Historical Hearts Romance Collection

by Sophia Wilson

  Blane swallowed the salt of his tears and walked fully into the room.

  His father lay in the narrow bed on his back, his face smoothly shaven, his hair combed back, a crisp nightshirt on and the sheets pulled up to his waist. It seemed as if he were waiting for something. Death perhaps.

  His hands, permanently clenched into claws, moved restlessly over the sheets.

  "Papa." Blane sank down to one knee in front of the bed, his hands resting on the sheets only inches from his father's still form. "I am sorry I was not there when you needed me the most. I am sorry I failed you."

  His father's eyes moved back and forth in his head, denying Blane's words. But Blane knew that if he had been there with his father, the outcome of that morning would have been much different. His hands clenched into fists, and he pressed his aching forehead against them.

  He longed to ask his father what happened. Who had followed him out on his ride, or who he had encountered. But the doctor said not to upset him.

  "We cannot go back, as much as I wish it. So I will do my best to make you proud, no matter what happens, from now on."

  If his father was inside this inert shell, then he knew what had to be done. A new chief had to be declared. Life had to go on. Their world had to continue somehow.

  "The chieftains will all be here tonight." Many had already begun to arrive and soon nearly all the guest chambers in the castle would be filled with the chieftains, some barons of the clan, and their wives. "Then, I will meet with them and let them know what has happened." As he spoke, he felt his chin begin to wobble and he had to stop himself, breathe deeply, and then go on again. He would not give his father cause to be ashamed of him. "I will make you proud," he said. “This I promise you.”

  One of his father's clawed hands moved on the sheet and nudged Blane's. Alastair’s eyes, identical to his, burned into Blane's face.

  I am already proud, he could practically hear his father say in his warm and deep voice as if nothing had ever changed.

  ***

  That night, the storms came. Wind whipped the flags on the turrets and howled in the hidden spaces of the castle. Rain muddied the roads and filled the moat to nearly bursting. It was as if the sky was mourning Alastair, too.

  The storm made travel difficult, but all the chieftains and land barons and their women made their way to the castle and eventually gathered in the large great hall for the meet. Blane sat at the head of the table to face them all, grief-ravaged but determined.

  "Thank you all for coming with such little notice and through this hellish weather," he said when the room of two dozen plus boisterous men and women calmed down enough for him to be heard.

  These chieftains were heads of smaller territories under the Laird of Edinburgh, overseeing the large parcels of land the chief could not physically keep his own eyes on from the castle. All of them had supported Alastair during his rule as Laird of Edinburgh; many would mourn him when he was gone.

  “You have all heard of my father’s accident.”

  “If that’s what you want to call it,” someone called out. Rumbles of agreement moved through the hall.

  “We heard talk of poison,” came another voice, a woman.

  Blane didn’t want to whip his clan into a frenzy. They were there to agree on the next course of action and to witness that action before heading back to their homes. Launching a query into what happened, that was up to him.

  In as few words as possible, he told them everything he knew. “As my father’s heir, I’ve called you here to let you know the details of the accident and to begin the process of taking over as Laird of Edinburgh.”

  The chieftains had never been men to hold their tongues when they had something to say, and they didn’t disappoint Blane now.

  “You are still a lad,” one of them said. This one with massive shoulders and a wide, muscular chest that belied the age his shoulder-length gray hair suggested. “Much too young to become laird.”

  “He is no lad. Look at him!” The woman who’d spoken up earlier made another comment that sent laughter rippling through the hall.

  “Agreed!” a man Blane could not see shouted. “Laird Alastair took on the mantle at a younger age than Blane.”

  “That was then and out of necessity,” the gray-haired chieftain persisted. “Now, we have a choice. Duff.”

  As if they’d conjured him out of thin air, Duff appeared in the doorway of the great hall. Blane noticed him but said nothing to the man.

  “My father has long decreed that I would succeed him,” Blane said and made his voice ring out from corner to corner of the massive room, just like his father taught him. “There is nothing more to discuss.” He nodded to Murdo who hadn’t left his side since he visited his father.

  His man drew himself to his full height. “Tomorrow, we will begin the first of the banquets welcoming Laird Blane as the successor to the Lairdship of Edinburgh. Although ill, Lord Alastair will be in attendance as well.”

  According to the doctor, he’d been too sickly to attend that night’s gathering. Plus, Blane had been reluctant to parade his formerly vital and powerful father in front of these men and women who had never known him to be weak.

  It was killing Blane to see Laird Alastair like this, killing him and tearing his world apart. How would it be for these men and women? Would they turn on Blane in an effort to set things right in their own lives, or would the majority of them give him their support? That wasn’t a question he’d even entertained before, but watching the unease and uncertainty on the faces before him, he sensed a battle coming.

  “Tomorrow then,” one of the chieftains said.

  “Tomorrow,” Blane echoed. “Until then, please be welcome. Partake of our food and drink, take your ease and comfort in the chambers provided for you. And if you need anything—,” He tried for a smile though it felt stiff and unnatural. “—ask Murdo since he’s the only one around here doing any work.”

  A few of the men laughed. Duff was not among them.

  ***

  The next evening came all too quickly. With his new tasks, Blane barely had time to invite Annabel to the meal. But he made the time, in between rushing off to talk with Murdo and his father's man, to tell her how important it was to him that she be there at his side during this moment. He knew the exact placement of her seat was important. With her next to him at the table, he was declaring to everyone that Annabel was his. And that he intended to make her his wife.

  Her blush of teasing acceptance kept him warm for the rest of the day.

  At the time of the evening meal, the banquet hall was full with the voices of over two dozen men and their women. Platters clanged and rattled as the servants went from guest to guest to serve them. Music played, bagpipes and flutes, and a few men even got drunk enough to dance a jig or three after they had their meal.

  At the long table, every member of the Campbell clan claimed a seat. His mother, uncle, close cousins who fought well for the family. His father had been settled on the other side of Blane, propped up in a chair with a cup of mead in front of him but no food. While Blane’s mother sat beside her husband, oddly, she seemed incapable of taking her eyes from Duff for more than a few moments.

  Blane had invited Murdo to the table but the man had refused, saying he had duties to fulfill throughout the night and being trapped at the table would only prevent him from seeing to them.

  The hall rang loud with laughter and music, was lush with the smells of meats and freshly baked bread, truly a celebration. But Blane felt apart from it. He had lost most of his father, and very soon, any remaining part of Alastair, Laird of Edinburgh, would be snatched away in death.

  No. He could not celebrate that.

  But the men who supported him as the new Laird were intent on making it a celebration. It was tradition, he knew. It was important, this declaration of transition from the old Laird and chief to the new.

  At the end of the main meal and after dessert was served, his father's trus
ted man, Fergus, rose to his feet and banged his mug against the table for silence. Fergus looked wrecked, dark circles under his eyes, his face, no longer that of a young man but one who had aged much in the last couple of days. His lean body was twisted with grief.

  Voices gradually tapered off along with the music until only the rattling of serving plates and the occasional yips of the hunting dogs who'd claimed their places by the fire remained.

  "The Laird Alastair thanks you for coming to the castle on this most foul day and evening." The sound of thunder boomed loudly through the walls. Fergus looked pointedly at Blane's father who was silent and still except for those still intelligent eyes of his that roamed from corner to corner of the large room without cease. Sadness settled even more into Fergus's lined features. "Although he is unable to say, he is pleased to celebrate his son, Blane Campbell, as his heir and successor." He lifted his mug. "Let us drink to him, and to Blane, the new Laird of Edinburgh."

  The room rumbled with approval and ringing shouts of "Aye!"

  "Now, let us—"

  "Wait for that celebration you'll be planning." Every head in the room swung to Duff as he stood and, like his brother had when he was Laird, towered over Fergus and nearly every man in the room.

  Blane clenched his fist, knowing nothing good could come of his uncle's interruption. He felt the muscle ticking hard and fast in his jaw.

  "What is he doing?" Annabel's breath brushed his ear as she leaned close, filling him with her calming scent. Her fingers landed on the tight muscles of his arm.

  "I dinnae ken," Blane said while dread tightened his entire body. But he wouldn’t take whatever it was that Duff had on his mind lying—or sitting—down. After a quick squeeze of Annabel’s hand, he stood up. “What is on your mind, Uncle?”

  “It seems to me, young Blane—” And Blane felt the entire hall react to that one word as if they’d stood up and gasped in response. “—that everything is not as you assume.”

  “Meaning?”

  "If that unfortunate accident had not happened to my brother, then he would still be Laird of Edinburgh, correct?" Blane didn't bother answering the question as if he were a child to be interrogated and patronized. His uncle continued without his response. "So it seems to me that instead of your young and very soft-skinned self, it should be me, the brother of the previous Laird—" he gestured to Alastair. "—who should take on the responsibilities of being Laird of Edinburgh."

  With each word Duff spoke, the suspicion that had only been an unpleasant tingle before now boiled into full heat in Blane’s chest. He was well aware how capable Duff was of doing what he suspected.

  A ripple of unease moved through the hall, and Blane couldn't help but notice the few men who nodded along as Duff spoke, some of the same men who'd supported his father and him over the years. "You are too young for this, lordling, but I am not. Just about half the men in the clan agree with me." He raised his voice. "Right?"

  More rumbles came, some clearer than others. Blane caught Murdo’s eye and his man nodded, reminding Blane of the brief conversation they had had not too long before.

  Duff is planning something, Murdo had told him when they left Alastair’s sick room for the last time earlier that day. Have a care and watch him.

  "It has already been decided." Blane planted his feet wide and challenged his uncle with a look. "My father decreed long before now. I am his heir. In every way."

  Blane felt the first stirrings of anger as his uncle shook his head, looking as if Blane had disappointed him with his obvious lack of reason. "I am Alastair's equal. He would have had another ten, mayhap even twenty years of good rule left in him. It only makes sense for me to take over now. You will have your time when you are older and have some maturity about you."

  Not only was the fool saying he was as good as Alastair—that was tantamount to blasphemy in the eyes of many who knew his father—but he more than hinted that Blane was immature and not ready for the responsibilities his father had prepared him for all these long years. Blane would rather struggle and learn even more than he already did under Fergus's tutelage than allow Duff to run the affairs of the Lairdship into the ground. He knew what kind of man his uncle was. And that man was not fit to be Laird.

  "Nay." Blane balled his fingers into a fist against his thigh. "I will not step aside for you."

  "'Tis not as simple as that, my boy, and well you know it." He cast his gaze around the room to the particular men Blane suspected already declared their support of him. "But, I am not an unreasonable man."

  Blane clenched his throat to stop the disbelieving sound from rising up. But Annabel had no such reluctance. Her scoff of disbelief sounded loud and clear into the room. Duff's poisonous gaze settled on her, lingered, before finally moving back to Blane's face.

  "I will walk away from this challenge with no blood shed between us...if you surrender the fair Annabel as a peace offering."

  At his side, Annabel gasped. Her shocked and furious gaze swung to Duff, then to Blane's mother. What Blane saw on his mother's face dealt him a double blow. She didn't look surprised. If anything, she looked smug. It was an improvement over the wretched sobs that had spilled from her over the last two days, but only in that it showed she was the strong woman he'd always believed she was. A strong woman who'd expected this maneuver of Duff's. Maybe had even plotted it with him.

  "Nay!" Blane nearly shouted the word.

  He would not use Annabel as a bargaining stone, and he damn sure would not allow Duff to keep taking from him and from his father. He would not give in to this. Even if he had entertained such a ridiculous idea, the cruel twist of his uncle's mouth when he looked at Annabel, a veritable promise that he would make her suffer for loving Blane, shored up his decision. Blane shook his head hard. "I will not give her to you."

  The gleam in his uncle's eye turned fairly feral, the look of a wily animal who'd driven his prey to just the place he wanted it to be. "If you will not give her up so I can walk away, then I challenge you to a duel. The winner gets to ascend to the Lairdship."

  The room erupted into shocked exclamations and conversations, but below the raucous shouts of his men and women gathered in the hall, Blane heard his mother's horrified gasp. He looked at her but she was staring at Duff with a look of betrayal on her pale face.

  "Duff! That is not what you promised me!" The room was still loud, the men and some of their wives slamming their tankards of ale on the table and shouting at Duff to be reasonable, to let go of the past and accept that this was a new time, and a different battle from the one he had fought, and lost, so many years ago.

  Blane didn't think they heard Davina's words.

  But he did.

  Even without the threat of the duel, he could see it plain as the green in Annabel's eyes that his mother had bargained away the Lairdship to Duff, was willing to trade Annabel to her cruel former lover just so she could maneuver Blane into marriage to Effie, or whoever it was Davina thought of next.

  Blane's thoughts reeled, his mind crawling into terrible places with each moment that passed. But even with his confusion and grief, he held on to at least one certainty.

  That certainty spread through his chest, down his arms, and through his entire body. He drew in a long breath then turned to his father.

  Alastair was already looking at him. Their eyes locked for long moments in which Blane felt as if he re-lived his entire life with his father, and especially the last few weeks when they'd been closer than ever, teasing each other, talking of the future, including a future with the wife Blane knew even then that he wanted. He put a hand on his father's shoulder with a question in his eyes.

  Slowly and very deliberately, Alastair blinked.

  The breath left Blane's mouth in a rush. Then he turned to his uncle.

  "Challenge accepted," he said loudly enough to stop all the conversation in the hall. Even the dogs were silent. "Let us duel at dawn's break. I shall meet you and defend my position."

 
; Annabel sat rigid in her chair with everything she felt naked on her face. But she said nothing. Already, she was a worthy wife to him, strong enough to carry both their fears. But he knew the moment she had him alone, she would not hold back. Oddly, he relished the coming of that moment.

  Blane turned back to the gathered men and women. "Enjoy the rest of the evening. I shall take my father to get his rest." He signaled one of the doctor's assistants who had stayed nearby throughout the meal. "Take him back to the sick room. I shall follow shortly."

  Then he gave his mother a single look before briefly touching Annabel's hand. His love rose to her feet and walked with him from the hall without saying another word.

  Chapter 9

  No one stopped them or spoke to them as they made their way from the hall, quietly side by side and not touching, toward Blane’s chambers. At the door, he pushed it open, waited until she followed him in before closing it behind them and into the hushed silence.

  “Don’t do this,” Annabel said as soon as they were completely alone. “I beg you. I have been traded before, and I can willingly and happily do it again if it means you will live and have your Lairdship.”

  But Blane was already shaking his head before she finished speaking. He gently grasped her shoulders and drew her closer to him, inhaling the floral scent of her hair. “My Lairdship is nothing without my promised wife.”

  “My life is nothing if my promised husband is dead.” Her foam and fire eyes glimmered with tears, a mixture of fury and fear. “Please, Blane. Don’t go to this duel. Duff Campbell will kill you.” Her hands fluttered to his chest like agitated butterflies. Their warmth pierced him. “I’ll go with your uncle and do whatever he wants. You’ll find another wife. You’ll rule. You’ll live.”

  “I will live,” he said. “And you will nae go to him.”

  Annabel fairly vibrated with concern for him, but none for herself. Strangely, the more agitated she grew, the calmer he became. Blane had to this. This day had been brewing for a long time. If it hadn’t been this duel, then it would’ve been in some other show down cobbled together by Duff. Blane was tired of watching his uncle and wondering when he would strike. By dawn, all of it would be settled for good. One way or another.