficult doesna come close to describing my father.” He thrust out his broad chest. “Yet, look how well I turned out.”

  They both chuckled, but suddenly the smile left the older man’s face. “If ye’re the right mon for my daughter…” He seemed unable to continue, then smiled again. “’Twas inevitable the day would come when she’d find a husband, but ’tis hard to let go.”

  “I understand,” Broderick replied. “I suppose I’ve always thought of my sister the same way. She’s much younger than I am, and my father ne’er took an interest in her. The thought of Corbin Lochwood putting his hands on her…”

  They stared at the receding waters for long minutes.

  “Too slow for my liking,” MacKeegan grunted.

  “Aye,” Broderick agreed. “Somebody in Bowness must have horses.”

  Slow Progress

  Corbin seethed with frustration. He’d been unable to stop sneezing since climbing into the cartload of straw; perhaps it was the reek of the ox making his eyes water. His distress was compounded by the glowering snickers of Lily Maxwell. She sat ramrod straight across from him, legs outstretched and ankles crossed, evidently untroubled by her surroundings.

  A farmer’s wagon was not a suitable way for a future Warden of the Solway to travel, but an hour of searching for an alternative means of transportation to Carlisle had proven fruitless.

  They were making excruciatingly slow progress. Constant sneezing was exhausting. The rhythmic lurch of the wagon had almost lulled him to sleep several times. Lily’s wrists were bound, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to take his eyes off the little minx.

  He’d definitely made the right decision in leaving Kyla behind.

  Lily’s hatred was evident in her malevolent gaze, but she didn’t look afraid, which was irritating. Still, there’d be time enough to change that. “Be on your best
behavior when you meet the king,” he warned. “Or I’ll make sure you and Kyla suffer for it when we return to Gretna.”

  She yawned in reply. It was annoying, but if she fell asleep, he might catch a nap. He’d have to have his wits about him when he appeared at Court.

  *

  Kyla and her cohorts paused to rest on a grassy bank at the side of the road. “Lochwood might have made faster progress if he’d walked the ten miles to Carlisle,” she remarked.

  It was the third time they’d stopped to let the farmer’s wagon get far enough ahead for Corbin not to catch sight of them. They’d nigh on fallen over laughing when they’d espied him leaving Gretna in the rustic conveyance. The sound of loud sneezing from time to time only added to their amusement.

  “He’s always had that problem when he’s near hay,” Adrian observed. “He rarely visits his tenant farmers because of it.”

  Even Nicolson chuckled.

  Perhaps it was wrong to enjoy humor when Broderick had been murdered and Lily was in the hands of a madman, but laughter helped to control Kyla’s impulse to scream.

  She was nervous about what lay ahead in Carlisle. Chances were remote that a bedraggled group consisting of a sailor, a woman and a lad would be granted an audience with the king. But Lochwood had to be denounced and Lily freed.

  She acknowledged Nicolson’s earlier assertion might be true. She did have the skill and the gumption to replace Broderick as Warden of the Solway, but wished with all her heart he still lived. It was unlikely King James would bestow such a high honor on a woman, a Highlander at that.

  She thought wistfully of her father. If Darroch MacKeegan were here, he’d find a way to see the king. And so would she.

  When they continued on their way, she repeated one of her favorite Elizabeth Melville passages like a mantra.

  Though tyrants threat, though lions rage and roar, defy them all and fear not to win out.

  All in Good Time

  Merchants gathered around the vessels docked in Bowness like crows scrounging for a tasty morsel. It didn’t take Darroch MacKeegan long to find one interested in negotiating for the woven goods he carried aboard his birlinn. “Couldna see the point in sailing all this way without a cargo,” he told Broderick.

  The Englishman scratched his bald head, visibly taken aback by the terms. “Thee wants two ’osses? For the lot?”

  Darroch chuckled. “Nay. Two horses, saddled and in fine fettle in exchange for one bale. And within the hour.”

  The merchant spat into his palm and offered his hand. “I’ll teck the goods with me now, and return within the allotted time.”

  “I may be recently arrived in these parts, but I’m nay stupid. Ye get the wool when I see horseflesh capable of getting us to Carlisle in a hurry.”

  “Two bales then.”

  Darroch frowned deeply and folded his arms. After tapping his foot for a minute or two, he accepted the handshake. “Done.”

  Broderick watched wide-eyed as the merchant hurried away. “Incredible,” he said.

  Darroch shrugged. “He’s too hasty. I was willing to go as high as three bales.”

  Broderick smiled ruefully. “My intention was to climb up on the dock and announce to anyone who would listen that I’m the Warden of the Solway and I need two horses.”

  “I doot that would have accomplished our goal,” Kyla’s father replied.

  “I have a lot to learn from ye.” It was a poignant reminder that Broderick’s own father hadn’t been a mentor to him. “I didna expect to be laird o’ the clan for years to come. ’Tis a big responsibility.”

  “Aye, and the king has given ye more duties on top of it, nay to mention ye’ve succeeded a murderer executed by royal decree who left ye with a sister to bring up. I ken how hard it is for a mon to raise a wee lass. At least Lily talks to ye.”

  Simply hearing someone else speak of the worries and fears that had haunted him since his father’s assassination of the Lochwood chief lifted a weight from Broderick’s shoulders. “Aye, the clan lost respect for my father. My hope is to reestablish the standing of the chieftaincy. The king’s unexpected honor went a long way towards achieving that.”

  Darroch winked. “Aye. Perhaps that’s what His Majesty had in mind. What ye need now is a strong wife to help ye. She’ll bear sons and daughters to carry on yer line.”

  Broderick smiled nervously, unsure of Darroch’s intent. “I’d foolishly hoped for love as well, but…”

  “All in good time, laddie, all in good time.”

  There was no opportunity to continue the conversation when the breathless merchant reappeared on the dock and pointed. “Yonder, yer ’osses.”

  Darroch climbed out of the birlinn and narrowed his eyes to look beyond the end of the dock, where two lads held the reins of the horses. He gestured to his crewman. “This is Grig. When I’m satisfied, I’ll give the signal for him to hand over the goods to ye.”

  The merchant eyed Grig warily, then smiled. “Agreed. Follow the coast road and thee’ll be in Carlisle in two shakes o’ a lamb’s tail.”

  “Much obliged, sir. I guarantee ye’ll make a good profit on the cloth in the English markets.”

  “Aye. Bramley’s the name, and thee?”

  “The MacKeegan, from the Isle o’ Skye.”

  Bramley proffered his hand. “’Tis an honor to make the acquaintance of a legend o’ the sea. I ne’er thought to meet thee.”

  Darroch accepted the gesture. “Mayhap, we can do business again in the future.”

  The merchant nodded his agreement as Broderick joined them on the dock. “And thee, sir?”

  Broderick took the man’s hand, deciding he’d been too hesitant to reveal his identity. He resolved to be as proud of his heritage as Kyla’s father. “The Maxwell, Warden of the Solway.”

  To his surprise, Bramley gripped his hand more forcefully and bowed. “My honor. I am, indeed, in illustrious company.”

  Broderick was reluctant to leave Aiglon but, within ten minutes, he and Darroch were mounted on spirited geldings, galloping along the flat trail that followed the shore of the Solway.

  Two hours later, they joined a queue of people seeking to pass through the castle’s red stone gatehouse, all of them on foot.

  “This is yer domain,” Darroch told him. “’Tis yer high standing will gain us entry here. Move ahead.”

  Broderick did as he suggested. Folks moved aside without objection when he urged his horse to the front of the line, his companion not far behind. He announced who he was before the gatekeeper had a chance to ask. “Laird Broderick Maxwell, His Majesty’s appointed Warden of the Solway. I am accompanied by Laird Darroch MacKeegan from the Isle of Skye.”

  The gatekeeper nodded to the guards stationed further inside the arched gate-tower and they rode into the ancient fortress of Carlisle without further challenge.

  “Ye’re right,” Broderick admitted. “I have to start acting like a laird, and less like the son of a murderer.”

  “Aye, but that was the easy part. Now we have to secure an audience with the king.”

  Jumping the Queue

  Corbin fumed at being obliged to approach Carlisle’s gate on foot, but the farmer insisted he had no intention of entering the castle. “They willna let me in any-road,” he claimed.

  Which was probably true. However, Corbin could hardly convince the gatekeeper of his standing if he was accompanied by a lass with her wrists bound. He sliced through the rope with his dagger, then gripped Lily’s upper arm as she rubbed the red marks. “Remember what I said. Behave, or else.”

  He plucked straw from her hair then pulled her into the queue waiting to enter. “And smile.”

  Ahead of them, a stocky peasant wearing a stained leather apron turned to smirk at the still pouting Lily. “When my brats pay no heed, I give ’em…”

  Corbin elbowed him out of the way. “Yes, yes, make way for your betters.”

  The lout refused to move. “Betters? Thee’s nowt but a farmer wit
h ill-fitting clothes and straw in yer hair.”

  His outburst attracted the attention of others in the line who turned to see what was going on. Seemingly encouraged by their smiles of amusement, he continued, “And did thee steal yon sword? Wait yer turn, or thee might trip over it.”

  The ensuing raucous laughter reached the ears of the gatekeeper. “What’s going on back there?” he shouted.

  Corbin tried unsuccessfully to get past the peasant. “I’m Laird Corbin Lochwood,” he yelled, “this man is harassing my betrothed.”

  The gatekeeper plodded down the line. “Must be a special meeting of lairds this day, though I hafta agree thee doesn’t look nor sound like a Scottish laird. Lochwood, thee says. One o’ that thieving clan, eh?”

  Jaw clenched, Corbin fished the straw out of his hair. He’d no notion what the man meant about a meeting of lairds, but if it got him in the gate…

  “My betrothed is unwell,” he tried. “Let me pass.”

  The man eyed Lily. “Right enough, she looks peaked. Follow me.”

  Corbin lifted his chin as he strode past the peasant who’d accosted him, Lily in tow.

  “Sheep rustler and cradle-robber,” the lout muttered.

  Lily’s snide smile only fanned the flames of Corbin’s anger.

  *

  When Kyla was certain Corbin and Lily had passed into the ward beyond the gatehouse, she and her companions left the cover of the ornamental trees and joined the line. She’d come close to rushing to Lily’s aid, restrained only by Nicolson’s muttered advice she remain calm.

  The man she’d seen arguing with Lochwood was four or five places ahead, still chunnering about the cradle-robbing Scottish twit who’d jumped the queue. When he turned to acknowledge the loud agreement of those behind him, he noticed Kyla and his eyes widened.

  She’d seen that look before. Red hair seemed to set some men alight. Hers was longer than most and a tangled mess after the day she’d experienced. However, the fellow had a kindly look about him, so she gambled. “Ye mustna get the impression all Scots are so rude,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.