Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses
Page 62
Readers familiar with Skye probably know that Gunnar’s family seat, Druimbegan, was loosely based on Clan MacLeod’s legendary Skye castle, Dunvegan. Alpin MacKinnon’s Dunakaid stands as a ruined shell today, guarding Kyleakin still - as it did many hundreds of years ago. Its real name is Castle Moil. The present ruin dates to the 15th century, but before that, the site supported several much older structures. One such early fortalice belonged to a Norwegian princess known as ‘Saucy Mary.’ (or so legend claims)
The Vale of Thieves is entirely my creation. But there are such places on Skye. Deep, dark, and eerie hidden gorges and vales well removed from the tourist scene – places where Squall could have easily run the Toothless Hag.
Speaking of Squall, Borg and Munch – they could all have existed. The smaller islands around Skye were known as havens for robbers and all kinds of blackguards and broken men.
The great love between Gunnar’s father Ambrose and his Icelandic wife could also have happened. There was much trade between the Hebrides, Ireland, the Northern Isles, and even far away Iceland.
As I write this ‘Author’s Note’ the year is ending and soon it will be Midwinter. I like to think that Gunnar, Katla, and Glaum are excited, perhaps even now setting off for a night on Odin’s Flame - to celebrate their love and happiness. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll lift a mead horn to Winter Fire, their story.
Thank you for spending time with them. I hope you enjoyed their adventure.
Wishing you Highland magic!
Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Also writing as Allie Mackay
About Sue-Ellen Welfonder
“Sue-Ellen Welfonder brings legends and love to life.” – Fresh Fiction
USA Today bestselling author Sue-Ellen Welfonder won Romantic Times Best Historical Romance Award for her debut title, Devil in a Kilt. Many of her books have been RT Award nominees, and have received RT Top Picks and K.I.S.S. Hero Awards. She is thrilled to be a winner of InD’Tale’s RONE Award. Her favorite reader compliment is that her stories transport them to medieval Scotland, the setting of most of her books. She is also known for her strong heroines, Alpha heroes, and weaving Highland magic and humor into her tales.
Sue-Ellen also writes as Allie Mackay, penning contemporary paranormals, mostly set in the Scottish Highlands.
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Child of Awe
By
Kathryn Lynn Davis
By payment of required fees, ye have been granted the non- exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product either of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 1987, 1990, 2013 by Kathryn Davis.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Dedication
To my husband Michael, who has been beside me on every step of the journey of inspiration and evolution that has woven this first CHILD into the tapestry of my life.
To Cynthia Wright, who posted a picture of Kilchurn Castle—and from that glimpse of history, as well as her enthusiasm and huge heart, this e-book came to be.
And to Bill Gardner, in gratitude for his generosity and support.
Acknowledgments
Child of Awe is truly the book of my heart, begun long ago and lingering always in some part of my mind, no matter what else I might be working on. There are many people who, through their advice, unflagging faith and friendship, became part of the slow unfolding of the magic that has touched this project from the beginning. It made me believe, in the end, that this novel is worth every last moment of agony and joy. I want especially to thank these people:
Dorris Halsey, who had the patience and the faith to wait for this "child" to grow up. My dear friend Brenda Wilson who read and critiqued the novel so often she began to know it by heart. Laura Kalpakian, who, with great humor and sensitivity, sent me fourteen single-spac
ed legal-sized pages of comments after reading only the first two chapters. I still remember and make use of those comments every time I sit down to write. My mother Anna Davis, Camille Guerin-Gonzales, and Jana Thomas, each of whom read the manuscript more than once, gave me their thoughts and feelings and, by doing so, helped me understand the book's problems and strengths more clearly.
The members of the History Department at the University of California, Riverside, especially John Phillips and Connie Young, for their support and encouragement over the years. Deborah Fishler, who read the original draft of the hand-written manuscript overnight—a feat that surely qualifies her for sainthood, and which, along with her enthusiasm, convinced me never to abandon this story. Jane Curtis, who, with great patience, listened while I read aloud all 526 pages of the original manuscript, and who often saw what I could not. Her husband Chick, an artist, who, as he read the book, sketched the characters one by one. The wonder is, they looked exactly as I had imagined them.
Finally, I want to express my gratitude to Andrea Cirillo, who believes that the time for Child of Awe is yet to come, and to Gretchen Van Nuys, who read and wept and brought back vividly the passion for this story that I first felt twenty-three years ago.
PROLOGUE
Northern Scottish Highlands 1497
The mist swirled and eddied, obscuring the stars and shrouding the wan light of the moon on the night when the second Earl of Argyll heard Alex Urquart had been murdered. The Earl did not care that the man was dead, but the fools who had killed him—that was a different matter.
Argyll had been on his way home from court after many months, craving the warmth of his hearth and his wife's soft body, but when the news was brought, he smiled grimly and turned at once toward Kilravok. He realized, as his horse's powerful muscles moved beneath him, carrying him surely through the treacherous Highland night, that he had been awaiting just such a moment, though he had not known it until now. Ever since the King had made his startling announcement, the Earl had been waiting for a chance, a turn of fate that would put the advantage squarely in his hands. Now the moment had come, and he intended to make the most of it.
His heart raced with exhilaration, and his pulse quickened at the thought of the battle awaiting him. No sword would be raised, no arrow would fly; his weapon would be words and he had no doubt about the outcome.
He burst into the tiny, ill-kempt keep of Kilravok with the Campbell men-at-arms behind him, clattering into the courtyard despite the feeble protests of the guards. He did not wait for word to spread that he had come, but swung his rich fur cape, heavy with mist, away from his shoulders and pounded with both fists on the barred double doors.
They swung open too quickly, and he exchanged a disgusted look with his men, but did not pause as he stormed over the worn and battered stone threshold.
"What is't ye want? Who are ye?" a woman demanded. When her gaze fell on the Earl's brooch, symbol of Clan
Campbell, the most powerful family in Scotland, she closed her mouth and clutched the child in her arms more closely. Behind her, four other women clustered, shivering and pale.
"Do the Roses of Kilravok leave the women to guard their doors, then?" Argyll demanded impatiently.
The woman straightened then met his gaze without flinching. "There's been a disturbance. My father is occupied. Our doors are not usually open to any savages who choose to come crashing through them at midnight."
The Earl contemplated the group of defenseless women.
The one who had greeted him spoke steadily, angrily. Neither she nor her sisters had a weapon among them and the Campbells were heavily armed for travel. Yet he knew she would defy him, block his path if necessary, with nothing but her two hands, and those obviously cradling a baby. In spite of himself, he smiled. "Ye would dare stand against me? Do ye know I am the Earl of Argyll?"
"I'm no' blind, nor am I daft," she replied. "But aye, I would stand against ye till I know if ye come as friend or foe."
"I'm Archibald Campbell," he murmured unexpectedly, using his given name for the first time. "And ye?"
"I’m Isabel Rose—" she hesitated, "Calder."
The Earl regarded her intently. "Ah," he said. "The widow of the Thane of Cawdor." He paused. "Why are ye back in yer father's house and no' with yer husband's family?"
"Surely ye've heard, as all Scotland has, that the Calders didn't want me after my husband died," Isabel replied tonelessly. "What ye may not have heard is that I did not want them. So I came home."
Argyll was surprised by her honesty—surprised and pleased. He could not disguise his interest as he approached. She did not step back, but held her ground. "And this," he said, nodding toward the fur-wrapped bundle in her arms, "must be the Thane's child and heiress."
"'Tis my daughter," Isabel Calder said fiercely.
The Earl did not miss the slight emphasis on the word my. He tipped the fur away from the baby's face, admiring her downy white skin, thick, tousled red curls and unblinking green eyes. His face softened as he thought of his own wife and daughter, who shared the name Elizabeth—the companions of his solitude, the comfort of his days and nights away from court. "What is her name?" he asked gently, without bothering to hide the tenderness in his eyes.
Startled by the sudden change, Isabel replied without thinking. "Her name is Muriel, but we call her Muriella."
"A lovely name," he said, "sweeter and bonnier."
Isabel was touched by this unexpected gentleness in a man like the Earl of Argyll, whose reputation for ruthlessness was known all over the Highlands.
"What the devil’s going on? How dare ye enter my keep unasked at such an hour?"
Hugh Rose's harsh voice broke the spell and Isabel stepped back while Argyll's expression hardened. He turned toward the Laird of Clan Rose, noticing with disgust his sweat-stained saffron shirt and baggy trews. He wore no boots and his hand hovered above the hilt of his sword.
The Earl regarded his reluctant host with an icy stare.
"Because I have business with ye, and because I am the Earl of Argyll. Where can we talk?"
Hugh Rose drew himself up taller and fingered the sword at his side. "I've no wish to speak to ye, even if ye were the King himself." He noticed Isabel and her sisters nearby and waved them away. "Leave us!"
Argyll raised his hand in protest, partly to annoy Rose and partly because he knew the wisdom of having the women present. "Let them stay. This concerns yer daughter Isabel." Hugh's face turned red with anger as he turned on his heel and headed for the library. "'Tis my house ye're in now, Argyll. Ye can no' be telling me how to run it. Go!" he called to the women.
"Stay," the Earl repeated, sweeping through the barren hall and into the austere library. He noticed a motion out of the corner of his eye, but dismissed it. His attention was half on Rose and half on the sound of swishing skirts. The women had chosen to ignore the Laird's command and follow Argyll's. He suppressed a smile.
Isabel Calder's heart pounded dully as she followed the men. She began to fear she knew why Archibald Campbell had come. No force on earth could have kept her from that room.
Her sisters and sisters-in-law were close behind.
Quietly, Isabel closed the door and watched the two men face each other across the room.
Rose glared at his daughter, growled an unintelligible curse and peered warily at the Earl. "By what right do ye invade a man's home in the middle of the night and order his family about like servants?" he demanded querulously.
Argyll remained unruffled. "By right of the King's writ. I've come on behalf of yer grandchild—the Thane of Cawdor's daughter. King Jamie has named me her guardian."
Hugh Rose stared, eyes bulging. "'Tis a lie! We're her family."
The women gasped in chorus and the Earl glanced at Isabel. She stood in front, the baby in her arms. Her sisters looked stricken, pale and flushed by turns at his disturbing revelation. Isabel alone stood rigid, unchanged. The only sign of her distress was the slight tightenin
g of her arms around the child. He nodded his approval and turned back to her father.
"Ye're protecting her well, I see, with guards half-asleep at the gate and yer daughters waiting at the door to let me in." When Rose started to interrupt, the Earl silenced him with a wave of his hand. "But 'tis no' the only reason the King made her my ward." He lowered his voice. "The Calders are her family as well, ye see, and 'tis known they wish her ill. The King feels there's too much conflict about this little bairn. She's no' yet a year old, and already she has many enemies."
Hugh Rose let out his breath in a rush. "And ye one more."
Again, the Earl let the insult go by. "Ye would be wise to learn to recognize yer friends, Rose. Ye'd be a far happier man."
Hugh snorted. "Ye don't give a damn about my happiness." Argyll shrugged. "As far as that goes, ye can believe what ye like. But I do give a damn about the child. And I've no intention of letting ye endanger her. The Calders are becoming a bunch of outlaws determined to have their way. Ye can't hold them off if they set their full fury upon ye. But the Campbells can. For our strength, the King has given me her care."
"For yer arrogance, I'll give ye naught. I could kill ye where ye stand or hold ye for ransom, saying ye attacked Kilravok without provocation. The King would pay a great deal to get ye back."