Myles held up his hands and the crowd quieted. He held up one hand to the MacDonalds and they bowed to show their respect.
“We have been two clans at war for nearly two centuries. We’ve both lost warriors and heroes. Now is the time for a truce.” Myles indicated that Alasdair should speak.
Alasdair looked about him. “If you agree, we can take your beasts to market as well. Drovering is not a skill learnt in a day. My clan has been in the business for three generations, and we’ve driven thousands of cattle to market in the south.”
A question from the crowd and others murmured in support of it.
“For the cattle I sell on your behalf in the Lowlands, I’ll take ten per cent for my cost. I swear that as long as wind blows and water runs, I will honour the contract with you and MacDonalds of Duacha will not harm any Campbell after contracting with you. May I be buried far from my kin, if I break this oath.” He rejoined his men while the people talked among themselves.
“Lies! Trickery!” A large Campbell man waved a thick staff at Alasdair.
Shona stepped off the carpet and headed for Alasdair. They’d had bloodshed on Sionaidh's Day. She’d brook no violence at the assembly site.
“Sit ye doon! Let the men handle it.” Priscilla seized her by the arm and sat her down. “Thae MacDonalds should never hae come.”
“If the MacDonald is hurt while sharing Campbell food and shelter, we’ll be shamed and liable for compensation.”
Myles addressed the man in the crowd. “Put down your staff! This is no place for threats. We talk here. Say what you must—without fists and clubs.” He looked so strong and yet so calm. Gently he took the staff from his clansman’s hands, and spoke to him. “No need to worry. I shall protect the people of this glen in my brother’s absence.” The man hung his head and sat down.
“We’re at your back, Myles!” said one of the Campbells. Many other voices supported him.
Thanks be to Michael and Brìghde—Gleann Muirn was safe under Myles’s stewardship.
To Alasdair, Myles said, “Please forgive this man’s rash action. He remembers the past too well and has less concern for the future.”
“I’m pleased by your intervention.”
“You’ll join us at the sreath, the circle. We’ll discuss things further.” When Myles saw Alasdair’s hesitation, he added, “You and your clansman will be welcome.”
Priscilla shook her finger at Shona. “Ye see? I’m no’ the only one who kens that MacDonald means no good. I don’t like the idea of any dealings with that clan. They’ll steal the beasts and plot against this family. And worse, he might abduct ye, who’s meant to marry ma nephew. He’ll rob us blind and kill us when he’s done.”
“Alasdair has sworn a powerful oath he won’t,” murmured Shona.
“How do ye know?” Her stepmother’s voice rose.
“It puts his eternal soul in danger, madame.” Shona saw eagles still flying above them.
Myles joined the group on Priscilla’s carpet and with a curtsey, one of the maids gave up a stool for him. “Madame, the crowd shares your concern, but enough of us are willing to give Alasdair a chance.”
“Ye and that fool of a husband that I have! Ye dinnae ken wha’s happening.” A few curious faces in the crowd turned toward her.
Shona closed her eyes.
“Ye let murderers go free for money!”
“That’s the custom.” Suddenly Shona wearied of teaching Priscilla the ways of the Gaels.
“Makes no sense tae me. They’ll murder us in oor beds. Ye’ll see.”
Chapter 7
Alasdair and Ruari followed Myles to a stone bothy. A white hazel wand lay across the threshold to exclude those not of ancient blood. Myles waved at the two watchmen standing on the heather roof of the stone house. “The guards will keep out intruders so that we may speak privately.”
Inside, Alasdair could hear talking and singing with bursts of laughter.
“The last hurdle to the cattle deal is the Campbell gentry. Gentlemen, step over the wand.”
The reek of a small peat fire greeted them as they entered. Seated around it on a collection of low chairs and stools were the Campbell gentlemen, their faces reddened by their acquaintance with strong drink. Wooden cups passed from hand to hand. The smell of ale also hung in the air.
The conversation and laughter stopped.
“We’ve never broken the laws of hospitality.” Myles sounded as pleasant as ever.
“We’re still alive,” said Ruari.
“Come in and have a dram.”
Myles named nearly a dozen gentlemen of Clan Campbell. Most of them looked curiously at the MacDonalds. A few wouldn’t meet their eyes and a couple glared. Alasdair and Ruari were safe enough, protected by the laws represented by the white wand, and as long as Myles was in charge, no one would dare harm them outside either. His honour and reputation were at stake.
The bothy was for men’s business, so women were excluded. He wished Shona were allowed. He’d never tire of feasting his eyes on that magical creature: her wild hair in the wind, her red lips. Her way of walking with such light steps.
Fool! Remember your purpose.
“The gentlemen of Clan Campbell meet here,” said Myles. “We can talk without my brother’s wife present. She’s, eh … easily upset, as you saw.”
“Concerned about the cattle deal, it seems.” said Alasdair. She too was a stranger among the Campbells, and Alasdair felt sorry for her. A wee bit.
“Indeed. A business best left to ourselves,” said Myles. “Sit down. Your clansman as well.”
At the far side of the fire, an oaken table held cheeses, cold pheasant and oatcakes. Apples too. The fruit of a nobleman’s garden. Alasdair’s family cared for six apple trees that grew behind high walls. They had little land, but they carefully protected these trees from wind and animals.
“Make room for our guests.” The Campbell gentlemen pulled their chairs closer together while servers brought new chairs to the sreath. When they were seated, a servant brought him a large wooden cuach, chased with engraved silver. It brimmed with warm whisky.
“Let’s drink.” He picked up the cuach by its two handles, and gave a toast to Alasdair. “To the MacDonalds. Peace between our clans.” The serving men glanced at the visitors more often than need be, and then cut cheeses and apples, and passed them round on trenchers. “Welcome to you.” Myles held Alasdair’s eyes and ignored the reactions of his clan. “I think she knows that she wasn’t wise at the gathering,” Myles went on.
A Campbell gentleman snorted. At least they seemed to agree on the topic of Priscilla. Most of the gentlemen listened intently to what the MacDonalds and Myles had to say.
“Now to business.” A servant refilled the cuach from a keg and handed it to Alasdair.
“You saw our cattle,” said Myles.
“Fine cattle, all of it,” said Alasdair. “We’ll bring about two hundred of ours.”
“Your own?”
“No, about a hundred are ours and the rest belong to MacLeans, MacEacherns and MacIsaacs.”
“Families related to Clan Donald,” said one gentleman.
“Yes. They have trusted us for many years.”
“How much experience have you?” asked a big red-haired man.
“I’ve been to the Lowlands five times with cattle, and no difficulty.”
“You were head drover?” asked the red-haired man.
“No, my father was.”
The red-haired man shook his head. “Not wise to go with this MacDonald. Too young.”
“You have the Saxon speech?” said an older, fair-haired man.
“I do.” Alasdair hoped that Ruari wouldn’t be frowning behind him at the insults offered a member of Clan Donald.
“They’ve no love for Highlanders there,” said the fair-haired one.
When everyone started to speak, Alasdair waited for quiet. “Lowlanders love our cattle and I have a certain affection for their coin. So even
Campbells are uncertain of their welcome in the Lowlands?”
“Those who can speak the Saxon tongue deal with them. And dress as they do in breeches and jerkins.”
Alasdair was surprised. He thought the Lowlanders hated his clan alone, and that the Campbells, great supporters of the king and his law, would be welcome among them.
“My brother said the market for cattle in Edinburgh is particularly good this year,” said Myles. “Each gentleman will give you ten cows and share the liability.”
“And the profit,” said Alasdair.
“The loss of ten cows won’t cause devastation and death in my baile,” said one gentleman.
“I’m not sure I want to lose ten cows to a head drover with so little experience.”
“And a MacDonald at that.”
“I am Cailean Lachlainn,” said another gentleman to Alasdair. “This is certainly a hopeful turn in affairs between our clans. I hope that your enterprise is successful.”
The pair of scowlers muttered their disapproval.
“How many men in the sreath tonight?” Myles looked at his clansmen. “Ten. How many should there be around this fire? Many more.” Myles’s voice had an edge to it. “How do you suggest we get the cattle to market? We can’t spare the men.”
“We don’t need to sell them. We’d eat better this winter.”
“We need the money, Cailean. You know why. Many men who have gone to Edinburgh will want feeding.”
“Do I understand that there will be more people than usual in Edinburgh?” Alasdair asked.
“Soldiers returning from the wars against the Catholic Empire,” said Myles.
“Terrible thing,” said Ruari. “We fought for the Empire.”
“The other side,” said Cailean.
“Bi sàmhach, quiet, Cailean,” said Myles. “We have promised hospitality to the Clan Donald.”
“They fight still on the continent?”
“There’s a truce and men are returning home.” Myles lifted the drinking cup. “Slàinte!”
“And thus the need for cattle to feed them and any cloth or hides we may carry to dress them,” said Alasdair. “Slàinte dhuibh uile.” Seal the bargain with a toast and a dram. The Campbell gentlemen weren’t really challenging the decision of the assembly or Myles had already dealt with protests. Good enough.
Myles said to Alasdair, “I have another suggestion to entice you. I was thinking that we could lease some land to you—in Islay.”
The red-haired man gasped. “Myles, think about what you offer these Clan Donald men.”
The Campbells looked at each other. “You want to rent more land to them? Is that wise?”
Their attempts to be polite were wearing thin.
Land. Alasdair’s father leased a small farm from the Campbells. Some years they were close to famine. More land meant surer harvests, well-fed women and children. Land was life itself.
“Islay?” The decision to deal with him wasn’t unanimous, but Alasdair expected that. He wouldn’t question why Myles would offer him land—or risk insulting the Campbell gentlemen.
Cailean leaned forward toward Alasdair. “Formerly the lands of Clan Donald, confiscated by the king and given to ourselves for our loyalty and good service.” He folded his arms and sat back.
Like a blow to the stomach, the words opened a laceration still unhealed. The great shame of the MacDonalds who once held half of Scotland—now reduced to renting land from an enemy clan.
The air crackled with expectation. The Campbells watched him to see if his anger would cause a fight. If he’d reduce the house to dust.
He couldn’t look at Cailean, who’d referred to the royal confiscation and the Campbells’ enrichment. Probably testing him. Control yourself. If the king hadn’t confiscated the MacDonald Lordship in favour of the Campbells, his father and Ruari would be great landholders. Alasdair took in a breath. They had nearly starved in the wars. Pride was a small thing beside great hunger.
He calmed himself.
Myles interrupted his thoughts. “I could persuade my cousin the earl to lease you land if you do us this service at a fair price.” With a look, Myles quelled the comments of those round the fire.
Cailean rose. He started for the door.
“You’ll stay where you are. What will our guests think?” Myles spoke in a gentle voice. but there was no doubt he expected obedience.
The man stood for a time. His strong breathing could be heard throughout the bothy. “We’ll live to regret our acquaintance with these men. Mark my words.” And he sat down.
The Campbell gentlemen concerned themselves with the progress of the cuach. These were Myles’s trusted men. Still, loyalty went only so far when land was involved.
“Very enticing,” said Alasdair.
Dealing in cattle was the way out of poverty; cattle would return the poets and musicians to their tables, with silver plates piled high with venison and beef. He’d not risk offending the Campbells in any way.
“Not convinced? Other MacDonalds have leased land—” Myles stopped talking as raised voices sounded outside. A woman’s voice. Priscilla. “Have her taken back to the castle,” he called to those on guard outside. “A Mhuire Mhàthair! Mary Mother!”
Her voice abated as she was taken away back to the castle.
Priscilla. Myles’s brother must have realised what she was like before he wed her. A political marriage. The Campbells had something else to deal with, and wanted no trouble from the MacDonalds. There might be a connection between the new wife and the offer of land.
Alasdair had no desire to go to war again, and the last thing they needed was eviction. He’d make sure his clansmen did nothing to offend the Campbells. He’d take the land and hold it for as long as he could. The Campbells would get no frantic messages from the west saying the MacDonalds had risen in rebellion again. Not while he drew breath. Land.
The cuach came round for the fourth time. As Alasdair stared into the deep bowl, he deemed the journey a success. Three hundred cows would bring profits, the first of many trips to Lowland markets. He had a chance to rent and perhaps even buy back land lost to Clan Donald. He took a deep draught of the whisky. Ruari would say he should be more careful, however friendly the Campbell gentlemen.
Alasdair threw caution to the wind. “One other piece of business. There’s a golden ewe that would fetch a particularly good price.”
Ruari choked on his whisky. Alasdair referred to Shona, but etiquette prevented him from saying so directly.
“Ah well, that one’s not for sale. Not yet anyway,” said Myles. “She’s a valuable animal indeed and we’ll not let her go easily.”
“What price for her?” asked Alasdair.
“Beyond your means.” Myles sat back in his chair.
“Perhaps in the future?” asked Alasdair. That was why he’d been invited to the bothy. Myles wanted to tell him that Shona was meant for someone else—a Lowlander with a strong tower and bags of silver.
“No,” said Myles. “But I’m pleased to conduct business with you. My hand on it. See that the cattle arrive in good condition.” The two men shook hands and Myles signalled a servant and told him to bring more whisky.
“On my honour.” Alasdair took the cuach and drank a little, then passed it on. He thought of Shona and was determined to have enough wealth in this life to wed such a beautiful woman.
Myles whispered to him, “If you interfere with Shona, you’ll never do business with us again.”
“Understood.”
“And it would be best if you left at dawn tomorrow. I’ll say your farewells to my niece.”
Alasdair hesitated. Myles’s voice was reasonable, his eyes kind. He allowed Alasdair time to think.
So marriage to Shona was out of the question. He hardly knew her, but she was beautiful. Unearthly. Still, he had accomplished more than he’d hoped. His clan thought he’d have no chance to make a profit from the Campbells, but he had Myles’s word on it. And he trusted the Campb
ell man. “Agreed.”
But the sight of Shona dancing by the sea haunted his dreams. Then it was best he leave as soon as possible. If he saw her again, she might enchant him and he’d forget his business. She was promised to someone else and preparing her wedding.
The next morning he and his men left for the west to collect cattle for the last drive of the year. As he rode away, he looked back for a sight of Shona. Nothing did he see but green hills and Castle Muirn.
Shona went to Morag’s for the noon meal next day. When they entered, Shona saw Morag and Myles sipping hot whiskies at the fire in the centre of the house. She didn’t think that Myles had ever visited before, and certainly, Morag hadn’t been inside the castle.
“Is all well?”
“All is well, very well,” said her uncle. But the tone in his voice told her it wasn’t completely well.
“The MacDonalds have a made a deal with us to take our cattle to market. We have worked out the details and they ... have left to gather together their cattle.”
Shona stared at the rushes on Morag’s floor.
“Alasdair MacDonald is likeable. But he is a MacDonald and you must marry amongst our clan or our allies. We must be practical.”
She said nothing.
“Priscilla’s nephew is coming soon to court, but you don’t have to accept him. If he’s not to your liking, he can return to his estates on the Borders. I understand he’s one of the soldiers returning from the Catholic Wars, and he might be a bit rough. See what you think.”
She didn’t move. She felt nothing. An odd, unsettling cold had seeped into her heart. It surprised her. She liked chatting to Alasdair. That was all.
But apparently that wasn’t quite all. She didn’t think she’d cared for him that much.
“Please have a seat, Shona.” Morag indicated a chair and gave her a hot whisky.
The Banshee of Castle Muirn Page 8