Honor Restored
Scottish historical Romance
Fiona MacEwen
Copyright © 2020 by Fiona MacEwen.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 A Game of Chance
Chapter 2 A Free Prisoner
Chapter 3 Watching for Escape
Chapter 4 A Seized Opportunity
Chapter 5 A Perilous Journey
Chapter 6 A Real Captivity
Chapter 7 The Final Battle
Chapter 8 The Auld Alliance
Prologue
But now it was no use. They had broken through the defenses and Una watched helplessly as the doors of the Great Hall burst open and Feargan McDonald and his men charged through.
“Enough now,” he cried, as the remaining Gordons fought valiantly, but hopelessly, against their enemy. “See to it that the castle is made secure. And throw these men into their own dungeons.”
“Get back,” Una cried desperately as he advanced towards her, his sword drawn.
“Well now, what dae we have here? A pretty wee lass and make nay mistake,” he said, smiling at her and laughing.
Una knew they were beaten, and she stood defiantly facing him, her fists clenched in anger.
“Ye will never win,” she said.
“Oh, I think I already have, lass,” he replied, shaking his head, “and ye are my prize.”
***
Dark clouds hung over the moorlands and a light rain was falling as Una Gordon watched her father saddle up his horse for battle. There was a ritual to his preparations, an ordered manner in which he prepared and one which she had seen countless times before. He would ensure the horse was ready first, before donning his armor and inspecting his weaponry. Then, he would climb onto the horse and adjust the straps and stirrups, patting the animal’s mane as though for good luck.
When all of this was achieved he would turn and look down at Una, raise the visor on his helmet and nod to her. She would look back into his eyes and sigh, wondering if this would be the last time she saw her father alive, and as if sensing her thoughts he would shake his head and speak some word or other of encouragement.
“Tis’ only a small force we face, the McDonalds have neither men nor courage to their name. We shall be back to toast victory by the evening, ye shall see,” he said on this particular day.
There had been reports of McDonalds burning crofts and pillaging cattle upon the high moorlands above the castle. Her father had every intention of putting a stop to it and he had breathed murderous threats against Feargan, Laird of the McDonalds, vowing his vengeance against him. Now, he had gathered together his clansmen to ride out and Una watched as he turned to rally the soldiers in the courtyard on that dark and miserable afternoon.
“Be careful, Faither,” she said, words to which effect she always used when watching him ride out to war.
With her mother dead and no other siblings upon which to rely, Una had only her father. She dreaded him riding off to war like this, for her greatest fear was to be left as an orphan. But her words fell on deaf ears, for she knew her father considered himself invincible and he won enough victories for such self-opinion to be justified. The name of Gordon was one feared across the Highlands and Una now watched as he and the others rode out of the castle gates.
“I always fear the worst,” she said to Mary Macready, her loyal maidservant, shaking her head as the cries of the soldiers echoed around the walls.
“Yer faither is a great warrior, lass. Daenae worry for his safety. He and the others will return,” she replied, taking Una by the hand and leading her back into the keep, as the gates were closed behind the soldiers riding off to war.
“But surely one day they will nae,” Una said, shaking her head.
“Daenae think like that, lass. Come now, warm yerself on the fire in the Great Hall,” Mary said, but Una found herself unable to settle.
Instead, she made her way up the long spiral staircase to her chambers, which lay almost at the top of the keep and from which she could see far out into the glen beyond. A fire was kindled there too, and she was glad of the warmth as well as the solitude.
Crossing to the window, she pulled back the drapes to reveal the landscape laid out below. She could see as far as the Moray Mountains, across moorland and heather and over the forests towards the loch. It was there that her father intended to meet the enemy, and on the track which led down from the mighty castle of the Gordons she could just make out her father and his men riding to war.
He rode at their head, his banner blowing in the wind, and she watched as the trail of soldiers snaked away into the distance. It was always the same, those familiar feelings of worry and fear, as she watched him ride out to war. Would today be that day he did not return? She offered up a silent prayer and stood watching, as the last of the soldiers disappeared onto the horizon.
It was growing darker, though the afternoon was not yet at its midpoint. Around the mountain tops the clouds were swirling and a strong wind was sending them across the glen, the sky darkening as the rain fell heavier. She shivered and dropped back the heavy drapes which hung across the window and went to warm herself by the fire. She would have no rest that night, only the nagging worry until the sounds of the horse’s hooves below signaled her father’s safe return.
The castle had been left with only a small guard and the gates were barred shut. She remained in her chambers for much of the evening, disturbed only a little later when Mary came to call her down for dinner. In the Great Hall, those clansmen who had remained behind spoke in hushed voices and the atmosphere was tense. Despite her father’s bravado, it was well known that the McDonalds were a formidable force to be reckoned with. Victory would not be easy and if the Gordon’s were to triumph, they would need more than a little luck.
“Is there any word from the battle?” she asked, as one of the elderly soldiers came to sit opposite her.
“Nothin’ lass, nay. We can see very little from the walls. The fightin’ goes on down in the glen, but daenae worry, yer father will be victorious,” he replied, beginning to eat a bowl full of stew.
Una had little appetite for food and she toyed with her own meal, tearing hunks of bread from a loaf placed in front of her and chewing them ponderously. How could she eat when her father was risking his life like this? How could any of them eat?
She looked around at the other clansmen, those who had seen too many winters and those who had seen too few. They would be no match for an invasion, and she knew that all which stood between them and such an eventuality were her father and his men. He too was growing old, and she wondered just how many more battles he might ride out to fight. Surely, the time would soon come when he would lay down his sword and allow other men to take up the mantle for the honor of their clan.
But who would be chosen? Una knew that her father loved her dearly but that his greatest regret was never having fathered a son. One had been born, but he had died just a few weeks later, taken by a fever which claimed many other lives tha
t year. Her father had wept, for without a male heir there could be no true inheritance and with her mother now gone the destiny of the clan was in doubt.
Sighing to herself, she pushed these thoughts to one side, along with her dinner, which lay uneaten before her. Mary tutted as she came towards her and shook her head at the sight of the cold plate.
“There are men who would be glad of such food, lass,” she said, but Una just sighed.
“Aye, and on any other day I too would be glad, but nae today. Today I just want news of my father and the men,” she replied.
“Aye, lass, we all dae,” Mary said, and Una got up and made her way outside into the passageway and out towards the courtyard.
It was raining heavily now, and the torches had been lit upon the battlements. She hurried across the flagstones and up the steps to where the watchmen were keeping vigil. They were surprised to see her, their heavy woolen cloaks soaked through and rain running down their helmets.
“Get back inside, lass. Ye shall catch yer death of cold,” one of them said, as she peered through the darkness and out into the glen.
“Is there nay word yet?” she asked, straining her eyes through the gloom.
“Nay, lass. Only the rain, and that will put a stop to any fightin’ out there. We shall nae see yer father until daybreak,” the man said.
But as he did so, an arrow rushed past his head and over the wall. Una screamed, and the soldier pulled her down, as cries of alarm rang out across the battlements. She was face down and more arrows were whistling over her head.
“What is happenin’?” she cried, and the soldier looked up over her head.
“Tis’ … tis’ the McDonalds lass, their banner,” he cried, and yet more arrows flew overhead.
“But my father,” she cried, struggling up.
“Keep down, lass. Get back to the keep, tell them to bar the doors,” he cried, and keeping low she crawled along the battlements.
Below there came shouts from the McDonalds and the thud of a battering ram against the gates. As she hurried down the steps, she looked back to see ladders mounted to the walls and vicious hand to hand fighting above. It seemed that they were surrounded, and in terror she fled across the courtyard towards the keep.
Inside, Mary Macready was waiting for her, her face anxious and she caught hold of Una, tears running down her face.
“Oh, Mistress, what is happenin’ out there?” she cried.
“Tis’ the McDonalds, they are stormin’ the castle walls,” Una cried, taking hold of Mary’s hand and hurrying her towards the Great Hall.
“Then we must escape, Mistress, quickly,” Mary said.
“There is nay time, they are upon the walls and soon the gates will be gone. We have nae enough men to hold them back. My father …” she said, her words trailing off.
If the McDonalds had reached the castle, then surely that must mean … was her father dead? Or injured? What of all the others? He had left with a force of many men, strong in arms and courage. For that force to have been destroyed would take an army of considerable size, more than her father had reckoned upon. Tears filled her eyes at the thought of her father lying injured or dead. What had happened to him?
Cries from out in the courtyard brought her back to her senses, and she rushed to the window where a scene of horror met her. The gates of the castle had been breached, and the courtyard was filled with McDonald men, led by the man she could only assumed was Feargan McDonald himself. He had ridden through the gates upon a great black stead and his sword was drawn as though in victory. He was laughing, as around him his men brought death and bloodshed to the Gordons and cries of pain rose up through the night.
“There is nay escape, Mistress,” Mary said, backing up against the wall.
“Bar the doors,” Una cried, as the last remaining clansmen rushed to their defense.
Together they huddled, awaiting the inevitable as the sounds of victorious McDonald soldiers came from beyond the doors. It would only be a matter of time before they were upon them and Una felt helpless to do anything against them. The once mighty castle had fallen and her father was surely dead. What now would become of her at the mercy of Feargan McDonald?
Mary clung to Una, as the sounds of the soldiers came from outside of the Great Hall. There was a crash of wood against wood and the doors began to splinter.
“Hold fast,” Una cried, her voice shaking, as another crash came against the door.
The helpless soldiers looked terrified, as they pushed against the doors, another splintering crash coming from the other side. It took only a few moments before the McDonalds were through. With a final splintering crash the doors gave way, and the soldiers fell back, their swords drawn in vain. A host of McDonald soldiers were now upon them, and cries of surrender went up from the Gordons as they tried valiantly to defend themselves.
“Enough,” came a voice from behind and Una watched helplessly as through the splintered doors there came the man she now hated most in all the world, Feargan McDonald.
“Well, well, well, look what we have here. A pretty lassie, daughter of the old Laird. Una is it nae?” he said, advancing towards her with an unpleasant smile spread across his face.
“Get back,” she cried, but he just laughed and looked around him.
“And who will stop me, lass?” he said, taking hold of her arm and pulling her towards him.
His breath smelled disgusting and there was the odor of war and bloodshed about him. She recoiled from his touch but he simply pulled her further towards him and grimaced.
“What will ye dae with us?” she said, trying to make her voice sound strong and brave, but shaking as she spoke.
“Throw these men in their own dungeons,” he said, pointing to the Gordon soldiers now lined up against the wall, their swords discarded and their heads hung in sorrow, “but as for ye Una Gordon. Ye shall come with me. I am sure we shall make ye most welcome at the McDonald castle,” he replied, laughing.
Una looked in horror at Mary who began to cry, but there was nothing which could be done. The once proud Gordons were defeated and their castle was taken. She was now at the mercies of Feargan McDonald and what he would do with her she could not imagine.
“Stay strong, Mary,” she cried, as the soldiers carried her off and Feargan McDonald laughed.
“I will Mistress, all will be well, I promise ye,” Mary replied.
But, as Una was dragged from the Great Hall of her father’s castle she could find little hope to cling to and she shed a bitter tear for her father and her clan. As Feargan McDonald gloated over victory and the banner of the McDonalds was raised over the castle.
Chapter 1
A Game of Chance
Three Months Later
The castle of the McDonald was dark and foreboding, though Una had been spared the dungeons. Upon her arrival at the home of Feargan McDonald, she had been shut away in a high tower. It looked out over the loch on which shore the castle stood, a grim and impregnable fortress which offered little hope of escape.
She had been treated with due respect, though she was most certainly a prisoner. Her food was brought to her, and she was permitted to walk in the castle gardens for an hour each day, accompanied by two soldiers and watched at all times. Feargan McDonald had not intended to bring home a prisoner and his wife, a feisty woman in her own right named Amelia, had been somewhat dismayed at the sight of the defiant red head, as she was marched into the castle courtyard.
“What is this?” she had said, as Una returned her scowl.
“A trophy, lass,” her husband had replied.
“I have nay need of a trophy and neither dae ye,” Amelia had replied, and since that day she had taken every opportunity to let Una know that she was subject to her whims, as well as that of her husband.
“Ye must find a way to deal with our problem,” she had said, in the way in which she had become accustomed to referring to Una over the past months of her captivity.
“And how
would ye suggest we dae so,” her husband had replied, as Una stood meekly in front of them.
“Ye will find a way. Else I will,” Amelia had replied, storming off along the castle corridors.
Una knew that Amelia was jealous of her and she enjoyed that small play of power amidst the otherwise bleak situation in which she found herself in. But it seemed that Feargan had no real interest in her, only in that which she represented. Una’s captivity demonstrated Feargan’s own military prowess. He had conquered the unconquerable Gordons and emerged victorious. Across the Highlands he was now known as a warrior to be feared and he rather enjoyed that accolade, letting it be known that any man who challenged him would meet with swift and severe retribution.
But the problem of what to do with Una persisted. He could not simply keep her prisoner for the rest of her life, and despite his fearsome nature, Feargan McDonald was no murderer. He knew his wife wanted rid of their guest and so he made it known to Una that a feast would be held in the Great Hall of the castle and she would be played for in a game of dice and cards.
“I have nothin’ but contempt for ye, Feargan McDonald,” Una said, as he stood in the doorway of her sparse chamber and made his pronouncement.
“And all I wish is to be rid of ye, lass,” he said, scowling at her.
“Then have me killed. I would rather die and join my father than be a trophy to be bartered for by ye,” she said.
“Nay more death. Ye will dae as ye are told and whoever wins ye will take ye from my hands. Ye are a bonnie lass and I am sure there are many men who would wish to make a prize of ye,” he said, shaking his head.
“Not least yer wife. Did ye think ye would bring me back here to be yer mistress?” she asked, for Una had come to realize how easily she could taunt him with this suggestion.
“I am loyal to my wife,” he replied.
“Ye did nae sound so loyal when ye were calling me a pretty lass in the Great Hall of my father’s castle. Tis’ a guilty conscience ye have, Feargan McDonald and I wish ye nothin’ but unhappiness all the days of yer life,” she said, turning away from him.
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