by Paula Quinn
She inhaled deeply. “Ye all pledged allegiance to The Camron not a half-hour ago. Will ye desert him at the first sign of trouble—real or imagined?”
“Not I,” Robbie Gilbertson shouted, lightening the mood.
There’s one thing every Scotsman loves above all else.
“Now what’s happened to the whisky my uncle Kendric promised?”
There ensued a moment of utter silence, then the servants seemed to recollect what they were about. Trays were retrieved, tumblers distributed amid a murmur of anticipation. It took a few minutes for the liquor to work its magic, but soon nervous apprehension replaced belligerence as the clan waited.
Shona’s trembling knees gave way and she collapsed onto her chair.
Jeannie leaned over. “Ye reminded me o’ yer father just now,” she said with a smile.
Kith and Kin
The ostler’s lads soon had their horses saddled. Ewan mounted Liath, glad to be back on his beloved grey despite the uncertainty he faced. Sitting astride an intelligent and reliable steed tended to clear a man’s mind. He felt invincible whenever Liath carried him into battle. Colin was sadly mistaken if he thought his little brother would meekly surrender Creag.
They sighted the enemy as soon as they’d galloped past the village. A row of Highlanders, perhaps a hundred strong, waited on the crest of a rise a mile distant, some mounted, most on foot.
Ewan slowed, but didn’t call a halt. “We’ll approach at a leisurely pace,” he told Walter.
“Mackinlochs right enough, I’d say,” his friend replied without a trace of apprehension.
Liath snorted and shook his head.
“He knows them,” Ewan muttered.
His feelings were mixed. Having convinced himself his father must be dead if Colin had come on the offensive, he was strangely relieved to see the cantankerous old bastard sitting ramrod straight in the saddle of his favorite horse. The three eagle feathers pinned to his bonnet paid no mind to the breeze. But what was he doing here—with a small army? And Colin.
When they came within fifty yards, he called a halt. “I’ll go on alone,” he said. “If they have war in mind, there’s no choice but to surrender. We’re ill-prepared.”
No one questioned his decision. As he rode slowly towards the rise, his father set his horse in motion until they were side by side. Duncan’s stern glower didn’t bode well.
Ewan nodded. “The Camron bids The Mackinloch welcome to Creag,” he said, extending his ungloved hand.
His father narrowed his eyes but made no effort to accept the handshake. “Ye managed it then?” he asked gruffly.
Ewan should have known better than to expect cordiality from his sire. “Managed what?”
“To wed the lass.”
“Aye. Shona is my wife,” he replied proudly.
“Sounds like ’twasna the hardship ye expected.”
Ewan couldn’t resist a smile. “No hardship at all.”
His father scratched his beard. “Now, tell me, laddie, do ye greet me on behalf o’ The Camron, or are ye The Camron?”
Ewan stiffened his spine. “Ye are addressing The Camron.”
Duncan rubbed his nose with the back of a finger, as if he smelled something rotten. “Thought as much when I saw yon MacCarron plaid on yer shoulder.” He turned in the saddle and nodded to Colin, who merely returned the nod.
Ewan gritted his teeth, bracing for the terms of surrender. He didn’t know what to make of his father’s sly smile when he turned back to face him.
“Weel,” Duncan declared, “seems we’re too late for the nuptials, and we’ve missed seeing ye be named laird o’ this misbegotten clan.” Then he winked. “However, since ye offer hospitality, the journey hasna been a complete waste o’ time, though I dinna expect Creag Castle to come up to Roigh’s standards.”
Rendered speechless by his father’s wink, Ewan let the insult slide and extended his hand again. “Ye’re right, as always, but give us time and ye’ll see.”
A beefy hand enveloped his in a manic grip. “So long as ye make sure yer new clan pays what they owe—on time.”
He might have known the talk would inevitably come round to the coin. Some things never changed. Yet, the firm handshake changed Ewan’s view of the future. It established a bond of mutual respect between two clan chiefs and communicated a father’s love for his son.
Ewan’s heart was beating so loudly in his ears, he scarce noticed Colin bring his horse alongside until he slapped him on the back. “So my little brother gets to be laird before I do. There’s no justice.”
Ewan smiled. “Weel, when ye hear of the trials I had to undergo to secure the lairdship…”
Colin guffawed. “Like bedding a comely wench, I suppose.”
Duncan frowned. “Ye canna say such things in front o’ the lad.”
Ewan was puzzled but his spirits soared even higher when Andrew poked his head out from behind Colin. He dismounted immediately and helped his grinning nephew down from his brother’s horse. “Ye’re a sight for sore eyes, wee mon,” he exclaimed, hugging the boy.
“I canna wait to meet yer bride,” Andrew admitted as Ewan remounted Liath with the bairn in his lap. “Is she bonnie?”
“Indeed, she is,” Ewan replied.
“Bonnier than Kathleen?”
Ewan chuckled. “Much more beautiful.” Then a thought struck him. “But it might be as well if ye dinna mention Kathleen again.”
Andrew beamed an angelic smile over his shoulder. “I understand, Uncle. The lasses can get a mite jealous of each other.”
Astonished when even his father smiled at that pearl of wisdom, Ewan turned his beloved grey, and proudly led his blood kin along the trail to Creag Castle.
*
Shona and Jeannie wandered from table to table in the hall, exchanging pleasantries and trying to act as if nothing was amiss. Moira did her part, mingling with other servants, enjoying their congratulations and wishes for the future.
A few disgruntled clansmen still muttered, but the whisky had quieted many. Shona’s jaw ached with the effort of maintaining a permanent smile. She hoped she would still be smiling when the Mackinlochs entered Creag. For there was little doubt they would come, either as friend or foe, and if they wished to claim her home, there was nothing for it but to surrender.
She briefly wondered if perhaps that had been the plan all along. Had the betrothal been merely a ploy to regain Creag? She was ashamed the suspicion had even entered her thoughts. Ewan had given her no cause to fear such a plot.
She grieved that his tenure as The Camron might be fleeting. The MacCarrons had much to gain from having him as their chief.
She was considering sipping a wee dram herself when Robbie’s voice resounded. “They’re coming.”
All eyes turned to the red-faced boy who’d clambered onto a table.
“I went up to the tower so I could see,” he panted.
“And what did ye see?” Kendric shouted.
Shona feared the bairn might topple off the table in his excitement. “Uncle Ewan, er, I mean The Camron, is leading the way.”
She breathed again. That was a good sign.
A murmur of relief fluttered through the hall.
“And he’s got a lad sitting on his lap.”
Curious frowns gave way to soft chuckles as it dawned on everyone that invading clans didn’t bring children on campaigns.
Gripping the table to fend off a sudden bout of dizziness, Shona declared, “We are about to host important visitors—my kin-by-marriage. Let’s show them our fine MacCarron hospitality and make The Camron proud.”
Amid the hubbub that ensued, she espied the harried cook chivvying scullery maids at the entrance to the kitchens. “I hope there’s venison left,” she shouted.
“Aye, Lady Shona,” he replied with a broad grin. “Whisky too.”
A loud cheer greeted the news.
Who is This Man?
Shona and Jeannie hurried to the courtyard, ea
ch helping the other fix a wayward curl here and there. They straightened plaids and smoothed wrinkles from frocks. Kendric hobbled out and perched on his crutches, refusing the chair Donald fetched. A group of clan elders gathered behind them as they watched Ewan ride in. Shona was mightily relieved to see her husband’s smile and surmised the boy on his lap was the nephew he’d spoken of so fondly.
The stern-faced greybeard with the eagle-feathered bonnet could only be Duncan, the notoriously bad-tempered Mackinloch laird—her father-by-marriage.
“I’m glad I didna take a sip o’ whisky,” Shona whispered to her aunt as the new arrivals dismounted. “I get the feeling even Ewan is intimidated by his father.”
“Weel, he looks happy to see his kin. I’ll wager the lanky fellow beside the old man is his brother.”
“Perhaps the smile is because it seems they havna come to usurp Creag.”
Moira, Heather and Robbie hurried to greet David and Walter.
Jeannie squeezed Shona’s arm when Fynn rode through the gates. “There’s my lovely husband,” she murmured.
She put an arm around her aunt’s shoulder. “Here we are, Auntie, two brides who havna had much chance to share the happiness of being newly wed.”
“Right enough, but we will,” Jeannie replied.
Shona had an urge to laugh when her aunt attempted a wink, but her amusement fled when she added, “though o’ course some things are just between a mon and his wife.”
Jeannie had misunderstood. Shona certainly had no intention of gossiping about the intimacies she and Ewan had shared. Nor did she wish to hear of what had transpired in her aunt’s marriage bed. A retort was on the tip of her tongue, but she felt the heat rise in her face and quickly closed her mouth when she realized her husband and his father were striding towards her.
*
Ewan let go of Andrew’s hand for a moment and proceeded to introduce his father to Kendric first as protocol demanded.
“My son told me of yer injuries,” Duncan said, shaking the former laird’s hand, “but ye seem to be on the mend. My condolences on the death of yer brother. Fine mon. We shook hands and shared a wee dram at Clunes. We exchanged swords to seal the contract. I thought ye might like to have yer brother’s blade back. As a remembrance. ’Tis in the baggage.”
Ewan held his breath. He couldn’t recall ever being acknowledged as the man’s son before and the thoughtful gesture brought a lump to his throat. He knew what it would mean to Shona.
“I thank ye,” Kendric replied, looking gobsmacked by the news, “and ’tis thanks to The Camron the perpetrators of the foul deeds that have recently befallen us are dead.”
Ewan had only made brief mention of the accident during the short ride, but he was astonished at his father’s jovial and considerate manner.
“I brought my eldest son wi’ me,” Duncan continued, seemingly content to wait for an explanation. He beckoned Colin forward. “He’ll be The Mackinloch after me. Few men can boast of two sons who are lairds of great clans.”
As Kendric shook Colin’s hand, Ewan wondered about the identity of the good-natured fellow claiming to be his cantankerous father.
Duncan put both hands on his grandson’s shoulders. “And this young man is my daughter’s bairn, Andrew.”
Andrew dutifully shook Kendric’s hand but quickly looked up at Ewan. “Is that yer bride?” he whispered, nodding to Shona.
Ewan looked at the lass he loved. Her uncharacteristic fidgeting tugged at his heart. She was anxious for his father’s approval, something he’d thirsted for many times in his life, but never received. He was confident his wife would win the old man over in short order.
“Ye’ll wait yer turn, Andrew,” Duncan blustered, reaching for Shona’s hand.
“Father, may I present my wife, Lady Shona Mackinloch.”
Ewan was aware his sire had attended the court of King Charles on more than one occasion, but was completely unprepared for the courtly kiss Duncan brushed across Shona’s knuckles.
If the gesture came as a surprise, she hid it well as she bobbed a curtsey. Folk tended to wilt under The Mackinloch’s gaze, but her gesture was polite without being subservient.
Well done, lass.
More incredible was that Duncan didn’t seem offended. “My son has chosen well, Lady Shona,” he gushed, still holding her hand.
This wasn’t the moment to mention the marriage was actually Duncan’s doing, and he certainly didn’t want his father to know about his efforts to avoid it—at least not until he’d had a few tumblers of whisky.
Andrew tugged at his plaid. “She is bonnie,” he whispered. “Can I kiss her hand too?”
“Of course ye can,” Shona replied, beaming a broad smile as she extricated her hand from Duncan’s grip and offered it to the lad.
Andrew executed a bow worthy of any courtier and kissed Shona’s knuckles. “Pleased to meet ye,” he said.
“I ken somebody who’ll be happy to meet ye,” she replied, beckoning Robbie from the curious crowd gathering in the courtyard.
Ewan watched the two boys shake hands and shyly embark on a conversation. If a lad from a MacCarron sept and a Mackinloch could be friends…perhaps therein was the solution to finally laying the feud to rest. He put his arm around Shona’s waist as the introductions and pleasantries continued, feeling more confident about the future than he’d ever felt.
“A good beginning,” his wife whispered.
“Aye,” he agreed.
Clash of the Tartans Series
Kilty Secrets
Kilted at the Altar
Kilty Pleasures
Anna Markland
Historical Footnotes
The enmity between the Mackinlochs and the MacCarrons is based on the three-hundred-year feud between the Mackintoshes and the Camerons. An internet search will provide information about the early 14th century origins of the quarrel that Duncan Mackinloch retells in the opening chapter. It was, of course, a dispute over land and the rightful ownership of Tor Castle (Creag).
It was eventually settled (if feuds ever truly are) by an agreement signed at Clunes in 1665. The Camerons agreed to pay the Mackintoshes compensation for Loch Arkaig and surrounding lands.
The trial by combat at the North Inch did actually take place in September 1396. The temptation to lure Kendric into an inebriated slip of the tongue regarding the name was too great to resist.
The Clan Chief of the Camerons has traditionally been known as The Lochiel, so I bestowed the title The Camron on the Clan Chief of the MacCarrons to provide a hint of the connection.
About Anna
Thank you for reading KILTY SECRETS. If you’d like to leave a review where you purchased the book, I would appreciate it. Reviews contribute greatly to an author’s success.
Please visit my my Facebook page, Anna Markland Novels and my website, www.annamarkland.com, where you can download a FREE novella.
Tweet me @annamarkland, and join me on Pinterest. Follow me on BookBub and be the first to know when my next book is released.
In my bestselling, page-turning novels passion conquers whatever obstacles a hostile medieval world can throw in its path.
Besides writing, I have two addictions-crosswords and genealogy, probably the reason I love research.
I am a fool for cats.
My husband is an entrepreneur who is fond of boasting he’s never had a job.
I live on Canada’s scenic west coast, but I was born and raised in the UK and I love breathing life into history.
Escape with me to where romance began.
I hope you come to know and love my cast of characters as much as I do.
Virtue
The Sons of Scotland Book 1
Victoria Vane
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my wonderful friend and talented author, Kathryn Le Veque, for her encouragement, generosity, and support, without which this series would never have come about.
Virtue
> The Sons of Scotland Book 1
A man without a past… Abandoned at a monastery as a young child, Alexander serves two masters—God and the fading memories of his past life—the one he never got to live. As he nears the day to take his vows, he’s sent on a last sojourn into the real world, but what begins as a test of faith becomes a journey to manhood.
And a woman who doesn’t know her own heart… Born from the line of two kings, Lady Sibylla Mac William is abandoned by her sire as a child and then ruled illegitimate. Though she lives a happy life under her uncle’s protection, Sibylla craves something more, but never could she imagine losing her heart to the would-be monk who unexpectedly arrives to tutor her brother.
Together, they will forge the future of a kingdom… When dark secrets from the past come to light, Alex and Sibylla’s fates become inextricably entwined. Will Alex choose the safe and secure path he knows, or will he reject holy orders to embrace his true destiny… and the woman he loves?
Loyalty and truth preserve the king,
And he upholds his throne by righteousness.
–Proverbs 20:28
Prologue
Dunnottar Castle,
Kingdom of Scotland
1134 A.D.
“Alexander! Mo mhac! Ye must come!” There was no mistaking the urgency in her voice or the apprehension in her eyes. His mother was afraid.
Her gaze darted around the room as if searching for something. “Morag!” she called out to his nurse maid. “It is time. Where is the pack?”
The maid scurried from the shadows bearing a large satchel. Satchels signified journeys. Were they going somewhere?
“What is wrong, Máthair?” Alexander asked.
“No time for questions. Come quickly,” she hissed, her hand closing tightly around his as she pulled him briskly toward the back stairs. It was twilight and eerily dark as they stumbled down the narrow, stone steps. He wondered why they’d used the servant’s entrance and why they didn’t carry a lantern.