The Highland Chieftain

by Amy Jarecki

  “No word at all. No apologies. No regrets. Nothing.”

  Her lips disappeared into a thin line. She knew from the outset as soon as she left London with Dunn that her father was lost to her. But the truth didn’t make her loss any easier to bear. “Well then,” she said, holding her head high and summoning a smile. “We shall make merry and celebrate our nuptials with those who hold us dear.”

  “That we shall.”

  Together they proceeded to the banqueting hall to welcome their guests. Powerful clans had all replied favorably—MacKenzie septs from across Ross Shire, Robert Stewart of Appin, MacDonalds led by the Baronet of Sleat. MacIains, and though the Duke of Gordon had sent his regrets, neither the Camerons nor the Grants would miss the gathering, even though they were at odds.

  * * *

  By the time the guests were all announced, the feast was ready and spread out across the many tables Dunn had brought into the banqueting hall. He’d spared no expense, providing choice cuts of beef, lamb, and chicken. There was fine-milled bread for all, and he’d opened the best casks of wine and ale. And with so many apples yielded in the harvest, dessert would be his favorite, apple tart.

  The musicians Mairi had hired from Inverness played softly—three fiddles, a flute, and a drum. And when the meal ended, the servants moved the tables for dancing. Mairi clapped as the pipers played an introduction to a Highland reel. “I hope your foot is completely healed, because I intend to dance all night.”

  “’Tis good as new,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the center of the floor. Laughter pealed through the air while the merrymakers made two lines, one for lads and one for lassies. Without the pomp, spirited Highland dancing was what he enjoyed most. For once Dunn didn’t feel as if he needed to keep one eye out for enemies while he made merry. Tonight he swung his bride by the crook of her arm as together they threw their heads back and laughed.

  When the set ended, Mairi and Dunn stayed for the next, watching Kennan escort Janet to the floor.

  Mairi thrust out her hands. “Janet, my dearest. Did you ken your brother lent me your new gown on my wedding day?”

  “Aye, he told me.” Janet grasped the offered hands and kissed Her Ladyship on the cheek. “He even said how much bonnier you look in the dress than I do.”

  Mairi’s jaw dropped as she looked to the master and commander of the ship that had taken them out of England. “He didn’t.”

  “With all due respect,” said Robert Grant with a MacDonald lass on his arm. “Though Lady Mairi is one of the most radiant matrons in the Highlands, I must say—”

  “Haud yer wheesht,” said Kennan, folding his arms and muscling in.

  The two men faced each other in a showdown of brawn. The air grew charged with tension as Grant leaned in, his nose but an inch from Kennan’s. “If I’d been able to finish, Cameron, I would have said your sister is as bonny as MacRae’s wife. They’re both bloody bonny.”

  “You have no cause to voice your opinion one way or another.”

  “That’s enough, lads.” Dunn hovered over both of them and lowered his voice. “Either you pull in your daggers and return to your corners, or I boot your arses outside the wall.”

  Arms still crossed, Kennan raised his chin. “I have no reason to quarrel.”

  “Neither have I,” growled Grant, mirroring the Cameron heir’s posture. “Yet.”

  “Och, if you pair could only see it, you men are both heroes in our eyes.” Mairi flitted between them and gave each man a brimming tankard. “Laird Grant’s army aided in Dunn’s escape from my father’s gaol cell, and Kennan Cameron sailed us away when the dragoons were closing in in Chatham. Without you brave and gallant Highlanders, I may not be wedded to the man of my dreams.”

  “Well put, m’lady.” Filled with pride, Dunn bowed to his wife. “Musicians, play a tune for all to kick up their heels. For tonight we cast aside our differences and celebrate together as kin.”

  Mairi grasped his hand. “You dispatched that well.”

  “We dispatched that well. Bringing them ale and stroking their pride was nothing short of brilliant.”

  “I say MacRae and Lady Mairi are perfectly suited.” A deep voice came from the passageway.

  Dunn smiled. “Seaforth, I was just thinking the exact same thing. Welcome.”

  Reid stepped into the hall with his countess on his arm.

  “I must agree,” said Lady Seaforth.

  “Aye.” Ewen Cameron shouldered through the crowd. “It is a good match.”

  “Indeed,” said Robert Grant, not to be outdone by Cameron. “There is no man better than the chieftain of Clan MacRae.”

  “I concur.” The earl held up a hand. “Before I give the floor to our esteemed host, please allow me to present the couple with a wedding gift.”

  Dunn looked from Seaforth to Lady Audrey. “We are honored that you have blessed us with your presence.”

  “’Tis not enough.” Reid pulled a document from inside his velvet doublet. “Duncan MacRae, more than once you tended me when I was on the brink of death. You planned and aided in my escape from Durham Gaol. On countless occasions you selflessly took up arms and rode beside me with your army. You have fought for me, risked your life for me, and pulled me from the mire. I owe you my life.”

  Dunn didn’t often blush, but judging by the heat spreading across his face, he was certain he’d turned red.

  Mairi grasped his hand, her eyes shining. “You are everyone’s hero.”

  “But I am not finished, Lady Mairi,” Seaforth continued, eying her. “I could not be happier that you have found the man of your dreams, Cousin. I highly approve of your choice, and will proudly stand in place of your father if ever you should need it.”

  “She will not,” Dunn said with a wee growl.

  “I thought not.” Seaforth gave him a nudge, then presented him with the document. “This is the deed to Eilean Donan Castle. Your kin have held the keep on behalf of Clan MacKenzie for so many years, it is only fitting that with the joining of the House of MacRae and the House of MacKenzie I grant you title and lands.”

  For the briefest of moments, the back of Dunn’s eyes stung. Mairi’s brimmed with tears as she gasped. After a quick blink, he squared his shoulders and shook Seaforth’s hand. “By God, I wish my father were here to see this. Thank you, m’lord. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.” Dunn turned to the guests and held the deed aloft. “Raise your glasses, to the Earl and Countess of Seaforth!”

  Bless Mrs. Struan, she must have been paying attention, because a half-dozen stewards entered carrying trays filled with glasses of wine.

  Seaforth took two and handed one to his Lady Audrey. “Please allow me to offer a toast in celebration of Dunn and Mairi as they embark on their journey of wedded bliss. May their worries be short, their happiness be long, and their children live to be healthy and happy. May the blessings of light from above shine upon you this day and forevermore. Slàinte mhath!”

  “Slàinte mhath!” responded the guests most fervently.

  As the music resumed, Dunn led Seaforth and Lady Audrey to the high table. “I thought you were on the Continent.”

  “Sailed into Inverness yesterday.” The earl held a chair for his wife. “When Audrey met me at the pier and told me there was a celebration at Eilean Donan, we agreed it was an event neither of us wanted to miss.”

  “Thank you for coming.” After helping Mairi sit, Dunn took a chair between Seaforth and his bride.

  “We wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” said Audrey. “Lady Mairi, I’ve been ever so curious. How on earth did you wrest that dagger from your father?”

  Mairi smiled—a wee bit sheepishly. “’Twas time to assert my will, I suppose.”

  Dunn winked. “It seems she has grown quite skilled with a wee dagger in her hand.”

  Reid gave a raucous chuckle. “Sounds as if she had a good teacher.”

  “Let us say I doubt she’ll be cornered by dragoons anytime soon
.” Filled with joy, Dunn cupped Mairi’s cheek and kissed her for all to see. For the rest of his days he would never tire of her kisses no matter the time of day or where they were or who was present.

  Epilogue

  Three years later

  It was a warm midsummer’s day when Mairi sat on a plaid, watching Dunn take their son by the hand and wade into the pool at the Cavern of the Fairies. The water sparkled as the trees lightly rustled in the breeze. Now two years of age, Rabbie was the image of his da, fearless with dark, brooding blue eyes.

  “Do not go in past your knees,” Mairi warned.

  The lad turned, looking affronted. “Rabbie swim with Da.” He was so adorable, she almost laughed aloud.

  “That’s right.” Dunn kept hold of the lad’s hand. “But you must always listen to your mother, for she is wiser than both of us.”

  That made her chuckle. She’d learned so much from Dunn over the past few years; if she had grown wise, then it was because of her husband.

  “Is the water cold?” she asked.

  Dunn grinned. “Aye.”

  Rabbie shook his head and looked up at his father. “Nay. ’Tis nice. Come, Mummy.”

  “I think I shall stay here and slice the cheese so you’ll have something to eat when you’re finished playing.”

  Dunn took the lad under the arms, doused him in the water, and spun in circles. At the sound of her son’s happy squeals, Mairi’s heart soared with delight. She clapped and laughed, forgetting about the luncheon, almost ready to kick off her shoes and join them.

  But her happiness turned to foreboding when Dunn stopped and looked in the direction of the rock shelf. “Ram?” Her husband carried Rabbie out of the water and set him on the plaid. “Is all well?”

  The MacRae lieutenant dismounted and presented Mairi with a missive. “This arrived at the castle. I thought you’d want to see it straightaway, m’lady.”

  “My thanks.” Mairi recognized the penmanship. “’Tis from my father.”

  Dunn sat beside her, his eyes wary. “What does it say?”

  She’d written to her father to announce Rabbie’s birth, and then on each of his two birthdays. But Cromartie had never honored her with a reply. She scanned the letter quickly, then cleared her throat. “I may as well read it aloud:

  My dearest Daughter,

  I have received your missives telling me about young Rabbie, and the parchment has grown tattered with my many rereadings. As I sit here alone in my study, I have spent a great deal of time reflecting on the decisions I’ve made in this life. I have but one regret, though I admit that single error has caused a hole in my heart that shall never be repaired.

  I have pondered that which is truly important to an old man. After holding many esteemed positions for queen and country, nary a one of my accomplishments has mattered as much as clan and kin. I pushed you away and behaved badly, and for that I must ask your forgiveness. If you should ever find it in your heart to see me again, I want you to know that you and MacRae are welcome at Castle Leod. I want to see my grandson before I leave this world. I want to see you as well, Mairi. Bring that big husband of yours and I will treat him to a dram of fine whisky whilst I apologize for my past behavior.

  Blessings to you and your growing family.

  Your father,

  The Earl of Cromartie”

  Mairi folded the missive and wiped the tears from her eyes as Rabbie climbed into her lap.

  Dunn smoothed a hand over her shoulder. “Well I’ll be damned.”

  “Should we go to see him? I ken after everything he did, both of us were willing to wash our hands of him forever.”

  “Perhaps.” He looked up to the rustling trees and sighed. “Time has a way of healing wounds. Though it might be better if we joined him at the next Highland gathering. Give him a chance to see how well we’ve flourished since he locked me in his gaol.”

  Mairi covered his hand with her fingers. “Can you ever forgive him for that?”

  Dunn nuzzled in and kissed her cheek. “If you forgive him, then I can as well.”

  Rabbie clapped, threw back his head, and laughed as if the bairn knew how blessed they were and how magnificent the day.

  Mairi took the hands of both her men and clutched them against her heart. “Well then, since we are in a magical place with news that has warmed our hearts, I think ’tis time to assuredly announce I am once again with child.”

  “You are?” Dunn’s face beamed. “That is wonderful news!” He gave her another kiss, stood, and twirled Rabbie through the air. “Och, lad, ye’ll have a wee sister soon!”

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for joining me on Dunn and Mairi’s romance. After writing this pair as supporting characters in The Highland Guardian, I was delighted when my editor suggested their story come next. As always with my historical romances, I take fictional situations and build characters and stories around the turmoil and politics of the times.

  I styled Dunn after the heralded Duncan MacRae of Inverinate who was educated at the University of Edinburgh. A man of epic repute, he was renowned for his extraordinary physical strength as well as his poetic talent. He supported William (Reid) MacKenzie, Earl of Seaforth, and his “claymore” was once displayed in the Tower of London as “The Great Highlander’s Sword.” He married a Highland lass named Margaret MacKenzie, though I couldn’t find anything regarding her parentage.

  Because the MacRaes were a sept armigerous to the MacKenzies, at this point in history they did not have a laird or clan chief as I have put forth in this story. They bore arms for the MacKenzie line through the centuries and in medieval times were known as the “MacKenzie’s shirt of mail.”

  Of note, in chapter 33, I indicated that Seaforth signed over the deed to Eilean Donan Castle to MacRae. This didn’t actually happen. The MacRaes were the constables of Eilean Donan for centuries and maintained a close friendly relationship with the MacKenzies, though they only acknowledged the Seaforth line. The castle fell into ruin after the Jacobite uprising of 1745. In 1912, Colonel MacRae-Gilstrap acquired the ruins of Eilean Donan and restored it between 1920 and 1932 at the cost of £200,000. The castle is now considered the MacRae clan seat.

  Mairi MacKenzie in this story is a fictitious character, though her father was (generally) styled after George MacKenzie, 1st Earl of Cromartie. George achieved great status in his lifetime. He did separate himself from the Seaforths and sided with the royalists, which, after the failure of the ’45, proved to be in the favor of his familial line. Educated at St Andrews University and King’s College, Aberdeen, he was an accomplished scholar and held many state positions under Queen Anne.

  I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you haven’t read the preceding Lords of the Highlands or Highland Defender novels about Jacobite Highlanders, I suggest you peruse the books page on my website: amyjarecki.com.

  Keep reading for a preview of

  THE HIGHLAND RENEGADE

  Available in early 2019

  Chapter One

  The worn-in leathers of Robert’s saddle groaned from years of use as he tapped his spurs into his horse’s barrel. Eager to end his journey, he sat straighter, thinking of how he’d enjoy a hot meal, a tankard or three of ale, and a bath afore he invited a hearty Highland lass above the alehouse stairs. He could already feel the woman in his arms. Soft flesh, warm thighs wrapped around him, and breasts large enough to bury his face in.

  “Mm,” he growled to himself as he rode onward.

  A westerly wind blew in from the sea, making the smokestacks of Inverlochy belch sideways. Above, the gray smoke disappeared into feathery wisps, mingling with low-hanging clouds. A light flickered in the distance, calling to him. Nearing the small trading village down below, Robert Grant, chieftain of Clan Grant, resisted digging in his heels and galloping for the alehouse. He had a mob of cattle to bring in first, and he wasn’t about to lose one more head of prime beef.

  Half his yearlings had be
en culled by poachers, namely those deceitful, lying Camerons. But no more. The remaining herd would bring in coin needed to buy more heifers and ensure a stronger yield when the cows next calved.

  “Get back, ye beastie!” he hollered, cuing his mount to cut off a steer from departing from the mob. The healthy coo lowed and kicked its hind legs, tottering back to his ma.

  At the front of the herd, Robert’s man, Lewis Pratt, waved his hand, signaling his intent to follow the burn down the crag to the saleyard. Robert motioned his assent and rode around the flank of the herd to keep them on track. Weight lifted from his shoulders when they hit the dirt road and drove the cattle through the gates of a yard. He wasn’t the first to arrive by far. Shaggy Highland coos brayed in yards and paddocks, all headed for the auction block. For it was Samhain, marking the end of the harvest and the biggest market days in Scotland.

  After Lewis closed the gate, the Inverlochy factor scribbled into his book with an eagle’s quill. He wore a mud-splattered suit of navy, and a brown periwig with a tricorn hat atop his head. “I counted one hundred and thirty-two, Mr. Grant.”

  “Agreed,” said Robert, spying a herd two yards over that looked as if they might have been sired by his prized bull. “Can you tell me who that mob of steers belongs to?”

  “The third paddock over?”

  “Aye.”

  “That would be the Camerons’ get.”

  “Bloody figures,” Robert mumbled, catching Lewis’s eye. “Take the men to the alehouse and buy them a round. I’ll follow shortly.”

  Lewis gave a sober nod. “Aye, sir,” he said before turning to Grant’s men. “Stable the horses first, lads.”

  Robert stayed back to sign the factor’s book accounting for his cattle. “How’re things shaping up for Friday’s sale?”