The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel

by Maeve Greyson

  He reached for his tankard of ale and drained it. Rolling the metal cup between his hands, he stole a glance over at Catriona. The mere sight of her soothed him faster than a sip of fine whisky. The way the glow of the fire lit up her face. The graceful curve of her throat. Alexander wet his lips. How silky would her skin feel? How delicious would she taste? He shifted again and tugged at the folds of his kilt, verra much aware of the effect she had on him but not wishing to share it. 'Twas no' the time. No’ when she was troubled so.

  “The MacDonald, the Lord of the Isles hired ye and your men to fight against the king? Kill his men?”

  The question hit him like a slap in the face. He’d already told her as much as a woman should hear about the battle. Mayhap more than she needed to know. She’d seemed relieved when he’d told her they’d no' sworn fealty to the MacDonalds of Glencoe. He knew what she thought, and he felt he couldna blame her for her suspicions. She thought him and his men to be traitors. Jacobites. And depending on the pay, sometimes they were—but he didna share that information with her. Catriona feared for the safety of her clan and he understood that. He chose his next words with care.

  “Aye, the MacDonald of Islay hired us. 'Tis true.” He watched the emotions flashing in her eyes, trying his best to read them. “He hired us to watch over his kin in Glen Coe. Informants advised us about the lawlessness of his cousins and in particular, their feuding with Clan Campbell, but no rumors ever mentioned an uprising against the king.” He took Catriona’s hand again and held it between both of his. “Never would I bring the king’s wrath down upon your clan. I swear it.”

  Firelight flickered in her green-eyed gaze as she looked at him, searching his face as though he held all the answers she needed and so much more. What he wouldna give to pull her close and reassure her, to hold her in his arms until she believed the truth of all he told her. He could tell she hungered for such. He saw it in the way she held herself, her unconscious leaning toward him. The heart-wrenching need for comforting shone in her eyes. This rare woman had touched something deep within him, touched him with her attentiveness to his healing and the way she’d ne’er left his side whilst he was ailing. He’d ne’er received such caring before. Not even long ago when he’d thought himself in love. What he wouldna give to wipe away the sorrow weighing so heavy upon her and take care of whatever troubled her. A realization hit him. She hadn’t reacted or responded to anything he'd just said. “Do ye believe me, lass?”

  “Aye,” she said in a subdued tone. With an awkward gentle pull, she removed her hand from his grasp and tucked it back in her lap. She sniffed and swiped her fingers across her eyes as she turned away with a quick shifting on the bench.

  “Catriona?” He took hold of her shoulders and made her face him. “Ye must tell me what else troubles ye. Tell me. I swear I’ll slay those demons.”

  Before she could speak, the large double doors leading outside to the bailey blew open and Duncan, Sutherland, Magnus, Alasdair, and Ian strode inside, stomping snow and ice from their boots and shedding their fur cloaks. Graham rose from a bench close to the hearth at the far end of the room and hurried to join them.

  “Ye best see to them,” Catriona said as she handed him the cumbersome crutch his injured leg demanded he use. “I’ll leave ye to your men. I’m sure the lot of ye wish to speak in private.”

  Perhaps that was the way to ease her worries. Maybe if she learned that the skirmish they’d almost not survived wasna some ill-fated rising against the Crown, maybe then she’d return to the lively, full of fire Catriona he’d first met and wished verra much to know better. He caught her by the arm and pulled her back with a gentle tug. “Join me and hear what they have to say. I’ve nothing to hide from ye.”

  She studied him for a long moment then agreed with a graceful nod. “Verra well. If that’s what ye wish.”

  “Aye, I wish it.”

  Alexander gimped his way toward his men, noting as he walked how Catriona curbed her steps to match his slow, hitching gait.

  “Stay there, brother,” Duncan called out to him as the men finished peeling away the extra clothing they’d worn to protect them from the weather. “Hearth, food, and whisky aplenty. I speak for us all when I say we seek all three after this day's journey.”

  With a subtle lift of one hand, Catriona flagged down a maidservant. “Food and whisky for the men, Maggie, and be quick about it, aye?”

  “Yes, mistress.” The young girl gave a polite bobbing hop then darted off toward the kitchens.

  The men all settled at one long table. Alexander lowered himself to the end of the bench and propped his crutch against it. Catriona stood beside him, glancing at the full benches overflowing with the seven brawny men. The poor lass was uncertain where to go or what to do.

  “Sutherland.” Alexander thumped his knuckles on the table. “Fetch the lady a seat, aye?”

  His youngest brother paused, arching a dark brow in a dubious are ye certain, brother look.

  “A seat. For the lady. Now,” Alexander repeated in a tone that left no doubt.

  Sutherland hurried to pull a nearby, much shorter bench closer. He angled it to the end of the table beside Alexander. “M’lady?” With a polite smile, he held out his hand and helped Catriona maneuver her skirts between the table and bench.

  “I thank ye.” Catriona folded her hands atop the table. She sat ramrod straight and stiff as though she sat at her own inquisition and fully expected to receive a sentence of hanging by the neck 'til dead.

  “What did ye find?” Alexander dove straight in. It had pained him with a deep burning regret to have to stay behind. He longed to see for himself the whereabouts of any survivors and what might be left for them to return to in the glen. The grim looks around the table knotted the already choking sense of failure tightening in his gullet. He and his men were good at what they did, the best, in fact, according to many who had hired them. But this time they’d failed, and the failure left a taste in his mouth as bitter as a bite of rotted haggis. “Well? Speak. I’ll hear all of it.”

  “Gone.” His cousin Alasdair finally spoke. “Burnt to the ground. The keep and every MacDonald croft in the glen cursed enough to be found by Argyll’s regiment.”

  “I couldna even bury my Janet.” Ian, Alasdair’s younger brother, spoke in a tone filled with despair. “Nothing but ashes where I left her. Nothing.” Janet had died in Ian’s arms, her throat slit by a Campbell. “I set her a cairn with some of the keep’s stones. I’ll pray there whene’er I pass it.”

  Alexander scrubbed a hand across his face. The memory of Ian's loss on that godforsaken day fed into his nightmares. Raw and cutting it was. Still verra much real. His cousin's grief-stricken keening had ripped through all their souls with a heart-wrenching slash. Alasdair had stood guard over Ian that day, shooting any who dared interrupt his brother’s grieving over his wife’s lifeless body.

  “I take it ye didna find any survivors at all, else ye wouldha brought them back here with ye?” Alexander spoke in a hushed tone, forcing the words out and dreading to hear the answer. Somehow, the recent dead and their troubled spirits filled the hall, clamoring to make their injustices heard.

  “No survivors that we could find unless they’re already sheltered somewhere else and no' giving away their location,” Duncan said then took a deep draw from the short, squat round-bellied glass of amber liquid in front of him. “Those we did find had frozen to death.” He stared down at the table, his face devoid of emotion. “We couldna bury them, what with the frozen ground, and the stones locked with ice. But we placed them together, the women, their wee bairns alongside them…” he paused and swallowed hard, bowing his head and closing his eyes, struggling to continue. “We covered them best we could and prayed over them,” he finally forced out then drained his glass and poured himself another.

  “May God have mercy on their souls,” Catriona whispered. Tears flowed down her pale cheeks as she crossed herself and bowed her head.

  "A
ye," Alexander said. "A curse on Captain Robert Campbell." He fisted a hand on the table, clenching his fingers so tight every knuckle popped. What he wouldna give to have grasped Campbell's throat with just such a hold. "A curse on every Campbell born after him now and forevermore."

  Catriona hitched in a startled breath. “Ye believe this to be the feud?”

  “Nay. 'Twas made to look like a feud, m’lady,” Magnus replied. “I was at Fort Smith on that fateful day and I returned there to search for any news of the attack. 'Tis rumored the Earl of Stair, John Dalrymple ordered the massacre, acting on behalf of King William.”

  “But ye can bet coin that Campbell and his men were more than glad enough to take part in it,” Alexander interjected. “I’m certain the honorable Laird of Glen Lyon has already claimed MacDonald lands to pay off some of his debts. He left his colors flying there, did he not?”

  Alexander had met Robert Campbell once. The man was a drunkard and a gambler, and an arrogant fool at that. Supposedly, he’d lost all his lands on ill-placed betting and was desperate to find a means of supporting his wife and seven children. What better way to support them than by stealing the lands of a rival clan under cover of king’s orders?

  “Aye,” Duncan said. “Campbell colors were there.” He took a long drink then thumped his tankard back to the table. “A curse on Robert Campbell and all his kin.”

  “Excuse me,” Catriona said in a strained tone as she rose with an abrupt shuffling of her skirts and hurried to sidle her way out from between the bench and the table. “'Tis late and I’m verra weary.” Her pallor had grown even more wan, and she looked as though she might retch at any minute. “Good evenin' to ye all.” Without another word, she turned, caught up the folds of her heavy wool dress and nearly ran to the staircase.

  “I knew we should nay have spoken in front of the lady,” Sutherland said as he shot an accusing glance at Alexander. “Where’s your sensitivities, man?”

  Alexander ignored his brother, hefted himself up from the bench, and tucked his awkward crutch in place. Mind made up, he hobbled his way after Catriona. The stubborn woman would tell him her troubles if he had to stand outside her chamber door and beat on it with his crutch the rest of the night.

  Chapter 8

  He lost momentum when he reached the stairs. Damn leg. Blasted clumsy crutch. He gripped the crude staff in one hand and studied the situation. 'Twas but one thing to do. He propped his free hand against the whitewashed wall of the stairwell. With a hopping lurch, he conquered the stone steps with his good limb while his wounded appendage dragged along beside it. A chamber door slammed above him. He hoped like hell it was on the second level of the keep and not somewhere higher.

  Pausing a moment to catch his breath, he picked up on the sound of scurrying footfalls growing louder, getting closer. Thank the saints. She’s coming back. He hitched his way snug against the wall and waited. Disappointment flooded his senses when Mrs. Aberfeldy careened into view.

  The aging housekeeper caught her hand to her throat as she rounded the turn in the stair. “Master MacCoinnich! Ye gave me quite the fright.” She scowled at him and pointed at his bad leg. “Ye’ve no business on these steep stairs! What with the way they wind and the narrowness of their rise, they’ll do ye in for certain. What do ye seek? I’ll fetch it for ye.”

  “Catriona.”

  'Twas best to be blunt under such dire circumstances. Alexander steadied himself on one step while propping his crutch on the tread above it. “Show me where she went or bring her here. I dinna care which ye choose but I will see her. Now.”

  Mrs. Aberfeldy studied him for a long moment. Her lips twitched, then clamped down into a stern line as her thin gray brows knotted into a fierce furrow in her brow. "'Twould be best if ye left her be, ye ken?" She sidled her way to the middle of the step on which she was standing, widened her stance, and folded her arms across her ample bosom. "Now hie thee back down to the hall and I’ll fetch ye a bottle of the Neal’s finest whiskey."

  Alexander snorted out a laugh. The old woman might be stubborn but she didna realize she’d met her match. Mother had always claimed him to be the most strong-willed of the litter. “Have the kindness and good sense to move, Mrs. Aberfeldy, or I’ll be moving ye m’self.”

  “Pshaw!” Mrs. Aberfeldy made an up and down sweeping motion with one finger. “Ye’re in no condition to make such threats. Now, off wi' ye. I’ll no' have the likes of ye bothering Catriona. She’s enough burdens to bear.”

  The best weapon is surprise. He took in a deep breath, held it, then grabbed hold of Mrs. Aberfeldy’s rounded shoulders and planted a hard kiss across her mouth. With a huffing grunt of determination, he set her to one side and shoved past her. 'Twas unfortunate he lost his crutch in the battle. It clattered all the way to the base of the stairwell, bouncing off each step with nerve-rattling accuracy. Alexander didn’t allow such a minor setback stop him, especially while the dumbstruck housekeeper was no longer a threat. He continued hopping up the stairs whilst bracing himself against the walls.

  Mrs. Aberfeldy called after him as he reached the head of the stair. “All the way to end of the hall. The verra last door. But I promise, she’ll no' give ye entry.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Alexander huffed as he hopped to the right side of the hallway and planted a hand against the rough, chiseled coolness of the stone wall. As long as he could use the surface as a crutch, he’d do just fine, in fact, he gained momentum as he adapted an odd swinging hop down the passage. When he at last reached the arched portal at the end of the corridor, he snorted in a deep breath, then rapped his knuckles on the heavy oaken barrier.

  Silence met his knock.

  “Catriona! I beg ye let me in.” He banged on the door, hitting it with enough force to rattle the iron hardware bolted across the boards. Another bang of his fist set the latches and hinges to clamoring louder. Still no answer.

  “Verra well. Prepare yourself because ye leave me no choice.” He grabbed hold of the handle and yanked so hard that the door banged open against the opposite wall then bounced back and thumped him, almost knocking him off balance.

  “Sons a bitches!”

  Another winding staircase rose in front of him. This one a great deal more narrow and steeper since it wound inside the center of a tower comprising the corner of the keep.

  “Stubbornness is one of me strongest traits, ye ken?” He glared down at the steps, daring them to challenge him. With a hand propped against each of the walls, he hopped until he reached the top of the staircase where it opened out into a small landing and another closed door. He paused a moment, sagged against the wall beside the portal, and swiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead.

  Holy Mother of God, I’m fair winded. His stamina had lessened a great deal while his wounds healed. Not moving from the wall, he banged on the door with his fist. “Catriona! 'Tis Alexander. Let me in.”

  Silence.

  His ragged breathing echoed through the space. Alexander took hold of the door latch and pulled. Relief washed across him. “Praise the saints. No more stairs.”

  He’d come to a small circular room at the top of the turret. A welcoming fire crackled in the brazier in the center of the whitewashed chamber lined with benches and pegs filled with cloaks and plaids. It was also empty. The urge to curse surged through him. “If that old…”

  The outer door on the opposite wall of the chamber opened inward. He forgot to finish his irritated rant as a hooded and cloaked Catriona pushed inside, failing to notice him standing in the doorway as the hood of her cloak blocked her view. She hurried to a bench piled with several pairs of gloves and sorted through them until she found a pair that suited her. As she slid them on, she straightened and turned to go back the way she'd came, facing Alexander with the movement.

  “Holy Mary Mother of God!” Eyes flared wide, she stumbled to the side a few steps, both hands pressed to her chest. “Be ye trying to give me a fright that sends me to me grave?
”

  Alexander didn’t reply, just hitched his way through the door and closed it with a firm thud behind him. He decided 'twould be more than prudent to block the doorway to the stair. With a determined thud, he settled himself back against the door. “No. I apologize for startling ye.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But we’re no' leaving this room until ye tell me what troubles have snuffed the light out of your eyes.”

  With a frustrated huffing that sounded a great deal like the hiss of a kitten, Catriona yanked off her gloves and tossed them back down on the bench before she removed her cloak and placed it on a peg beside the door. “Ye’ll be leaving here soon as ye’re able to travel, aye?”

  He’d planned such but now that he stood looking into sweet Catriona’s eyes, it pained him no small amount to admit to it. So he didn’t. He could skirt a question just as good as she. He motioned toward a bench. “Shall we sit a while?”

  “Sit?” She glanced over at the bench as though it were about to attack her.

  “Aye.” One hand supporting his balance by propping against the wall, Alexander hitched his way to the bench farthest from the door. Halfway to his destination, he paused. “I beg ye…dinna run. I canna manage those godforsaken steps again—no’ just yet.”

  A quivering smile flickered across Catriona's face but a frown chased it away. “Where is your crutch?”

  “I lost the damn thing halfway up here.” Alexander lowered himself to the seat then held out his hand. “Sit with me, Catriona. Please.”

  Skirts rustling as she padded across the room, Catriona seated herself some distance from him.

  “I willna bite, ye ken?” Although, if given the opportunity, he couldna guarantee that he wouldna nibble. He shifted on the bench and adjusted his man parts that had roared to life as soon as Catriona had pushed into the tower chamber. He patted the seat beside him then held out his hand. “Come, lass. Sit closer and tell me of your troubles. Mayhap I can help?”