Kilty Party

by Markland, Anna

  Panic constricted her throat as she cast about for a place to hide. She ran without paying heed to where she was going, only knowing she had to conceal herself.

  Espying a nook behind a low wall, she hurried towards it. Her heart stopped when the ground gave way and she was falling…falling. The breath whooshed from her lungs when she landed hard. She lay still, afraid to move, assuming she’d fallen down a well. A deafening pulse throbbed in her ears. The urge to cry for help was powerful but, as she strained to listen, the hoofbeats receded. She looked up at the sliver of light above her head, alarmed when bits of dirt cascaded down. A scream welled up. She was going to be buried alive and no one would ever find her.

  “Shaw,” she sobbed, over and over until despair stole her wits and she surrendered to the blackness.

  Dragoons

  Rory stood on the shore of the loch, dismayed to see no sign of Caitlin.

  “Where do ye think she went?” Nairn asked.

  He was reluctant to acknowledge his sister had run off with Shaw Drummond, but another, more insistent problem caught his attention. Horses, approaching at speed.

  Not surprised when a troop of royal dragoons appeared in the distance, he took Nairn’s hand. “Listen carefully. Go to yer chamber and bar the door. Dinna open to anyone but me.”

  He hated the fear in her eyes, but she ran for the stairs. He scanned the shore once more, hoping to see Caitlin, then hurried back into the keep. “Sound the alarm. Gather everyone in the hall,” he told a servant, then took the steps to his father’s chamber two at a time.

  Standing by the window, still in his night attire, his sire gasped when he burst in without knocking. “Ye see them, do ye? We’re about to lose Ardblair because ye canna let go of the cursed feud.”

  He expected an argument, but his father merely nodded. “Aye.”

  Rory made a decision. “I’m taking over as laird. Will ye oppose me?”

  “Nay.”

  Immense sadness and tremendous relief flooded Rory. He pitied his father who’d become a shadow of his former self. However, there was no time to think on that now. There was a crisis to deal with. “I’ve ordered an assembly in the hall. Hopefully, we can convince these dragoons we mean to honor the betrothal and end the feud.”

  “But Caitlin…”

  Rory clenched his jaw. Their father hadn’t even realized his daughter wanted to marry Shaw Drummond. And now she’d disappeared. “She’s willing. Make yerself presentable and meet me in the hall.”

  *

  Fear weighted Fiona’s limbs as she stood just outside the entryway of Drummond Castle watching her red-faced father bark orders at the twenty or so Highland warriors assembled in the bailey. “We’ll resist to the death,” he shouted, seemingly baiting the well-armed mounted dragoons outside the gate demanding entry.

  Laird Brodie shoved Jamie aside when his brother tried to reason with him. It was going to be a bloodbath.

  She should add her voice to Jamie’s, but was too afraid to move. Brodie had ordered all the womenfolk to the cellars, but she couldn’t see herself cowering in a damp, dark place with a bunch of weeping women. She was a Drummond and if she had to die, it would be alongside her family. Except for Shaw, who still hadn’t returned.

  Winged creatures fluttered in her belly when she espied him. He trotted up to the dragoons and greeted them as if they hadn’t come to confiscate the castle.

  She held her breath as long as she could while her brother carried on a long conversation with a man who was probably the captain of the soldiers. She inhaled deeply when the dragoons turned away and dismounted in the meadow. Shaw signaled for the gate to be opened and rode up to his father. “I’ve bought us some time. Get everyone to the hall.”

  Brodie spluttered. “But…”

  Jamie intervened. “Do as he says, Brother.”

  Heart beating wildly, Fiona rushed into the castle, exhorting the people she encountered to make their way to the hall with all possible haste.

  *

  The fire in his father’s eyes warned Shaw he was going to have a fight on his hands. However, the fate of his home and his people depended on him taking over the chieftaincy. If he hadn’t arrived back in time, there’d be mutilated bodies strewn everywhere.

  He was confident he had Jamie’s support, and anyone who’d witnessed his father’s lunatic behavior in the face of armed dragoons would surely vote for him.

  He was uncertain if Fiona would oppose him, simply out of jealousy. Perhaps she thought it was time for a female laird.

  He chuckled at the notion.

  Shortly after he arrived in the crowded hall, the din worsened when a bevy of chattering women appeared, seeking husbands and sons. Shaw supposed they’d emerged from the cellars.

  Fiona, however, hadn’t fled with them. She stood on the dais at the front of the hall, chin held high. He had to admire her courage. His father and the clan elders joined her. Brodie Drummond raised his hand to call for silence. Shaw vaulted onto the dais, braced his legs, folded his arms and glared at the crowd, willing them to be quiet.

  When a hush fell, he was pleased all eyes were on him, not the father he was about to depose.

  Hollow Victory

  Caitlin lay stunned for long minutes, unsure of what had happened. Slowly, she flexed her fingers, then moved her toes, relieved when she felt only a twinge in one ankle.

  Taking a deep breath and using her arms for support, she sat up, surprised to feel the earth beneath her hands wasn’t wet. If she’d fallen down a well, it had long since gone dry.

  She looked up. What appeared to be a splintered piece of wood lay partway across the top of the hole. Apparently, she’d fallen through a rotted covering.

  “Help,” she called halfheartedly, sure in her heart there was no one in the ruin.

  Her eyes traveled from the hole down the long shaft. There was something attached to the sides at intervals. A ladder! But most of the wood had rotted away.

  She kicked at a piece of it she just now noticed lying at her feet, instantly regretting the sudden movement when the twinge in her ankle worsened.

  Ready to burst into tears, she caught sight of the loaf not far away. She scrambled to pick it up and sank her teeth into the yeasty bread. Chewing eased her breathless panic, but she’d have to ration the only food she had. Until Shaw returned. Which he would, she was certain.

  She peered into the blackness surrounding her, gradually becoming aware she was sitting in a space too large to be the bottom of a well. As her eyes got used to the darkness, she saw it was more of a cavern. With stanchions for torches.

  Scarcely able to breathe for the excitement bubbling within, she stood and took a gingerly step. She’d definitely sprained her ankle, but thank goodness that seemed to be her only injury.

  After limping a few paces, she realized the cavern stretched a long way into the blackness. “I found the tunnel, Shaw,” she whispered, triumph mingling with utter despair.

  *

  Rory descended the steps of Ardblair’s keep and ordered the main gate opened. Almost relieved not to espy Caitlin, he strode out to greet the dragoons already halfway across the land bridge.

  Standing with legs braced, he nodded to the officer who reined his snorting horse to a halt. “Rory Blair,” he declared. “Newly appointed laird of the clan.”

  The soldier dismounted. “Captain George Gaskell,” he replied with a distinct south of England accent. “What goes on here? I’ve been instructed to take Laird Ian Blair into custody and occupy the castle.”

  Rory had anticipated the seizure but not his father’s imprisonment. He swallowed his pride. “My father is no longer in possession of his faculties. As his eldest son and heir, I have been appointed laird. There is naught to be gained by imprisoning my sire.”

  He saw no reason to mention his willful sister had run off with Shaw Drummond. “I’ve called a clan meeting to announce the end of the feud. The marriage contracted in Stirling will proceed. The king’s w
ishes will be fulfilled.”

  “I must meet with the betrothed lady and be assured you speak the truth.”

  Rory bristled. What right did this Sassenach officer have to question the word of a Highland chieftain? However, he couldn’t produce his missing sister. A momentary lunatic notion occurred that he could perhaps pass his youngest sister off as Caitlin, but he dismissed it quickly as unfair to Nairn. “Lady Caitlin is presently at Drummond Castle, with her betrothed,” he explained, hoping it was true.

  “I will attend your clan meeting, in that case,” Gaskell insisted.

  Left with no choice, Rory gestured to the entryway. “Welcome to my home.”

  When the other soldiers began to dismount, he decided enough was enough. Arms folded, he informed Gaskell, “Yer men can camp on the other side of the loch. ’Tis still Blair territory.”

  The captain hesitated, but then ordered his troop to do as Rory had suggested.

  A deafening hush fell over the noisy gathering when Rory marched in with the English soldier. To give the man his due, Gaskell didn’t hesitate for a moment as he strode into a hall filled with people who were his traditional enemies. Even the hostile murmur that crept like a morning mist did nothing to cow him. Rory wondered if the mon was simply too full of himself to sense the hostility. However, when Gaskell tried to mount the dais where Ian Blair sat with head bowed, Rory’s glare deterred him.

  Wishing with all his heart his sisters were there to witness his oath, Rory took the white staff of office from his father’s grip. Sword drawn, he filled his lungs and addressed his people, sure in his heart he was doing the right thing. “I, Ruaraidh Blair, hereby claim my inherent right to the leadership of Clan Blair.”

  He paused to let his words sink in, relieved there was no outcry. “As yer laird, I swear to uphold our laws and traditions. I will arbitrate clan disputes, dispense our laws and administer the fair tenancy of lands, according to each mon’s rights and needs.

  “In a timely fashion, I will appoint a new tanist as my second who will hold clan lands in trust for posterity. He, too, will swear to uphold our traditions.

  “I will also name a brieve to assist in the dispensation of the law, and a council to aid me in my tasks.”

  Folks had long grumbled about Ian Blair taking all these responsibilities to himself, so Rory was counting on a positive response to his promises. He was therefore heartened by the rousing cheer that greeted his announcement.

  A lone voice sounded in the calm that settled. “Has our current laird ceded the chieftaincy to ye willingly?”

  Rory’s father raised his head for the first time. “Aye. Willingly.”

  It was gratifying but heart-wrenching to see the relief on familiar faces. His next words stuck in his craw, but he accepted they had to be said. “Caitlin Blair will wed Shaw Drummond and thus bring the feud to an end.”

  *

  Shaw waited until there was complete silence in Drummond’s Great Hall before drawing his sword.

  An audible intake of a hundred breaths soughed through the gathering. Wailing bairns were quickly hushed.

  “Armed dragoons wait outside our gates,” he began, deliberately keeping his voice low.

  His words were passed on in whispers to those too far back to hear.

  Saddened by the alarm on many faces, he raised his voice. “The soldiers have come to occupy Drummond.”

  His father leapt to his feet. “We must fight.”

  Shaw ignored him, relieved when Jamie pulled his spluttering brother back to his seat. He raised his sword high. “If ye wish to fight for this place where generations of yer families have lived alongside mine for centuries, I will lead the charge.”

  He was pleased when only a few halfhearted Ayes, greeted his challenge. His people had no appetite for death. “I can tell most of ye realize that if we kill every last king’s man, even more will arrive in their stead, and Drummond will fall.”

  People mumbled and shifted their feet.

  “There is, however, a way to save this castle we love.”

  He waited until all eyes were on him again. “King William wants to punish our laird’s annulment of my betrothal to Lady Caitlin Blair. His soldiers have been ordered to arrest my father.”

  For the first time he looked at his sire. The decisive, braw warrior had become a bitter, confused old man. He shook his head. “I will nay allow my father to be arrested.”

  Shouts of Nay, nay.

  “However, the danger we face is on his head. I was more than happy to go along with the betrothal. If ye’ve ever set eyes on Lady Caitlin Blair, ye’ll ken why.”

  Laughter—finally.

  “’Twas my father’s choice to annul the betrothal and continue the feud. He has brought the king’s wrath down on his own head and on all of us. ’Tis with regret I tell ye I no longer have faith in our laird’s ability to make good decisions for Clan Drummond.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Fiona’s tear-streaked face, then turned back to the crowd and raised his sword again. “I therefore claim the rights and responsibilities of lairdship of this clan.”

  Jamie stood and spoke into the ensuing silence. “Shaw Drummond has my support.”

  “And mine,” another elder declared, then another.

  Curiously, the crowd remained subdued, until Fiona shouted, “And mine.”

  Then the cheering began.

  Negotiations

  As the people of Drummond filed out of the hall, Fiona watched her father storm out, Jamie hard on his heels. Regret welled, but her loyalty was to Shaw as the new laird. “I’ll speak to him,” she told her brother.

  “Ye ken ’tis the right thing,” he replied with a nod. “I thank ye for yer support. Clearly, it made a difference to the clan’s acceptance.”

  It felt good to take him into her embrace. It had been too long. “Aye, so ye’d best do a good job as chieftain.”

  He rubbed her back. “Perhaps I’ll appoint ye as my tanist.”

  “I’m confidant I’m equal to such a task,” she replied. “But I doot the clan will accept that. Besides, Uncle Jamie should be yer second.” She pulled away and winked. “I kent there was more to it than fishing.”

  “I have to appease the uninvited guests outside the gates,” Shaw replied, his expression grim. “Ye must convince Da or there’ll be naught I can do to prevent his arrest.”

  She left the hall quickly, suspecting Brodie would take refuge in his solar to fuel his anger with whisky.

  She found him there, flask in hand, berating Jamie.

  He glowered when he saw her. “And here comes another Judas,” he hissed.

  She’d obeyed her father all her life, but the time had come to defy him. Jaw clenched, she strode over and yanked the flask out of his hand, passing it to Jamie. Her uncle read the silent message in her glare and left.

  “What the fyke,” Brodie exclaimed.

  Fiona glared. “What the fyke, indeed,” she parroted. “Have ye lost yer wits entirely? Do ye want to languish in Edinburgh Castle awaiting execution for defying a king?”

  “I…”

  She poked him in the chest. “Do ye even ken ye’ve broken yer son’s heart? Do ye suppose he wanted to depose ye? Have ye ever kent him to be anything other than a loyal son?”

  He gaped at her as if she’d spoken in Greek. She panted, the truth robbing her of breath. She and her sire had failed to realize their hasty hate-filled actions in Stirling had nigh on destroyed Shaw and lost them their castle. It was easy to understand how seemingly small disagreements could explode into full-blown conflicts.

  Brodie slumped into his favorite chair. “He wants to wed the lass.”

  She gulped air. It wasn’t a question. Her father had realized the truth of the matter at last.

  *

  Shaw rode out to the meadow and sought the dragoon he’d parlayed with earlier. The dozen or so pitched tents indicated Major Marcus Merryweather didn’t intend to withdraw without being assured Clan Drummond mean
t to honor the king’s wishes.

  He dismounted and proffered his hand, encouraged when the soldier accepted the gesture. “I’m now officially laird of the clan,” he explained. “My father has agreed to the betrothal. He has yielded to the king’s demands and I will wed Lady Caitlin Blair.”

  Merryweather tapped a riding crop against his thigh. “And how do I know what you say is true?”

  Shaw bristled. Had the mon no notion of the value of a Highland chieftain’s word? “Ye’ll have the proof when Caitlin and I are wed in a few weeks.”

  He smiled inwardly, his body warming at the pleasing prospect.

  “I’d be deemed derelict in my duty if you reinforced your defenses in the meantime,” Merryweather replied.

  Shifting his weight, Shaw struggled to hold on to his temper. The major would likely face court-martial if the wedding didn’t take place and Brodie Drummond escaped punishment. “Ye are welcome to sup with us in the hall this evening and ye’ll see all is well.”

  He’d lock his father in his solar to save him from his own folly, if that’s what it took. Anything to secure his bride and Drummond Castle.

  “Agreed,” Merryweather declared. “On the morrow, we’ll ride to Ardblair and reunite you and the lady.”

  *

  “Satisfied now ye’ve seen I am indeed the new laird?” Rory asked Captain Gaskell as they left Ardblair’s Great Hall together.

  “For the moment. Your father is forbidden to leave this castle. On the morrow, you’ll accompany us to Drummond so I can meet the betrothed couple.”

  Rory bristled. He had no choice but to extend his hospitality. “Ye’ll stay as my guest for the evening meal, then?”

  The captain tweaked his absurdly long handlebar mustache. “Yes. I’ll return after seeing to the welfare of my men. Don’t trouble yourself. Our camp cook will provide them with victuals.”

  Rory watched him go. “Aye, ye’ll dine well while yer men eat army slop.”