“Sire, ye are asking me to marry the daughter of one of the men responsible for the plot against my brother.”
“No, Fingal, you are mistaken. We are not asking you to marry her. We are commanding you to marry her and be a stable leader for Clan MacLennan.”
Fingal bowed his head. “I understand, my liege. What if the lady refuses to give her consent?”
“She will greatly displease her king and will be sent to a cloister. She has two younger sisters. I would prefer that you marry one of Duncan MacLennan’s daughters, Malcolm’s only legitimate heirs. To do otherwise could create more dissention. Still, while a marriage to one of the chits would be ideal it isn’t necessary. I am naming you Laird MacLennan in any event. If they presume to refuse their king’s command and do not accept this decision, you will instruct Clan MacLennan that my full wrath will fall upon them.
“You look less than pleased by this prospect, Fingal. Be warned, if you are unable to accomplish the task we have set for you, we will not be pleased with Clan MacIan either.” The king shot an accusatory look at Niall. “Laird MacIan, have you already forgotten the solution which we provided to your financial woes several years ago?”
Two years earlier, when Clan MacIan was facing financial ruin, King David had arranged a marriage between Niall MacIan and Lady Katherine Ruthven, a wealthy lowland heiress. Fingal almost laughed at the memory. Initially Niall was as displeased with that arrangement as he himself was with this one. However, Niall soon fell very much in love with his wife. Their marriage has become quite a happy one and in addition to their foster son, Tomas, they recently had a lovely baby girl who was just beginning to toddle. Fingal knew King David would always have Niall’s unswerving loyalty and as he expected, Niall offered his full support, much to his chagrin.
As a result, now Fingal rode ever closer to a fate he would rather avoid. They were almost within hailing distance of Brathanead when Fingal noticed a lone woman standing on the barbican tower among the MacLennan guardsmen. If he was not much mistaken, this was the woman who would be his wife.
The voice of a guardsman rang out through the frigid air, “Halt and state yer business, MacIan.”
His brother, Niall, rode to the forefront calling, “Eadoin, I am here under the command of our king with a message for Clan MacLennan. Open the gates, we mean ye no harm.”
Gillian MacLennan called, “The king’s messenger needn’t enter Brathanead to deliver his message. It’s the middle of the night. Tell me the message now, or come back at a reasonable hour.”
“I am the king’s messenger, Lady Gillian, and I will not have a shouting match with ye. I have assured ye that we are here on peaceful matters. Open the gates now.”
“Pardon me Laird MacIan but the last time MacIans and MacLennans met it was definitely not peaceful.”
“And that was no fault of mine. Yer laird betrayed me. I am not here for revenge.”
“Nevertheless, ye can deliver yer message and be gone.”
“I’m sorry Gillian,” Niall persisted, “ye must let us in. Ye have known me since ye were a wee lass. I promise ye as long as the MacLennans do nothing to provoke violence, there will be none.”
“Aye, I know ye. My laird and my da are dead because of ye. Deliver yer message!”
Over the last few days, Fingal had learned the captain of the king’s guard was not the most patient of men. He clearly had reached his limit. Urging his mount forward the captain yelled, “Enough of this. Lady Gillian MacLennan, in the name of King David II you will open Brathanead and receive the king’s messenger now or suffer the consequences!”
As Fingal watched the lass on the wall verbally spar with his brother he couldn’t help but admire her. It took a very bold woman to try and force her will on a representative from the king. Now she fairly bristled with anger. The plaid had slipped down off her head, the wind whipped long strands of her dark, thick hair, and her jaw was clenched rigidly. Was she going to let the king’s guard make good on the threat? Surely the lass had more sense than that.
When she failed to answer immediately, the captain demanded, “I want an answer now! What will it be Lady Gillian?”
“Fine, I will open the gates, but there is no reason why Fingal MacIan needs to enter.”
Fingal chuckled quietly. “This should be interesting.”
Niall rewarded his sarcasm with a quelling stare. Niall hated defiance and clearly Lady Gillian was pushing his temper.
In a tone, only slightly more tolerant than the king’s captain had used, Niall demanded, “Lady Gillian, in the name of King David II, ye will open the gates now. I have promised ye a peaceful meeting, but I will remind ye, ye are in no position to set any conditions. I will decide who enters Brathanead. Is that understood?”
~ * ~
Gillian turned to Eadoin and the other guardsmen on the wall. “We have no choice if we don’t want to bring the king’s wrath down upon us.”
Eadoin nodded grimly. “We could defend against them for a while, but ye are right. It would ultimately be the ruin of Clan MacLennan.”
Gillian sighed heavily. “I suspect the faster we comply, the faster the message can be delivered and they can be sent on their way.” Eadoin arched an eyebrow at her. “Never mind, I know that is wishful thinking. This is about me, isn’t it? That’s what ye didn’t want to say earlier.”
Eadoin’s expression was full of sympathy. “Aye, Gillian. When the king’s guard accompanied the MacIans, I suspected it might be about ye.”
She had no choice. She called, “Aye, Laird MacIan, I understand. Tarmon, raise the portcullis!”
Eadoin asked, “Where do ye wish to receive them?”
“Honestly? In the courtyard, but I suspect Niall will object and I’m already tired of bending to his will. Bring them to the great hall.”
Gillian hurried down the steps, across the courtyard and into the great hall. Servants had been roused from their beds and were preparing to receive their unwelcome guests. Unwelcome? There was a time when the MacIans were always warmly welcomed. Niall had completed his training at Brathanead when Gillian was just a girl. She remembered him being strong and handsome. All the older lasses mooned over him. While Fingal didn’t train here, he had been a guest quite a few times too. Very tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair, he too was handsome and also had his share of mooning maids. She remembered Fingal as being warm, friendly, and affable, whereas Niall was quiet and brooding. She shook her head. None of that mattered anymore. Even if they were once considered friends, they weren’t now.
Eadoin entered the hall moments later. “Lady Gillian, they are riding into the courtyard. They will only be a few minutes. Ye should sit in the laird’s chair at the refectory table. I want ye surrounded by guardsmen and a table between ye and our visitors. I have sent for the elders—they will need to be here. They should flank ye.”
“Thank ye, Eadoin.” He was a good leader and a great warrior. He would have made an excellent clan chief, but he was already married to a lovely woman named Alana. They had a wee daughter named Kiora and Alana was expecting their second child in May. Eadoin and Alana were perhaps her dearest friends.
“Gillie, don’t react to anything they say,” Eadoin warned her.
“I don’t see how I can do that.”
“Just listen to them. If ye don’t understand something, ask for clarification, but for the love of God, don’t commit to anything. When MacIan has delivered his message, tell him ye would like to confer with yer advisors. We’ll go with the elders to yer solar and discuss whatever it is. Gillie, for the next little while, icy water has to flow through ye.”
“Aye, Eadoin, I understand.” Gillian moved behind the table and had just taken her seat when the main doors to the hall opened. Guardsmen preceded the visitors into the hall and as Eadoin had promised they assumed positions near her. Nolan and Archie hurried into the hall, joining her at the table, just as Owen and Daniel, both of whom resided within the keep, emerged from the tower
stairs. Gillian’s mother and her sister Fallon also slipped into the room from the tower stairs. Well good news certainly does travel quickly.
Niall MacIan entered, flanked by his brother Fingal and the captain of the king’s guard. A substantial number of his men followed them, but more remained outside.
Niall bowed. “Lady Gillian, thank ye for receiving us at so late an hour.”
“There is no need to thank me Laird MacIan. I wouldn’t have welcomed ye if I had been given any choice in the matter.”
Daniel, who had taken the seat to her right, leaned in and whispered, “Gillian, lass, don’t antagonize the man.”
Niall scowled at her. “Lady Gillian, I understand ye are upset, but I bear a message from yer king. Regardless of how much ye dislike me, ye will hear his message. Is that understood?”
“Aye, Laird MacIan. Get on with it then.”
“King David sends his condolences on the death of yer aunt, Lady Meara. As ye are a very young woman, he is concerned about yer ability to lead this clan, especially considering the events of the last year.”
“She doesn’t lead this clan on her own. As the elders of the clan, we guide her,” Owen said.
“Aye, that we do. And we will ensure she marries a man who will be a solid leader,” added Nolan.
Niall nodded in acknowledgement. “I’m sure the king will be glad to hear ye have been so ably guided until now. However, he has selected the man he wishes ye to marry, who will be the laird of this clan.”
Gillian clenched her jaw. She suspected she was not going to like what she was about to hear but she could not stop herself from asking, “And who is the lucky man the king so dislikes he would saddle him with me and a clan in disarray in the bargain?”
Niall actually laughed. “I don’t think the king views it as a punishment, but he wishes ye to marry my brother, Fingal.”
Marry Fingal MacIan? That simply could not happen. “And if I decline his generous offer?”
“Ye will be sent to a convent, and yer sister Fallon will marry Fingal.” Her mother gasped at Niall’s announcement.
Gillian saw exactly where this was going. “And if Fallon doesn’t consent, he will marry Ailsa. Shall we save some time here? What if we all refuse?”
“His grace hopes ye will not be so difficult,” said the captain of the king’s guard. His clipped tone suggested he was becoming angry. “However, a marriage to ye or one of yer sisters is little more than a formality. He has already acknowledged Fingal MacIan’s legitimacy as Malcolm MacLennan’s son and heir. Regardless of what ye and yer sister’s choose, his grace has named Fingal laird of Clan MacLennan.”
The MacLennans in the room erupted with shocked exclamations varying from approval to disgust. Gillian, however, did not react, although it was a struggle to remain calm. Just as Eadoin had instructed, she tried to appear as if icy water ran through her veins. Surely this couldn’t be happening. She could have accepted almost anything from the king, but how could she accept this? How could she marry Fingal MacIan? She had an option. Nay, it wasn’t really an option. She truly didn’t wish to enter a convent either. Even if she did, she felt sure her mother would be all too happy for Fallon to marry Fingal. The end result would be the same—he would be laird of Clan MacLennan. She needed time to think and she couldn’t do that in the middle of this uproar.
Banging her fists on the table she yelled, “Silence!” Perhaps her forcefulness shocked those present, but the room fell instantly quiet. In a calmer tone she added, “I would like to discuss this with my advisors.”
Niall shook his head. “My lady, there is nothing to discuss. Ye need only decide whether ye will marry Fingal or enter a convent. This is yer decision—not one for the MacLennan elders.”
“Nevertheless, Laird MacIan, I will not give ye an answer until I have considered the matter. My servants will see to yer comfort while I do so.” She rose to leave.
Fingal had remained quiet until then, but now he stepped forward. “Nay, Lady Gillian. Perhaps ye didn’t fully understand the king’s message. Ye are no longer the leader of this clan. I am. Ye have a decision to make that is solely yers and it must be made today. The king has ordered that the wedding take place immediately.”
“Immediately? That isn’t possible. The banns must be posted, and even so Lent has started. Weddings can’t be performed during Lent.”
“My lady, at the king’s request the bishop has waived the posting of the banns and given us a special dispensation to marry during Lent. The wedding, if there is to be one, will take place today. But, my lady, before anything more is said, I wish to speak with ye alone. Please join me in the solar.” Fingal held his hand out to her.
Gillian’s mother rushed to the center of the room. “Nay, Gillian, ye mustn’t be alone with him.” She wrinkled her nose in disdain. “I will go with ye.”
Gillian clenched her jaw. She wanted to speak with her advisors, but her mother tended to be overbearing and Gillian didn’t want to deal with her now.
Frankly, she was relieved when Fingal replied, “I said I would speak with her alone and I meant it.” At that moment, Fingal, the man whom Gillian had once thought of as genial and good natured, looked every inch an angry Highland warrior.
“It isn’t proper, Laird.” The sneer in Lana’s voice clearly told the room what she thought of the king’s directive.
“Lana, like it or not, I am yer laird. Ye will not instruct me in what is or isn’t proper. Gillian will decide whether she will marry me today or enter a convent. This decision dictates the course of the rest of both our lives. I will not have anyone forcing their will on her. Furthermore, her reputation will not suffer, nor will either outcome be affected by a private conversation with her laird.”
That pronouncement successfully silenced Lana and Gillian was certain no one else would challenge him or attempt to prevent this private meeting. In fairness, she couldn’t deny he was right. By royal command, Fingal was Laird MacLennan regardless of whether she chose to marry him or not. She believed that Fallon was not capable yet of fulfilling the role of Lady MacLennan but in time she could learn. Therefore the two people most affected by Gillian’s decision today were Fingal and herself. She walked around the table, toward the tower stairs with her head held high, feeling every eye in the room follow her.
Falling in step beside her, Fingal and Gillian climbed the stairs together in silence. When they reached the dark, cold solar, Fingal walked to the hearth, stoked the fire to life, and lit several candles as if it were his solar. It is his solar now, Gillian, ye eejit.
“Come sit with me by the fire, Gillian, we have things to discuss.”
“I don’t want to sit with ye by the fire.”
He chuckled. “I expect ye don’t, but ye are about to make a much bigger decision regarding me, and ye have to start somewhere.”
She sighed resignedly and took the chair opposite him.
He smiled. “That’s better.”
Chapter 3
Fingal considered her for a moment. He had visited Brathanead last nearly two years ago. He had been accompanying Niall and his new wife, Katherine, home to Duncurra when Katherine fell desperately ill. Fingal had been charged with taking care of Tomas while Katherine recovered. Outgoing and talkative, Tomas chatted with anyone who would listen and Gillian not only listened but was as charmed by the lad as Fingal was himself. She managed to find a small wooden sword for Tomas to play with.
He remembered her as being tall and gangly but time had a way of smoothing out awkwardness. Now Gillian was...the word “lovely” didn’t quite do her justice. She was stately and poised. Thick brown hair reached her waist. Although slim, she was well curved in the right places. No longer gangly, she moved with a fluid grace that suggested supple strength. This lass does not belong in a convent. She didn’t fidget or blush under his perusal but met his gaze with gold flecked brown eyes which, at the moment, glittered with anger. He wasn’t particularly pleased himself, yet they had no choice b
ut to reach an agreement. He smiled as he remembered how she had ordered silence in the hall and everyone complied. At the tender age of nine and ten, she was already a woman to be reckoned with.
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Do ye find this amusing?”
“Nay, lass. Nothing about this situation is amusing. I was just remembering my last visit here. Ye gave me a wooden sword for young Tomas. That was very kind of ye. It is still his favorite toy. He has slain many imaginary wild beasties with it.”
At the mention of Tomas’ name, she too smiled for a moment. The smile transformed her countenance, her brown eyes sparkling warmly. Stunning. Yes, now that word does her justice.
“He was a sweet lad. We heard that Laird MacIan accepted him as a foster-son. Laird MacLennan didn’t approve, but I was very pleased. Is he well?”
Fingal grinned. “Aye. He’s happy and loved at Duncurra.”
“That is good to hear.” Her face grew serious again. “Still, I doubt ye brought me up here to chat about Tomas.”
“Nay, my lady, I didn’t.” He thought a moment before choosing his next words. “It is obvious that neither one of us wants this marriage.”
Her spine stiffened. She clenched her jaw for a moment, an icy chill returning to her eyes. “Ye are right. I don’t want to marry ye. I shouldn’t have to marry ye. Yer brother was responsible for Laird MacLennan’s death and yer mother killed my father. Ye do not belong here and the king had no right to make ye our laird.”
“Ah, lass, he had every right. He is the king and words such as those, if uttered in the presence of the wrong people, namely the king’s guardsmen below stairs, will get ye arrested.”
“Why do ye care whether I am sent to Edinburgh or a convent? They are both prisons of one sort or another. Ye’ve arranged this rather nicely. I have two sisters, marriage to either of whom would legitimize yer spurious claim.”
Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 Page 50