He stood slowly, and Graeme and Jerome followed suit. The Laird extended his hand toward Graeme. “For peace.”
Graeme took Laird Munro’s hand in a firm forearm shake.
“For peace.”
Epilogue
One month later
Ross Clan Keep, Scottish Highlands
Graeme leaned back against the stone wall inside the Ross keep’s great hall. He folded his arms and whistled softly through his teeth at what he was witnessing.
Laird William Ross had scribed his name on the piece of parchment spread out on the table before him, then pressed his signet ring into a glob of red wax to put his seal on the document.
Laird Ross handed the quill to Laird Donald Munro, who did the same. Munro passed the quill to Laird Iye MacKay with a serious nod, who provided the final signature and seal on the alliance treaty between the three clans.
“I never thought I’d see this day,” Colin said, coming to stand beside Graeme to watch the three Lairds exchange firm forearm shakes.
“Nor did I,” Graeme murmured.
“I dinnae just mean the alliance, either,” Colin said. “I mean I never thought I’d see Graeme MacKay go from blunt-tongued warrior to smooth-talking diplomat. Who kenned ye had it in ye, cousin?”
Graeme turned to find one of Colin’s blond brows lifted, a taunting grin on his mouth.
This time Graeme could not control the urge to punch his cousin. Since Colin had been such a help in securing Laird MacKay’s cooperation, however, he satisfied himself with pounding Colin in the shoulder rather than in that damned annoying smile of his.
Before Colin could return the blow, Jerome stepped in front of the two men. Graeme stilled, for he hadn’t spoken more than a terse greeting to the man who seemed so set on disliking him.
To Graeme’s shock, Jerome hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand for a shake. As Graeme clasped forearms with him, Jerome spoke quietly.
“Ye accomplished quite the feat today, MacKay,” he said grudgingly. “My Laird and my people are grateful to ye.”
“Thank ye,” Graeme said. He couldn’t help but notice that Jerome had left himself off the list of those who were grateful to him for this alliance, but knowing what a proud and stubborn warrior Jerome was, Graeme would take it as high praise.
As Jerome moved off to his Laird’s side, Graeme leaned back against the stones once more. “If the Bruce is still looking for good men for his Bodyguard Corps, he’d be hard-pressed to find one better than Jerome Munro,” he said, tilting his head toward Colin. “If the loyalty he’s given his Laird could be harnessed for the King’s missions, he’d be an unstoppable force. I certainly dinnae want to cross him again.”
“I’ll make sure the Bruce hears that,” Colin replied. “But are ye sure Jerome would be willing to work with ye? The Bodyguard Corps is small, and the men have to be able to train together, fight together, and follow orders side by side. Jerome looks like he’d still rather knock ye around a bit for stealing his Laird’s bride.”
Graeme jerked up from the wall and spun to face Colin. Ignoring the teasing grin he still wore, Graeme fixed Colin with a hard stare.
“Are ye…are ye saying that I am still in the Bodyguard Corps?” Graeme breathed.
“Aye, of course, man,” Colin replied easily. “Ye think the Bruce has never dealt with one of his bodyguards falling in love on a mission?” Colin snorted. “Hell, it seems to be an occupational hazard.”
“But…but he tasked me with delivering Anna safely to her betrothed, and instead I kidnapped her so that I could marry her myself.”
“The way Anna tells it, she went with ye willingly,” Colin said, giving Graeme a sideways smirk. “Besides, ye did keep her safe. And though ye managed to destroy one Highland alliance, ye formed two more, so I believe the Bruce is actually quite pleased with ye.”
Colin turned fully to Graeme then, his face growing serious. “Truly, Graeme, ye dinnae need to fash. The Bruce insists that ye remain in the Corps, for he wants good men like ye—men with no’ just the mission in mind, but also the peace and prosperity of all of Scotland.” He slapped Graeme’s shoulder. “Ye did well, cousin.”
Graeme felt his chest swell with pride at the praise. He’d never been more than a soldier, a warrior, until now. When his leg had been injured, he’d feared that he would be neither, that his whole life would amount to naught.
Instead, he found he’d gained so much more. He’d gained Anna as his bride, a new role in the Bruce’s cause—he was even regaining strength and stability in his leg.
“Are ye staying for the feast this evening?” he asked Colin. “It promises to be one for the ages.”
With Laird Ross’s blessing, Graeme and Anna had agreed to hold their wedding later that evening, followed by a feast to celebrate both their union and the alliance forged between the MacKays, Rosses, and Munros. All three clans had gathered at the Ross keep, and the air nigh hummed with anticipation for the joyous occasion.
“I wouldnae miss it,” Colin said.
“Good. Then I’ll see ye later tonight.” Graeme shoved himself off the wall and began making his way toward the doors that led from the great hall to the courtyard outside.
“Where are ye going?” Colin called behind him.
“To find my bride.”
Graeme pushed through the double doors and into the bright summer sun. His gaze immediately landed on Anna, who stood at the other end of the yard with a mare on a tether. She was gently urging the mare to walk in slow circles around her.
The technique was normally used to tame wild horses, but Anna had decided to use it to instead tame her own fear of the animals. Graeme’s heart filled to overflowing as he walked toward her. He hardly noticed his limp as he watched her bravely facing her fears.
When she lifted her golden head and her gaze fell on him, his breath caught in his throat. And when she gave him a smile more radiant than the sun overhead, he forgot to breathe all together.
“Are ye nervous to be around the horse?” he asked, coming to a halt before her.
She glanced at the sweet, gentle mare, then back at him, her smile widening.
“Nay.”
“Then mayhap ye are anxious about tonight? Having doubts about marrying me? Or a wee bit uneasy at what will happen in our marriage bed?”
Now a bright flush of pink rose to her cheeks, sweetening her smile even more.
“Nay. No second thoughts, and no nerves for the marriage bed.”
“Then why are ye smiling so fiercely, lass?” he teased, running a thumb along her heated cheek.
“Because I am happy,” she replied, her blue eyes shining with emotion. “Purely, truly, and completely happy.”
The End
Author’s Note
As always, it’s such a treat to be able to share not only an adventurous and romantic story with you, but also tell you a bit more about the history behind this tale! Although this is a work of fiction, quite a few historical tidbits shaped the story.
As far as the historical and political backdrop of wars, feuds, and alliances goes, it’s true that the Munro and Ross clans have a long history of close cooperation. In 1250, almost seventy years before this story takes place, William, the son of the Earl of Ross at the time, was kidnapped in an uprising against the Earl’s rule. The Munros helped rescue the Earl of Ross’s son, thus sealing a tight and longstanding union between the two clans.
And although smaller feuds always existed between many Highland clans, the Rosses, Munros, and MacKays all joined Robert the Bruce against the English, though they all took slightly different routes in their support of the Bruce’s cause.
The Munros sided with the Bruce well before the Battle of Bannockburn, a decisive and pivotal victory in the Scottish cause for independence. Robert Munro, the Munro clan’s chief in the early 1300s, fought with his son George alongside the Bruce at Bannockburn in 1314. Robert survived, but George gave his life to the cause.
And
while the MacKays supported the Bruce’s efforts almost from the beginning, the Rosses took a slightly more winding path. The Rosses fought against the English at the Battle of Dunbar in 1296, but in the battle, the chief of the clan, Uilleam II, was captured. For a short time after that, Uilleam supported the English, but then changed allegiances back to the Scots, leading the Rosses to fight on the side of the Bruce in the Battle of Bannockburn as well. Uilliam’s son, Hugh (or Aodh), was a favorite of the Bruce’s, and Hugh/Aodh eventually married the Bruce’s sister, Matilda. So even with some clan feuding, all three clans were tightly interwoven with each other and Robert the Bruce’s fight for freedom.
A quick note on the three Lairds’ names. Uilliam II of Ross became Laird William Ross in this story. I chose the name Donald for Laird Munro because Donald Munro was said to be the founder of the Munro clan back in the twelfth century. And Iye MacKay was the name of the founder of the MacKay clan in the early thirteenth century—plus it was the name of five subsequent chiefs of the clan as well!
Regarding the reading of the banns, secret engagements, and how to get out of an arranged marriage, there are quite a few fun historical tidbits to share. The reading of the banns become customary starting in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. For three consecutive Sundays after an engagement was made public, an announcement would be made during church about the impending wedding, and any objections were meant to be brought forward then. (It was kind of like a pre-emptory “speak now or forever hold your peace” moment, but it lasted for three weeks before the wedding rather than just one moment during the ceremony.)
Though some couples didn’t follow the church’s rules (in some times and places, simply declaring that you were now married in front of a witness was enough, and declaring that you were married and then having sex made it extra official!), the church sought to funnel all marriages through an approved series of rules and steps. Partly this was to avoid he-said-she-said disputes about couples claiming to be either married or not married, depending on what one person in the couple wanted to do (like marry someone else). It was also a chance to avoid consanguinity (the couple being too closely related by blood), or to air out any standing engagements that would void the marriage.
While researching another book a while back, I came across the story of Joan of Kent and knew I had to work this particularly interesting historical oddity into one of my stories. Joan of Kent eventually married Edward the Black Prince and became the mother of the future King Richard II. But before that, she was married in her teens with the reading of the banns beforehand, a full church service—the works. Yet after eight years of marriage, the union was found to be unlawful because before her official wedding, she had secretly married a knight without her family’s knowledge or approval when she was just twelve. That earlier marriage voided the later one, despite the fact that she had been living as a married woman with her “second” husband for eight years.
I tweaked that slightly here to introduce the idea that in addition to an earlier marriage, a pre-standing engagement was grounds to void any later engagements or marriage. That’s just what the reading of the banns was for—to give the public three weeks to voice any reason why a couple could not be legally wed.
A note about Sweetheart Abbey—it is a real place, located south of Dumfries and not far from Lochmaben. Its official name is Abbey of Dolce Cor (sweet heart in Latin), though it is better known as Sweetheart Abbey.
It was built out of dark red sandstones in 1275 at the request of Dervorguilla of Galloway in memory of her late husband, Baron John de Balliol. When John died, Dervorguilla asked that his heart be embalmed and placed in a casket of ivory and silver, which she kept with her for the rest of her life. After she died, John’s heart was buried alongside her in Sweetheart Abbey, which she named knowing that she would take her final rest with her late husband there. John and Dervorguilla’s son, John Balliol, would eventually become the King of Scotland, though his reign was short-lived and troubled, for his rival was none other than Robert the Bruce.
Astute readers will remember that Dervorguilla made an appearance in the Author’s Note after Heart’s Thief (Highland Bodyguards, Book 2) for building Dervorguilla’s Bridge. She was a powerful figure in thirteenth-century Scotland, especially around Dumfries where she lived.
Sweetheart Abbey was damaged during the Scottish wars for independence, and later when it was struck by lightning, but its ruins still stand and you can visit the aptly named abbey today.
And one last note just for fun. Graeme says he would have been turned into a pin-pillow by English archers if he hadn’t been saved after being shot with an arrow. A pin-pillow was one of the medieval names for (can you guess?) a pincushion. Pincushions have been around in Europe since at least the 1300s—who knew?
Thank you for journeying back to medieval Scotland with me!
About the Author
Emma Prince is the Bestselling and Amazon All-Star Author of steamy historical romances jam-packed with adventure, conflict, and of course, love!
Emma grew up in drizzly Seattle, but traded her rain boots for sunglasses when she and her husband moved to the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada. Emma spent several years in academia, both as a graduate student and an instructor of college-level English and Humanities courses. She always savored her “fun books”—normally historical romances—on breaks or vacations. But as she began looking for the next chapter in her life, she wondered if perhaps her passion could turn into a career. Ever since then, she’s been reading and writing books that celebrate happily ever afters!
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The Maiden of Moray
Victoria Vane
THE MAIDEN OF MORAY by VICTORIA VANE
A prequel to
VIRTUE: THE SONS OF SCOTLAND SERIES
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 to test his faith, and possibly his manhood. But one playful kiss in a moment of weakness awakens a dangerous desire.
A woman who doesn’t know her own heart…
Born from the line of two kings, Sibylla 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 more. But the hot-tempered beauty never imagines her fate lies in the hands of Alex, a would-be monk who hardly embodies her idea of a pious man of God.
As dark secrets from the past come to light, will Alex choose the safe and secure life he knows, or will he defy his holy orders for Sibylla and the life he was meant to live?
Prologue
Dunnottar Castle,
Southern Kingdom of Alba
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 the governess. “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, màthair?” 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 and cold as they stumbled down the narrow, stone steps. He wondered why they’d used the servant’s entrance and why they didn’t even carry a lantern. In the courtyard stood a groom with two saddled horses beside a man in black robes that he didn’t recognize.
W
ere they finally returning home to Fettercairn? He hated Castle Dunnottar and didn’t like his stern uncle who’d brought them here. There were no other children to play with in this place. Only silent servants.
His uncle had insisted they were there for their protection, but Alexander felt like a prisoner confined in this isolated, clifftop fortress. For weeks, he’d stared out his window at the lonely landscape and the vast grey ocean.
He missed his home in the Grampian foothills. Fettercairn wasn’t a cold stone fortress surrounded by endless angry seas. It was a village unto itself, bustling with people. His home overlooked a river filled with salmon and was surrounded by woodlands teeming with wild game. He’d already learned how to build a rabbit snare, and his father had promised to teach him to hunt as soon as he was big enough.
“This is Father Gregor,” his mother said. “Ye must go with him.”
He should have relished the idea of going away, but his gut told him something was very, very wrong. Fear gripped him, sending a pulse of pure panic through his veins. “Why can’t we go together? Why can’t I stay with ye?” he asked. “Please màthair!”
“Ye cannot!” she said.
“But I don’t want to go!” he cried out and pulled out of her grasp. “Why do I have to leave?”
“Please, Alexander,” she pleaded. “Tis for your safety! Your father has been taken away and the same men who did this deed will surely come looking for ye.”
“Who?” he asked. Who has taken father?”
“I dinnae ken.” She averted her face with a sniff.
“W-will they kill him?” he asked, fighting the quaver in his voice. At four years old, he didn’t quite comprehend death. He only understood that they buried dead people in the cold, dark ground.
“Ye ask questions I have no answer for, mo chridhe. All I know is that ye are also in danger and I cannot protect ye.”
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