Drostan, a Scottish Historical Romance, the Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle

by Gwyn Brodie

  "I'm Warden Duffy, and I've been waiting for fer ye. Fetch the scoundrels," he yelled over his shoulder.

  Escorted out by two guards, Cam and Dougal soon stood before them. Their eyes widened as they looked around the crowded room.

  Drostan wanted to run his sword through the both of them, but he wanted Marcus more. "Where's Marcus?"

  Cam snorted. "We'll never tell ye."

  "Then you'll hang for the murders of eight young women," Montrose stated matter-of-factly.

  "Nay, we'll not," Dougal insisted.

  The earl frowned. "Why makes you believe that?"

  "We didnae have a thing to do with killing any of the lasses," Cam declared. "We just did what we were told to do."

  "And just what was that?" Drostan wanted to know.

  "Why should we be telling ye anything, Mackintosh?" Cam glared at him.

  Montrose snorted. "Because, if you were to comply with our questions and if 'tis true you had naught to do with the killings, you might not swing from the end of rope beside Anderson."

  The two knaves looked at one another.

  Dougal was the first to speak. "Once he had his way with the lasses, he strangled them, then we took care of the bodies," he admitted, his head hanging.

  Cam nodded. "But he didnae 'ave his way with the Cameron lass, for after she clawed him in the face, he killed her."

  "Damn you to hell!" Robbie shouted, grabbing Cam by the throat. "You could have saved her!"

  Reluctantly, Drostan pried Robbie's hands off of the bastard, his heart aching for his brother's loss.

  "Nay," Cam sputtered while trying to catch his breath. "Marcus would have surely killed us both."

  Drostan grabbed the front of his shirt, forcing him onto his toes. "Where the hell is he?"

  Cam's eyes widened. "He's waiting for us a few miles from here."

  Drostan's glared at him. "Exactly where?"

  "At the Cock and Trumpet Tavern," Dougal offered.

  "I've heard of the place," Taran said, a broad grin on his face.

  Drostan's father scowled at his youngest son. "A place of ill repute, no less. 'Tis best you keep your distance from such establishments."

  Unfazed by his father's admonishment, Taran chuckled.

  Montrose approached Warden Duffy. "Release them into our custody. They'll be taken to Edinburgh and tried for their crimes."

  "Aye." The warden nodded to his men, and they handed Cam and Dougal over to the Privy Council guards.

  Drostan breathed a sigh of relief as ten guards escorted Marcus's cronies outside. The two would soon be on their way to Edinburgh, and he prayed he would never lay eyes on either of them again.

  Chapter Twenty

  The boisterous laughter and spirited music coming from the Cock and Trumpet reached Drostan's ears long before the establishment came into view. Judging by the number of horses and carriages outside, the place was overflowing.

  "Halt," Montrose said softly when they reached the wood's edge.

  Drostan brought Eachann alongside the earl's horse. "If we storm the place, we risk losing Marcus in the mayhem that will surely ensue."

  "Aye. I agree. What do you suggest? I counted at least fifteen guards patrolling the grounds."

  "Allow my brothers and myself to enter alone as if seeking female companionship. Once inside, we'll search until we find which room he's occupying."

  "Drostan, are you certain about this?" His father's brow was furrowed with worry.

  "'Tis the only way we can get inside without a fight. We cannae allow that murderer to escape and kill again."

  His father exhaled loudly. "Very well then, but make certain you watch one another's backs."

  Drostan grinned. "We always do, Da."

  Montrose smiled. '"Tis a fine idea, Drostan. I'll have my guards surround the place, and once you're inside, we'll capture the tavern guards."

  "Aye." Drostan nodded to his brothers, and the four fell in line behind him as he rode down to the Cock and Trumpet and dismounted. He grinned at the man guarding the entrance, then retrieved several coins from his sporran and dropped them into his outstretched hand.

  The door opened, and the five went inside. The smell of perfume was nigh overpowering, as women of differing ages strolled about in varying stages of undress.

  "Saints above!" Taran's gaze was fastened on a scantily-clad, dark-haired lass with big round eyes.

  Ailig chuckled. "I'm afraid, wee brother, that this place has naught to do with the saints."

  "Come on." Drostan headed up the stairs, his hand on the hilt of his broadsword. "If Cam and Dougal were telling the truth, he's in here somewhere. Pair up and search every room. And be careful; you ken what the bastard is capable of."

  After searching for more than half an hour, and seeing a few things he wished he had not, Drostan heard a woman cry out, followed by a familiar male voice chastising her. Marcus! He stopped in front of several doors and listened before finding the right one. Then he quietly unsheathed his broadsword and kicked the door open.

  Marcus grabbed his sword and glared at Drostan. Thankfully, he had found him in time, for he had been about to leave as he was fully dressed, except for his doublet, which hung on the back of a chair in the corner.

  "You might be a fine swordsman, but I'm a better one," Marcus sneered.

  "That remains to be seen. Get yourself out of here, lass," Drostan told the frightened young woman crouching in the corner, whose right eye had swollen shut and was now turning blue.

  She grabbed up her clothes and raced from the room.

  Drostan shook his head. "How someone who calls himself a man could treat women as you do is beyond me."

  Marcus grinned, evil seeping from his every pore. With his weapon raised high, he took a step toward Drostan. "You'll never take me alone, Mackintosh."

  "What about five Mackintoshes?" Ailig said from the corridor behind Drostan.

  'Twas Drostan's turn to grin. Seeing the sudden panic in Marcus's eyes pleased him immensely. "You cannae defeat us all. As much as I'd like to run you through for what you did to Isobel and the innocent young women you murdered, put down your weapon, and I'll turn you over to the Privy Council."

  Marcus snorted. "I've but one wish and that's to see you dead."

  "Mine is for you to swing from the end of a rope."

  His face twisted with rage, Marcus charged Drostan, bringing his blade down hard.

  Drostan blocked the blow with his broadsword, then went on the attack, using all his fighting skills to keep Marcus on the defense. Then he feigned to the right, drawing his blade across Marcus's sword arm.

  Marcus yelped in pain as his broadsword fell from his hand. He cradled his injury. "Finish it now, Mackintosh."

  Drostan raised a brow. "Doing so would please me immensely, but I gave the earl my word."

  Without warning, Robbie was beside Drostan, the tip of his blade pressed against Marcus's chest. The sheer hate in his brother's eyes as he glared at the man who had murdered his future wife was nothing short of astonishing.

  Drostan knew that if he did not intervene, Robbie would kill Marcus—and Drostan did not blame him in the least. "Robbie, you dinnae wish to kill an unarmed man, even though the bastard deserves no less."

  "My Mary was unarmed," he stated matter-of-factly, his gaze never leaving the man before him.

  Drostan nodded. "Aye, she was, but Mary kenned what an honorable man you are, brother, and would have been the first one to tell you to back down. Killing him will not bring her—nor any of those young women—back. But justice will be served when the whoreson takes his last breath hanging from the gallows."

  Robbie sneered. "And I assure you, Marcus, I'll be there to see it." He reluctantly sheathed his weapon and left the room.

  Marcus tried to dart past Drostan, but Morgan, Ailig, and Taran were blocking the door. He suddenly smiled. "My father is an earl and a man of great wealth. He'll see that I dinnae spend a day in prison."

  With Drosta
n grasping one arm and Ailig the other, they made their way down the stairs and outside, where Robbie, his father, and the earl waited. In the meantime, the Cock and Trumpet's guards had been rounded up and disarmed.

  The Privy Council guards took possession of Marcus and led him away.

  Montrose smiled. "Good work, lads." He mounted and rode off with the rest of the council.

  Drostan swung onto Eachann's back, eager to set eyes on Isobel. He could not wait to hold his beautiful wife in his arms and make love to her. He headed toward Inverness, his body already humming with desire.

  NIGHTFALL WAS FAST approaching when Isobel heard a knock at the bedchamber door.

  "Aye?"

  "'Tis I," Drostan said from the corridor.

  She raced across the room, unbarred the door, and jumped into his outstretched arms.

  He kicked the door closed. "'Tis not every day a man receives such a greeting." His gaze dropped to her chest. The oversized shift had slid down her arms, leaving little hidden beneath. "You look as tasty as a strawberry tart," he said hoarsely, pressing his lips against the deep valley between her breasts.

  She groaned, reveling in the physical craving that only he could rouse and that only he could appease. Then her gaze fell on his blood-stained shirt. "Are you injured?" Her breath froze in her chest as fear grabbed her.

  "Dinnae fash. 'Tis not my blood, but Marcus's." He set her on her feet, pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it in the corner.

  "Is-is-is he dead?" She had never wished anyone dead, but Marcus deserved no less.

  "Nay. His arm was but injured during a fight."

  "Was it you he was fighting?" Her stomach clenched at the thought that Marcus might have taken Drostan from her and his child.

  "Aye, but as you can see, he never laid a finger on me. He's in the custody of the Privy Council and on his way to Edinburgh to stand trial for the evil he's done."

  "That, I'm glad to hear." She ran her hands over his bare chest, amazed as always at the rock-hard muscles of his body.

  He slipped her arms from the shift, leaving it to pool on the floor around her feet, then stepped back, his wicked gaze traveling slowly over her. "Come here, lass."

  She went to him, eagerly awaiting his next move.

  He kissed her, as his sword-roughened hands traveled over her bare skin, eliciting the most delightful sensations across her skin and beyond.

  Never taking his mouth away from hers, he lifted her in his arms, carried her to the bed, and gently put her down. "I've thought of little else but having you again," he confessed. "You drive me mad with need." He discarded his boots and belted plaid onto the floor, then stretched out on the bed beside her.

  "There's something I need to tell you."

  "What is it, lass?"

  "I'm with child—our child." Saying the words aloud caused her chest to tighten and her eyes to fill with tears.

  He grinned.

  She frowned. "You dinnae appear to be very surprised by the news."

  "If you want the truth, my mother suspected you were and said as much."

  Her eyes widened. "How did she ken?"

  "That's what I asked her. She told me that after carrying seven bairns of her own, the signs were clear." He gently placed his hand on her still-flat stomach, and she covered it with her own.

  "I should have told you earlier, but I wasnae yet certain."

  "I understand your disappointment at not being the one to tell me the good news, but with the situation you were in, Ma thought it best I was made aware of your condition."

  She smiled. "Of course." Maggie only had her well-being in mind.

  Drostan brushed his knuckles across her bare breast, and she shivered.

  As he moved his body over hers, Isobel drew his head down and kissed him, knowing she was never happier than when she was in the arms of the man she loved more than life itself.

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Drostan woke to the sound of rain steadily tapping against the pane of the half-open window. Careful not to wake Isobel, he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her back against his chest, tugging the covers over them.

  Thanks be to God, Isobel was safe, and their bairn would arrive in a few months. His chest tightened. No man deserved to feel such happiness, but yet he did. If someone had told him months ago that he would wed Isobel, the wee spirited wildcat she was, he would have laughed in their face. But she had captured his heart, and he would not have had it any other way.

  Epilogue

  April 1611

  In her bedchamber at Willowbrae Castle, Isobel pushed herself up from the window-seat and wrapped her arms around her enlarged abdomen, then slowly waddled across the room. Though Drostan was always telling her she was beautiful, she was confident she looked akin to an oversized hen egg.

  She smoothed out the skirts of the rose-colored gown. The dressmaker in the village had created for her to wear to Catherine and Ian's wedding, which was to take place that very day. Even with Glena's help and that of her mother and two ladies' maids, it had taken some time for her to get dressed as it grew harder each day for her to move about comfortably.

  Drostan opened the door and entered the room, a broad grin on his handsome face. "A more lovely lass I've never seen."

  She rolled her eyes at the honeyed words dripping from his tongue. "I didnae realize Highlanders were such good liars," she said dryly.

  He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "'Tis the truth I speak, Isobel. Your cheeks are as rosy as the gown you're wearing." He placed his hands on her belly. "I cannae wait until the wee bairn arrives."

  "I, as well." The thought of holding in her arms the physical manifestation of the love they shared brought tears to her eyes.

  He let go of her. "We should be leaving for the kirk, or else we'll miss the wedding."

  "Saints above! Then, by all means, let's go."

  After a slow descent of the stairs, Drostan swept her up into his arms and carried her outside.

  "I can walk," she reluctantly said. "'Tis but a short distance from here to the kirk."

  "Aye, but if you would allow me the honor, lass, I'd like naught more than to carry you there."

  She smiled. If it had been possible for her to love Drostan more than she already did, now would have been that time. "Much thanks, kind sir."

  Chuckling, he kissed the top of her head.

  She leaned against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath her cheek as they made their way to the kirk. Never was she happier than when she was in his arms.

  Drostan set her on her feet outside the door, then escorted her inside.

  Willowbrae's tiny chapel overflowed with greenery, and an array of flowers of varying hues filled every nook and cranny. She took a deep breath, delighting in their sweet scent, before taking a seat on the bench between her mother and Maggie. Her father and the laird sat behind them. Earie and Cait, sitting with a group of children a few rows ahead, turned around and waved.

  Drostan bent down and whispered, "Ian appears ready to empty the contents of his stomach."

  And he was right. The poor man was as pale as a summer cloud.

  Drostan left the chapel, as he was to be the bride's escort.

  Maggie patted Isobel's hand. "How are you doing, my dear?"

  "Quite well, I suppose, for someone who looks near to bursting."

  Her mother-in-law chuckled. "I remember the feeling well. But 'twill soon be over."

  With her eyes shimmering with tears, Isobel's mother squeezed her hand. "I cannae believe my bairn will soon have a bairn of her own."

  Isobel hugged her mother and kissed her cheek.

  "Issie, are you well, lass?" Her father's voice was edged with concern.

  "Dinna fash, Da. I'm fine."

  "Good." He gently patted her shoulder.

  "Catherine and Drostan have arrived," Maggie announced to those around her.

  Isobel smiled up at Catherine, who looked lovely in a blue gown, with a garland
of bluebells fastened atop her head of dark hair, and Drostan, as they passed by on their way to the altar, where he handed Catherine over to Ian. He looked at Isobel and winked, before taking a seat alongside his brothers, as the five had promised Ian they would delay the crowd so as he and his new bride could reach their nearby newly-constructed cottage. The ancient tradition of guests forcing their way into the bedchamber of the newlyweds to witness the consummation of the marriage appalled Isobel. Thankfully, she and Drostan had not been obliged to face such an encounter as they had made their vows under much different circumstances.

  The hard, wooden bench was most uncomfortable, and she could find no position that did not cause her back to ache. Determined to focus on the vows being spoken, she was taken aback by the pain radiating along the bottom of her belly. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead. Blasted bench! The way she felt, Drostan would be carrying her on their return trip to the castle as well.

  By the time the ceremony ended, Isobel was unsure if she could rise to her feet. She looked for Drostan, then remembered him hurrying out of the chapel alongside his brothers. Her mother and father, along with Laird and Lady Mackintosh, were already on their feet.

  "Da?"

  "Aye, Issie?"

  "I'm afraid I cannae get up." Another, harder pain struck her, and she doubled over, clenching her teeth until it passed. Then her water broke.

  "The bairn's coming!" her mother shouted, as her father and the laird helped Isobel to stand.

  "Calm down, Agnus," Maggie said softly. "The first thing we have to do is get Isobel back to the castle and up to her bedchamber. James, fetch Drostan as quick as you can. Glena, have the midwife meet us there."

  "Aye, m' lady." Glena hurried away.

  Maggie smiled. "Isobel, are the pains close together or far apart?"

  "The last two were much closer." She clenched her teeth against another pain.

  "We still have a bit of time then," her mother-in-law declared, easing Isobel's fear she was going to be forced to deliver her bairn inside the kirk.