The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel

by Maeve Greyson

  “I verra much doubt that,” Catriona said as she scooted across the bench until she sat beside him. Color now rode high on her cheeks but Alexander knew 'twas because she’d been out in the cold. Her eyes narrowed as she stared into the fire. “Ye never answered me, Alexander.”

  He breathed in deep, picking up on her beguiling scent of wood smoke, wintry wind, and young vibrant woman. “I had planned on leaving as soon as I was able.” He reached out, took hold of her hand, and held it tight. “But I willna leave ye unsafe. No' after all ye have done for me and my kin. What do ye fear, Catriona, for that’s what I see in your eyes, ye ken? Tell me, lass, so I might slay those demons that trouble ye.” He set his jaw and decided to speak the evil he knew in his heart she wouldna wish to face. “Tell me true, Catriona, is it that damn brother of yours? I ken he's returned and ye've no' been right since.”

  Her tear-filled eyes flared wide for an instant. Catriona caught a trembling fist to her chest, hitched in a shuddering breath, then released it with a despairing cry. One corner of her lower lip trembled and the unshed tears welled up then overflowed, streaming down her cheeks. “Hell fire!” She swiped her fingers across her fair skin to chase the tears away.

  He couldn’t hold back any longer. Alexander pulled her into his arms, tucking her head to his chest and holding her tight. He closed his eyes as he stroked her hair. Hair soft as silky threads of a spent thistle weed, just as he’d known it would be. “It’s all right, lass,” he said in a crooning whisper. “I’ll keep ye safe.”

  Catriona responded with more high-pitched sobs and a fist thumping soft against his arm. Alexander smiled to himself when she burrowed deeper into his embrace, buried her face into his chest and howled. Whilst she still hadn’t told him what ailed her, he considered this a good start. He rocked her back and forth with a gentle swaying, stroking her back, and making all the reassuring sounds he could think of until she cried herself out.

  When her sobbing reduced to the occasional hiccupping sniff, Catriona eased herself free of his arms. She wiped her face with the backs of her hands and sat ramrod straight on the bench beside him. “I truly beg your pardon, Alexander. What must ye think of me?”

  “I think ye be a fine braw, beautiful lassie in need of my help.”

  Catriona smiled but her lower lip set to trembling again. “Dinna make me cry anymore, aye? My head’s fair throbbing as though about to burst.” She pulled a crumpled square of white linen from her sleeve and dabbed it to her pitiful red nose. “I must look a sight,” she added with a pat to her tousled hair.

  “Ye’re a bonnie lass, Catriona,” he said and meant every damn word. He’d ne’er seen a lovelier, red-nosed, scarlet-cheeked, unkempt woman in his life. “Now talk. 'Tis time.” He missed the loss of her warmth but made no move to return her to his arms. He sensed she needed space, a bit a distance to tell her tale.

  “It appears I’m to be married once the snow melts.” She knotted her fists in the gray-blue folds of her woolen skirts. “In the spring. Calum has arranged it.” She turned and faced him with a bitter smile, malice glinting in her red-rimmed eyes. “With my father’s blessing, of course.”

  “Married?” Her announcement hit him square in the chest, making it difficult to breathe.

  “Aye, married.” Catriona fixed her narrow-eyed scowl on the fire in the room's center. “Calum fears me. 'Twas an easy enough choice to be rid of me—save having me murdered and disposing of my body.”

  “And your father agreed?” Alexander could scarce believe it. 'Twas the strongest and most consistent rumor amongst all the servants in the keep, especially Mrs. Aberfeldy. Catriona had sworn on her mother’s deathbed she’d never desert Clan Neal and leave them to the mercies of her father or her brother. The rumors also claimed her father couldna lead the clan without her.

  “Father’s not been sober enough for me to ask since Calum gave us the news of the match, but my brother assures me that my sire was fair pleased with the bargain he’d worked out for the good of the clan.” Her damp lashes fluttered fast as butterfly wings and despair sent a fresh volley of tears down her cheeks. “I canna bear the thought of it and yet I’ve no good choice of escaping it or figuring a way to protect my kin. If I refuse, and Calum allows me to do so, he’ll never let me stay here. He’s already said I’ll be sent to the priory to spend the rest of my days confessing my stubborn ways to the sisters. And of course, when I marry, I’ll go to my husband’s lands. Either way—Calum is rid of me and will rule Clan Neal with none to hinder him with something as annoying as the conscience of a nagging sister.”

  Something akin to rage simmered dark and deep within him and the longer Alexander listened to Catriona and pondered her fate, the stronger the monster within him grew, until he came to realize the monster’s name: jealousy. “How dare he. I’ll no' allow it.”

  “And just how will ye stop it, Alexander? He’s well within his rights and ye ken that as well as I. The elders willna take a stand against him. They’ve yet to name him Tanist but they fear him and his men too much to stand in his way should he force his claim of the chieftainship.” She bowed her head and lifted a shaking hand to her brow. “All is lost. In a few short weeks, I am to become Jameson Campbell’s wife.” She covered her face with both hands, her shoulders trembling with pitiful sobs as she did her best to speak through the tears. “I’m told we shall live at Breadalbane’s estate since Jameson Campbell is son to the earl and next in line to the title.”

  The shrewd bastard had not only rid himself of his sister, but he’d given her to a bloody Campbell, the clan noted for heeling to the king’s whims better than any dog. Alexander pulled Catriona back into his arms. “I’ll no' allow this to happen, Catriona,” he whispered into her hair. “I swear it.”

  She shifted, lifting her tear-stained face to him. "I fear ye canna stop it."

  Tracing his thumb along the soft, wet curve of her cheek, Alexander brushed away the tears and struggled to keep from telling her all the ways he intended to make her brother Calum suffer for putting her through such. Nay. 'Twould be wrong to discuss such vileness with this dear sweet lass. His gaze settled on her mouth. The precious parted lips he’d often thought about tasting.

  'Tis time. He lowered his head and helped himself to the treasured sweetness she offered. His heart soared when she opened to him, inviting him in with hesitant flicking touches of her tongue. He dove into the taste of her, a heady mix of honeyed wine and desperate need. Her hands slid up his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight, as though she feared the kiss would end and he’d let her go. He laced his fingers into her hair and cradled her head in his palm as he trailed the kiss from her mouth down to the line of her jaw and along the curve of her throat. He’d been right. She brushed softer than velvet against his lips and tasted sweeter than any precious nectar. He’d known she’d be so, thought of it often as she’d tended to his wounds.

  He paused at the neckline of her overdress, brushing his lips back and forth across her collarbone. A delicious aching to go lower thrummed within him, urged him to sample more, but he stopped himself. ‘Twould no’ be right. Not now. Not as vulnerable as she was. He lifted his head and pulled her close, tucking her snug beneath his chin and cradling her like the rare woman he knew her to be. She was too fiery a woman for the priory and he’d be damned if he stood by and watched her be given to a bloody Campbell.

  “Dinna despair, Catriona, dinna despair. I will figure a way out of this.”

  “All is lost,” Catriona said so low he strained to hear her. “My oath. My people…” She shuddered then keened out a heartbreaking cry against the base of his throat, her renewed tears hot against his skin. “All I sacrificed…all for naught.”

  Alexander shifted, pulling away so he could once more lift her face to his. “Dinna doubt when I say I will save ye from this fate. I swear—ye’re no' in this alone.”

  She hitched in a shaking breath, despair in her eyes as she gave him a sad smile. �
��I’ve always been alone…and always will be.”

  “Not anymore,” he said as he cupped her face in his hand and kissed away her tears. “Not anymore,” he repeated against her trembling lips. “I swear it.”

  Chapter 9

  “So ye mean to marry her yourself then? Ye told her as much, aye?” Magnus tore a chunky crust of bread in two and sopped the halves in the puddle of thick, dark meat drippings left in the shallow well of his plate.

  “Lower your voice, man.” Alexander paused as a kitchen maid set another board of meat and bread on the table, refilled their tankards, then moved on to tend to others. “Ye ken as well as I that I canna wed the woman.”

  Magnus looked up from his meal and frowned, staring at Alexander as though he thought him addled. “And why not? 'Tis obvious ye feel kindness toward the lass. I’ll admit she seems a tad headstrong and set in her ways but I’m thinking a man such as yourself might need that in a wife.”

  “Aye,” Graham said from Alexander’s left, lifting his mug in a mock toast then taking a deep draught. A loud belch followed as he gave Alexander a knowing wink and thunked his tankard back beside his plate. “I agree. Marry the lass.” He clapped a hand to Alexander’s shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. “Ye’ve grown old, brother. Leave the fighting for hire to us.” He leaned forward and nodded to Duncan and Sutherland, sitting opposite him at the long table on either side of Magnus.

  On cue, the brothers lifted their tankards.

  “To Alexander’s retirement,” Sutherland said.

  “Aye,” Duncan agreed, then reached across in front of Magnus and tapped his mug to Sutherland’s.

  “Graham has the right of it, cousin,” Ian said. “Get out while ye’re able enough to father a brood of your own, ye ken? Marry the woman and take her somewhere safe.” Ian sat at the other end of the table, off to himself, apart from the others. He spoke in a cold, somber tone without looking up from his plate, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his knife and fork tighter. “I lost my dear Janet by no' casting aside our warring ways and I’ll regret it as long as I draw breath.”

  “What have I to offer a wife?” Alexander said in a strained whisper as he shoved his half-eaten meal away and fisted one hand into the palm of the other. “I’ve nothing more than my sword and pistol. No croft. No clan. What kind of life is that for a woman such as Catriona?”

  Graham nudged a shoulder against his. “The Lord of the Isles promised ye land. The two of ye could build a life there. Claim fealty to Clan MacDonald, live on Islay, and fill it with a gaggle of sons and daughters.”

  “Aye,” Sutherland said with an excited bob of his head. “Then we’d all have a place to rest our weary bones when we’ve no battle for hire.”

  “Do ye truly think Laird MacDonald will gift me land after what happened at Glencoe?” Alexander popped his knuckles and ground his fist harder into his palm. He’d lain awake most of the night trying to think of a way to save Catriona and her clan because she’d made it adamantly clear she was just as upset about breaking her oath to protect her people as she was about being promised to a man she’d never met. A man certain to be of questionable morals considering the fact that he appeared to be on good terms with her abhorrent brother. “And besides—Catriona wishes to save her people from Calum when the time comes.”

  “I’m surprised the wee bastard has no’ already done his father in to lay claim to the chieftainship,” Graham observed as he motioned for a refill by waving his tankard at a maid passing between the rows of long dinner tables lined on either side of the hall.

  “'Tis my understanding he’s no' been named Tanist,” Magnus said with a meaningful glance around the room. He paused and waited for the maid filling their mugs to finish and move away. “Has Catriona spoken of anyone else that might sway the elders into being named as Tanist rather than Calum?”

  “I asked her that.” Alexander shook his head; the impossibility of the situation churned in his gut like a poorly cooked meal. “Her fifteen-year-old brother is well on his way to being as vile as Calum. Her two youngest brothers are naught but wee lads of nine years. She has no male cousins and knows of no one else in the clan the elders might consider.”

  “We shall figure this out,” Alasdair said with a reassuring clap of his hand atop Alexander’s shoulder as he rose from the bench. He bent close to Alexander’s ear and nodded toward the head of the hall. “Battle readiness, cousin. There be the devil himself.”

  Just the sight of Calum sauntering toward them set Alexander’s rage to a dangerous simmer that neared boiling over. He’d just as soon snap the whoreson’s neck as to look at him. The only thing staying his hand was Catriona. She'd been clear enough, told him if Alexander or any of his men harmed Calum, her brother’s blood would be on her hands just the same as if she’d done the deed herself. Alexander struggled to understand why that would necessarily be a bad thing but to Catriona, the thought of killing her own brother for the safety of the clan was unquestionably wrong. She’d explained that if she killed Calum, she felt herself to be no better than he was. Alexander huffed out a frustrated snort. Catriona was most definitely a more honorable person than himself.

  “Men.” Calum gave them an imperious nod while picking at his large, yellowed front teeth with his grimy thumbnail. Wiping the results on the side of his shirt, he sucked at his teeth as he meandered around their table. “I bring a warning for the lot of ye,” he said with an irritating smirk.

  “Have ye now?” Alexander shifted on the bench, sitting taller and flexing the hand that fit with such a comfortable grip around Calum’s windpipe.

  Calum didn’t miss Alexander’s intent. His eyes widened the slightest bit, and he cleared his throat. “Aye. I do.” He took a stance at the head of their table, clasped his hands to the small of his back, and lifted his chin to a defiant angle. “I’ve received word we’re soon to have more guests here at Tor Ruadh. Guests I’m sure will be most pleased to meet the lot of ye—if ye’re still here when they arrive.”

  “Spit out your threat, man, or do ye mean to kill us with boredom?” Alexander winked at his brothers. If he couldna kill Calum, he might as well torment the man as much as possible.

  Duncan and Sutherland each snorted out a laugh and Graham saluted his brothers with his tankard.

  Alexander's cockiness faded when he spotted Catriona. She stood at the door of a small anteroom adjoining the hall. Distress colored her features an alarming rosy shade. Her clasped hands, knuckles whitening with her grip, trembled as she stretched to see across the room and those amassed at the tables. When her gaze alighted on Alexander, she rushed over to join them.

  “Well?” she asked in a breathless tone, alarm flashing in her eyes.

  “I havena told them yet, sister,” Calum said in a sly, drawling tone. “They were too intent on their imbecilic jests to listen.” He gave them a bored flip of one hand then made a gallant bow toward Catriona and retreated a step. “Perhaps they’ll listen to yourself.”

  “Ye must leave,” Catriona admonished, her hands crumpling and twisting a small bit of linen as though wringing the cloth might give her some ease. She locked eyes with Alexander and added, “All of ye. Leave and save yourselves. Afore it’s too late.”

  Alexander rose from his seat. He planted a hand to Graham’s shoulder, leaning heavy on his brother to manage his way out from behind the bench. He retrieved his smaller, much more convenient, knob-headed cane from where he’d leaned it at his side against his seat and limped his way to stand close to Catriona. It pained him no small amount to see her so overwrought, and he’d be damned if he deserted her when she needed him most. “Who are these guests, lass? Why do ye fear them?”

  Calum rose to the tips of his toes then popped back down to his heels with an excited bounce. He folded his arms across his narrow chest and his knowing smirk deepened to an even more irritating level of repulsiveness. “Aye, Catriona. Tell your precious Alexander why ye fear the guests we're expecting?”

&nbs
p; It was all Alexander could do to keep from lunging forward and snapping Calum’s neck. He'd no’ be stopped from finishing the job this time. With both hands propped atop his cane, he locked his arms in place, and gripped the polished wooden knob of the short staff with such ferocity 'twas a wonder it didna snap off. Jaws aching with the clenching of his teeth, he forced his focus on Catriona and waited.

  Catriona wet her lips and swallowed hard. Her worried glance flitted across each of Alexander’s men then returned to him. “A new regiment. Selected by the king himself to investigate the massacre at Glencoe.” She dabbed the crumpled linen in her fist to her mouth as though she were about to retch. After a hard swallow and the clearing of her throat, she lowered it. “'Tis said they’re searching for witnesses and traitors.”

  This didna bode well. They were not traitors—at least not this time. But they had fought against Campbell’s men. They’d fought on the side of the MacDonalds. Alexander shifted his focus back to Calum. Something about the belligerent way the bastard was standing and the pleased with himself expression on his face spoke volumes. Alexander felt certain that Calum had a hand in making certain the king’s men came to Tor Ruadh.

  “The warmer days have the snow melting at a good pace. Several of the passes are open now—muddy and a challenge, for certain, but clear enough that the soldiers could arrive here within days.” Catriona caught her bottom lip between her teeth, trembling as she stood there with brow furrowed and her face filled with worry.

  Catriona looked at him with such desperation he wanted nothing more than to grab her up and take her with them. How could she ask him to leave? His men had risen from their seats around the table, standing at the ready to follow through with whatever he ordered. He stared at them for a long moment. He couldna risk their lives any more than he could risk Catriona’s.

  A featherlight touch to his arm pulled his attention back to Catriona. She stood closer, so close, he could feel the heat of her, breathe in the sweet beguiling scent of her. “Please. Ye must go,” she whispered, staring teary-eyed up into his face. “I couldna bear it if anything happened to ye.”