Now he was wide awake. After staring at the tree branches whipping in the wind above him for a long while, he whispered, “Sìl, are ye awake?”
“Aye.”
“I’m going to be married soon,” he said, and couldn’t help grinning to himself. “I met her at court in Stirling. I’ve come home to tell my parents.”
He felt Sìleas stiffen beside him.
“I’m as surprised as you,” he said. “I didn’t plan to wed for a few years yet, but when a man meets the right woman… Ah, Sìl, she is everything I want.”
Sìleas was quiet for a long time, then she asked in that funny, hoarse voice of hers, “What makes ye know she is right for ye?”
“Philippa is a rare beauty, I tell ye. She’s got sparkling eyes and silky, fair hair—and curves to make a man forget to breathe.”
“Hmmph. Is there nothing but her looks ye can say about this Philippa?”
“She’s as graceful as a faerie queen,” he said. “And she has a lovely, tinkling laugh.”
“And that is why ye want to marry her?”
Ian chuckled at Sìleas’s skeptical tone. “I shouldn’t tell ye this, little one. But there are women a man can have without marriage, and women he cannot. This one is of the second kind, and I want her verra, verra badly.”
He dropped an arm across Sìleas’s shoulder and drifted toward sleep with a smile on his face.
He must have slept like the dead, for he remembered nothing until he awoke to the sound of horses. In an instant, he threw off his plaid and stood with his claymore in his hands as three horsemen rode into their camp and began circling them. Though Ian recognized them as his clansmen, he did not lower his sword.
He glanced over his shoulder at Sìleas to be sure she was all right. She was sitting up with his plaid pulled over her head and was peering out at them from a peephole she had made in it.
“Could this be our own young Ian, back from fighting on the border?” one of the horsemen said.
“Why, so it is! We hear you had great success fighting the English,” another said, as the three continued circling. “It must be that the English sleep verra late.”
“I hear they wait politely for ye to choose the time and place to fight,” said the third. “For how else could a man sleep so soundly he doesn’t hear horses before they ride through his camp?”
Ian gritted his teeth as the men continued enjoying themselves at his expense.
“The English fight like women, so what can ye expect?” the first one said, as three more riders crowded into their camp.
“Speaking of women, who is the brave wench who is no afraid to share a bed with our fierce warrior?” another man called out.
“Your mother will murder ye for bringing a whore home,” another said, causing a round of laughter.
“I want to be there when she finds out,” the first one said. “Come, Ian, let us have a look at her.”
“I’ve no woman with me,” Ian said, flipping back the plaid to reveal the girl. “It is only Sìleas.”
Sìleas yanked the plaid back over herself and glared at all of them.
The horsemen went quiet. Following their gazes, Ian looked over his shoulder. His father and his uncle, who was the chieftain of their clan, had drawn their horses up at the edge of the camp.
There was no sound now, except for the horses’ snorting, as his father’s eyes moved from Ian to Sìleas, then back to Ian with a grim fury.
“Return home now, lads,” his uncle ordered the others. “We’ll follow shortly.”
His father dismounted but waited to speak until the other men were out of earshot.
“Explain yourself, Ian MacDonald,” his father said in a tone that used to signal that Ian was in for a rare beating.
“I don’t know how I could sleep through the approach of your horses, da. I—”
“Don’t play the fool with me,” his father shouted. “Ye know verra well I’m asking why ye are traveling alone with Sìleas—and why we find ye sharing a bed with her.”
“But I am not, da. Well, I suppose I am traveling with her, though I didn’t intend to,” Ian fumbled. “But we are no sharing a bed!”
His father’s face went from red to purple. “Don’t tell me I’m no seeing what’s plain as day before my eyes. There can be but one explanation for this. You’d best tell me the two of ye have run off and married in secret.”
“Of course we’ve not married.”
All the way home, Ian had imagined how his father’s eyes would fill with pride when he heard of Ian’s exploits fighting the English on the border. Instead, his father was speaking to him as if he were a lad guilty of a dangerous prank.
“We were no sharing a bed in the sense ye are suggesting, da,” Ian said, trying and failing to stay calm. “That would be disgusting. How could ye think it?”
“So why is the lass here with ye?” his father asked.
“Sìleas got it into her head that her step-da intends to wed her to one of the MacKinnons. I swear, she was going to run off alone if I didn’t bring her with me.”
His father squatted down next to Sìleas. “Are ye all right, lass?”
“I am, thank ye.” She looked pathetic, her skin pale against her tousled red hair and huddling like a small bird under his plaid.
His father gently took her hand between his huge ones. “Can you tell me what happened, lass?”
This was too much. His father was speaking to Sìleas as if she were the innocent in all of this.
“ ’Tis true that Ian didn’t want to help me. But I forced his hand because my step-da means to wed me to his son so they can claim Knock Castle.” She dropped her eyes and said in a shaky voice, “And it wasn’t just that, but I don’t wish to speak of the rest.”
Sìleas was always one to exaggerate. If she didn’t have Ian’s father in her hands before, she surely did now.
“ ’Tis a lucky chance the lass learned of their plan and got away,” Ian’s uncle said. “We can’t let the MacKinnons steal Knock Castle out from under us.”
His father stood and rested his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I know ye didn’t intend to, but you’ve compromised Sìleas’s virtue.”
Ian’s stomach sank to his feet as he felt disaster coming. “But, da, that can’t be true. I’ve known Sìleas all her life. And she is so young, no one will think anything of my spending the night in the woods with her.”
“The men who found ye already believe the worst,” his father said. “ ’Tis bound to become known to others.”
“But nothing happened,” Ian insisted. “I never even thought of it!”
“That doesn’t matter,” his father said.
“This isn’t about Sìleas’s virtue, is it?” Ian said, leaning toward his father with his fists clenched. “It’s about keeping her lands from the MacKinnons.”
“There is that as well,” his father owned. “But ye have ruined Sìleas’s reputation, and there is only one way to set that aright. The two of you will be wed as soon as we get to the house.”
Ian was aghast. “No. I will not do it.”
“What ye will not do is shame your mother and me,” his father said, his eyes as hard as steel. “I expect honorable behavior from my sons, even when it is hard. Especially when it is hard.”
“But I—”
“Ye have a duty here, to the lass and to your clan,” his father said. “You’re a MacDonald, and ye will do what is required.”
“I’ll gather the men,” his uncle said. “I don’t expect the MacKinnons will be pleased when they hear the news.”
Sìleas was crying soundlessly, holding Ian’s plaid to her face and rocking back and forth.
“Pack up your things, lass,” his father said, giving her an awkward pat. “Ye must be wed before the MacKinnons come looking for ye.”
CHAPTER 2
THE DUNGEON IN DUART CASTLE
Isle of Mull
OCTOBER 1513
“Damnable vermin! The straw is alive with
the wee critters.” Ian got to his feet and scratched his arms. “I hate to say it, but the Maclean hospitality is sadly lacking.”
“ ’Tis the Maclean vermin on two legs that concern me,” Duncan said. “Ye know they are upstairs debating what to do with us—and I’ve no faith they’ll chose mercy.”
Connor rubbed his temples. “After five years of fighting in France, to be taken by the Macleans the day we set foot in Scotland…”
Ian felt the humiliation as keenly as his cousin. And they were needed at home. They had left France as soon as the news reached them of the disastrous loss to the English at Flodden.
“ ’Tis time we made our escape,” Ian told the others. “I expect even the Macleans will show us the courtesy of feeding us dinner before they kill us. We must take our chance then.”
“Aye.” Connor came to stand beside him and peered through the iron grate into the darkness beyond. “As soon as the guard opens this door, we’ll—”
“Ach, there’s no need for violence, cousin,” Alex said, speaking for the first time. He lay with his long legs stretched out on the filthy straw, untroubled by what crawled there.
“And why is that?” Ian asked, giving Alex a kick with his boot.
“I’m no saying it is a bad plan,” Alex said, “just that we won’t be needing it.”
Ian crossed his arms, amused in spite of himself. “Will ye be calling on the faeries to open the door for us?”
Alex was a master storyteller and let the silence grow to be sure he had their full attention before he spoke. “When they took me up for my turn at being questioned, they got a bit rough. The chieftain’s wife happened to come in, and she insisted on seeing to my wounds.”
Connor groaned. “Alex, tell me ye didn’t…”
“Well, she stripped me bare and applied a sweet-smelling salve to every scratch from head to toe. The lady was impressed with my battle scars—and ye know how I like that in a woman,” Alex said, lifting one hand, palm up. “It was all rather excitin’ for both of us. To make a long story short—”
“Ye fooked the wife of the man who’s holding us? What is wrong with ye?” Duncan shouted. “We’d best be ready, lads, for I expect the debate on whether to kill us will be a short one.”
“Now there is gratitude, after I sacrificed my virtue to set ye free,” Alex said. “The lady’s no going to tell her husband what we done, and she swore she could get us out.”
“So when’s she going to do it?” Ian didn’t question whether the lady would come; women were always doing unlikely things for Alex.
“Tonight,” Alex said. “And it wasn’t just my pretty face, lads, that persuaded her to help us. The lady is a Campbell. Shaggy Maclean wed her to make peace between their two clans. She hates him, of course, and does her best to thwart him at every turn.”
“Ha!” Ian said, pointing his finger at Connor. “Let that be a lesson to ye, when you go choosing a wife among our enemies.”
Connor rubbed his forehead. As their chieftain’s son, he would be expected to make a marriage alliance with one of the other clans. With so many men dead after Flodden, a number of clans would be looking to negotiate such a match.
“Interesting that ye should be giving advice on wives,” Alex said, raising his eyebrows at Ian. “When it doesn’t appear ye know what to do with yours.”
“I have no wife,” Ian said with a deliberate warning in his voice. “So long as it hasn’t been consummated, it’s no a marriage.”
While in France, Ian had done his best to forget his marriage vows. But now that he was returning home to Skye, he would put an end to his false marriage.
Alex sat up. “Anyone willing to make a wager on it? My money says our lad will no escape this marriage.”
Duncan grabbed Ian before he could beat the smile off Alex’s face.
“That’s enough, Alex,” Connor said.
“Ye are a sorry lot,” Alex said, getting to his feet and stretching. “Ian, married but doesn’t believe it. Duncan, who refused to wed his true love.”
Ah, poor Duncan. Ian glared at Alex—the tale was too sad for jesting.
“And then there’s Connor,” Alex continued in his heedless way, “who must try to guess which of a dozen chieftains with unwed daughters would be the most dangerous to offend.”
“Ach, my da’s brothers will likely kill me first and save me the trouble of choosing,” Connor said.
“Not with us watching your back,” Duncan said.
Connor’s half-uncles would be pleased to have one less obstacle between them and leadership of the clan. Connor’s grandfather, the first chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat, had six sons by six different women. The sons had all hated each other from birth, and the ones still alive were always at each other’s throats.
“I hope when my brother is chieftain he’ll save the clan trouble by keeping to one woman,” Connor said, shaking his head.
Alex snorted. “Ragnall?”
That was a false hope if there ever was one, though Ian wouldn’t say it. Connor’s older brother was no different from his father and grandfather when it came to women.
“So who will you wed, Alex?” Duncan asked. “What Highland lass will put up with your philandering without sticking a dirk in your back?”
“None,” Alex said, the humor thin in his voice. “I’ve told ye. I’ll never marry.”
Alex’s parents had been feuding for as long as Ian could remember. Even in the Highlands, where emotions tended to run high, the violence of their animosity was renowned. Of the three sisters who were Ian’s, Alex’s, and Connor’s mothers, only Ian’s had found happiness in marriage.
At the sound of footsteps, Ian and the others reached for their belts where their dirks should have been.
“Time to leave this hellhole, lads,” Ian said in a low voice. He flattened himself against the wall by the door and nodded to the others. Plan or no, they would take the guards.
“Alexander!” A woman’s voice came out of the darkness from the other side of the iron bars, followed by the jangle of keys.
Ian drew in a deep breath of the salty air. It felt good to be sailing again. They had stolen Shaggy’s favorite galley, which went a long way toward restoring their pride. It was sleek and fast, and they were making good time in the brisk October wind. The jug of whiskey they passed kept Ian warm enough. He grew up sailing these waters. Every rock and current was as familiar to him as the mountain peaks in the distance.
Ian fixed his gaze on the darkening outline of the Isle of Skye. Despite all the trouble that awaited him there, the sight of home stirred a deep longing inside him.
And trouble there would be aplenty. They had spoken little during the long hours on the water since the Campbell woman had given them the terrible news that both their chieftain and Connor’s brother Ragnall had been killed at Flodden. It was a staggering loss to the clan.
Duncan was playing sweet, mournful tunes on the small whistle he always carried, his music reflecting both their sadness and yearning. He tucked the whistle away inside his plaid and said to Connor, “Your father was a great chieftain.”
Their chieftain had not been loved, but he was respected as a strong leader and ferocious warrior, which counted for more in the Highlands. Ian found it hard to imagine him dead.
He took a long pull from the jug. “I can’t believe we lost them both,” he said, clasping Connor’s shoulder as he passed him the whiskey. “To tell ye the truth, I didn’t think there was a man alive who could take your brother Ragnall.”
Ian knew that the loss of his brother was the harder blow for Connor. Ragnall had been fierce, hotheaded, and accepted as the successor to the chieftainship. He had also been devoted to his younger brother.
“I suspected something,” Duncan said, “for if either of them was alive Shaggy wouldn’t have risked a clan war by taking us.”
“Even with our chieftain fallen, Shaggy should expect a reprisal from our clan,” Ian said after taking another drink. �
�So I’m wondering why he didn’t.”
“Ian’s right,” Alex said, nodding at him. “When Shaggy said he was going to drop our lifeless bodies into the sea, he didn’t look like a worried man to me.”
“He had no extra guard posted outside the castle,” Ian said. “Something’s no right there.”
“What are ye suggesting?” Connor said.
“Ye know damn well what they’re suggesting. One of your da’s brothers is behind this,” Duncan said. “They knew we’d return as soon as news of Flodden reached us, so one of them asked Shaggy to keep an eye out for us.”
“They’re all wily, mean bastards,” Alex said. “But which of them would ye say wants the chieftainship most?”
“Hugh Dubh,” Connor said, using Hugh’s nickname, “Black Hugh,” given to him for his black heart. “Hugh never thought he got his rightful share when my grandfather died, and he’s been burning with resentment ever since. The others have made homes for themselves on the nearby islands, but not Hugh.”
“What I want to know,” Ian said, “is what Hugh promised Shaggy to make sure ye never showed your face on Skye again.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions, all of ye,” Connor said. “There’s no affection between my uncle and me, but I won’t believe he would have me murdered.”
“Hmmph,” Alex snorted. “I wouldn’t trust Hugh further than old Teàrlag could toss him.”
“I didn’t say I trusted him,” Connor said. “I wouldn’t trust any of my da’s brothers.”
“I’ll wager Hugh has already set himself up as chieftain and is living in Dunscaith Castle,” Duncan said.
Ian suspected Duncan was right. By tradition, the clan chose their leader from among the men with chieftain’s blood. With Connor’s father and brother both dead and Connor in France, that left only Connor’s uncles. If half the stories told about them were true, they were a pack of murderers, rapists, and thieves. How a man as honorable as Connor could share blood with them was a mystery. Some would say the faeries had done their mischief switching babies.
They were nearing the shore. Without needing to exchange a word, he and Duncan lowered the sail, then took up the oars with the others. They pulled together in a steady rhythm that came as naturally to Ian as breathing.
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