She might tease him about being a wee bit too protective during her pregnancy, but after how little concern the men of her past had shown her, she was grateful to have a husband who was so thoughtful and caring.
“Go rest, m' eudail,” Finn said. “I’ll come up as soon as I can after the feast and my talk with Moray.”
Two hours later, Margaret pressed her fist against her aching back as she walked back and forth across the bedchamber, waiting to hear the outcome of Finn’s meeting with Moray. The feast she had meticulously organized should be over soon, and Finn and Moray would retreat to the laird’s private solar.
When she heard the door latch behind her, she spun around, expecting Finn. Instead, a stunning woman of perhaps forty, dressed in expensive silk brocade that showed her voluptuous figure to advantage, stood in the doorway. Jewels glinted on the woman’s fingers and at her throat, and the emerald green of her gown matched her eyes and set off her famous red hair, which was still striking, despite the streaks of white.
“God’s blood!” The woman’s hand went to her throat. “You’re Margaret Drummond’s niece, the missing Margaret Douglas.”
Margaret hid the panic rising in her throat behind an outward calm. After keeping her identity secret for so long, she had been found out. She knew who her visitor was as well. This was none other than the infamous Lady Janet Douglas, the late king’s mistress. She had not expected the Earl of Moray to bring his mother.
“Ye look so much like your aunt that I thought I’d seen a ghost,” Janet said. “I heard ye bore a strong likeness to her, but the resemblance is rather startling.”
“’Tis best we speak in private,” Margaret said, and closed the door behind Janet before a passing servant overheard her. “Won’t ye sit down?”
Janet’s decision to enter her and Finn’s private chamber uninvited was not only inexcusably rude, but it also imperiled their future. Margaret eased herself into a chair, folded her hands over her huge belly, and waited for what the woman would do next.
“Forgive my intrusion, but I was curious to meet the woman my friend Finn wed,” Janet said.
Margaret suspected from the way Janet said friend that she had been more than that to Finn at one time. Was there no end to his former lovers? She reminded herself the past was behind them, and she had him now.
“In truth,” Janet said as she sat down and smoothed her skirts, “I thought Finn had made you up entirely to keep me from pestering him.”
Pestering was an interesting choice of word.
“I can’t believe you’re Finn’s wife!” Janet threw back her head and gave a throaty laugh. “I’m pleased he took my advice to marry a wealthy woman, but I did not expect him to take it so far as to wed a Douglas.”
“Please, no one can know who I am,” Margaret said. “My brothers believe I died of a fever at Blackadder castle, and I don’t want them to learn otherwise.”
Exchanging letters with her sisters and Lizzy was difficult, but she had eventually received word from Alison telling her of the lie she and Lizzie had told to explain Margaret’s disappearance.
“Now that ye mention it, I did hear a rumor that you were dead.” Janet leaned forward. “’Tis best we keep your secret between us and not tell my son.”
Margaret drew in her first easy breath since Janet appeared. Janet already knew the gossip about Margaret’s first husband annulling their marriage, and Margaret told her briefly about her brothers’ plans to use her before she escaped. Janet listened intently, tapping one manicured finger against her cheek.
“I don’t want my brothers finding me and interfering in our lives,” Margaret said.
“I, more than most, understand how dangerous a woman’s connections to powerful men can be,” Janet said. “I learned from your aunt’s tragic example.”
Janet went on to regale Margaret with tales of her youth. She’d had a fascinating life, but Margaret would not want it for the world.
“Do ye know why your son is here?” Margaret asked. “What does he want with Finn?”
When Janet told her, Margaret grew so tense that the baby rolled and kicked inside her. She took slow, deep breaths to calm herself while she tried to think what to do.
“Finn will never agree to what your son proposes,” Margaret said. “But I have an idea.”
She and Janet put their heads together to work out a plan.
“Take good care of that handsome man,” Janet said with a wink, as she got up to leave. “Now I have business to attend to.”
###
A great deal of whisky, wine, and ale had been consumed before and during the feast, so it took some time for the hall to quiet when Finn stood to make his toast.
“Welcome home, Alexander Gordon, the laird and earl of Sutherland!” Finn said, raising his cup. “Gun cuireadh do chupa thairis le slàinte agus sonas.” May your cup overflow with health and happiness.
“Slàinte! Slàinte!” Shouts filled the room, and the floor shook from people stamping their feet. Finn grinned down at Alex, who sat next to him at the high table, and reflected on how his cousin had grown into a man.
Alex had filled out in the months he’d been away, but the changes went deeper than the physical. The murder of his parents and his brief captivity with the Sinclairs had destroyed Alex’s youthful naivete. While he still showed moments of his old lighthearted self during dinner, Alex had become a serious young man who was determined to become a good laird for his people.
After numerous other toasts to Alex and to the departure of the Sinclairs, Moray, as the honored guest, stood to make the last formal toast.
“We’d be remiss in not recognizing the man who made your young earl’s return possible,” Moray said, then raised his cup to Finn. “Let us drink to the hero who captured Dunrobin and drove out the Sinclairs!”
This time the shouts were even louder. Finn was not pleased that Moray had drawn attention away from Alex, who needed to be recognized and accepted as the new laird.
“I must speak with you alone,” Moray said in Finn’s ear before he returned to his seat.
When he and Moray settled into the solar a short time later, Finn wished Margaret could be there to help him. She understood the politics that motivated a man like Moray. One thing Finn knew for certain, however, was that Moray did not come all this way just to thank him for leading the forces that pushed the Sinclairs out of Sutherland.
Moray wanted something from him.
“Alex can petition the church for a divorce from Barbara Sinclair on the grounds of infidelity as soon as he turns eighteen and his wardship ends,” Moray said. “I’ve already spoken to the bishop.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Finn said.
“Why not?” Moray asked.
“After Barbara miscarried MacKay’s child, she rode into Sutherland to join the Sinclair warriors in the fight for Dunrobin,” Finn said. “A pack of wild dogs attacked her in the wood. Apparently, her horse threw her, for we found the horse unharmed.”
“And Barbara?” Moray asked.
“She and dogs never did get along,” Finn said. “I’m told there wasn’t much left of her to bury.”
Moray shuddered and took a gulp of his whisky. “What of the Sinclair chieftain and the rest of his family? I hear his sons are almost as dangerous as he is.”
“The Sinclairs will always be a danger that must be controlled,” Finn said, “but there was so much evil in that family that they turned on themselves.”
“To what result?” Moray asked.
“Two of George’s three sons are dead,” Finn said.
After months in his father’s dungeon, John persuaded two of the guards to enter a plot to free him. Before they could execute their plan, his brother William, George’s favorite, discovered the scheme. Foiling the plot was not enough for William—he had to go to the dungeon to taunt John. When he stepped too close, believing John was too weak to be dangerous, John got hold of him and strangled him with his chains.
&nbs
p; After John killed George’s favorite son, George grew impatient for John’s death and had him fed only salted meat and nothing to drink. John first went mad from thirst and then died.
“That still leaves George Sinclair, himself,” Moray said.
“George was stabbed in the back and thrown over the wall into the sea. At least, that’s what his men surmised when his body came in with the tide,” Finn said. “Since George never saw anyone outside of his family without his guards at hand, the murderer was most likely his third son, who is chieftain now.”
George misunderstood the old witch’s foretelling, just as his father had when he killed that innocent shepherd boy on Orkney. George feared his eldest son would plot to take his place, but in the end, it was his youngest.
“That is good news, but as you say, the Sinclairs will always need to be contained—and there will be other threats.” Moray paused and cleared his throat. “I want you to remain at Dunrobin. The people here need to see their young laird now and again, but I’ll keep Alex at Huntly and out of your way.”
“Out of my way?” Finn rapped his fist on the table. “Alex needs to be here. He can’t learn to rule Sutherland from Huntly.”
“You’re the man the warriors here in Sutherland are willing to follow into battle,” Moray said. “Once Alex is of age, he’ll rule in name, of course, but I want you to remain here and in control.”
“You’re underestimating Alex,” Finn said. “He has it in him to be the leader he needs to be.”
While Finn was speaking, Janet entered the solar without knocking and took a seat.
“You’ve earned this by forcing the Sinclairs out of Sutherland,” Moray said. “I want you to take it.”
“I don’t want it,” Finn said between clenched teeth. “And I won’t take it.”
“Don’t play coy,” Moray said. “Is it gold you want to sweeten the pot or something else?”
“My son doesn’t understand a man who lacks his kind of ambition,” Janet interrupted. “As we don’t have a good deal of time, let me suggest a resolution.”
Before long, Finn had agreed to remain at Dunrobin to guide Alex until he came of age. Finn knew Margaret was anxious to make their own home, but she would understand that any other man Moray would choose would attempt to usurp Alex’s role permanently. For his part, Moray seemed satisfied with the assurance that Sutherland would be secure for the next two years.
“Now,” Janet said, turning to her son, “about that property ye have on the north coast that ye never visit.”
Finn had taken a sip of his whisky and nearly choked on it. How did Janet know about the property Moray had promised him in exchange for kidnapping Margaret?
“Though Garty is worth more, I’d wager that Finn would be willing to exchange it for that property,” Janet said. “’Tis your gain that Finn would prefer not to live in a place that would be a constant reminder of his murderous mother and the rest of his unpleasant and, thankfully, deceased family.”
“Garty is mine now,” Finn said, keeping his face expressionless.
Gilbert never recovered from the shock of Bearach’s murder and died a few weeks later. Isabel was gone as well. After her conviction, she killed herself in her cell in Edinburgh the night before she was to be executed. With no proof beyond her word, however, George Sinclair was not called to justice—at least, not by the Crown.
“What do ye say to this exchange?” Moray asked him. “You could keep the peace in the north of Sutherland and be able to assist Alex here when needed.”
Finn wanted to pound the table and yell, Aye! But Moray would not feel he got a good bargain if Finn seemed too happy, so he just nodded and said, “That will do.”
“Now that we have that settled,” Janet said, rising to her feet, “we should bid Finn farewell and be on our way.”
Moray looked as surprised as Finn was that they were not staying the night after such a long journey.
“So soon?” Finn asked to be polite.
“Your wife is about to give birth,” Janet said.
“Aye, ’tis close to her time,” Finn said.
“This is her time,” Janet said. “Just as I was leaving her to join you, her water broke, and she had me send for that woman, Una.”
Finn’s hands shook. As the months passed, Finn’s concern that Margaret would die from a miscarriage had gradually subsided. But now, a torrent of fear exploded inside him. Women died in childbirth all the time.
“God’s bones,” Finn said, leaping to his feet. “Why didn’t ye tell me sooner?”
“The first child is usually slow to come, and your wife wanted these matters settled.” Janet smiled at him. “Ye made a better choice than a wealthy widow. Is fheàrr bean ghlic na crann is fearann.” A wise wife is better than a plough and land.
Ploughs? Finn did not know what in the hell Janet was talking about. He left them without another word and raced upstairs to their bedchamber.
“I’m here,” Finn told Margaret as he sat beside her and took her hand.
Una told him his presence was neither customary nor useful, but he refused to leave his wife’s side. All her life, Margaret had been abandoned by the men when she needed them, and he was not going to do that to her. Not now, not ever.
For a lass who could hide her feelings with remarkable skill, Margaret screamed and cursed a great deal over the next few hours. Finn was encouraged by the strength of her voice—and her grip on his hand.
“Won’t be long now,” Una said with her head beneath the sheet.
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Margaret said as Finn wiped her brow between contractions.
Una’s calm demeanor, born of midwifing a hundred other births, helped them both as she guided Margaret through the hard contractions and pushing until, at long last, their child came into the world wailing his lungs out.
“Ye can be of some use after all,” Una told Finn. “Hold your son while I wipe him off, but be careful—he’s slippery.”
When she handed him his child, Finn’s heart swelled in his chest, and he was speechless with wonder. How had such a perfect babe come from his loins? He was certain it was all thanks to his amazing wife. Una wrapped the babe in a swaddling cloth and put him in Margaret’s outstretched arms to suckle.
“A fine, healthy babe and mother,” Una pronounced after she’d finished taking care of Margaret, then she wiped a tear from her eye. “Ach, your son looks just like you, Finn, when you were born.”
Since Finn’s mother had died giving birth to him, he was grateful he did not remember Una was his mother’s midwife until now.
“I’ll go tell Ella she has a new brother,” Una said, and slipped out.
“Ye did well, mo shíorghrá,” my eternal love, Finn said, and kissed his wife’s forehead.
“I’m so happy, and I love ye so much,” Margaret said. “Lie down with us.”
Carefully, Finn eased onto the bed and put his arms around her and their son. Margaret was asleep a short time later when Ella tiptoed into the room. Ella crawled onto the bed on the other side and snuggled next to her mother with her hand on her new brother’s blanket.
For the first time in his life, Finn felt whole and at peace. He belonged here with Margaret and their children.
He was home.
EPILOGUE
On the North Coast of Sutherland
Two years later (1528)
Margaret weeded her kitchen garden while Ella and wee Robbie played with the dog on the beach, under Una’s supervision. She found it immensely satisfying to see the new plants poking through the ground and putting down roots, just as she was.
She paused to take in the beauty of the landscape outside her door—the quiet, sandy beach across from the house at the base of their inlet, the grassy, windswept slopes of the headland dotted with sheep on one side, and the path to the village through green fields on the other side.
The house behind her was not a grand castle, but it was solid and always full of love and laug
hter. At the moment, Finn was inside settling a dispute over a cow between two of the villagers, who were their tenants.
In a few weeks, they would return to Dunrobin to meet Alex’s new bride, who was the Earl of Huntly’s older sister, and they would visit her sister Sybil’s family on the way. While Margaret looked forward to seeing them all again, she would always be happiest at home.
“Mamaidh!” Momma! Ella called as she ran up from the beach with Cù-sìthe yapping at her heels. “Someone’s coming.”
Margaret shielded her eyes with her hand and examined the young man walking up their path with a bag over his shoulder. She knew all the villagers, and he was not one of them. Besides, the young man was better dressed and wore expensive leather boots.
She could not put her finger on it, but there was something familiar about him. Perhaps he was someone she knew from Dunrobin, a messenger from Alex.
Margaret was surprised when she noticed Ella sucking her thumb, something she’d given up a long time ago. Her daughter’s gaze was riveted on the young man.
The young man dropped his bag in the middle of the path and started running toward them. “Ella!” he shouted. “Ella!”
“Merciful God,” Margaret cried. “It’s your brother Brian.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. When Brian reached them, Ella retreated behind Margaret’s skirts, but Margaret threw her arms around him.
“Lady Marg—”
“I’m Maggie now,” she said, smiling and brushing her tears away. “Ella, come greet your brother. He’s come a long way to find you.”
Brian waited patiently while Ella first peeked at him behind Margaret, then slowly inched her way out. Finally, she raised her arms, and Brian swooped her up off the ground.
“You’re so big!” Brian said.
Brian himself had grown from a pale and skinny twelve-year-old lad to a strapping youth of fifteen.
“I was afraid she wouldn’t recognize me,” Brian said, looking at Margaret.
“We spoke about ye often so she wouldn’t forget,” Margaret said.
Kidnapped by a Rogue, kindle Page 32