The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  The MacDonalds of Sleat are a prime example of the complex family relationships. Hugh (Uisdean), the first MacDonald of Sleat and the grandfather of my fictional character Connor, had six sons by six different women, all from prominent families. If I have this right, Hugh, one of his sons, and one of his grandsons all married daughters of Torquil MacLeod of Lewis—and another of Hugh’s sons married Torquil’s former wife.

  As is often the case, Hugh’s proliferate ways did not lead to family harmony. Hugh’s first son hated his half brothers so much that upon his death he turned the clan’s lands over to the Crown to keep the others from inheriting them. The lack of legal title to their lands caused later chieftains problems for years. Two of Hugh’s other sons were murdered by their brothers, and another was murdered by Hugh’s grandsons.

  In this series, I’ve kept the family animosity, but changed the details and timing of these events. I’ve also changed the name of one of Hugh’s sons from Archibald to Hugh. A number of other secondary characters in The Guardian are real historical figures, including Shaggy Maclean and Archibald Douglas. I embellished freely upon what I knew of their personalities.

  For ease of reading, I used anglicized versions of Gaelic names for some of my fictional characters. For the same reason, I did not follow the practice of calling a person by different names when he was with his mother’s clan, his father’s clan, or somewhere else.

  Finally, I confess that I shortened travel times to suit the needs of my story and that Knock Castle was still known as Castle Camus, or Caisteal Chamuis, in 1513. I did not, however, make up the legend of the Green Lady of Knock Castle.

  Look for the second book of this sizzling series featuring the fearless Highlanders!

  Please turn this page for a preview of

  THE SINNER

  Available in November 2011.

  CHAPTER 1

  BARRA ISLAND,

  Scottish Highlands

  SPRING 1515

  “Can ye hurry with your stitching?” Glynis asked, as she peered out her window. “Their boat is nearly at the sea gate.”

  “Your father is going to murder ye for this.” Old Molly’s face was grim, but her needle flew along the seam. “Now stand straight.”

  “Better dead than wed again,” Glynis muttered under her breath.

  “This trick will work but once, if it works at all.” Old Molly paused to tie a knot and rethread the needle. “ ’Tis a losing game you’re playing, lass.”

  Glynis crossed her arms. “I won’t let him marry me off again.”

  “Your da is just as stubborn as you, and he’s the chieftain.” Old Molly looked up from her sewing to fix her filmy eyes on Glynis. “Not all men are as blackhearted as your first husband.”

  “Perhaps not,” Glynis said, though she was far from convinced. “But the MacDonalds of Sleat are known philanderers. I swear on my grandmother’s grave, I’ll no take one of them.”

  “Beware of what ye swear, lass,” Old Molly said. “I knew your grandmother well, and I’d hate for ye to cause that good woman to turn in her grave.”

  “Ouch!” Glynis yelped when a loud banging caused Old Molly to stick her needle in Glynis’s side.

  “Get yourself down to the hall, Glynis,” her father shouted from the other side of the door. “Our guests are arriving.”

  “I’m almost ready, da,” she called out.

  “Don’t think ye can fool me with a sweet voice,” he said. “What are ye doing in there?”

  Glynis risked opening the door a crack and stuck her face in it. Her father, a big, barrel-chested man, was looking as foul-tempered as his reputation.

  “Ye said I should dress so these damned MacDonalds won’t soon forget me,” she said. “That takes a woman time, da.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, but he let that pass. After all these years of living with a wife and daughters, females were still largely a mystery to him. In this war with her father, Glynis was willing to use whatever small advantage she had.

  “Their new chieftain didn’t come himself,” he said in what for him was a low voice. “But it was too much to hope a chieftain would take ye, after the shame ye brought upon yourself. One of these others will have to do.”

  Glynis swallowed against the lump in her throat. Having her father blame her for her failed marriage—and believe she had dishonored her family—hurt more than anything her husband had done to her.

  “I did nothing shameful,” she said through clenched teeth. “But I will, if ye force me to take another husband.”

  “Ye were born obstinate as an ox,” her father shouted through the six-inch crack in the door. “But I am your father and your chieftain, and ye will do as I tell ye.”

  “What man will want a woman who’s shamed herself?” she hissed at him.

  “Ach, men are fools for beauty,” her father said. “Despite what happened, ye are still that.”

  Glynis slammed the door shut in his face and threw the bar across it.

  “Ye will do as I say, or I’ll throw ye out to starve!”

  That was all she could make out amidst his long string of curses before his footsteps echoed down the spiral stone staircase.

  Glynis blinked hard to keep back the tears. She was done with weeping.

  “I should have given ye poison as a wedding gift, so ye could come home a widow,” Old Molly said behind her. “I told the chieftain he was wedding ye to a bad man, but he’s no better at listening than his daughter is.”

  “Quickly now.” Glynis picked up the small bowl from the side table and held it out to Molly. “It will ruin everything if he loses patience and comes back to drag me downstairs.”

  Old Molly heaved a great sigh and dipped her fingers into the red clay paste.

  Alex stretched out and closed his eyes to enjoy the sun and sea breeze a little longer. It was a long sail from the Isle of Skye to the MacNeil stronghold on Barra, but they were nearly there.

  “Remind me how Connor convinced us to pay a visit on the MacNeils,” Alex said.

  “We volunteered,” Duncan said.

  “Ach, that was foolish,” Alex said, “when we know the MacNeil chieftain is looking for husbands for his daughters.”

  “Aye.”

  Alex opened one eye. “Were we that drunk?”

  “Aye,” Duncan said with one of his rare smiles.

  Duncan was a good man, if a wee bit dour these days—which just went to show that love could bring the strongest of men to their knees. Alex had known the big, red-haired warrior since they were bairns. They and Alex’s cousins, Connor and Ian, had been fast friends all their lives.

  “I swear,” Alex said, “since Connor became chieftain, he grows more devious by the day.”

  “Drunk or sober, we would have agreed,” Duncan said. “We couldn’t let Connor come himself.”

  A chieftain didn’t travel the Western Isles without war galleys full of men—the risk of being taken hostage or murdered by another clan was too great. With Connor’s uncle Hugh Dubh still threatening to take the chieftainship, Connor had to keep most of his warriors at home to defend Dunscaith Castle.

  The four of them—Alex, Duncan, Ian, and Connor—had returned from France to find Connor’s father dead, his blackhearted Uncle Hugh living in the chieftain’s castle, and their clan in a dire state. While they had succeeded in driving Hugh Dubh from the castle and making Connor chieftain, Hugh Dubh had escaped. Worse still, Hugh had returned to pirating with his brothers. Now, at a time when their clan was badly in need of allies, Connor’s uncles were harassing clans all over the Western Isles.

  Alex and Duncan’s task, as Connor’s emissaries, was to assure the other chieftains that Connor’s uncles weren’t raping and pillaging their shores on their new chieftain’s orders.

  “Ye could make this easy by marrying one of the MacNeil’s daughters,” Duncan said, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

  “I see ye do remember how to make a joke.” Not many men teased Duncan, so Ale
x did his best to make up for it.

  “Ye know that’s what Connor wants,” Duncan said. “He has no brothers to make marriage alliances for him—so a cousin will have to do. If ye don’t like one of the MacNeil lasses, there are plenty of other chieftains’ daughters.”

  “I’d take a blade for Connor,” Alex said, losing his humor, “but I’ll no take a wife for him.”

  “Connor has a way of getting what he wants,” Duncan said. “I’ll wager you’ll be wed within half a year.”

  “Ye must still be drunk.” Alex sat up and grinned at his friend. “What shall we wager?”

  “This galley,” Duncan said.

  “Perfect.” Alex loved this boat, which was smaller and sleeker than a war galley and sliced through the water like a fish. They had been arguing over who had the better right to it ever since they had stolen it from Shaggy Maclean.

  The MacNeil castle, which sat on a rock island in a bay off the coast of Barra, was in sight now.

  “You’re going to miss this sweet galley,” Alex said, as he guided the boat into the bay.

  A short time later, a large group of armed MacNeil warriors were escorting them inside the castle’s keep.

  “I see we’ve got them scared,” Alex said in a low voice to Duncan.

  “We could take them,” Duncan grunted.

  “Did ye notice that there are twelve of them?” Alex asked.

  “I’m no saying it would be easy.”

  Alex laughed, which had the MacNeils all reaching for their swords. He was enjoying himself. Still, he hoped he and Duncan wouldn’t have to fight their way out. These were Highland warriors, not Englishmen or Lowlanders, and everyone knew MacNeils were mean and devious fighters.

  Almost as mean and devious as MacDonalds.

  But the MacNeils had more dangerous weapons in their arsenal. Alex heard Duncan groan beside him as they entered the hall and saw what was waiting for them.

  “God save us,” escaped Alex’s lips. Three twittering lasses were sitting at the head table. The girls were pretty, but young and innocent enough to give Alex hives.

  One of them wiggled her fingers at him, then her sister elbowed her in the ribs, and all three went into a fit of giggles behind their hands.

  It was going to be a long evening.

  “Quiet!” the chieftain thundered, and the color drained from the girls’ faces.

  After exchanging greetings with Alex and Duncan, the MacNeil introduced his wife, an attractive, plump woman half his age, and his young son, who sat on her lap. Then he waved his arm toward the girls, saying, “These are my three youngest daughters. My eldest will join us soon.”

  The missing daughter would be the one they’d heard about. She was rumored to be a rare beauty who had been turned out by her husband in disgrace.

  She sounded like Alex’s kind of woman.

  Before the chieftain could direct them where to sit, Alex and Duncan took seats at the far end from the three lasses. After a cursory prayer, wine and ale was poured, and the first courses were brought out.

  Alex wanted to get their business done as soon as possible—and leave. “Our chieftain hopes to strengthen the friendship between our two clans and has sent us here on a mission of goodwill,” he began.

  The MacNeil kept glancing at the doorway, his face darker each time. Though he didn’t appear to be listening to a word, Alex forged ahead.

  “Our chieftain pledges that he will join ye in fighting the pirates who are harassing all our shores.”

  That caught the MacNeil’s attention. In a sour tone, he asked, “Isn’t it his own uncle who leads them?”

  “His half uncle,” Duncan put in, as if that explained it all.

  The MacNeil chief tilted his head back to take a long drink from his cup, then slammed it on the table, sputtering and choking.

  Alex followed the direction of his gaze—and almost choked on his own ale when he saw the woman. Ach, the poor thing had suffered the worst case of pox Alex had ever seen. The afflicted woman crossed the room at a brisk pace, her gaze fixed on the floor. When she took the place at the end of the table next to Alex, he had to move over to make room for her. She was quite stout, though not in a pleasing sort of way.

  Alex tried not to stare at the pockmarks when he turned to greet her. But he couldn’t help it. God’s bones, these weren’t old scars—the pox were still oozing! Blood never troubled him at all, of course, but he was a wee bit squeamish about oozing sores.

  “I am Alexander MacDonald.” He put on a bright smile for her, which she missed altogether because she kept her gaze on the table before her.

  He waited, but when she didn’t introduce herself, he asked, “And you are?”

  “Glynis.”

  Since she refused to look at him, Alex could stare freely. The longer he looked, the more certain he was that the pockmarks weren’t oozing—they were melting. Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “I confess, ye have me curious, Glynis,” he said, leaning close to her ear. “What would cause a lass to give herself pockmarks?”

  Glynis jerked her head up and stared at him. Despite the distracting red boils that were easing their way down her face, Alex couldn’t help noticing she had arrestingly beautiful gray eyes.

  “It is unkind to poke fun at a lady’s unfortunate looks,” she said.

  It was disconcerting to hear such a lovely voice come out of that alarming face. Alex let his gaze drift over her, taking in the graceful swan neck and the long, slender fingers clenching her wine cup.

  “Your secret is safe with me, lass,” Alex said in a low voice. “But I suspect your family already knows it’s a disguise.”

  He was hoping for a laugh, but he got none.

  “Come,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Ye must tell me why ye did it.”

  She took a deep drink from her wine, then said, “So ye wouldn’t want to marry me, of course.”

  Alex laughed. “I fear ye went to a good deal of trouble for no purpose, for I have no intention of leaving here with a wife. But does it happen to ye often that men see ye once and want to marry ye?”

  “My father says men are fools for beauty, so I couldn’t take the risk.”

  The woman said this with utter seriousness. Alex hadn’t been this amused in some time—and he was a man easily amused.

  “No matter how lovely ye are beneath the padding and paste,” Alex said, “ye are quite safe from finding wedded bliss with me.”

  She searched his face intently, as if trying to decide if she could believe him. The combination of her sober expression and the globs sliding down her face made it hard not to laugh, but he managed.

  “My father was certain your new chieftain would want a marriage between our clans,” she said at last, “to show his goodwill—after the trouble caused by the MacDonald pirates.”

  “Your father isn’t far wrong,” Alex said. “But my chieftain, who is also my cousin and good friend, knows my feelings about matrimony.”

  Alex realized he’d been so caught up in his conversation with this unusual lass that he’d been ignoring her father and the rest of the table. When he turned to join their conversation, however, he found that no one else was talking. Every member of Glynis’s family was staring at them.

  Alex guessed this was the first time Glynis had tried this particular method of thwarting a potential suitor.

  Glynis nudged him. When he turned back to her, she nodded toward Duncan, who, as usual, was putting away astonishing quantities of food.

  “What about your friend?” she asked in a low voice. “Is he in want of a wife?”

  Duncan only wanted one woman. Unfortunately, that particular woman was living in Ireland with her husband.

  “No, you’re safe from Duncan as well.”

  Glynis dropped her shoulders and closed her eyes, as if he’d just told her that a loved one she’d feared dead had been found alive.

  “ ’Tis a pleasure to talk with a woman who is almost a
s set against marriage as I am.” Alex lifted his cup to her. “To our escape from that blessèd union.”

  Glynis couldn’t spare him a smile, but she did raise her cup to his.

  “How could ye tell my gown was padded?” she asked.

  “I pinched your behind.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Ye wouldn’t dare.”

  “Ach, of course I would,” he said, though he hadn’t. “And ye didn’t feel a thing.”

  “How did ye know I didn’t feel it?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s like this,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “A pinch earns a man either a slap or a wink, and ye gave me neither.”

  She gave a laugh that was all the more lovely for being unexpected.

  “Ye are a devil,” she said and poked his arm with her finger.

  That long, slender finger made him wonder what the rest of her looked like without the padding. He was a man of considerable imagination.

  “Which do ye get more often, a wink or a slap?” she asked.

  “ ’Tis always a wink, lass.”

  Glynis laughed again and missed the startled looks her father and sisters gave her.

  “Ye are a vain man, to be sure.” She took a drumstick from the platter as she spoke, and Alex realized he hadn’t taken a bite himself since she sat down.

  “It’s just that I know women,” Alex explained, as he took a slab of roasted mutton with his knife. “So I can tell the ones that would welcome a pinch.”

  She pointed her drumstick at him. “Ye pinched me, and I didn’t want ye to.”

  “Pinching your padding doesn’t count,” Alex said. “You’d wink if I pinched ye, Mistress Glynis. Ye may not know it yet, but I can tell.”

  Instead of laughing and calling him vain again, as he’d hoped, her expression was tense. “I don’t like the way my father looks.”