He mutters something under his breath but remains where he is, just glaring at me. My uncle is used to my brother, who is obsequious to the point of making me nauseous. My brother defers to James in every matter, and I find it to be repugnant. One day he will rule this duchy, and when that day comes, I hope he has found the strength to be his own man and to think for himself.
“I said you may go,” I repeat, my voice harder than steel. “Now.”
His eyes gleaming with hate, he turns and leaves my chambers, a heavy boom echoing all around as he slams the door behind him. Maggie visibly sags as she lets out a breath she had been holding.
“That man unnerves me, Catherine,” she says. “I don’t like him. Not one whit, I don’t.”
I nod. “I do not blame you. There is little to like about him.”
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, her eyes intent and her expression as serious as I have ever seen it before. Whatever she is about to say, it is clearly important to her.
“Be careful around that man,” she urges. “I’ve seen that look in a man’s eye before − it’s the look of a man who wants to bury a blade in your back.”
She assesses him correctly, but rather than stabbing me in the back, I have a feeling my dear uncle would prefer to cut my throat simply for the pleasure of watching that spark of life leaving my eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Malcolm
“So you cut a deal with that English prick, did ya?” a voice from the crowd shouts. “Did it in secret like a bloody coward.”
“In my defense, I doubt the lot of you would’ve fit in the bloody tent,” I call back.
Half of the room laughs, the other half glare at me in stony silence. But then the shouting starts − as it always does. Some of the shouts are directed at me, others directed at each other. Tempers are flaring inside the meeting hall as people vent their petty gripes at one another − as they always do. Our gatherings are never not lively.
Apparently, not even beating Gaven when he challenged me was enough to win everybody over to my side. Gaven has become a reliable second to me − something that’s surprised me. But after being defeated in his challenge, he has become one of my most solid allies − Colban and Patric are the others I rely on. Of course, Gaven is seated in a chair to the side of the dais, an amused smirk on his face as he watches everything unfold.
But some of those who supported him as Clan Chief are still most definitely not as enthusiastic. Likely because they had hoped to influence Gaven on issues important to them. With me sitting in the Chief’s chair, they clearly feel they don’t have the ability to pull my strings, and they hate me for it. It’s a pity for them.
That’s fine though. As much as the clans war with each other, we war with ourselves even more. And in some ways, it’s even more ruthless. Probably because it’s more personal. I stand up and raise my arms, calling for silence. It takes a few moments − and some shouted encouragement from Colban and Patric − but they eventually settle down. Grudgingly.
“We had a choice to make. We could live a life in peace − at least in peace with the English,” I start. “Or we could keep living with the threat of war hanging over our heads. We could keep living with the English raiding our villages and murdering our people whenever they please.”
“We could have fought them!” someone shouts.
“Aye we could’ve. But how has that worked out over the last ten years? Or longer?” I continue. “Ever since the English built that bloody castle, they have been killing our people. Years of fighting. And what has it bought us?”
For once, the hall is silent, and nobody speaks a word to refute me. It’s something of a minor bloody miracle. So I take advantage of the silence by pressing my point.
“The fact is, years of bloodshed has only bought us more bloodshed. More death. More misery,” I proclaim. “Are you not tired of living that way? Of not knowing whether you’ll be able to harvest your next crop or if you’ll be in the ground feeding the worms?”
My words are again met by silence. I know they understand what I’m saying is right. I know most, if not all of them agree. But these are proud men and more stubborn than mules, and they’ll never admit that I’m right.
I turn to the small table set beside my chair and pick up the scroll that had been delivered that morning. I read it over several times, making sure the language was to my satisfaction. It was.
“We exchanged the Duke’s daughter for a treaty of peace,” I announce. “The English will no longer raid our lands. They will no longer range north of their castle.”
“And do you honestly expect these bastards to honor their treaty?” somebody calls. “The same bastards who murdered your own father and brother?”
“What kind of man doesn’t seek vengeance for the murder of his family?” somebody else yells.
“Worse, what kind of Clan Chief doesn’t seek to avenge his people?” another voice rings out.
And then the voices cascade down on me like the rain from a furious storm. The different factions within our clan all begin shouting over one another, vying to be the loudest. This is getting nowhere, and these men are hopeless. If this faction says the sky is blue, that faction will disagree with them just because we seem to be bred with the need for conflict in our bones.
I don’t know how my father walked the line between them all. I don’t know how he managed to satisfy all of the different factions within our clan. Given that he is held in high regard by everybody though, he must have figured out how to do it. But looking out at the mass of angry, shouting men in front of me, I don’t know how.
From the corner of my eye, I see Gaven get to his feet. He grabs a halberd that’s leaning against the wall and thumps the butt end of it against wooden dais hard, the booming echoes somehow louder than the shouting men before us.
“Shut up!” Gaven roars, his voice filling the entire hall around us.
Immediately, all shouting ceases, and it is suddenly quieter than a church. I look around the hall, stunned by the silence. I cut a glance at Gaven who’s standing there, grasping the halberd, and is staring out at the crowd. His eyes are narrowed, his brow furrowed, and a slight frown upon his lips. He reminds me of my father looked when he was disappointed in me and needed to deliver a scolding.
“You all know me. You know I want what is best for this clan. Always have and always will,” he begins, and heads in the audience begin to nod. “So you can believe me when I say that Malcolm did the right thing.”
Voices began to rise again, many of them shouting their doubts about me, but Gaven slams the butt end of his halberd against the wooden dais once more. Harder this time. And as if he had them all trained, they all fall silent once again.
“I don’t know what you lot are prattlin’ on about, but I for one, am tired of fightin’,” he states. “I’m tired of not knowin’ whether I’m going to be alive from one day to the next. Or whether some of you fuckers will be alive tomorrow.”
A low ripple of laughter spreads through the crowd. I see some of the eyes still flicking my way and see the disdain etched upon them. But none of them dare speak up and risk interrupting him again.
“Malcolm ended that. We have peace to live our lives as we see fit,” he goes on. “We don’t have the fuckin’ boot of them English pricks on our necks anymore. And that’s because of Malcolm Dunbarr.”
The hall remained silent. I see people cutting glances at one another, but nobody seems willing to say a word. Not necessarily because they respect me anymore but because they fear Gaven − and rightly so.
“For as far back as any of us in this hall can remember, we’ve lived under the threat of the English. They raid our lands. Rape our women. Murder our children,” he intones. “Now I was as skeptical as you all about him when he first showed up here. But Malcolm’s proven himself to me. He did what was necessary to protect us − even some of you ungrateful pricks out there who might not deserve it.”
More laughter and I
can feel the tension in the room gradually easing. Nobody is stepping up to embrace me, but neither do they seem to be on the verge of picking up a sword and running me through.
“Malcolm put aside his own interest − his own feelings about the murder of his family and not just his own need, but his absolute right for vengeance − to do what was necessary to protect this clan. To protect the Highlands as a whole,” he says. “That’s what a leader does. That’s what a real Clan Chief does. He doesn’t march us into a slaughter because some of you need to prove how big your cocks are. He acts in the interest of us all − not just himself.”
More muttering and more looks cast my way. But for the first time, I start to see a light of respect in some of those faces. It’s grudging and halted, to be sure. But it’s there all the same.
“And if any of you assholes out there have a single question about the man’s courage, you can step outside with me right now,” Gaven declares. “I’ll tell you right now, the man’s got a bigger set of balls than anybody in this bloody hall − except for me, of course.”
This time, everybody laughs, and I see heads nodding. And as more people turn my way, I see smiles and expressions of approval on their faces. Gaven’s apparently done something I wasn’t able to do − get the clan to accept me. Or at least, closer to being accepted than I managed to get on my own. It’s not how I had planned it, but it’ll do, I suppose.
The crowd settles down and parts, letting an older man pass through as he steps to the front. He stands at the bottom of the steps that lead to the dais where I’m standing. He’s an old man, but his eyes are still bright and filled with intelligence and wisdom. He looks up at me, his expression stern.
“And what makes you think we can trust these bastards? That piece of paper you’re holdin’ is nothin’ more than a piece of paper,” he tells me. “What’s to say they won’t go back on it? Promises are fine, but I been around long enough to see plenty of promises broken.”
I give him a nod, knowing he’s right. There is nothing to say the English won’t go back on their word. And we don’t have the men or the weapons to hold them to it. All we have is Duke Seely’s word − something that obviously doesn’t hold water with this man.
But I looked into the man’s eyes, and I believed him.
“I understand your feelings, old man. I do. And if it comes to that, we’ll handle it. But I believe Seely desires peace. I believe him when he says he is tired of war,” I tell him. “His brother is another story, to be sure. But I believe the Duke wants peace and will live up to the terms of the treaty.”
“Aye, that bastard brother of his will cause us trouble,” the old man presses. “Mark my words boy, he will be trouble for us.”
“I’m not doubting you, old man,” I respond. “And we’ll handle it. One way or another, we will.”
He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes boring into me as he takes my measure. Finally he nods, apparently satisfied with my answer. Or at least, he’s resigned to the fact that there’s nothing more he can do about it. The worst case scenario is that if James breaks the peace, the fighting will pick back up − but he’ll have to face his brother’s wrath. And I’ll see to it that he does.
The old man turns and melts back into the crowd. Conversation picks up in the hall again, but it’s not angry shouting. Instead, it’s the buzz of normal talk punctuated with loud laughter. It’s a dramatic change from the dark cloud of doom that seemed to be hovering over us all, not all that long ago. Here and there, I hear people talking about peace and what they will do if they don’t have to constantly pick up a sword and fight to defend themselves or their land.
What puts a small smile on my face is that I hear a guarded optimism among my people that we’ve finally achieved peace. I still hear a lot of caution in their voices, but the small flicker of hope is still there.
Everybody starts filtering out of the hall, people laughing and joking with one another. It makes me feel good. Like we’ve really achieved something here. Peace with the English is unheard of − at least in my time. It seems my people have been at war with them since the dawn of time. Not even the treaties signed in the wake of Bannockburn stopped the fighting. But here at least, in our piece of the Highlands, it genuinely feels like we’ve achieved it.
Now we just have to sit back and hope the Duke and more specifically, his brother, hold to it.
* * *
I walk down the row of vendor stalls, inhaling deeply, savoring the aromas flowing out of them. I ate well when I was abroad and relished the food from a lot of different countries, but there is nothing better than the food here at home.
I pass old man Craddock’s stall and flash him a grin as I filch an apple from his basket. His eyesight isn’t what it used to be − not that it was any good back then − which makes it even less of a challenge. Be that as it may, I still enjoy the act of pinching an apple from old man Craddock just for tradition’s sake.
The sky is a patchwork of clouds with the deep blue sky peeking through in parts. Shafts of sunshine spear down through those holes, bathing the land in golden light and taking some of the chill out of the air.
As I walk, I realize I’m being followed. It’s a tickle on the back of my neck that makes my hair stand on end. I’m not a paranoid man by nature, but my survival instincts are honed to a razor’s edge, and they’ve never let me down. When I get that tingle on the back of my neck, I listen to it.
I turn down a narrow alley that runs between a couple of buildings, doing my best to act casually. I don’t want to give away the fact that I’m onto them. Not that I need to worry about it too much − whoever’s following me isn’t very good at it. I don’t know who it is, but I intend to find out.
Moving slowly until I’m sure my pursuer is behind me, I turn the corner when I feel them back there. My first thought is that the Duke’s brother sent an assassin to kill me. I wouldn’t put it past the man. Not even with the ink on the bloody treaty still drying. But my second thought is that if it were an English assassin, they’d likely be better at their craft than this. It makes me even more curious.
After ducking around the corner, I press my back flat up against the wall. I listen to the sound of shuffling footsteps coming up the alley. My would-be shadow is hurrying to catch up with me. And as they draw near, I hunch down a bit and ready myself, waiting for them to show themselves.
A figure in a cloak with the hood pulled low comes around the corner. My arm snakes out and latches onto the wrist. I spin them around and slam my follower up against the wall. A high-pitched feminine squeak comes out of the deep shadows of the hood. I reach up with my other hand and yank it down, surprised to see a woman with dark hair and darker eyes. Her milky white cheeks are splotched with red, and she’s looking at me with wide, fearful eyes.
Letting go of her wrist, I take a step back but keep my hand near the hilt of my dagger, ready to pull it at a moment’s notice. I’ve seen enough of this world to know that women can be just as capable with a blade in their hand as any man.
“Who are you?” I demand.
“Please, sir − you’re Malcom Dunbarr, ain’t ya?” she asks, her voice thick with an Irish brogue. “I’m looking for ‘im. Malcolm Dunbarr. Is that you? I was told it was you.”
“Aye,” I confirm, my body still tensed. “I’m Malcolm Dunbarr. Now who the bloody hell are you?”
“I’m Maggie. M − Maggie Conley,” she stammers. “I’m handmaiden to the Lady Seely. Catherine Seely.”
My heart immediately does a somersault in my chest. I relax my body and look at the woman, a small spark of hope smoldering in the kindling inside of me. Letting out a long breath, I try to give her a reassuring smile.
“Catherine, eh? Is she here with you?”
She shakes her head. “Uh no. I’m here with some of the household staff,” she replies. “But she sent me with a message for you.”
My entire stomach lurches, and I do my best to control my face, to not let my expressions
betray my excitement.
“And what is the message?”
The woman produces a folded sheet of parchment and hands it to me with a smile. She looks me up and down, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. I quickly unfold the page and scan the lines, reading them several times as I grin broadly. I look up at the woman before me.
“Thank you, Maggie,” I say. “I appreciate you delivering the message.”
“Me pleasure,” she says and turns to go but hesitates and turns back to me. “She cares for you. She cares for you quite a bit actually.”
“I am − fond of her as well,” I reply, careful to not give too much away.
Maggie looks at me with an inscrutable expression on her face. “She is my oldest friend, Malcolm Dunbarr,” she tells me. “If you hurt her, I’ll cut your cock off meself.”
The statement is so unexpected; I burst into laughter. But she doesn’t return my laugh or even my smile. She simply stares at me in stony silence, quite obviously meaning every word she just spoke. And I believe her.
“I have no intention of hurting her,” I assure Maggie.
She narrows her eyes and glares at me for a long moment before she gives me a nod and a gentle smile.
“Well that’s good then,” she tells me. “I suppose that means you get to keep your cock.”
“I’d say that’s very good then.”
She lingers for another moment before she looks back the way she came. “I should probably get back before I’m missed.”
“Thank you again for delivering this.”
I watch as she walks away, eventually disappearing into the crowd at the end of the alley. I open the page again and scan the words written in Catherine’s nice, precise, flowing hand.
I would like to see you tonight. Meet me at the old house in the grove to the southeast of the Weykirk market. Two hours after sunset. I will stay for an hour. I hope to see you there, Malcolm ~ Catherine
The sudden lightness in my heart puts a spring in my step as I bound off to handle some other pieces of business that need doing. I want to have everything finished so I can go to my meeting with Catherine with nothing on my mind but her.
The Highlander's Claim (Highland Romance) Page 17
