Duty of the Chieftain - a Highland 'Lord's Right of the First Night' novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #3)

by Jonnet Carmichael

  The Swordmaker was startled at this added privilege. He bowed to Ranald, muttering his understanding and promise of secrecy. Meredith came out the cottage then, wiping her hands on a cloth.

  The clue had been there and he'd missed it. Meredith was a right bonnie lass, as the Chief had said, but her hands were working hands. The Lady Elinor had clearly never scrubbed a floor in her life. How in hell could he have missed that…

  The guilt stabbed at him again, and he shoved it away. He was no' the guilty one in this.

  Meredith curtsied neatly to Ranald and Elinor, but her eyes met Ranald’s with a look of hurt that he sought immediately to balm.

  "Long life and guid fortune to you both, Meredith," said Ranald for the second time, though for the first to the correct woman. "Archie will tell ye of a special duty I would have him do for our clan this day. And I grant him till supper time to do it, freed of his duties in the forge."

  The chieftain grinned as he bid the couple good morn and took the Lady Elinor’s arm again. He chapped the window of another cottage and pressed her firmly through the doorway.

  A young woman bade them most welcome to her hearth, lifting fresh bannocks off the griddle hanging over the fire and filling her best goblets with spiced wine.

  "How goes it, Martha?" asked Ranald, through a mouthful of crisp oatmeal.

  "Grand we are, milord! I cannot thank ye enough for this cottage. See there, Roddy has his own room now and thinks himself quite the gentleman. Ye're looking right well yerself."

  Elinor, ignored as of no matter, left her wine untouched and listened to the talk between Ranald and this Martha woman who seemed to converse with the chieftain in a manner highly unbefitting her surroundings. She discerned from their chatter that the woman’s husband was Scribe to the MacKrannans and was busy working with the clan's Bard.

  A black-haired boy came running in, splashing the contents of his wooden pail in his haste. Elinor’s face wrinkled in disbelief as the distinct smell of stale urine reached her.

  The boy set down the pail carefully and ran straight to Ranald who stood up to receive his bow, then lifted the delighted child up level with his face.

  "Roddy, lad! Are ye still the height of my sword? Ye have no' shrunk in my absence?"

  "I’m bigger than it, I keep telling ye, milord!" The boy scampered into a side room and emerged dragging an old pock-marked sword. Ranald held it upright while the youngster stood beside it, needlessly puffing out his chest for he easily surpassed the weapon in size.

  Elinor stared at man and child together. The likeness was so pronounced that Ranald’s introduction was superfluous.

  "Roddy, this is Lady Elinor Keirston. Lady Elinor – my son Roddy, born from the Lord's Right atween Martha and myself five years past."

  Elinor inclined her head formally to the bowing child, well aware of the chieftain's insult of putting the child’s name before her own, but diverted by a sneeze coming upon her, occasioned by the urine’s putrid fumes which now filled the room.

  "Excuse me, if you please, that smell…"

  "Biting yer nose, is it?" said Ranald, lifting the pail and gingerly placing it outside the door. "But the Scribe cannot miss the gathering of such fine ingredient for his ink-making as men’s piss after a night of drinking. Ye may thank yer own guard for the pailful supplied, milady."

  Martha put hand to mouth, her shoulders shaking. Ranald caught her eye and the two of them burst into raucous laughter, immediately joined by young Roddy who was well used to visitors turning up their noses at the variety of smells in his home.

  Infuriated, Elinor arose from her seat, staring coldly at the three who seemed determined to affront her.

  Ranald lifted his son up against his chest and kissed him soundly on either cheek before placing a small jingling pouch in the boy’s hand. "Stick in hard at yer schooling, and look after your bonnie mother here."

  Taking Martha’s smiling face in his hands, he kissed her forehead and left the cottage. Elinor scurried out in his wake, arms rigid and hands balled in a wrath that Ranald feigned not to notice as he walked further towards the harbor and the waiting boat.

  Elinor could be silent no longer. "What is your purpose, chieftain? Why do you parade me before your people in this manner?"

  The faces of his clansfolk had told him they knew something was up, but not what it was. He wouldn't be telling her, and bent down to whisper only, "Reactions".

  Shocked as much by his hot breath in her ear as by his answer, Elinor could not help but ask, "And what have you found?"

  He didn't answer, instead walking away to greet a group of fishermen mending nets. While his back was turned, Elinor looked casually around. This was the last chance she’d have of escape without need to swim. Seeing no major obstruction, she lifted the folds of her dress and bolted.

  She managed no more than the distance of three cottages before twelve of Ranald’s twelve encircled her, materialising from alleyways and gardens and thin air.

  "I am riding home this day!" she cried, so frightened by the men who crowded close enough to trample on her hems that she began slapping at their chests. "Stand aside, I tell you!"

  Ranald’s towering figure came through the ranks to stand over her. "My men guard your life, Elinor Keirston. Be gentle with them, aye?"

  The circle moved suddenly, with Elinor lost to sight in the middle. She could do nothing but move with the throng, her protests lost among the men’s loud bantering, and blind to anything beyond the array of leather vests until they arrived at the boat and she found herself lifted bodily aboard by Ranald.

  He carried her down the wooden steps into the captain’s cabin, deposited her unceremoniously on the chair and left her to her tantrum.

  Ranald was on deck when Ginny appeared, negotiating barrels and ropes to reach him, and newly dainty in her step to hansel the gown he'd last seen some years ago on his sister.

  No fool, the Ginny one, for many of her kind would have grabbed the silks for the look of them and never mind the offshore winds. She'd chosen the warmth of velvet to wear at sea, and a woollen cloak which matched in both color and moth-holes.

  "Well, lass, has the Lady Elinor stopped her noise yet?"

  "Nay, milord," she answered, curtsying. "She sends word that ye're away the wrong road entirely." She dipped another little curtsy, thrilled to be of such personal service to the chieftain and wanting to do everything to please him. The Lady Elinor's ranting mattered not a whit to her if he showed no care.

  "Tell her we are headed for the Prison Island. Protect your head after ye say it, and get out the cabin quick."

  "Thank ye, milord!" She curtsied yet again, losing her balance completely as the boat hit a wave full on.

  Ranald grasped two handfuls of skirts and hoisted her upright.

  "Ginny, it is only the fish will pay heed to yer etiquette here, for ye will tip over the side afore noon if you do no' cease that infernal curtsying every minute. No more until we are on land again, do ye hear?"

  "As ye say, milord!" She halted herself in mid-bob, remembering what she'd only just been told, and inclined her head to her master as she'd seen his guardsmen do.

  Dougall appeared at Ranald's side, summoned by a glance once she was gone below deck. "Yer betrothed is skittish as a foal new out the stable," said Ranald. "Can ye help with that?"

  "Oh aye," said the steward. "She'll settle well with a cuddling in, if ye'll give me a minute."

  "Carry on, man! Ye may keep her at yer side until we reach the island, and see that I am disturbed by none at all whilst I speak with the Lady Elinor."

  Women. One on board needed a man's embrace to calm her, and the other was hysterical for much the same reason. Maybe he should be taking lessons from Dougall.

  Ranald found Elinor sitting miserably in the captain's chair. At once he was reminded of the previous day in his room when he'd received a better welcome. Taking the berth, it being the only other seating available, he waited benignly for her to fill the s
ilence. Women always did.

  Elinor did not.

  "Do ye know what my clan use the Prison Island for?" He kept his voice even and pleasant, and watched her face redden.

  "A prison," she said stiffly.

  "It is more than a prison, being far out of earshot. It is where we question captives, so that the clansfolk are no' disturbed by their screams. How long were ye wed to Sir Alain Douglas?"

  Elinor flinched and turned to look out the little square of window, denying him any answer. The boat nudged against the quay of the tiny island, and she could see sailors busy with ropes and greetings and provisions.

  Ranald stood up carefully, aware that his height exceeded that of the cabin.

  "Come and see another trade." He stood over her, and she accepted his offered hand, knowing she had little option in spite of his amiable tone.

  On the quayside, her arm was once again unwillingly linked with Ranald's as they strolled towards a small stone keep. A soldier appeared from its entrance.

  "Symon, guid man! How goes it?"

  "Guid enough, chieftain," the soldier replied, distracted by the unusual sight of a proper lady on the island.

  "Lady Elinor, this is Symon, retired from honorable service in the king's army. Take us in, man. My father tells me you have Euan as guest yet again."

  Inside the tower, the guest sat chained to the far wall in a puddle of filth of his own making and with several rats eating the stale food placed out of his reach. Ranald kept tight hold of Elinor's arm lest her shuddering turn to swoon.

  "Symon here is as fine a jailer as ye'll meet. Who does the job down at Fordnethan and Keirston for ye, Elinor? Have ye the power of pit and gallows there?"

  "The... the Douglases attend to such matters..."

  "Then I would recommend ye take a personal interest in the choosing of your jailers. We had one that hurt the prisoners just for his own pleasure, and that's a queer sort. Our men take turns here, for we do not want a man who would choose it as his trade. Best to inspect the wife with her back bared. As a judgement, ye understand. Symon hurts none lest there is no other way."

  "Please, I would return to the boat now..."

  "Stay a bit longer! You might be the last pretty sight this spy sees. Look how glad he is of yer merrisome company. And here – let me show ye the tools of Symon’s trade."

  Turning Elinor to a selection of torture instruments, he felt her fingers dig into his arm. Over his shoulder, he asked Symon, "Remind me which of these enticements ye use for women who speak ill."

  Symon pointed to a rusted framework contraption with a sharp spike inside.

  "Oh aye, the Scold’s Bridle," said Ranald. "Ye padlock it over a woman's head and she canna speak without the spike digging into her tongue. Seldom used, by its look. Our clanswomen were never like others. When was the last time we had need of it?"

  The old jailer could see his chieftain was at a game, but could not fathom what amusement such a highborn lady would find in it.

  "I believe it would be for the dairymaid who wrongly miscalled the cattle drover. Stripped naked and a public whipping, milord, and the Bridle put on her until the next moon."

  "Her that lost her tongue and never spoke thereafter?"

  "That's the one," said Symon. "She wouldna keep it still even with the spike on it. But she survived fine on milk."

  Ranald nodded. "And which of your enticements are for those who refuse to speak?"

  The jailer turned almost full circle, displaying the array of implements with a sweep of his hand. "All that ye see."

  With a faint "By your leave..." Elinor jerked her arm free and ran outside, skirts flying as she made for the sanctuary of the boat.

  Elinor shook uncontrollably as she paced the small cabin, wondering how to even begin explaining as she now knew she must.

  Stupid! Stupid of her to have chosen Ranald MacKrannan on the whim of circumstance alone. She'd thought the opportunity too provident to miss, for his esteem at court as a man of honor was legend.

  Glad she was that her marriage to the Earl of Maxton had been announced, and the other widows at court made no pretence of hiding their envy at her becoming a Countess. An earl would more usually be given a young virgin. Such irony…

  That neither Maxton's words nor his nearness had ever stirred one extra heartbeat in her was of no consequence. Elinor's brief widowhood had shown her that no woman could manage alone in the Borders.

  Her late husband's Douglas relatives treated Fordnethan Tower as a convenient halfway hostelry for their raids, taking away her guards and bringing back English retaliation. Keirston Tower and its lands, her dowry, was now being used as a Scots garrison and filled with soldiers. Her people were frightened, the lands sacked by Scots and English alike, and the king's solution the best available.

  Fordnethan and Keirston would go to the Earl of Maxton, and so would she, and her people would be well protected thereafter.

  Before she could wed him, however, she must do something about her virginity.

  No-one knew that her union with Alain Douglas had never been consummated. She had but little time in which to lose her maiden state before her wedding night with Maxton, and her stay at MacKrannan Castle had presented the ideal chance.

  The Swordmaker's wedding had been rather beautiful in its simplicity. After the fleet of galleys was sighted and Sir Thommas announced the Lord's Right would be performed by the returning chieftain, she'd overheard a gaggle of maids talking excitedly of the MacKrannan brothers. And when she met Agatha's maid with the bride in an upstairs corridor, it seemed her little problem could be solved much easier than she'd thought.

  No need to throw herself at him at all. Just allow herself to be breeched without any explanation whatsoever. It would be over quickly, for they'd both be expected at Hall for his homecoming supper. And she might even find it somewhat enjoyable, if even half the gossip were true from either end of the country.

  And afterwards? Well, she'd just brazen it out, knowing he'd never tell a living soul.

  Hardly had he entered his room but she knew exactly what the ladies of the court talked of. Such presence, such raw manliness even before he'd disrobed but a pace away from her. She'd felt her mouth open to catch her breath as he gazed down at her, his eyes piercing into her own as if opening up her heart for inspection.

  She'd so nearly run off there and then. Everything, even that first kiss, had been a revelation of all she had missed in her marriage to Sir Alain Douglas.

  She'd taken a gamble, and lost. Where was MacKrannan’s honor now? Where was the chieftain who demanded such discretion in his liaisons that not one of the court ladies would own to having known him beyond idle conversation, in spite of their blushes at his name?

  It was all so different from the others they discussed. At the mention of Ranald, the talk turned to whispers, all of it about 'a friend' here and 'an acquaintance' there but their descriptions and the shocking details were too intimate to be from a third party.

  She'd kept silent, having neither clue to what peculiar meaning they attached to his words nor personal experience of the outrageous acts they spoke of, yet feeling excluded and wistful of the joy they related.

  Last eve she had found out for herself just what sort of joy that was. His attentions had been so ardent, and her heart jumped in remembrance at the strange feelings he had occasioned in her.

  And then he had bade her mount him to have her maidenhead destroyed. Astride? Astride? Too lazy to be bothered getting off his back to do his duty in the Lord's Right? Too lazy to shave before it?

  Fool… fool for trusting the MacKrannan chieftain. She’d spent supper turning away from his every question, and he'd picked the veil of her bonnet out his supper where it landed each time she did so.

  How stupid she had been… This MacKrannan was not a man to be duped and forgotten. He'd nearly told her guard! He'd be telling everyone how she'd tricked him, making mock of it. All chance for her to be Countess of Maxton would be gone,
and the safety of her people with it. And the king and queen… oh she could not even imagine what they'd say!

  He'd devise some way to punish her. MacKrannan trades, indeed! A Scold's Bridle he'd shown her, and she'd not missed the implied threat. Her late husband had told her stories aplenty of this MacKrannan’s prowess in battle and his ruthless treatment of spies.

  Would he dare to use such a contraption on a lady of her birthright? Have her stripped naked and whipped in public? Never! And yet the filthy shirt on that prisoner had been one of quality…

  Elinor chilled with the realisation that MacKrannan would show no mercy to any who stood in his way. And now she was on a boat far from anyone who would help her, and his parents had gone along with the kidnap, and all the guards and sailors totally under his command and showing a loyalty to him she’d scarce seen in her life.

  When at last the boat cast off from the island and Ranald entered the cabin again, stooping half double to come through the doorway, she did not wait for him to repeat his earlier question about her marriage to Alain.

  "Three years. I was wed at the age of nineteen."

  "A bit late, no?" he said, closing the door. "Sit down, if ye please, that I might also." He settled himself on the berth before continuing, "For how long were ye promised to him?"

  Elinor had no intention of telling Ranald MacKrannan anything beyond the minimum needed to appease, so she gave answer that would do so and no more.

  "Eleven years."

  "His people delayed, then. The Douglases were ever the clan for seeking a better offer."

  His comment on the obvious was naught but impertinence. She would not be intimidated! Elinor jerked her head up, mouth firmly closed. She was determined not to show fear, though he exuded a power that made dignity all but impossible.

  "Ye’re too silly a lass for games, Elinor Keirston. Dinna start playing with me. I knew Alain Douglas well enough and he never once spoke of ye. I wouldna even have known to send ye particular word of his death were it not for his squire telling me of a wife by name of Elinor. Why were ye never at court with him?"