Some cheered her words, others grumbled.
Sometimes men need to be reminded o’ their duty.
She inhaled deeply. “Ye all pledged allegiance to The Camron not a half-hour ago. Will ye desert him at the first sign of trouble—real or imagined?”
“Not I,” Robbie Gilbertson shouted, lightening the mood.
There’s one thing every Scotsman loves above all else.
“Now what’s happened to the whisky my uncle Kendric promised?”
There ensued a moment of utter silence, then the servants seemed to recollect what they were about. Trays were retrieved, tumblers distributed amid a murmur of anticipation. It took a few minutes for the liquor to work its magic, but soon nervous apprehension replaced belligerence as the clan waited.
Shona’s trembling knees gave way and she collapsed onto her chair.
Jeannie leaned over. “Ye reminded me o’ yer father just now,” she said with a smile.
Kith and Kin
The ostler’s lads soon had their horses saddled. Ewan mounted Liath, glad to be back on his beloved grey despite the uncertainty he faced. Sitting astride an intelligent and reliable steed tended to clear a man’s mind. He felt invincible whenever Liath carried him into battle. Colin was sadly mistaken if he thought his little brother would meekly surrender Creag.
They sighted the enemy as soon as they’d galloped past the village. A row of Highlanders, perhaps a hundred strong, waited on the crest of a rise a mile distant, some mounted, most on foot.
Ewan slowed, but didn’t call a halt. “We’ll approach at a leisurely pace,” he told Walter.
“Mackinlochs right enough, I’d say,” his friend replied without a trace of apprehension.
Liath snorted and shook his head.
“He knows them,” Ewan muttered.
His feelings were mixed. Having convinced himself his father must be dead if Colin had come on the offensive, he was strangely relieved to see the cantankerous old bastard sitting ramrod straight in the saddle of his favorite horse. The three eagle feathers pinned to his bonnet paid no mind to the breeze. But what was he doing here—with a small army? And Colin.
When they came within fifty yards, he called a halt. “I’ll go on alone,” he said. “If they have war in mind, there’s no choice but to surrender. We’re ill-prepared.”
No one questioned his decision. As he rode slowly towards the rise, his father set his horse in motion until they were side by side. Duncan’s stern glower didn’t bode well.
Ewan nodded. “The Camron bids The Mackinloch welcome to Creag,” he said, extending his ungloved hand.
His father narrowed his eyes but made no effort to accept the handshake. “Ye managed it then?” he asked gruffly.
Ewan should have known better than to expect cordiality from his sire. “Managed what?”
“To wed the lass.”
“Aye. Shona is my wife,” he replied proudly.
“Sounds like ’twasna the hardship ye expected.”
Ewan couldn’t resist a smile. “No hardship at all.”
His father scratched his beard. “Now, tell me, laddie, do ye greet me on behalf o’ The Camron, or are ye The Camron?”
Ewan stiffened his spine. “Ye are addressing The Camron.”
Duncan rubbed his nose with the back of a finger, as if he smelled something rotten. “Thought as much when I saw yon MacCarron plaid on yer shoulder.” He turned in the saddle and nodded to Colin, who merely returned the nod.
Ewan gritted his teeth, bracing for the terms of surrender. He didn’t know what to make of his father’s sly smile when he turned back to face him.
“Weel,” Duncan declared, “seems we’re too late for the nuptials, and we’ve missed seeing ye be named laird o’ this misbegotten clan.” Then he winked. “However, since ye offer hospitality, the journey hasna been a complete waste o’ time, though I dinna expect Creag Castle to come up to Roigh’s standards.”
Rendered speechless by his father’s wink, Ewan let the insult slide and extended his hand again. “Ye’re right, as always, but give us time and ye’ll see.”
A beefy hand enveloped his in a manic grip. “So long as ye make sure yer new clan pays what they owe—on time.”
He might have known the talk would inevitably come round to the coin. Some things never changed. Yet, the firm handshake changed Ewan’s view of the future. It established a bond of mutual respect between two clan chiefs and communicated a father’s love for his son.
Ewan’s heart was beating so loudly in his ears, he scarce noticed Colin bring his horse alongside until he slapped him on the back. “So my little brother gets to be laird before I do. There’s no justice.”
Ewan smiled. “Weel, when ye hear of the trials I had to undergo to secure the lairdship…”
Colin guffawed. “Like bedding a comely wench, I suppose.”
Duncan frowned. “Ye canna say such things in front o’ the lad.”
Ewan was puzzled but his spirits soared even higher when Andrew poked his head out from behind Colin. He dismounted immediately and helped his grinning nephew down from his brother’s horse. “Ye’re a sight for sore eyes, wee mon,” he exclaimed, hugging the boy.
“I canna wait to meet yer bride,” Andrew admitted as Ewan remounted Liath with the bairn in his lap. “Is she bonnie?”
“Indeed, she is,” Ewan replied.
“Bonnier than Kathleen?”
Ewan chuckled. “Much more beautiful.” Then a thought struck him. “But it might be as well if ye dinna mention Kathleen again.”
Andrew beamed an angelic smile over his shoulder. “I understand, Uncle. The lasses can get a mite jealous of each other.”
Astonished when even his father smiled at that pearl of wisdom, Ewan turned his beloved grey, and proudly led his blood kin along the trail to Creag Castle.
Shona and Jeannie wandered from table to table in the hall, exchanging pleasantries and trying to act as if nothing was amiss. Moira did her part, mingling with other servants, enjoying their congratulations and wishes for the future.
A few disgruntled clansmen still muttered, but the whisky had quieted many. Shona’s jaw ached with the effort of maintaining a permanent smile. She hoped she would still be smiling when the Mackinlochs entered Creag. For there was little doubt they would come, either as friend or foe, and if they wished to claim her home, there was nothing for it but to surrender.
She briefly wondered if perhaps that had been the plan all along. Had the betrothal been merely a ploy to regain Creag? She was ashamed the suspicion had even entered her thoughts. Ewan had given her no cause to fear such a plot.
She grieved that his tenure as The Camron might be fleeting. The MacCarrons had much to gain from having him as their chief.
She was considering sipping a wee dram herself when Robbie’s voice resounded. “They’re coming.”
All eyes turned to the red-faced boy who’d clambered onto a table.
“I went up to the tower so I could see,” he panted.
“And what did ye see?” Kendric shouted.
Shona feared the bairn might topple off the table in his excitement. “Uncle Ewan, er, I mean The Camron, is leading the way.”
She breathed again. That was a good sign.
A murmur of relief fluttered through the hall.
“And he’s got a lad sitting on his lap.”
Curious frowns gave way to soft chuckles as it dawned on everyone that invading clans didn’t bring children on campaigns.
Gripping the table to fend off a sudden bout of dizziness, Shona declared, “We are about to host important visitors—my kin-by-marriage. Let’s show them our fine MacCarron hospitality and make The Camron proud.”
Amid the hubbub that ensued, she espied the harried cook chivvying scullery maids at the entrance to the kitchens. “I hope there’s venison left,” she shouted.
“Aye, Lady Shona,” he replied with a broad grin. “Whisky too.”
A loud cheer greeted th
e news.
Who is This Man?
Shona and Jeannie hurried to the courtyard, each helping the other fix a wayward curl here and there. They straightened plaids and smoothed wrinkles from frocks. Kendric hobbled out and perched on his crutches, refusing the chair Donald fetched. A group of clan elders gathered behind them as they watched Ewan ride in. Shona was mightily relieved to see her husband’s smile and surmised the boy on his lap was the nephew he’d spoken of so fondly.
The stern-faced greybeard with the eagle-feathered bonnet could only be Duncan, the notoriously bad-tempered Mackinloch laird—her father-by-marriage.
“I’m glad I didna take a sip o’ whisky,” Shona whispered to her aunt as the new arrivals dismounted. “I get the feeling even Ewan is intimidated by his father.”
“Weel, he looks happy to see his kin. I’ll wager the lanky fellow beside the old man is his brother.”
“Perhaps the smile is because it seems they havna come to usurp Creag.”
Moira, Heather and Robbie hurried to greet David and Walter.
Jeannie squeezed Shona’s arm when Fynn rode through the gates. “There’s my lovely husband,” she murmured.
She put an arm around her aunt’s shoulder. “Here we are, Auntie, two brides who havna had much chance to share the happiness of being newly wed.”
“Right enough, but we will,” Jeannie replied.
Shona had an urge to laugh when her aunt attempted a wink, but her amusement fled when she added, “though o’ course some things are just between a mon and his wife.”
Jeannie had misunderstood. Shona certainly had no intention of gossiping about the intimacies she and Ewan had shared. Nor did she wish to hear of what had transpired in her aunt’s marriage bed. A retort was on the tip of her tongue, but she felt the heat rise in her face and quickly closed her mouth when she realized her husband and his father were striding towards her.
Ewan let go of Andrew’s hand for a moment and proceeded to introduce his father to Kendric first as protocol demanded.
“My son told me of yer injuries,” Duncan said, shaking the former laird’s hand, “but ye seem to be on the mend. My condolences on the death of yer brother. Fine mon. We shook hands and shared a wee dram at Clunes. We exchanged swords to seal the contract. I thought ye might like to have yer brother’s blade back. As a remembrance. ’Tis in the baggage.”
Ewan held his breath. He couldn’t recall ever being acknowledged as the man’s son before and the thoughtful gesture brought a lump to his throat. He knew what it would mean to Shona.
“I thank ye,” Kendric replied, looking gobsmacked by the news, “and ’tis thanks to The Camron the perpetrators of the foul deeds that have recently befallen us are dead.”
Ewan had only made brief mention of the accident during the short ride, but he was astonished at his father’s jovial and considerate manner.
“I brought my eldest son wi’ me,” Duncan continued, seemingly content to wait for an explanation. He beckoned Colin forward. “He’ll be The Mackinloch after me. Few men can boast of two sons who are lairds of great clans.”
As Kendric shook Colin’s hand, Ewan wondered about the identity of the good-natured fellow claiming to be his cantankerous father.
Duncan put both hands on his grandson’s shoulders. “And this young man is my daughter’s bairn, Andrew.”
Andrew dutifully shook Kendric’s hand but quickly looked up at Ewan. “Is that yer bride?” he whispered, nodding to Shona.
Ewan looked at the lass he loved. Her uncharacteristic fidgeting tugged at his heart. She was anxious for his father’s approval, something he’d thirsted for many times in his life, but never received. He was confident his wife would win the old man over in short order.
“Ye’ll wait yer turn, Andrew,” Duncan blustered, reaching for Shona’s hand.
“Father, may I present my wife, Lady Shona Mackinloch.”
Ewan was aware his sire had attended the court of King Charles on more than one occasion, but was completely unprepared for the courtly kiss Duncan brushed across Shona’s knuckles.
If the gesture came as a surprise, she hid it well as she bobbed a curtsey. Folk tended to wilt under The Mackinloch’s gaze, but her gesture was polite without being subservient.
Well done, lass.
More incredible was that Duncan didn’t seem offended. “My son has chosen well, Lady Shona,” he gushed, still holding her hand.
This wasn’t the moment to mention the marriage was actually Duncan’s doing, and he certainly didn’t want his father to know about his efforts to avoid it—at least not until he’d had a few tumblers of whisky.
Andrew tugged at his plaid. “She is bonnie,” he whispered. “Can I kiss her hand too?”
“Of course ye can,” Shona replied, beaming a broad smile as she extricated her hand from Duncan’s grip and offered it to the lad.
Andrew executed a bow worthy of any courtier and kissed Shona’s knuckles. “Pleased to meet ye,” he said.
“I ken somebody who’ll be happy to meet ye,” she replied, beckoning Robbie from the curious crowd gathering in the courtyard.
Ewan watched the two boys shake hands and shyly embark on a conversation. If a lad from a MacCarron sept and a Mackinloch could be friends…perhaps therein was the solution to finally laying the feud to rest. He put his arm around Shona’s waist as the introductions and pleasantries continued, feeling more confident about the future than he’d ever felt.
“A good beginning,” his wife whispered.
“Aye,” he agreed.
The End
Historical Footnotes
The enmity between the Mackinlochs and the MacCarrons is based on the three-hundred-year feud between the Mackintoshes and the Camerons. An internet search will provide information about the early 14th century origins of the quarrel that Duncan Mackinloch retells in the opening chapter. It was, of course, a dispute over land and the rightful ownership of Tor Castle (Creag).
It was eventually settled (if feuds ever truly are) by an agreement signed at Clunes in 1665. The Camerons agreed to pay the Mackintoshes compensation for Loch Arkaig and surrounding lands.
The trial by combat at the North Inch did actually take place in September 1396. The temptation to lure Kendric into an inebriated slip of the tongue regarding the name was too great to resist.
The Clan Chief of the Camerons has traditionally been known as The Lochiel, so I bestowed the title The Camron on the Clan Chief of the MacCarrons to provide a hint of the connection.
Clash of the Tartans Series
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Unbreakable
Highlands Forever, Book One
By
Violetta Rand
To Kathryn Le Veque for providing the inspiration to go back to the Highlands.
And to DJ, you are like starlight, brightening my life and lighting my pathway to happiness.
Chapter One
Clan MacKay lands
Northern shore of the Scottish Highlands, 1462
The wind chilled Alex MacKay as he squinted through the morning mist to catch sight of the lush shoreline where his galley would soon anchor. Years had passed since he’d stood on M
acKay lands. He was but twenty then, and convinced he was in love. Betrayal forced him to leave home, and he sold his allegiance, and maybe a bit of his soul, to the princes of Constantinople as a mercenary.
There were no golden palaces decorating the Highland coastline. No bathhouses and perfumed women waiting to welcome him back from battle. No bustling marketplaces where anything a man imagined could be bought. No sand and hot sun. Only gray outcrops and hills, fields of heather and mountains—the very things that breathed life into his battered heart. Things he’d purposely forgotten.
He gripped the missive from his only brother in his left hand, having committed the desperate plea to memory—begging Alex to return home and help defend clan lands from Sutherland raiders.
Did nothing change? Why were Scots so determined to kill each other when the real threats lie south of the border? Squabbling over holdings and sheep couldna compare to the devastation of English swords.
Alex had learned the hard way what real wars were fought over. He’d seen princes dragged into the public square and tortured, hands and feet chopped off, the crowd as bloodthirsty as the executioner. What did MacKays or Sutherlands know of such evil? And deep inside, Alex regretted that he’d ever witnessed such brutality, that he’d ever left the place he once called home. No one would be privy to his regrets, though. Everything that connected him to Scotland, whether family or bitter memories, were locked away in the depths of his soul, along with any feelings he had left.
Soldiers fought with true purpose here, the one thing he appreciated about the men on this side of the world.
After the boat landed, Alex walked up the beach toward a group of waiting horsemen. He immediately recognized the blue and green tartans they wore and the man at the front. Seeing his brother on a massive, black beast was nearly the same as staring at his own reflection in a looking glass. He stopped a few yards away, taking in everything. He’d never imagined being here again, feeling the fine Scottish breeze blowing through his hair or the bite of the salty air on his tongue.
The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection Page 145
