Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle

by Victoria Vane

  “Would ye deprive the Highland máthairs of their sons for nae good reason?” MacAedh asked.

  Though his tone was mild, the king’s knuckles whitened on the arms of his throne. He stared back at MacAedh as if he were a worm. “Who are ye to judge my reasons?”

  “The kingdom is nae at war,” MacAedh argued.

  “Yet past experience has taught me the value of maintaining a strong army,” the king replied. “As for recruits, I would rather the sons over the fathers… The sons can yet be molded.”

  “Into proper Normans?” MacAedh challenged.

  “Into loyal subjects,” the king corrected him. “And ye Highlanders will continue to provide recruits until I am assured of yer unwavering allegiance.”

  Unknowingly, the king had provided MacAedh the perfect opportunity to present his argument for Domnall’s regency. But having been given no prior opportunity to speak, Alex had been unable to share Father Gregor’s words of warning about the rivals for the regency.

  “If it is our allegiance ye seek, there is a better way,” MacAedh replied evenly.

  The king raised a cynical brow. “And what might that be?”

  “’Tis said ye have named Prince Malcolm of Cumbria as yer successor.”

  “’Tis true,” the king answered.

  “But the lad is many years from his majority,” MacAedh argued.

  “A regent will be appointed from amongst my advisors,” the king answered.

  “Perhaps there is someone better suited for the role?” MacAedh suggested.

  “And who would ye suggest to rule my kingdom?” the king asked, his voice laced with irony.

  “There are others with a claim to the crown,” MacAedh said.

  “There are always pretenders,” the king remarked with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “I speak of nae pretender,” MacAedh said. “Domnall Mac William is the grandson of yer own half-brother, King Duncan. Who better to act as regent if ye wish to unite the north and south?”

  “Ye would have me entrust my kingdom to your nephew?” the king responded with a choking laugh. “The illegitimate of offspring of my half-sibling?”

  “Legitimate or nae, he still shares yer blood,” MacAedh contested.

  “Blood that has been tainted by his treacherous Highland kinsmen,” the king argued. “How could I ever trust such a man? How do I ken nothing will befall young Malcolm the moment your nephew is installed in power?”

  “Ye have my word as the son of Aedh, the last Mormaer of Moray.”

  “Yer word?” the king scoffed. “I would as lief trust a viper than any man of Moray. For five and twenty years, I have struggled to unite this backward country. I have chartered burghs from Cumberland to Elgin in the hope of growing trade and prosperity. The southern kingdom flourishes with merchants and trade, yet the north remains untamed with obdurate savages who would rather wallow in penury than submit to royal authority. So be it.” He threw up his hands. “Ye will continue on this path at yer peril for I will continue to conscript yer sons until no rebel remains.”

  Was it the king’s goal to purge the land of Highlanders? It seemed so.

  “As to securing Prince Malcolm’s succession,” the king continued. “Ye will bring yer nephew, Domnall, to court, where ye will both kneel and swear allegiance to yer future king.”

  “My allegiance is already sworn to my kinsman,” MacAedh replied.

  “Renounce it and I may consider restoring some of your family’s prior holdings,” the king said. “Indeed, I feel generous at present. Should he do the same, I will grant Domnall lands and titles of his own to the south.”

  MacAedh remained steadfast in his defiance. “If ye willna consider him for the regency, there is naught more to say. I will nae send for him.”

  The king smiled. “Is that so? It seems I mistook ye for a reasonable man. Perhaps ye need time to reconsider my offer?” He inclined his head to the guards. “Take this man away and put him in chains.”

  Like a trapped animal, the Thane of Kilmuir look wildly about for escape, but weaponless and outnumbered a dozen to one, there was no way out. Alex watched in impotent frustration as the soldiers surrounded him with drawn swords.

  MacAedh’s shoulders slumped in surrender as he sought Alex’s gaze. “Remember yer vow,” he murmured in Gaelic just before they dragged him away.

  “Brother Alexander,” the king addressed him once more, gaze narrowed. “What, precisely, is your affiliation with this traitor of Moray?”

  Alex’s pulse pounded as MacAedh’s, earlier words rang a peal in his head. I count on ye to warn the others of what is to come. Domnall must be ready to act.

  “We have no connection,” Alex replied, feeling very much like a Judas. “We met by chance on the road to Dunfermline. He provided me protection and I offered my services.”

  “How is it that ye speak the Gaelic so fluently?” To Alexander’s ears, the king’s question sounded more like an accusation. Was he also about to be taken prisoner?

  “I was raised in the north at the monastery of Portmahomack,” Alex answered.

  “And your family? Who are they?”

  “I dinna ken, yer Majesty. I was a foundling.”

  The king’s gaze narrowed. “Raised amongst the Culdee heretics?”

  Alexander shook his head. “The abbot, Faither Gregor, is a true man of God.”

  “That is yet to be determined,” the king replied cryptically.

  “If ye doubt my word, Faither Gregor is presently here at Dunfermline meeting with the bishop,” Alex volunteered.

  “Is he, indeed?” Fingering his beard, the king eyed Alexander with greater scrutiny. “Ae ye an ambitious man, Brother Alexander?”

  Where was this going? He hadn’t a clue.

  Alex chose his words carefully. “I was trained as a scribe, but my ambition is only to advance the Kingdom of God.”

  “And of course to serve your sovereign?” the king suggested with a cocked brow.

  “Given that God appoints our king, does that nae go without saying?” Alex replied.

  The king laughed outright. “Ye are a humble scribe, perhaps, but I also perceive by your answer that ye would make a skilled politician. Indeed, I grow quite certain I could use someone with your particular mix of talents.”

  “How so?” Alex asked.

  “’Twas my sainted mother’s dying wish to unite our church with Rome, God rest her blessed soul.” The king paused to make the sign of the holy trinity.

  “Queen Margaret was well known for her piety,” Alex remarked.

  “Aye. She fed the orphans and bathed the paupers’ feet daily and, by Heaven, I am avowed to honor her desire before I pass from this earth! In three months’ time, a delegate will arrive from Rome to conduct a thorough review of the Culdee monasteries. The church in the southern kingdom has made great strides to reform,” the king continued, “But there are reports that many Highlanders refuse to give up profane Pagan rituals.”

  Alex was immediately reminded of Cnoc Croit na Maoile. There were, indeed, many such places in the Highlands.

  “People often hold to old traditions as a way of honoring their ancestors and their past,” Alex said, thinking of Sibylla. “’Tis nae their intention to dishonor God.”

  “And what of their refusal to obey the wishes of their earthly king? They continue to rebel against both church and state. How do ye explain this, Brother Alexander?”

  Alex had no answer. The rebellion led by MacAedh’s brother’s rebellion had cost his clan everything. Nevertheless, MacAedh was determined to rebel if the king refused to recognize Domnall.

  “The lands to the north have long troubled me. They will no doubt refuse to accept my grandson’s succession, as they once tried to reject my own. It took me ten years to quell the rebellion.”

  Alex averted his gaze lest his own treacherous thoughts betray him. What did you do to my father once you captured him? he wanted to say. Was he tortured? Mutilated? Or just left to ro
t in prison? It took all his will to hold his tongue.

  “My grandson is young and inexperienced,” the king continued. “I cannot allow them to exploit his vulnerability. I must resolve this issue of the Highlands once and for all.” The king fingered his beard with a faraway look. “The answer now comes to me… Perhaps it is possible to kill two birds with one stone?”

  “Majesty?” Alex could almost see the king’s mind working as he formulated his plan.

  “What is most needed in the north is a show of strength,” the king replied. “Prince Malcolm will arrive in a few days. I will send him and Fife north at the head of my army… and ye will accompany them.”

  “Me?” Alex was stunned. “Surely there are others better suited,” he protested.

  “There are few in my court with a command of the Gaelic,” the king replied. “Of those who do, most are old men who are not up to the rigors of extended travel. Ye, on the other hand, are young and fit, and have the advantage of knowing both the land and the tongue.”

  “What, precisely, is the role ye would have me fill, Majesty?” Alex asked. Was this merely an opportunity to present the young prince to the people in a commanding role, or had the king something far more insidious in mind?

  “Ye will act as interpreter and intermediary and serve as spiritual advisor,” the king replied. “Ye will also report back to me on the progress of the monasteries. Those who continue to defy me will be displaced.”

  “Saint Columba taught us to seek to win a man’s heart and that his soul will surely follow,” Alex said. “To force conversion of the soul only leads to resistance.”

  “Resistance?” the king roared. “Those who do so will soon find their heads adorning my castle walls! The Highlands will come into submission or they will be purified by fire and sword.”

  Alex shut his eyes with a shudder on the gruesome image the king had evoked. Would he destroy innocent people without warning? It appeared he would also have no compunction.

  The king’s eyes took on a calculating gleam as he continued, “And should he persist in his defiance, MacAedh of Kilmuir will be the first.”

  “Ye would kill him?” Alex asked.

  The king smiled. “Sometimes the shepherd must be sacrificed for the good of the flock.”

  “Will ye give him benefit of clergy?” Alex asked, hoping for the chance at least to speak to MacAedh.

  The king steepled his fingers. “Ye would be his confessor?” he asked at length.

  “Aye,” Alex volunteered.

  “I will grant ye access,” the king replied, “under the condition that ye report back to me all that he speaks.”

  “But the rite of confession is sacrosanct,” Alex protested. “And meant for God’s ear alone.”

  “Yet God Himself has placed me on this throne to rule the subjects of this kingdom. If I am to maintain the peace and promote prosperity, I have the right to know their thoughts.” The king speared Alex with a cold stare. “Do ye take issue with this, Brother Alexander?”

  “Nae, Majesty.” Alex fully understood the message. The king expected him to act as a spy, a position surely intended as a test of loyalty.

  “Should my mission succeed, ye will be well-rewarded for yer service.”

  “I seek no reward,” Alex demurred.

  “Commendable sentiments,” the king replied. “But no matter how pious, I have yet to find a man who would refuse a gift. I have long desired to grant a charter for an abbey and cathedral at Fortrose in Moray.”

  “But Fortrose has been served by the monastery at Rosemarkie for centuries,” Alex replied.

  “The monastery will be replaced,” the king replied. “The abbey of Fortrose will far surpass it in every way and will include extensive lands… it will also be in need of an abbot. Serve me well and the position could be yours.”

  “Ye are most gracious,” Alex replied. “I hardly ken what to say.”

  He was, indeed, speechless. The king offered an abbey and lands in Moray in exchange for his mortal soul. He’d come south with MacAedh in hopes of claiming something for his own, and now he had his chance. But how far was he willing to go to advance himself? Would he sell his allegiance to this man he’d vowed never to recognize as his sovereign? Alex felt almost as if he were making a deal with the devil himself.

  The king’s thin lips curved in a cold, calculating smile. “Before I die, I will finally expunge that viper’s nest of treachery and heresy.”

  *

  “MACAEDH HAS BEEN taken prisoner,” Alex breathlessly declared.

  He’d left the king with his gut churning. Was there any way out of this? But how could he refuse? MacAedh was imprisoned and the king intended to march on Moray.

  “Come, lad,” Father Gregor urged him to sit. “Ye are much agitated.” He handed him a cup of wine. “Catch yer breath, take a drink, and then tell me all.”

  Alex forced himself to take in a lungful of air and then blew it out in a long, slow breath. He then gulped down the wine and began again. “MacAedh petitioned the king but the king refused to consider Domnall for the regency. He then demanded that MacAedh and Domnall both swear allegiance to Prince Malcolm.”

  “And MacAedh refused?”

  “Aye. Now he’s a prisoner. MacAedh is at the king’s mercy… and Cenn Mór shows no inclination to be merciful. The king has threatened to use MacAedh as an example to others if he doesna swear fealty.”

  “’Tis long been the practice of kings to use hostages and coercion.”

  “And to kill rivals,” Alex added grimly.

  “’Tis no great surprise. A man at the end of his life who believes his legacy is imperiled will do desperate things,” the priest replied.

  “He does,” Alex answered. “He intends to send Prince Malcolm at the head of an army.”

  The priest shook his head sadly. “Since the time of Saint Columba, ’tis been the practice of the monasteries to win the faith of the people through love and compassion. The Catholic Church has verra different methods.”

  “There is more,” Alex said. “He wishes me to accompany the prince.”

  Father Gregor regarded him with surprise. “Ye?”

  “Why would he choose me for this?” Alex asked.

  “He must believe ye would do well to act as intermediary between the prince and the peasantry.”

  “But why would he trust me?” Alex asked. “He kens nothing about me.”

  “Mayhap mistrust is precisely the reason,” the priest replied.

  “I dinna understand.”

  “Ye arrived at Dunfermline with MacAedh, which is reason enough for the king to suspect ye. David Cenn Mór is a canny creature. Mayhap, he thinks that by keeping ye close, ye can do no mischief. The prince will surely be well-guarded and ye, undoubtedly, will be just as well watched. Mayhap, there is a chance ye could win the young prince’s favor?” the priest suggested.

  “But the Highlands must be warned.” Alex lurched to his feet and began stalking the tiny chamber. “I promised MacAedh I would return to Kilmuir if things didna go well.”

  “Yer departure from here would be highly suspicious,” Father Gregor warned, “but mine would go quite unnoticed. I will go back to Kilmuir,” the priest volunteered.

  Father Gregor was right. Alex could not leave without provoking the king.

  “A’right. I will stay,” Alex surrendered with a sigh. “But ye must be certain to explain all to Sibylla. I gave her my solemn word I would return.”

  “Sibylla?” The priest cocked his head. “MacAedh’s niece?”

  Alex’s face heated as the old priest’s gaze registered understanding. “Does MacAedh ken?”

  “Aye, but what can come of it?” Alex asked, turning his palms in a helpless gesture. “I had hoped…” He turned his face away. “But there are too many uncertainties now… too much danger.”

  “Aye,” the priest agreed. “We will have need of eyes and ears at court which places ye in the worst position of all,” the priest said.
“If caught, ye will, for a certainty, be tried for treason. Do ye ken the penalty, lad?”

  “Aye,” Alex replied grimly. “Hanged ’til near suffocation, emasculated, and then torn asunder by four horses.”

  “Do ye willingly place yerself in harm’s way?”

  Alex’s survival instincts urged him to slip away with Father Gregor to the relative safety of Kilmuir. But this would do nothing to protect the people he’d come to care for—and most especially the one he’d come to love.

  On the other hand, if he were to stay at Dunfermline and accompany the prince to the Highlands, he had a far better chance of bringing about a bloodless outcome than anyone else the king might send north.

  His decision was clear. He had to gain the king’s confidence. Alex had no choice but to stay at court and play his own dangerous double game.

  *

  SEVERAL DAYS PASSED before the king honored his word to permit Alex access to MacAedh. Guised as confessor, Alex entered the tiny cell guarded by two armed guards that clearly revealed his status as an important prisoner. Yet the size of the room, insufficient for a grown man to lie down in, was bereft of even Spartan comforts. He found MacAedh chained at the ankle like a wild beast sitting in a pile of dirty straw. His face was haggard, eyes darkly shadowed, and it appeared that nearly a stone had wasted from his large frame. His condition revealed much.

  The king wanted him to suffer.

  Filled with anguish at the sight, Alex dropped to his knees beside the Thane of Kilmuir. “Do they nae feed ye?” he asked.

  “Gruel twice daily,” MacAedh replied.

  “A man canna live on so little!” Alex protested.

  “Ye think Cenn Mór doesna ken as much?” MacAedh said with a bitter laugh. “He doesna care whether my death comes fast or slow. He will see me dead either way.”

  “Is allegiance to Domnall truly worth yer life?” Alex asked.

  “’Tis nae just for Domnall,” MacAedh replied. “I will ne’er pledge fealty to the man who killed my brother.” His gaze narrowed accusingly. “How is it that ye are still here at Dunfermline? Ye promised me to return to Kilmuir!”

  “I canna leave,” Alex said. “I sent Faither Gregor to Kilmuir.”