The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel

by Maeve Greyson

  Alexander returned the twins’ glaring looks as though they were young men. He admired their bravado and remembered how Catriona had fussed over them like a mother hen. She loved them. Trusted them. Perhaps in time, he would trust them, too. “Your sister is no’ awake, but she rests easy and has no fever.” He’d give them that. They had a right to know if they loved her as much as they seemed.

  Both boys nodded, their fierce scowls shifting to expressions of worry.

  Munroe stepped forward and gave Alexander a polite nod. “Munroe Neal, sir. I am the head of Clan Neal’s elders and therefore 'tis my duty to extend our gratitude to ye.” He glanced over at the young boys sitting on the settee then looked back at Alexander with a somber scowl. “Clan Neal has suffered a great deal over the years but thanks be to God, ye’ve rid us of the festering disease we’ve endured for so long.”

  Alexander studied the man. Head of the elders. A man of standing in the clan. He seemed to wish to be an ally, but that was yet to be determined. From what Catriona had said, the men of Clan Neal had always cowered, first, before Catriona’s father and then before her brother. Alexander couldna fathom how they’d willingly live under such conditions. Why the blazes had they no' fought to better their circumstances? “Catriona has another brother.” He’d say no more. He wanted to hear how Munroe addressed it.

  “Angus is gone.” Munroe folded his hands in front of his thick middle and settled his short, stocky stance as though he’d be there for a while. “He ran when he heard of Calum’s death. We dinna ken where.”

  “If I learn ye are lying or hiding the boy so he can seek revenge…” Alexander paused and lifted the barrel of his pistol enough to highlight his words. “I shall hunt ye down and make ye rue the day ye tried to deceive me.”

  Munroe smiled. A smile that crinkled his eyes and made them sparkle. “Ye have my word that the useless cur has run with his tail tucked.” He paused, fixing Alexander with a scrutinizing glance as he clasped his hands to the small of his back and meandered in a small circle in the center of the sitting room. “Would ye care to share your plans once Lady Catriona is healed?”

  “I would not.”

  The old man threw back his head and laughed, his round belly bobbing up and down enough to make his kilt sway and his cheeks reddening with the effort. Once he’d finally composed himself, he faced Alexander and bowed. “I like ye, Alexander MacCoinnich. Ye are a braw man. Fierce. Protective. Canny.”

  Alexander didna trust compliments. They often shielded lies. “Is there anything else?” He motioned toward the door behind him. “I need to be getting’ back to me wife.”

  Munroe grew quiet, his expression thoughtful. “I hope one day ye will come to trust me, sir, and realize I’ve only the best of intentions.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Alexander replied, tapping the barrel of his pistol against his palm with a slow intentional pat.

  Munroe gave him a curt nod and motioned for the boys to rise from the settee as he moved toward the door. With his hand resting on the latch, he turned back to Alexander and bowed. “I’ll leave ye to your lady but I’ll also leave ye with this: I shall be taking your name to the other elders as my choice for Tanist to Clan Neal.”

  “Tanist?” Alexander took a step forward but kept himself between Catriona’s door and the elder. “I’m no' of Neal blood. Why would ye do that?”

  “Ye’ve married the eldest daughter and the eldest son, the one still living, is as unfit as the two before him. This is Clan Neal’s opportunity to heal. To thrive. To grow.” Munroe lifted his chin and locked eyes with Alexander. “Will ye accept?”

  “I will think upon your offer.” Alexander refused to do anything rash, especially when it came to Catriona’s people.

  Munroe nodded. “I would expect no less from a wise chieftain.” He turned to go, pausing a moment to glance back over one shoulder. “Good day to ye, sir, and know we’re all praying for Lady Catriona’s complete recovery.”

  Alexander didn’t comment. Just watched the old man toddle away, herding the nine-year-olds down the hallway with him.

  Tanist. Catriona had teased that she’d speak to the elders and get them to name him chief rather than claim the title herself and attempt to persuade them to accept a female leader. But was Munroe’s offer real? And would the other elders agree? Alexander snorted out a bitter huff. It had taken an outsider to rid them of the problem they shouldha tended to themselves. He had little respect for such men. They shouldha ousted both Calum and his father years ago.

  Then what wouldha happened to Catriona and her mother? The puzzle of the Neal men’s cowardice plagued him, gnawed at his gut like a dog worrying a bone. Surely, that could nay have been the only reason that kept Calum and his father in power.

  “Alexander.”

  Father William’s quiet summons came from the door at his back, sending a cold sweat across him. With slow, pained movements born of dread, he turned and almost collapsed to his knees when Catriona turned her head on the pillow and gave him a weak a smile. He rushed to her bedside, shoved his pistol into Father William’s hands, then knelt and scooped up Catriona’s hand.

  “'Tis about time ye opened those eyes, m’love,” he scolded in a teasing tone before pressing a kiss to her hand.

  “I was weary,” Catriona whispered then pulled her hand free of his and cradled his face in her palm. “Have I slept so long?”

  “Long enough.”

  “But I’m better now.” She eased in a deep breath, flinched, then eased it out with a slow exhale. “A mite sore, though.”

  “Aye.” Alexander rose and poured a small amount of water into a cup. “Mrs. Elena said ye would be but the woman and her vile poultices kept fever and infection at bay.” He slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted. “Naught but a wee sip for ye now,” he said, matching the tilt of the cup to her swallowing. When she gave him a quick nod, he set the cup aside and lowered her back to the pillows.

  Catriona lifted the covers then wrinkled her nose. “Shew! I fair reek.” Still grimacing, she shifted her gaze to him. “How can ye stand to be in the same room with me?”

  “Ye smell sweet as heather and the sparkling green of your opened eyes fair lifts me heart.”

  She gave him a side-eyed look as though he were a lad trying to charm Cook out of extra helpings. “Ye are a sweet talkin’ liar, dear husband. I’ll give ye that.”

  Mrs. Aberfeldy pushed into the room with Elena Bickerstaff and another suspicious smelling cloth-covered crock. “Saints be praised. She’s back among us!” She looked to Alexander. “Have ye told her of the elders’ decision?”

  Alexander made a mental note to have Mrs. Aberfeldy sent off to England. The woman would be a fair weapon against the Sassenachs. She’d drive them into drowning themselves in the River Thames to escape her incessant meddling. He fixed her with such a glare she backed up a step and pressed her plump fingers to her lips.

  “Ahh…beg pardon. I didna mean to speak out a turn.” She looked to Mrs. Elena who rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “She’s always been an eejit,” Mrs. Elena said as she folded back the covers and peered under Catriona’s bandages. “Looks good. I willna disturb the wounds for now. We can wait to put a fresh poultice on them til this evening.”

  “Are ye going tell me what Mrs. Aberfeldy is referring to or not?” Catriona pinned him with a fierce glare.

  “It appears the elders have found a choice for Tanist.”

  Catriona’s eyes widened and her smile grew so quickly that Alexander felt a wave of guilt wash across him. “Yourself?” she asked.

  “Aye.” Alexander gave Mrs. Aberfeldy a damning narrow-eyed scowl. “But I’ve no’ accepted as yet.”

  “Why not?” Catriona cried out. “Ye would make a fine chieftain!”

  Alexander pointed toward the door then nodded to the old women. “Out. The both of ye.”

  “But…”

  “I said out.” Alexander took a step toward them. “I�
��ve much to discuss with my wife and I dinna wish it to become fodder for the kitchen gossips.”

  “But…” Mrs. Aberfeldy repeated.

  Mrs. Elena shot the housekeeper a dark look then took hold of her plump elbow and steered her toward the door. Shoving her into the next room, she paused to look back and nod at Alexander. “I hope ye find it in your heart to accept.” Then she exited and closed the door with a firm thud behind her.

  Alexander turned back and stared at Catriona for a long moment. There was no way to make what he had to say any softer so best say it and be done with it. “I’m finding it difficult to stomach being named chieftain to a clan of cowards.”

  “Cowards?” Catriona repeated, brow furrowed as though she didn’t understand. “How could ye think us cowards?”

  “Why did the men of this clan no’ address the issue of your father, and then your brother? Why did they support such behavior? I ken your father was their kin and chosen by their elders, but only a coward stands by and allows their women such callous mistreatment.”

  “My father was no’ their kin.” Catriona spoke with a strange, detached calmness. Alexander recognized it for the shield that it was. If Catriona didna separate herself from the evil of her family's history, she'd lose herself to despair. She stared down at her hands as she continued, “Clan Neal is my mother’s bloodline. They accepted her husband as their chieftain at her request since her father had no sons.”

  “That still doesna excuse keeping the tyrant in power.”

  “They did so to honor my mother. I can remember her saying so at different times over the years before she died.” Catriona shrugged. “And when my sire happened to breed horses so renowned that even the sale of just one filled the clan’s coffers, they were more than happy to look aside.” She gave a sad shake of her head as she looked away to watch the sunshine streaming into the window. “Ye see, Alexander, 'twas no' so much cowardice as it was greed.” She looked back at him. “They assuaged their consciences by telling themselves there was no harm in sacrificing a few for the betterment of the whole. My mother felt the same and I promise ye, it shames me.”

  The door vibrated with a hard knock.

  “Who knocks?” A frustrated growl escaped him, doing little to assuage his frustrated desire to bellow and roar. Hell’s bells. His wife had just awakened and they couldna even manage a simple conversation without being interrupted.

  “'Tis Graham. I bear news ye need to hear.”

  Alexander yanked open the door and waved him inside. “What now?”

  Graham’s demeanor brightened when he noticed Catriona had awakened. “Dear sister, 'tis so good to see ye faring better.”

  “Thank ye, Graham.” Catriona gave the barest nod toward Alexander. “Ye best tell him your news. He’s no' in the best of humors.”

  “And rightly so,” Alexander interrupted. “I canna even complete a private conversation with my wife.” He pulled in a deep breath then expelled it as he scrubbed at his gritty eyes, burning for need of sleep. “What news have ye, brother?”

  “Campbell is at our gates.”

  “Then by all means, keep them shut,” Alexander said, torn between rushing from the room to prepare for pending attack and staying at Catriona’s side to protect her. A solution finally occurred to him. “Where’s the priest?”

  “I am here and ready to guard your lady.” Father William walked into the room, two pistols clipped to the leather belt he’d lashed around the waist of his robes, a shield in one hand, and a short sword in the other. “Go now and lead your people to victory.”

  Catriona held out a hand to him and he rushed to take it. “Ye are our leader and chieftain whether ye wish it or not.” She squeezed his hand, giving him a look that melted his heart and made him wish to do nothing more than gather her up and hold her. “I beg ye, husband, accept and embrace the role.”

  “Is that what ye truly wish, Catriona?” It amazed Alexander that she wished to stay here and rebuild her clan after all the ill-will they’d seemed so able to accept. He couldna believe she wasna ready to shed them and start life anew. “Ye truly wish to redeem these people?”

  “Aye,” she said with a smile. “There are many good folk here worthy of being saved. I swear it.”

  “Then it shall be done,” he agreed, a sudden weariness overcoming him. Who was he to fight such a mighty force as Catriona?

  Chapter 21

  “Turn your back, Father, I’ll be gettin' dressed now.”

  Father William’s eyes bulged open wide. Shock hiked his thinning brows to the highest point possible upon his shining pate. “Ye shall do no such a thing! Just awakened from days spent on death’s edge? Ye must stay abed.”

  She moved to sit up and a gasp escaped her. Hand clasping her bandaged side, she cringed and bit the corner of her lip to keep from crying out as her body protested with excruciating jolts of pain.

  “Ye see?” he said, shaking a finger at her and darting back and forth between the foot of the bed and her side like a wee squirrel scurrying for buried nuts. “Ye’ll no' be tricking me the way ye did Sawny. Poor lad. Ye should be ashamed of yourself. The guilt ye rained down upon his young soul. Worried near sick about ye, I grant ye!”

  That couldna be helped. She'd had to do what she’d done and given the chance, would do the same again. Granted, it had no' turned out quite as planned but she still didna regret doing her best to defend her husband. She’d never be a woman who cowered. She’d fight at her husband’s side even if it meant her death. Someday young Sawny would understand.

  “Turn your back or no', Father. Either way, dressed I shall be and going to my husband’s side.” She swallowed hard and steadied herself with deep breaths and slow exhales to calm the nausea churning in her stomach and tamp down the bile burning at the back of her throat. I can do this. I'm no’ some delicate lily in need of shielding. Inch by inch, she scooted herself to sit on the edge of the bed then held fast to the bedside table until her head stopped spinning. She wished she could wash and remove the smelly bandages soaked with Elena’s poultice but she feared she might cause the wounds to reopen and bleed again. “Hand me a clean shift, Father.”

  “I will not.” Father William stood with his back to her, his nose lifted into the air.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll get it myself.”

  “Stay there! I’ll get it.” Father William stole a glance back at her then stomped his foot. Returning to the bedside with her clothes, he fixed her with a fierce scowl. “If your stubborn arse hits the floor, ye’ll set your wounds to bleeding for certain. Ye ken that, aye?”

  Taking great care to keep his eyes averted, the priest first helped her with her shift then shook out a loose wool overdress that was more a body length apron than a gown. The garment was made to slide down over her head and tie underneath her arms at the sides. It was what she wore when the day’s chores were certain to be a danger to her good clothes. He held it up for her approval. “Ye can wear this over your shift to keep ye decent. It willna rub your wounds as the waist of a skirt would.”

  “Good idea, Father.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out as she lifted her arms and struggled her way into the clothing. Clutching hold of Father William’s arm, she eased her feet to the floor and stood. “Sweet Jesu,” she swore under her breath.

  "I heard that," Father William said as he held tight to her arm to keep her from collapsing to the floor. "Weak as a newborn kitten, ye are. Will ye no' see sense?"

  “I’ll be fine,” she said more to herself than to him. “Now help me with the overdress. I think I can stand whilst ye put it over my head.”

  “Áve María, grátia pléna, Dóminus técum. Benedícta tū in muliéribus, et benedíctus frúctus véntris túi, Iésus. Sancta Maria, Máter Déi, óra pro nóbis peccatóribus, nunc et in hóra mórtis nóstrae. Ámen.” Father William repeated the Hail Mary in a sing-song voice, over and over, as he helped her into the heavy length of wool and allowed it to tumble down her
body.

  Orbs of flashing lights filled her gaze as she attempted to stand straighter. She grabbed hold of the priest’s shoulders and held tight. Father William gave her a displeased look but didn’t say a word.

  “Tie the ties, Father. The longer I stand, the stronger I feel.” God forgive her for lying to the priest but she had to get through this.

  Father William rolled his eyes as he tied the laces loose on either side of the garment to grant her plenty of room for movement. “Ten Hail Mary's for your lie and a day of serving the poor, aye?”

  “Aye, Father.” Catriona took in a deep breath and released her hold on him, forcing her body to stand and balance itself. A wave of lightheadedness pushed her back down to the edge of the bed. She’d forgotten the last time she’d eaten and that paired with blood loss had taken its toll. Her body’s weaknesses refused to be ignored. “Dammit!”

  “Child!”

  “I have to get to the skirting wall. I have to be with Alexander.” Her eyes stung with the threat of tears.

  Father William scowled at her for a long moment, his thin brows wrinkling clear up to the wispy fringes of hair surrounding his bald head. “Alexander will have me crucified for what I’m about to do but I dinna have it in me heart to refuse ye.”

  “I shall name our first son William,” Catriona promised, still struggling to control her ragged breathing and not pass out.

  Father William paused at the door, “William Anthony Carmichael McBride, aye?”

  “Aye, Father.” Catriona closed her eyes. Father William’s demeanor lightened her heart and made her burdens so much easier to bear. She made a mental note to ask the priest to stay at the keep. Clan Neal needed someone to guide their souls.

  A short time later, the bedroom door creaked, prompting her to open her eyes. Father William was backing through the door, directing two sturdy lads as they brought an upholstered, straight-backed chair into the room.

  Once they were well inside the room, the boys turned the chair and placed its back against the side of the bed. The taller of the two, the one called Mathy, gave a shy, polite dip of his chin in Catriona’s direction then looked to the priest. “Good enough, Father?”