Celtic Peril (Celtic Storm Book 6)

by Ria Cantrell

  Now, the stupid child was set to roam the kingdom and its Scottish neighbors. The fool’s conceit parlayed his need for fawning adoration and so Richard would start his Progress to garner the fealty he did not deserve. Why, the inane little sap even gave the tour the most insipid name. The “Gyration” would take the king to the far reaches of Scotland and back, draining the coffers of the kingdom and making England a laughing stock in the process.

  Michael de la Pole had grown weary of whispering his will into the ear of Richard of Bordeaux. It was time to set things right once and for all. Richard would never suspect his hand. He was, after all, the king’s closest confidante. At first Michael thought it was headstrong to make such a trek during the months that would soon welcome cold and inclement weather. The thought of breaking bread with those Scottish heathens all but turned his stomach, too, but Michael would stand the course because in the long run, the stupid Gyration would play into the culmination of all his plans.

  It was perfect, really. It would be so easy to make it look as if those barbaric Scots had assassinated King Richard II. The death of the king would serve two fold. Firstly, Richard and all he represented would be destroyed.

  Secondly, his death would break the Peace that should have never been declared with those filthy lot of Scottish dogs. Oh, it was brilliant, really, Michael mused as he culled the plan in his mind to see the king dead.

  He would have to bide his time and forge the trust of Richard to the point that the king would cease thinking for himself. Michael knew it would only be a matter of time to bring about his cynical plans.

  Why, Richard practically needed Michael’s every council already. The child could barely shyte for himself without seeking Michael’s advice on how to squat upon the chamber pot.

  They would all soon be arriving in that dreadful wasteland to the north. Some speculated that Richard sought to secure a marriage with one of those heathens to further strengthen the thread of peace between England and Scotland. The idea of it tasted bitter in his mouth. His great grandfather fought alongside of Longchamps and de la Pole’s hatred ran deep. It was like something that had been ingrained in his psyche from generations that had gone before and so this supposed peace was as much of a joke as the parliament Richard had called.

  One thing about de la Pole was that he was thorough. His office as Lord Chancellor afforded him favors that reached far into the holdings of the English king. He had done his research. The first stop on their “gyration” where they would lay their heads, was at a moldering old stronghold formerly held by those dreadful Campbells. It was said to have fallen into massive disrepair after the old laird’s death and with no living heirs except a lone woman, the keep was turned over to a neighboring clan. Upon further inspection, de la Pole learned that the very same place was now managed by one of England’s chivalry; a Sir Andrew Brandham to be exact. The traitorous bastard had actually married a Scottish harlot amid scandalous beginnings. The King’s grandfather had forced the union after the trollop had insinuated herself into Brandham’s bed.

  For the love of God, the knight must be a doddering old fool by now, but as far as de la Pole was concerned, even bedding a barbarian from that putrid wasteland was as good as treason. De la Pole mused that it would be Brandham’s just rewards to be linked to the blame cast upon those Scottish curs for the demise of the English king. It was all too perfect to imagine. While Michael did not know the man, it was enough to know that Andrew Brandham had forsaken his oath to the Chivalry of England to live more like a savage than a true Knight of the Realm. Whatever ill befell the man as a result of Richard’s death was just an added prize to his folly.

  By the morrow, the Royal retinue would depart to begin the ridiculous “gyration” at the whim of the king. Messengers had been sent on ahead to assure that all eligible maids of noble birth were available to greet the king. God’s teeth! Next all those besotted twits would be throwing their shoes at the king’s feet to get his attention.

  ~

  Chapter Ten ~

  Drew made his way wearily to his home. He had ridden through the night from MacCollum Keep in attempts to retrieve his daughter. He ran his hand through his hair. He thanked God that Jenna had indeed arrived safely in the wee hours of the morning the previous day. Her grandfather and Laird of the clan, Caleb MacCollum had said that she had been quite upset. Jenna had been ranting about some sort of marriage arrangement she had thought was going to be forced upon her. Caleb decided that even though it was possible, his daughter and son through marriage would not consider such a thing without the agreement of Jenna. He reassured her that he had heard about no such arrangement. In order to calm his granddaughter, who he loved very dearly, Caleb gave his permission to have her accompany Ruiri’s family to the MacDougal Clan celebrations set for Samhain. Caleb thought that once Jenna had time to cool her hot little head, she would return to her home to calmly discuss the matter with her parents.

  Drew sighed, at the mulling of what had taken place in just a matter of hours, really. He respected Caleb. He always had; from the day he first met him when he had come to Scotland to formally ask for Bronwyn’s hand. Though that time was tempestuous at best, he and Caleb had formed quite the bond through the years and so when Caleb decided something for the good of the clan or family, Drew did not question it.

  Caleb had been a laird for many years and both he and Drew had learned a long time ago that there was no point in arguing with a MacCollum woman when she was of a certain mindset. Hell, Drew had learned that himself in all the years he had been wed to Bronwyn. Caleb knew it was best to let Jenna think her troubles through and once she had a chance to see the logic of things, she would eventually come around to reason. Even if Drew and Bronwyn were upset by his decision, Caleb knew that they would respect it as their Laird. He had been used to making choices for the good of his people and so when it came to his own immediate family, it was no different. Besides, he didn’t see what real harm it could do. When Jenna was in a temper, it seemed best to let her be out of the way of the royal envoy.

  There was talk of the Royal Progress passing through MacCollum, but more than likely they would move on after their stay at Campbell Keep with the Brandham branch of his family.

  That would have all been well and good, but Drew was fairly certain that Bronwyn would not be happy with Caleb’s decision this time. He had half a mind to ride after Ruiri to drag his daughter home, willing or not. He was in no mood for this childish and wayward behavior. Dear Saints in heaven, that girl of his was a handful. Granted, most times Drew thought her sense of independence and adventure were admirable but not when the bloody king was due to knock on his door!

  Drew sighed as he turned his mount toward home. There was nothing he could do about it now. He wanted to throttle Caleb, but he knew better than to argue his point with the laird. Also, for the first time since meeting the formidable force behind the MacCollum Clan, Drew noticed a growing frailness in the aging man. Drew was not about to challenge the man he had grown to respect. When Drew had become a full member of the Clan, he had all but sworn fealty to Caleb, nearly forsaking his own oath of fealty to the Order of English Chivalry. Aye, he was still English; he would always be, but he was Clan as well. Drew had been marked with the brand of MacCollum, which he wore proudly to this day on his left arm. He had sworn his loyalty to protect and honor the Clan when he had wed the laird’s Highland Rose, his beloved Bronwyn.

  Well, what’s done is done, Drew thought as he approached the stables of his keep. Bronwyn came out to meet him and Drew’s weariness dissipated at the sight of her. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon and just seeing her approach lifted his heavy heart and stirred his desires. How he loved this woman! He could see the worry etched in her face and he frowned. He would not be able to ease that furrow on her lovely brow this time.

  Handing the reins over to the stable groom, Drew put his arms around his wife. He kissed her honeyed lips and he said, “I have fa
iled, my love.”

  “What do ye’ mean? She did nay go to my father’s home?”

  “Nay, she did, love, but she left immediately with Ruiri and Brielle. They were off to the MacDougal Fete for Samhain. Caleb thought it best if Jenna had a chance to cool her hot little head. She told Caleb her ideas that the king wanted to arrange some sort of marriage. Caleb knew that no such document had been drawn up and so to help Jenna see the truth, he agreed for her to go off with Ruiri. He was sure that after she had time to ponder her actions, Jenna would see to reason.”

  Bronwyn broke free from Drew’s arms and she turned her back to him. Her head was bowed and her shoulders slumped noticeably. Drew saw her hand procure a folded piece of parchment from the pocket in her apron. She had been cleaning and overseeing preparations for the royal visit and Drew noticed that tendrils of her hair had escaped the thick plait during her work.

  Without turning back to her husband, she raised her hand from her side and held the note out for Drew to take.

  Softly, she murmured, “Our daughter may have been right after all, this time, Drew. This arrived directly after ye’ left to retrieve her.”

  “What is it,” Drew asked, taking the note into his hands. His eyes scanned the neatly penned words and he saw the familiar seal of the English Royal Household pressed into the melted wax at the bottom of the sheaf. He mumbled a curse, “Bloody Feckin’ hell!”

  With her back still turned to Drew, Bronwyn said, “I would nay have our daughter bartered. King or no king.”

  Drew knew well that Bronwyn would not wish such a thing on their daughter. It did not seem so long ago when she had been a bargaining chip to ransom a peace that seemed unreachable. He also knew the king’s words had drawn his beloved wife back to that terrible time, before the Fates had bonded them to each other. Now the king had decided all young women between the ages of six and ten and three and twenty were to be presented to him. He was seeking a union with a Scotswoman preferably of a strong clan and with a lineage of noble birth. Their Jenna was just such a woman.

  Besides being raised in the light of one of the strongest clans in Scotland and her English noble heritage, Jenna had grown into quite the beauty. She had dark auburn hair which framed an angelic face. Her large amber eyes had hazel green flecks which caught the light in a bewitching way. They were fringed in long dark lashes. Jenna took after her mother in shape as well, with lush curves to please a love sick swain. Drew realized that everything about his daughter would appeal to the ravenous appetites of the king.

  Drew knew that he could not protect his only daughter forever, but he sure hoped he could stay the Fates just a little longer. Aye, Drew knew that men found his precious gem alluring and so far, he had been able to keep them at bay for like most fathers, he was loath to lose his “little” girl. Only, Jenna was no longer a little girl. That thought niggled at Drew and he pushed it away. He smugly pondered the many attempts he had put an end to when it came to young men getting too close to his daughter; that was until now with the king’s declaration to meet all eligible young women.

  No one could deny the king, even in fact, if his Royal intentions were less than honorable. Drew would gladly lose his life to protect his daughter; especially from becoming the king’s consort and mistress. Drew was pretty certain the entire Brandham and MacCollum clan would fight to the death in support of it as well.

  “What will we do, my love? He will expect Jenna to be presented to him.”

  “Well, there is nothing we can do. She is attending a family celebration. We cannot bring her here out of thin air. I do not have the time now to go after her. I am needed here now to prepare for the king’s arrival. I have already wasted two nights and the royal envoy is only days away from appearing at our door.”

  Drew took his wife’s hand and he turned her to face him. With her eyes still downcast, she murmured, “Perhaps t’is just as well. While I’d wish to see our lass settled and wedded, I’d nay have her become the king’s whore.”

  Drew kissed Bronwyn’s lips which suddenly felt cool and he said, “I’d never let that happen, love and I’d wager Caleb would set his sword arm to our cause as well.”

  Bronwyn tucked her head against her husband’s chest. She always felt stronger when she could feel him close to her. She said softly, “This could turn deadly for all of us. It is said he is as unstable as his grandfather. We both know what that man was capable of.”

  “Shh, beloved. He is not his grandfather. He is young. Perhaps he….”

  “Perhaps nothing. He has been spoilt and privileged. He is used to getting his own way; to have his every whim granted. Just like his grandfather and the Black Prince before him.”

  Drew knew Bronwyn was right but their hands were tied at the moment. There was nothing that could be done. They would just have to explain Jenna’s absence and promise to visit the Summer Court with her at a later date. Perhaps, by then, the king’s focus would change. It was a chance they were going to have to take and it was all Drew could hope for. Suddenly, he was very glad that his headstrong daughter had taken herself out of this dangerous game of Royal intrigue. If he could not be the one to protect her, he was certainly confident that Ruiri would be the next best person to see his precious bairn safe.

  ~~~~~

  Morag had been hiding in the shadows. She had seen the second messenger arrive and leave in haste. She realized that sometimes Bronwyn tried to protect Morag’s frail body from the concerns that plagued their lives. Now, she had overheard the exchange between Sir Drew and her Highland Rose. Morag was used to gleaning information by staying hidden where younger people take the elderly ones for granted. Aye, it was a shameful way to learn truths, but when it came to her adoptive family and the sake of her clan, Morag had no qualms about her tactics to garner well-needed information.

  She knew it was time to confess a secret that she had kept nearly her entire life. It was something that she had carefully guarded but now in light of what she had overheard, it might ultimately save their lives. At the very least, it could bide them enough time to appease the English king until Jenna could safely return home.

  Morag stepped out of the shadows. Bronwyn’s eyes flickered in surprise as the old woman made her way slowly across the bailey. For a woman so very on in years, Bronwyn noted that Morag still possessed a steadiness. She was also quite stealthy and silent which made Bronwyn’s heart jumped in her chest at the suddenness of the Old One’s approach.

  “Morag, dear, what are ye’ doin’? Ye’ nearly gave me quite a fright.”

  “I’m sorry. I know I should nay have been eavesdropping, but I believe this is a matter I can help ye’ both with.”

  “Love, there is naught anyone can do. Come, I’ll help ye’ inside.”

  Morag sighed heavily. Aye, she was old, but she still had her wits about her; no one could deny her that. This was to be her day of reckoning. It was time to unburden herself of her sins and secrets. These were things that had been locked away for longer than she could recall and now was the time to claim them. She could nay count the years she had been blessed or cursed, for at times it was one or the other, to walk the earth. At any event, it was high time to tell her tale and hopefully find a way to help the people she loved most in her world.

  She put her hand into Bronwyn’s, feeling the warmth of the younger woman’s fingers closing around her arthritic gnarled fingers. She said, “Lass, there are things I need to tell ye’. Things I have ne’er told a living soul. They are things that few would believe. I would nay believe them m’self if I had nay lived them, but I swear it all to be true.”

  “I have never known ye’ to lie to me, Morag. If you vow truth, I have naught else to do but believe ye’. Now, come inside where ye’ can warm yerself by the fire and tell me what is troublin’ ye’.”

  Bronwyn understood that Morag was frail and despite her own problems, at the moment, she could not turn away from the woman who had been like a mother to her.

  Drew took Mo
rag’s other elbow and gently guided her into the main hall. Once they were inside, he said, “By your leave, my ladies. I need to see to…” but Morag stopped him and said, “Nay. Ye’ must hear it, too. I can only tell it once, Ancients preserve my feeble heart, and ye’ have to be witness to my words. Ye’ are like a son to me, Drew. T’is time I told all. I believe I can help the matter that troubles ye’ both concerning our precious Gem. Please, Drew, come sit for it is a tale I dunna’ relish tellin’.”

  Drew saw the distress in the old woman’s eyes and he thought better than to deny her. Taking her arm again in his, he led her to their privy chambers to assure Morag that her secrets would be for their ears only. Drew reckoned it was going to be something of great magnitude, for the Old One had kept much as a mystery. Sometimes a woman had to keep many secrets and Drew was certain that one as old as Morag would have truths that had remained hidden for eons.

  ~

  Chapter Eleven – Present Day ~

  Thomas Callum sat on the tour bus soaking in the local scenery as the members of Celtic Storm traveled the rolling miles that led them through Scotland. The first leg of the tour had been amazing. Celtic Storm performed to packed houses every night and standing ovations were becoming the norm. It had been a whirlwind, to say the least, but Tommy was thoroughly enjoying the mayhem that his life had become. Sure, he was a little lonely; even with sold out concerts every night, but he was savoring each experience as they moved from place to place, setting the world on fire with their music and with the spectacular productions. Yeah, people were ready for their type of show and they seemed to crave the Celtic explosion of talent that their troupe provided. It was unreal.