Kilty Pleasures (Clash of the Tartans Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  “What does intoxicate mean?” Lily asked, tucking her body under his free arm so she too could lean against his side.

  Kyla grinned up at him. “’Tis when a person can think of naught else but another person,” she explained.

  “Like I do with Adrian?” Lily replied. “He’s my hero.”

  Broderick bristled. The valet had saved the day, but the youth was far below Lily’s station. Indeed, Delft had conscripted him into the ranks of the oarsmen for this voyage.

  Kyla came to his rescue. “’Tis good ye are a friend to Adrian. If he stays at Caerlochnaven, life will be difficult for him at first, far from his clan. But ye have to remember he’s a servant.”

  Lily sighed. “I ken. He’s older than me in any case, and he’ll soon make other friends.”

  Broderick’s hopes for the future had never been higher. He’d been blessed with a wise woman for a wife. Kyla would provide good guidance and counsel for his sister. He was beginning to see Lily had more common sense than he gave her credit for but, in the long run, she’d be more likely to listen to Kyla than to his advice.

  A shout from Nicolson at the prow interrupted his reverie. “Bowness sighted.”

  *

  Conflicting emotions warred within Kyla when she espied the Banamhara moored to the dock in Bowness. It was a boat she’d sailed on many times, a symbol of the Hebrides, of her home on Skye—and of all she would leave behind if she stayed in the Lowlands with Broderick.

  Her father’s grin betrayed his relief that his boat was where he’d left it, but he frowned when he saw her face. “’Tis only a boat,” he said. “This gunboat of Maxwell’s is a fine vessel.” He winked at Broderick. “I’m sure yer husband will let ye sail it from time to time.”

  “Hmmm, let me think,” Broderick quipped, feigning hurt when she elbowed him in the ribs.

  Lily laughed heartily, then pointed to shore. “Aiglon’s excited to see us.”

  Kyla shaded her eyes. Tied to a makeshift perch in the stern of the birlinn, the giant predator had spread its wings and was making indignant noises, trying to break free. “She kens ’tis ye,” she said to Broderick.

  “Aye,” he rasped, the wistfulness in his eyes telling of the love he had for the bird.

  Her thoughts went back to her beloved Boo. For years, she and the hound had been inseparable companions. She understood what it was to love and trust a pet. Of course, an eagle was a far cry from a dog. However, while it might be unconventional for a man to have such fondness for a bird of prey, she resolved to accept the relationship.

  Her determination not to be afraid of Aiglon was tested when Broderick unfurled his cloak, wrapped it around his arm, then shouted an order for the jesses to be untied. She cringed involuntarily when the giant creature flew straight at him and landed on his outstretched arm. A pulse thudded in her ears when Aiglon folded her wings then turned an all-seeing eye on her.

  “Dinna be afraid,” Broderick said softly, stroking the bird’s breast. “She’s just wondering who ye are. Put yer finger under mine and stroke her like this.”

  In some strange way, Kyla knew without a doubt this was a point of no return. If she refused, Broderick wouldn’t love her any less—he was too much of a gentleman for that.

  Nay, she’d think less of herself if she shied away from the first challenge of her new life. Inhaling deeply, she touched her finger to Broderick’s and stroked the silky feathers, relieved when the bird turned its gaze elsewhere.

  “She likes ye,” Lily said.

  “Will she find us a fish for supper?” Darroch asked.

  Broderick grinned. “Enough for all of us,” he shouted to Aiglon as she soared into the sky then swooped to glide inches from the surface of the firth.

  Welcome

  Aiglon seemed content to peck out the eyes of the fish she released on to the deck before taking off on another fishing expedition. Crewmen from both vessels soon had the catch gutted and boned and sizzling over a fire.

  They didn’t linger over the meal, anxious to get the birlinn and the galley back to the estuary of the Nith before the tide turned.

  The sight of the towers of Caerlochnaven never failed to fill Broderick with a sense of homecoming. “I’ve always loved this castle,” he told Kyla, “but sharing it with ye will make it even better.”

  “’Tis the place o’ yer birth,” she replied, “and where ye’ve lived all yer life.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, “apart from two years studying in France.”

  She snuggled into him as the crews brought the boats to shore and the evening chill settled around them. “I ken many young Scots studied in France when our countries were allies, but I didna ken ye were a mon of letters.”

  He chuckled, pulling her closer. “Good thing since it seems I’m to marry a woman of letters.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll probably be too busy feeding bairns and helping ye run the castle and lead the clan,” she said.

  He pondered her words. He’d considered himself unequal to the task of leading the clan. Now he relished the prospect.

  But she was giving up a great deal to enrich his life. “Ye’ll miss Dun Scaith.”

  “Aye, but Caerlochnaven’s a bonnier castle, truth be told. And I willna have to put up with four half-brothers.”

  He sensed regret behind the flippant remark. “But life here isna the same as on Skye.”

  She let out a sigh. “I like a challenge.”

  “So ye’re certain about all this?”

  She looked across the meadow at the looming towers of Caerlochnaven, newly-lit torches flickering on the battlements. “I’ve ne’er been more certain of anything.”

  Broderick had often burst into song when he wanted to express his happiness. Now he had an urge to strut around the gunboat beating his chest.

  *

  A strange thing happened as they walked through the tunnel gate. The oppressive dread Kyla had felt before didn’t weigh down on her. Her heart seemed to know she was coming home.

  Hamish brushed away tears and sighed heavily as he lumbered out of his gatehouse to greet them. “I was that worried when ye left here, my laird,” he gushed. “Forgive me. ’Twas my fault giving refuge to a murderer. Praise be ye’re all safe and sound.”

  Broderick assured him there was nothing to forgive, then introduced Darroch and his crew. “Tell the steward to prepare for extra visitors. The men have been fed, but Laird MacKeegan will need a chamber.”

  “Aye,” Hamish replied.

  “And the castle folk are to assemble as soon as possible in the Great Hall.”

  Hamish nodded vigorously. “Everyone is anxious to hear what has happened, and they’ll be glad to see Lady Lily and Mistress MacKeegan safely returned.”

  He hurried away to do his laird’s bidding.

  Delft took charge of leading the sailors from both boats to the hall. Adrian hung back, looking uncertain until Nicolson beckoned. He glanced briefly at Lily before following the navigator.

  Broderick took Kyla’s hand. “I suggest ye and Lily go to yer chamber for a wee bit while yer father and I get things organized in the hall.”

  Lily frowned, casting an anxious glance at her brother. “I ken Laird Lochwood canna hurt us anymore, but…”

  Kyla knew exactly how she felt. She didn’t want to leave Broderick’s side. “’Twill be a while before any of us recover from the fear,” she told Lily.

  He understood without her saying anything further. “True. We’ll stay together.”

  Lily giggled when Kyla’s father bowed and took her by the hand. “Do I have yer permission to escort yer lovely sister, my laird?” he asked her brother.

  They made their way to the hall, encountering growing excitement among the people they passed. Men wanted to shake the laird’s hand. Women curtseyed. It gladdened Kyla’s heart to see they genuinely cared about Broderick and his sister.

  A tearful Doreen appeared and scooped Lily into her embrace. “My wee bairn,” she sobbed. “I praye
d ye’d return safely.”

  To Kyla’s surprise, Lily allowed the crotchety maid to hug her. “I kent ye’d be praying for me, Doreen. I missed ye.”

  A cheer went up when they entered the hall, which was already half-full.

  “They didna really ken what was going on when I left so abruptly after my return from drowning,” Broderick explained, waving to acknowledge the cheers. “I probably babbled most of the story.”

  They ascended the dais. For probably the first time in her life, Kyla was happy to be wearing a frock. It seemed more dignified.

  She came close to laughing out loud when Lily whispered, “I feel very dignified.”

  *

  The last time Broderick had made an announcement from the dais, it was to inform the Maxwell Clan that their laird had been found guilty of murder and sentenced to be beheaded in Edinburgh.

  On that day, he’d felt less than proud to be a Maxwell. The news was greeted with stunned disbelief. In retrospect, the verdict had been expected after his father’s return from exile in France and subsequent capture. He realized now that what folks had needed then was reassurance, leadership, courage. In that he had failed miserably.

  Yet their regard for him had never wavered. It was humbling that they’d apparently seen strengths in him he hadn’t recognized.

  But a new day had dawned and he intended to imbue his people with renewed optimism for the future.

  When he was satisfied most of the castle folk had arrived, he braced his legs and waited, letting his gaze wander over the gathering.

  An expectant hush fell.

  He looked into narrowed eyes and frowning faces, and began the tale.

  There were audible gasps when he explained the imposing gentleman standing at his side was Laird Darroch MacKeegan, owner of the birlinn he’d sunk.

  He tried to keep a straight face when Darroch folded his arms across his chest, stared at the crowd and muttered, “Aye, the selfsame.”

  A quick glance at Kyla showed she was having the same difficulty.

  The credibility of Darroch’s stern demeanor was undermined when Lily leaned against his thigh and looked up at him with adoration.

  By the time Broderick had recounted the whole tale, he was exhausted but elated. People gasped, jeered, applauded and finally cheered when told of Lochwood’s fate; many in the crowd looked like he’d dragged them through the labors of Hercules.

  He wasn’t prepared therefore for the resounding hurrahs and whistles that shook the very walls when he took hold of Kyla’s hand and announced she had agreed to be his wife.

  Excited men, women and bairns slowly exited the hall, offering hearty congratulations and thanks to Nicolson, Adrian and the other sailors for their roles in the successful outcome of their laird’s ordeal.

  Broderick brushed his lips across Kyla’s knuckles, pleased to see the happy grin on her flushed face. “Ye can clearly see the Maxwell Clan needs ye as much as I do,” he rasped.

  Shipboard Wedding

  When Kyla first suggested privately to her father and Lily that the wedding ceremony be held aboard the Banamhara, they reacted with exuberant glee. It gave her courage to bring them with her when she approached Broderick with the idea.

  Surprisingly, he was in favor, but she stopped him before he could hurry off to speak to the castle’s presbyter. “I ken ye’re more of an Episcopal persuasion here in the Lowlands, but…”

  Her father interrupted her. “Dinna worry, lass, Isabel and I were joined by the Calvinist Presbyter on Harris, and God has blessed our union though there was no priest present. Mind ye, it took place in the church in Roghadal that was originally Catholic.”

  Kyla recognized the truth of it, yet something deep inside pulled at her, perhaps rooted there by ancestral generations of the mother she’d never known. “So, would it be possible for the abbot to come, from Darling? Just to be there. As a token.”

  Broderick frowned. “Septimus?”

  The tone of his voice suggested he was offended. Kyla felt the flush rise in her face. “I ne’er met him, but I feel ’tis important the auld religion be part of our ceremony.”

  To her relief, Broderick smiled. “I doot Septimus will appreciate being considered a token, but I’ll send a message asking him to come. In any case, I should inform him of Lochwood’s fate.” He proffered his arm. “My father was a devoted Catholic who was involved in many intrigues to bring back the auld faith. I’m more of a moderate persuasion. Now we’ll present the notion to our presbyter and hope he doesn’t fly into a rant about Papists.”

  *

  Two days later, the monk arrived in a rowboat an hour before the ceremony and was greeted with a degree of civility by the presbyter. The two stood on the banks of the Nith, poring over the king’s special license at length without exchanging a word. Unable to tolerate the suspense any longer, Broderick asked if all was in order.

  Septimus mumbled that James was an Episcopalian monarch, but he’d allowed the monks of Darling Abbey to pursue their religion without persecution; in addition he had condemned witchcraft in his treatise entitled Daemonologie, so the license was acceptable.

  Broderick didn’t see what witchcraft had to do with it and suspected Septimus merely wanted to show off his superior knowledge. Playing along, he nodded thoughtfully, as did the presbyter who had already given his approval when first shown the license.

  The clerics then climbed over the side of the birlinn with as much dignity as one might expect given they both wore ankle length robes and clutched religious texts.

  Broderick followed and took up his place between them at the prow of the Banamhara, feeling a little conspicuous clad in his best tunic, trews and plaid aboard a boat.

  The Hebridean crew had spruced up the vessel and strung colorful pennants wherever they could. They’d also shaved their faces, and tied back long hair; he was glad to see Delft had made sure his own crew were presentable.

  The falconer stood at the stern, next to Aiglon’s temporary perch. The hooded eagle was so still she looked like a carving. She wasn’t fond of the hood, but it was preferable to the din she would likely have made otherwise. Broderick couldn’t imagine not having her there for the most important event of his life. To his joy, Kyla had sanctioned having the bird at the ceremony with surprising ease.

  The heavens had smiled upon the scene, bright sunshine and a clear sky replacing the rains of the previous day. The light breeze was balmy.

  Everything was as it should be, yet uncertainty plagued Broderick. Kyla should have arrived by now. He’d seen very little of her for two days, though he didn’t begrudge time spent with her father.

  What if she had changed her mind?

  Had Darroch persuaded her that marrying a Lowlander wasn’t in her best interest? Surely the two men had gotten beyond that stumbling block?

  The prospect of taking on the responsibility of Lily had been too much.

  She’d…

  The maelstrom of doubt ceased abruptly when he espied his bride striding jauntily through the meadow on her father’s arm. Lily held her hand. They’d dressed in the elaborate gowns given to them by the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. Several maidservants held up the skirts lest they touch the grass. Doreen followed, keeping a stern eye on the maids.

  Feeling like the King of all Galloway, Broderick inhaled deeply and sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward.

  *

  A thousand memories assailed Darroch MacKeegan as he climbed aboard the Banamhara. About to give away his only daughter, he wracked his brain for some meaningful parting words to utter before she became another man’s wife.

  She was beginning a new life, far from all she’d ever known. But she’d faced challenges before, and always triumphed.

  He reached to lift Lily aboard first. Kyla was taking on the responsibility of a raising this young lass who wasn’t her bairn, just as Isabel had willingly agreed to mother a motherless child. Lily Maxwell didn’t know how fortunate she was. He chuckled inwardly,
foreseeing many an avid discussion about Elizabeth Melville and her ilk.

  Nicolson assisted Doreen. Once on deck, she fussed over Lily’s skirts.

  Darroch reached for Kyla, and lifted her aboard. “Ye’re light as a feather, lass,” he said.

  She smiled weakly as Doreen turned her attention to righting the emerald-studded gown and the sheer veil.

  Drat! That wasn’t what he’d planned to say.

  Ye look like a queen.

  Nay! Kyla had agreed to wear the gown, but didn’t want it widely known that it was the Danish queen’s cast-off.

  Ye’re beautiful.

  Of course she was beautiful with all that red hair, inherited from him…

  He straightened his shoulders as their gazes met. “Ye’re marrying the right mon,” he whispered. “I love ye.”

  The joy in her green eyes assured him he’d said the right thing. Isabel would be proud of him, and he mustn’t forget to tell his wife about the eagle perched in the stern of his birlinn who cawed her agreement and lifted her wings.

  Anam Cara

  Broderick had never been a lustful man. True, there’d been lasses he’d fancied when he was a youth, but the all-consuming need that flooded his veins and made his tarse salute when he looked at his bride—this was new.

  He’d eaten too much of the wedding banquet fare, intoxicated with the heady experience of feeding Kyla from their shared trencher. He’d readily succumbed to the temptation to lick the succulent chicken juices from her full lips without feeling the least twinge of embarrassment. In fact, the prolonged kiss had been greeted with loud cheering and fist-banging on tables. Kyla had helped him realize that enjoying guilty pleasures gave spice to life.