“I am assuming this never happened.”
Arbella’s lips twitched downward. “It never happened.”
“Has he returned to speak with Jonas?”
“Nay, he hasn’t. I hope this season I will do better on the crops. If I don’t, there is sure to be trouble.”
“Ye can’t stay here, lass.”
Arbella glanced at Jamus with worry. “Why? Why can I not stay here?”
“Lass, this is a big place. Jonas and Martha barely managed it. I see no way ye can maintain all this on yer own.”
Desperation laced Arbella’s tone. “Jamus, can you not lend someone to help me?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Why not? You have plenty of men to spare. Surely there is one person who is available to help me so I don’t have to lose another home.”
Jamus picked up her hand cradling it gently. “I am sorry, dearest, but ye have to leave with me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I was coming to get ye because ye have been here long enough.”
“Humph, I disagree.”
“Too bad. It is time ye get married.”
She lay back against the bed and stared.
Jamus’s voice rose, “Lass, ye are twenty and three. In some circles ye would be past childbearing age!”
Arbella chortled. “Is that so? Well, in some circles, I would be on my fourth or fifth child and right on to perishing.”
“While that may be the case, ye cannot remain here. Besides, yer father would be spinning in his grave if he realized I had let ye go this long without making a match.”
Arbella sulked. “Why can I not stay here? I have made it this long.”
Jamus patted her hand like a wayward child. “The truth is, I have come to get ye and take ye home.”
“Nay, I am already home.”
“To the Highlands, child.”
“That was my father’s home. This was my mother’s. I see no reason to pack up and leave.”
“Arbella, look at me.” She reluctantly obeyed, and Jamus added, “Duncan has returned.”
For a moment, the room shifted out of focus, and Arbella thought she might faint again. Breathlessly she asked, “Duncan? He is home?’
“Aye, he is.”
“But why? I mean, why now? What happened for him to return?”
“His brother, Cainneach, died and left no heir. The elders summoned Duncan to come home and lead the clan.”
“I see.” Avoiding his gaze, she shrugged her shoulders and added, “And what does this news have to do with me?”
“To put it simply, the Kincade Clan needs ye.”
Arbella frowned in confusion and Jamus continued with the explanation. “In a fortnight, all the surrounding clans will gather to have a tournament. During this tournament, every available lass will be paraded in front of Duncan.”
“For what purpose?”
“Don’t be so naïve. To give Duncan a choice of wife, of course.”
A sudden intake of breath escaped. A cursory look revealed the truth. She would never garner Duncan’s attention arrayed like this. Nails broken, ragged, and containing a thick layer of dirt. Clothes torn and faded. Hair lying limp with a lackluster feel.
With her hands running down the sides of her body, she implored Jamus. “There is no way I can impress him like this.”
Jamus stared. “Aye, I know. We have a lot of work to do.”
A small twinge of sadness fluttered in her heart. Gulping, she asked, “Isn’t there another girl in the clan he would appreciate more?”
He rubbed his stubbled chin in thoughtful repose. “Aye, there are some verra pretty young lasses in the clan, but none of them have the history of ye and Duncan.”
“That is not a positive, but a detriment.” Arbella swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood. Walking around the room, picking up trinkets and putting them down, she attempted to memorize every part of her world. No doubt she would leave with Jamus, for he wouldn’t leave her on the farm alone. Which was just as well. Loneliness had set in for some time.
Why, just the other day, she’d caught herself talking to the cow. The discussion centered on what she planned to have for dinner. At one point Arbella could have sworn the cow had responded back, saying, “Chicken would be heavenly.” At which point Arbella repositioned her head covering. Must’ve been the sun getting to her.
Without farther reflection, Arbella said, “I will leave with you, but I don’t think this will work. I doubt Duncan will even remember me. And if he does, those memories are not the kind to endear him.”
“Ye let me worry about that. Now pack up what ye wish to take. We will be leaving before nightfall.
Chapter Two
Duncan arrived at the Sinclair keep in one piece. Bored with the lack of action, he’d suggested sheep raids, wenching, and just your general drunken stupor, but the riders maintained a stony silence and a grim face.
When Grant arrived at Greenbriar, Duncan had high hopes he would be coming home in glorious fanfare. But upon arrival, it seemed quite the opposite. Admittedly, the clan had just suffered a crushing blow with the loss of their leader. But shouldn’t he be more melancholy than anyone else? It was his brother who had perished. Why didn’t sadness assail him? He should have been upset. In all honesty, his brother had been taken from him long ago. Duncan had never thought to see him again. So to hear Cainneach had passed wasn’t an unexpected loss.
The castle looked the same as when he had left. Large, imposing stone walls, a moat filled with noxious debris, and a rotting gate.
Drawing closer, Grant called out. The gatekeeper nodded as the group rode through into the open area and stopped in front of the keep doors.
Duncan shifted in the saddle, shielded his eyes, and looked around. His initial assumptions were correct — nothing had changed. The huts sagging five years ago were still sagging now. The keep door hung askew on its hinges just as it had before. His brother, Cainneach, had been true to his word. He had said Duncan could leave and return at any time and be sure to miss nothing. He had been right.
Duncan dismounted and stalked toward the doors. Before reaching the destination, Cainneach’s wife, Lyall, appeared. Arrayed in black, she held a handkerchief to her nose and blew. Tears appeared in soulless eyes and flowed freely down her hollowed cheeks. If it had been any other woman, Duncan would have offered comfort. But not for Lyall.
This woman had given Cainneach no love. They’d married to unite the clans and nothing more. Because of their distant relationship, there were no heirs. Legitimate heirs, anyway. This was the reason for the summons. The only reason Duncan would ever be heir to the clan.
“Aye, Lyall, how are ye?” he asked, mustering up a bit of false interest.
She sniffed, dabbing a square cloth to the corner of her damp eyes. “It has been so hard, Duncan. I loved him so much.”
“Humph,” Duncan muttered.
Lyall scooted closer, grabbed his middle, and squeezed. Repulsed by her mere presence, he took a step backward, distancing himself.
“Lyall, please. Ye know I dislike yer public displays of affection.” Duncan wanted none of the clan to believe he held designs on his brother’s widow. This could lead to all kinds of assumptions about why there was no heir, as Lyall well knew. The woman’s name stood for wolf, but the lass was better described as a sneaky fox. With her, one thing was certain. She held an ulterior motive.
Her tears disappeared when they stopped having an effect. Spine stiff, her beady eyes focused on his face. “It is good to have ye home. Now maybe something will get done around here. I am sure ye noticed nothing has changed in the past five years since ye have been abroad.”
“Aye, I did at that.”
“Humph. Yer brother, he liked things to be consistent.”
“Lyall, what happened to Cainneach?”
With a brow raised, one eye stared straight, while the other shifted back and forth studying the yard. Assured they were
alone, she said, “No one knows. I went to his quarters to check on him, and he lay there not breathin’.”
“Had an accident occurred?”
“Nay.”
Something was amiss. Running his hands through his hair, he knew there would be no honest answers coming from Lyall.
The men who retrieved him from Greenbriar sat behind him. Still upon their horses, they stared in his direction and awaited his orders. To Lyall he said, “I will dismiss the men and be in to talk with ye shortly.”
“Aye, a fine idea. And Duncan?”
“Aye?”
“The council of elders awaits ye in the great hall.”
“They are assembled?”
“Aye. Yer brother has been dead nigh on to six weeks now.”
“So long,” mumbled Duncan. He should have come home sooner.
“What’s that ye say?”
“Nothing, Lyall. Tell the council I’m coming.”
With a curtsey, she turned on her heel, headed up the stairs, and went inside.
Duncan faced Grant. “Thank ye for yer escort. Ye can have the men take their horses to the stables. They may then retire to their own activities.”
“As ye wish, Laird Duncan. However, Bryce and I will accompany ye to the council meeting.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Grant dismounted. “Laird Duncan, may I speak freely?”
“Aye.”
“Some of the men believe yer brother was murdered, and we don’t intend for ye to suffer the same fate.”
Duncan edged within inches of Grant’s face; between clenched teeth he questioned, “What is this ye say?”
Grant was large and broad. Toe to toe they stood. Some of the men were intimidated by Duncan’s reputation, but Grant wasn’t one of them. Second-in-command and sure of himself, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “I believe ye heard me. We think yer brother was killed. And we aim to keep ye alive, whether ye like it or not.”
Duncan struck a similar façade. “I like yer alive idea. Ye can stick with me as much as ye like. But I have the elders to see to.” Duncan turned as he walked to the keep door.
Grant yelled out, “Ye aren’t going to like what they’re about to tell ye.”
Duncan twirled and stalked to Grant’s position. Nose to nose he didn’t flinch. “And what do ye know about it?”
“I know the elders are expecting ye to produce an heir.”
“They generally do hope the laird will have an heir.”
“Aye, true. But I don’t believe they are in the mood to wait overly long this time.”
“Grant Cameron, if ye know something ye wish to share with me, then spit it out. Otherwise, see to the men.”
Grant bowed, a hearty laugh leaving his parted lips. “Aye, my laird.”
Confused by the interaction, Duncan was left standing in the yard as his second went to see to the dispersal of the men.
Chapter Three
“Jamus, I tell you nothing can be done with the girl.”
“I don’t understand. Surely under all the grime was a beauty. Her mother was a stunning woman.”
“Aye, there is beauty aplenty, but grace is lacking. The girl can barely stand on her own two feet. She refuses to wear the corset, which helps accentuate — well, ye know, certain parts. And the slippers, well, let’s say it isn’t going well. I fear Duncan will never notice her as a potential mate.”
“I’ll speak with her.”
Jamus headed to Arbella’s quarters. The door was opened. With a glance inside, he found the lass pacing. Hands flew through the air as muttered words fell from petulant lips. Slippers lay against the wall in an awkward manner as if flung there. The pins used to hold a perfect chignon in place littered the dressing table.
Jamus waited. With a causal stance, he leaned against the door facing. The minutes ticked by. Arbella spotted him. In stocking feet she ran, skidding to a halt.
“Oh, Jamus, it is hopeless. I tried to tell you,” she cried, accentuating every word with flailing hands.
“Ye did tell me. But it is never hopeless.”
Her gaze shifted downward. “Why would Duncan ever pick me over the others?” She paced, a sigh escaping her parted lips. “I am afraid you must find another maid.”
“Annot and I were just discussing this situation. We have decided not to introduce ye to Duncan.”
Dejected, her head hung. “I understand.”
Jamus’s knuckle nudged her chin upward. “Nay, I don’t believe ye do. Ye see, there is another way.”
Her hands flew to the air. “What other way? All the ladies are to be paraded in front of Duncan like sheep at an auction. He is sure to pick one of them.”
“There is always the possibility Duncan will be too stubborn to pick a bride. Ye see, if he fails to choose a bride for himself, then one will be chosen for him.”
“But why wouldn’t he choose a bride with all those lovely ladies to pick from?”
Jamus laughed at Arbella’s innocence. “Ah, lass, ye know as well as I Duncan is a peculiar bird. I am betting he finds something amiss with every lass placed before him.”
“Let’s assume you’re correct. How will his wife be chosen? I still don’t understand.”
“The tournament, of course. Each clan will be allowed to pick one member to represent them at the games. The winner gets to choose an available woman from their clan to be Duncan’s bride. That is, if he fails to pick one on his own.”
“I can’t see Duncan going along with that.”
“He doesn’t have a choice. The elders refuse to risk losing another laird without an heir. Therefore he will receive a wife from this tournament, whether he wishes to or not.”
“This sounds too easy. You can send Tavis or Tavish in to win the tournament, and then they can pick me to wed Duncan.”
“Nay, I have another idea.”
“You do?”
“Aye, I do. Duncan will hardly be impressed with a woman if she wins with a man of Tavis and Tavish’s stature. We need to impress him. If ye used Tavis or Tavish, it would be like Saul from the Bible slaying his thousands, whereas Duncan is like David slaying his ten thousands. We need a way ye can impress him on yer own, so he will truly want ye for a wife.”
“And?”
Jamus’s lips twitched at the corners as he revealed his plan. “We will enter ye into the games.”
Chapter Four
The elders were conversing when they noticed Duncan’s presence. It took the group of five several moments to respond. Although Lyall informed them of Duncan’s arrival, some of the elders could scarcely believe it. The lad had left five years ago to start his own life. Rumor was he’d told his brother he had better things to do than to rot in some Highland castle. Now he had returned. The question was what kind of attitude would he take toward his new responsibilities? The laird held ultimate say as far as the clan went, but the elders were there to steer the young in the correct direction.
A study of Duncan proved the man to be massive in stature, broad of shoulder, and tall in height. A reputation for being a fierce warrior preceded him, even this far north. The label of hired mercenary floated from lips on more than one occasion. It was said he would work for whoever offered the most gold. The elders believed it. After their first hard look at the boy, it was an obvious choice for a man such as he. They would be fortunate to have one as their laird, if he would take the post of leading the clan in a serious manner.
****
Duncan left Grant and headed to the main hall to face his future. The crooked door was lifted. Once on the opposite side, the rickety barrier was laid back in place. It took a few tries. When satisfied with the door’s location, a shiver raced down his spine. People were gazing at him. Pivoting, the council of elders came into focus.
Duncan was intimidated by the old warriors. These five men had seen many battles and survived to tell the tale. They had witnessed more than one laird leading the Sinclair clan. Shoulders rigid, he was de
termined to be the best laird the clan ever had.
His feet scooted along the uneven floor. During this meeting, what would be expected? The position of laird was thrust upon him by chance. As far as some in the clan were concerned, the title was undeserved. Duncan had deserted them as soon as the opportunity arose. While Cainneach was serious, he was flippant. Most of the clan believed he always looked out for only himself. Therefore the council was sure to be hesitant about the change in leadership.
Not wishing to express fear, Duncan strode into the middle of the room, spread his legs hip width apart, placed his hands on his hips, and faced the group. The tremor was barely held from his voice. “I am here. What do ye need to say to me before I take my rightful place?”
“Now what makes ye think we have anything to say?”
“Lyall hinted at it, as well as Grant. I know something is amiss. Ye might as well tell me now so it will be out in the open, and we can move past it.”
“Verra well, we will get right to it then.”
The men settled themselves in the huge chairs surrounding the table in the great hall. Duncan’s stance relaxed. His hands lay down at his side, playing with a pleat in his kilt. A deep conversation ensued.
The leader spoke first. “Perhaps ye should be seated.”
Duncan started to refuse but refrained. It wouldn’t do for him to start the meeting off in a bad light. “Aye, perhaps I should. This feels as if it is to be one of those conversations where sitting is a mighty fine idea.”
All parties settled themselves. A serving girl entered and laid the table with tankards of ale within reach of the elders’ fingertips. When she left, the head elder spoke. “Duncan, ye are now laird of the Sinclair clan.”
He nodded. “Aye, I know.”
The old man cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “Ye will stop interrupting until I finish.”
He fought the urge to squirm under the elder’s direct stare.
The old man satisfied, he continued, “Duncan, as laird ye have certain responsibilities. One being ye must produce an heir.”
By God's Grace Page 2
