The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel

by Maeve Greyson

  “There is that,” her father admitted in a weak murmur, his worried gaze dropping to the floor. “But I hope we dinna run out of tonics,” he added.

  “Ye havena heard the worst of it,” Calum continued. His voice rang with excitement, so much so that Catriona expected the fool to hop in place at any moment like a schoolboy tattling tales. “The men she took in are allies of the MacDonalds of Glencoe. Are they not, Duff?” Calum waited for Duff’s dutiful nod of his shaggy head before continuing. “And remember we heard old MacIain was late in taking his oath of allegiance to King William. Ye ken what Lord Stair said could happen to clans who didna take the oath.”

  “Severe reprisals,” the Neal said in a hypnotic whisper, his bloodshot eyes widening as he stared unblinking at the fire crackling in the hearth. “And Stair has the ear of the Court.”

  How could her father know so much about such things? The man stayed drunk and never emerged from his private rooms anymore, much to the relief of all in the keep. She couldna remember the last time he’d taken a meal in the hall. It had to be the elders’ weekly visits to his chambers. They must be keeping him apprised.

  I shall speak to them about such. It must stop.

  Catriona patted a reassuring hand to her father’s shoulder. “None of the men we took in have claimed fealty to Clan MacDonald of Glencoe. I’m sure there’s no' a thing to worry after since Calum took Clan Neal’s oath in your stead last October before the weather grew so fierce. King William kens well enough where our clan’s allegiances lie.” She shot a glare at Calum, willing her twin to shut his maw and stop worrying their father with such. The man would drink himself into his grave if he feared a reprisal from the king—any king, be it James or William. Her father’s only true loyalty was to his drink. It pained Catriona to admit that her father was a fool, but she’d rather have him alive and the manageable chieftain of Clan Neal than Calum. Better the devil ye know than the devil ye don’t. Problem was, she knew the devil that was Calum all too well.

  “Ye have given her too much power,” Calum said with a jabbing motion toward Catriona. His eyes glittered with malicious intent. “The clan thinks she speaks for yourself. They’ve no way of telling if they’re following your commands or carrying out Catriona’s whims.”

  “Perhaps the men should go,” the Neal mumbled as he took his head in his hands and scrubbed at his temples with the tips of his thick, yellowed fingernails. He looked up at Catriona, confusion and worry fighting for supremacy in his eyes. “Daughter? Should they no' be put out to spare our own?”

  “Nay,” Catriona said without hesitation, placing herself between her father and her brother. She bent and placed a hand atop the arms of the chair and came nose to nose with her father. “If we deny them shelter now, 'twould be the same as committing murder. Do ye wish to bear such a stain on your soul when ye reach the gates of everlasting?” She knew this angle would win the argument. Her father had come to fear the wrath of Almighty God above all else—especially since he’d committed so many grievous acts during his lifetime and now tried to forget them with the deadly sin of gluttony, drowning his memories with the fermented fruits of the field or the vine.

  “Orlie!” Her father shifted in his chair with a frantic jerking movement, glancing about the room until his focus settled on his personal servant. “I must dress and go to chapel. There is much to pray and ponder.”

  Orlie set aside the soiled bedclothes he’d stripped from the bed, gave Catriona’s father a bobbing nod, then kept his gaze locked on the floor as he shuffled about the room gathering the items his chieftain needed.

  Catriona knew her father might have good intentions, but he’d never make it down the steps much less past the great hall and its well-stocked cabinet of port and whisky displayed behind the chieftain’s table. Catriona peered at him closer and the realization hit her. He seemed a great deal weaker this morning. Last night’s emptying of bottles appeared to have been harder on him than usual. The thought pushed aside, she turned to Calum as she headed toward the door. “A word, brother?”

  Surprisingly, Calum followed her without protest, even instructing Hew to close the door after they’d all entered the adjoining room that was the chieftain’s solar. He took a stance in front of the small hearth and Duff and Hew resumed their posts on either side of him like well-trained dogs. Their brainless brawny bulk made up for Calum’s tall, thin lankiness. The two men had followed Calum’s every step even as children, comprising a most efficient bullying force more than happy to bring Calum’s cruel ideas to fruition. As lads, the three had terrorized the younger children of the keep. As men, if given the opportunity, Catriona knew in her heart of hearts they’d torture and terrorize the entire clan.

  Catriona also remained standing. She’d be damned if she’d sit and feed into Calum’s illusion he was above everyone else and had the right to look down his bulbous nose at them all. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Calum had the audacity to shush her and held up a hand.

  “Before ye say whatever it is ye plan to say, I ask that ye allow me to speak my heart.”

  Instinct and experience sent a rush of adrenaline through her, tensing Catriona for whatever her brother was about to say or do. She strained to hold her tongue and refrain from any rash statements that might compromise her or the clan. She clasped her hands in front of her middle and gave him a nod. “Speak.”

  Calum gave her a half-hearted bow and a belittling nod. Wickedness glowed in his gaze like a poorly banked fire. “I feel I must apologize for our little mishap the other night.”

  “Mishap?” Catriona sidled toward the door leading out to the hall, not stopping until she’d reached the pillow-strewn settee angled in front of it. She didn’t trust Calum as far as she could throw him and wasn’t about to let herself get cornered with no escape. “I dare say striking me was no’ a mishap.” She rounded the settee and stood behind it, keeping it between herself and Calum. She folded her hands atop the cool satiny cushion of the lounging chair’s curved back. “Ye meant to hit me. Ye know damn well that ye did, Calum.”

  “I daren’t deny I was determined to deal the blow, but it truly was a mishap, sister.” Calum cast a sly look first to Duff and then to Hew. “The hall was dark and ye most certainly startled me whilst I was attempting to punish that unruly maid. I didna ken it was yourself I’d hit until I had struck the blow. Your weariness from tending to those men along with all your other responsibilities has skewed your memory to be sure.”

  “We could fertilize the garden with those words, brother.” Catriona gripped the cushioned back of the chair tighter, digging her nails into the braided binding tacked to the wooden frame. “Think me a fool?”

  Calum’s eyes narrowed. His ruddy face darkened to an even redder shade and his hands closed into fists. “I’ve given ye an apology. Behave like the lady ye’re supposed to be and accept it, aye?”

  Why was it so important to him for her to accept his apology? Calum had no conscience. Never had. Never would. Duff and Hew seemed filled with unusual interest in the conversation, too. “I’ll accept your apology if ye’ll agree to leaving our sire alone about our guests. I’ll no' have ye worrying him, ye ken?” The longer she kept her father alive and well, the longer she could shield her clan from Calum.

  “Your guests were there, Catriona. They fought at Clan MacDonald’s side. Against men loyal to King William.” Calum took a step forward, hands now relaxed and clasped in front of his middle as though he watched a baited trap with evil anticipation.

  Catriona swallowed hard. The implications of what Calum suggested raced through her mind. The repercussions of giving aid to traitors of the Crown could decimate their entire clan. But Calum’s smug, victorious look gave her pause. He knew how she felt about their clan. He’d watched her toss aside dreams of a husband and children to keep her oath to their dying mother. What if he was lying? ‘Twould no’ be the first time. He wants them gone because he fears them. Their strength. Their possible alliance with me.
He fears me. That knowledge calmed her, gave her strength. As a woman with four brothers, she couldna hope to be named chieftain. But if she had enough strong allies of her own, when Calum was named Tanist and made chieftain of Clan Neal, perhaps she could protect her clan by curbing his cruel ways, just as her mother had done with their father. She lifted her chin to a defiant angle. “Perhaps they were there. But they’re no' hunted men. Ye ken as well as I that if the Laird of Glen Lyon was determined to seek and capture traitors, they wouldha already been here searching. Captain Robert Campbell wouldna risk angering the Earl of Breadalbane by allowing anyone to slip through his fingers.”

  “As ye’ve said yourself, dear sister, 'tis winter and snow is still verra deep in places—making travel much slower. But I assure ye, there are many routes still passable. Stair informed Breadalbane that he wanted Clan MacDonald rooted out. They will be here—eventually.”

  How could her brother know these things? How could he know the druthers and machinations of John Dalrymple, Minister for Scotland and Master of Stair? Catriona backed toward the outer door and took tight hold of the ornately fashioned latch. The cold hardness of the metal grounded her. “These men bear the name MacCoinnich, not MacDonald. They’ve claimed no fealty to Clan MacDonald.” At least, not the MacDonalds of Glencoe. She prayed that were true. A long conversation with Alexander was most definitely in order. “I bid ye let things be. I’m sure they’ll be gone come spring and the melting snow.”

  Calum smiled and closed the distance between them. He drew so close that Catriona retreated, opening the door and edging out into the hall. The urge to run was strong. Calum’s smile was no’ a smile of genuine happiness but an arrogant, sinister smile as though a devious plot had come to fruition.

  “Spring.” He nodded, a thoughtful look adding even more cause for her to worry as he strode around the settee and took hold of the edge of the door. He huffed out a silent laugh as he jerked the door free of her hand and swung it open wider. “Aye, I’ll leave it be 'til spring. After your wedding.”

  Catriona swallowed hard as she stepped back, blinking at the disbelief flooding her senses. Nay. I had to have misheard. “Wedding?”

  “Aye. Your wedding, dear sister.” Then Calum shoved her the rest of the way out into the hall and slammed the door shut in her face.

  Catriona barely heard her brother’s infuriating guffaws over the roaring of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

  Wedding? Grabbing the latch with both hands, Catriona knew Calum had locked the door before she even tested it. What cruelty had Calum plotted this time? The knowledge of her brother's penchant for making other’s lives miserable stoked the dread growing within her. She could only imagine what sort of man he’d found to torment her. “Open this door, Calum! I demand it!” She pounded on the door, even resorted to a hard kick, succeeding in only hurting her foot.

  Calum and his coconspirators just laughed all the harder, and the door remained locked.

  Chapter 7

  Something had extinguished the fire in her eyes and she’d gone so pale even the dusting of freckles across her nose was difficult to discern. Rather than the usual purposeful grace and bounce in her step as she went about her duties, her actions were stiff and jilted. She behaved as though her mind was troubled, trapped elsewhere in a place she couldna escape. She’d been this way for days.

  This afternoon, Alexander studied her with growing concern. She meandered between the tables in the great room. Mindless idle movements, gaze focused somewhere off in the distance while her hands worried with a bit of linen. Several times during her walk about the hall, she snatched the dainty cloth from inside her sleeve and dabbed it to the corners of her eyes after a furtive glance around to ensure no one looked her way.

  Alexander shifted on the bench beside the hearth, keeping his bandaged leg stretched out along it and the other foot on the ground as he sat at the table studying Catriona. What had caused such a change in her?

  He suspected that bastard brother of hers was responsible but she’d seemed well enough after the night Calum had struck her. She’d been the same lively Catriona he’d awakened to when his fever broke. She’d even refused to speak of the incident, brushing his concern away as though her brother’s behavior was naught more than a minor annoyance. Of course, that was when Calum had been away from the keep for most nigh a month. Catriona’s melancholy had taken hold upon his return.

  Nay. Calum had to have done something to quell her spirited nature, and Alexander was damn well inclined to find out just what that something was. When she came close enough, he reached out and touched her arm. “Catriona—lass, sit with me for a wee spell, aye?”

  Catriona caught her breath and jerked her focus to him, batting her eyes as if startled out of a deep sleep. “Beg pardon?”

  “Sit with me, lass,” he repeated in a quiet tone as though gentling a skittish filly. He swung around on the bench and faced the hearth, repositioning his injured leg with a strained grunt. He patted the spot beside him. “Sit for a while. I’m weary of my kinsmen’s complaining about being hemmed in by the Highland winter. Tell me more about Clan Neal and how your people came to be here so high upon Ben Nevis.”

  To be honest, he didna give a rat’s arse why Clan Neal had settled in such a remote part of the Highlands, at an almost inaccessible point on Scotland’s highest mountain, but 'twas all he could think of to say to convince her to sit. Something about Catriona made it hard for him to settle on words to share with her. No woman had affected him in such a way since he’d been a young lad foolish enough to think himself in love. He brushed aside that memory of so long ago. 'Twas different now. He was older. Wiser. He patted the bench again and smiled. “Come. Tarry and rest awhile. Ye deserve a wee respite after dealing with the lot of us and listening to our nattering to be on our way.”

  She paused, crumpling the linen in the hand she held fisted against her waist. The faintest of smiles flickered for a moment along the corners of Catriona’s tempting mouth then she lowered herself to the bench beside him. Rather than looking at Alexander, she stared down into the dancing fire of the hearth. “Perhaps today's journey will ease your kinsmen’s restlessness for a time since the weather’s lifted and given them a chance to be out and about.” She turned and gave him a sad, thoughtful smile. “I’m sorry ye werena well enough to join them. Ye must be as vexed as they are, what with being held prisoner by your wounds and the weather.”

  "I’m no' vexed." He did, however, possess a great yearning to brush away that reddish-bronze curl resting on the curve of her cheek, slide the silk of it between his fingers, and bring it to his lips. He pulled in a deep breath and eased it out, flexing his hands against the urge. "As I’ve said many times before, I’m thankful ye took us in, lass, took us in as though we were your own." Spurred on by her woeful demeanor, he slid his hand under hers, lifted it with a slow careful motion, and pressed a kiss to the silkiness of her knuckles. "I am grateful to ye, Catriona," he whispered, keeping her hand close and tucking it to his chest. "More grateful than ye’ll ever know."

  The way she looked—so sad, so helpless, so in need of saving. He wished he could gather her up in his arms and tell her the same thing she’d repeated over and over to him when he’d been beset with fever. He wanted to tell her she was safe now and that everything would be all right. But how could he when he had no idea what had stolen the light from her eyes nor what he could do to help her? “What troubles ye, Catriona? Pray tell me so I can make it right. Ye’ve no' been yourself for days.”

  It had been weeks since he’d fought free of the fever and awakened to Catriona’s caring smile and discovered genuine concern and kindness shining in the rich verdant green of her eyes. And he had no’ failed to notice that whilst Mrs. Aberfeldy, Mrs. Bickerstaff, and the maids took turns tending to his brothers’ healing and his kinsmen’s other minor scrapes and bruises, Catriona alone tended to him. He had to admit, he liked that. Verra much.

  Pulling her hand away with a
nervous jerk, Catriona pressed her fists together in her lap and stared down at them. “Your brothers—Magnus and your cousins—what do they hope to find today? From what I overheard of their conversation, it didna appear they were going out for a ride just to clear their heads and breathe the fresh Highland air.”

  She was changing the subject. Again. Alexander shifted on the bench, pretending to resettle his worrisome leg but in reality, scooting closer to Catriona. He craved her warmth, her scent. The past few weeks in her care had made him need her closeness like a starving man needed food and drink. He tried not to think about how much he’d miss her when he’d healed enough to move on and return to his duties as a mercenary for hire in the Highlands.

  “Where were they going? Glencoe, perhaps?” she prodded.

  “Aye.” Alexander nodded, an almost suffocating sense of doom filling him. A burning log popped and crackled in the hearth, shooting up sparks as it shifted deeper into the coals. “'Tis important that we give the Lord of the Isles an accurate account when we return.” He forced away the troubling memories of all he’d seen, all the carnage and suffering he’d witnessed during the massacre at Glencoe. They’d failed in their task. Failed Clan MacDonald and the Lord of the Isles.