by Annis, Dawn
“D’ye think the young brat has the chance o’ reachin’ the isle?” Anthol pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty brow.
“He wants the Highlands. He wants to prove he is King o’ Scotland. To him, the Highlands are Scotland, but he believes all o’ the clans should be behind him. He will come.”
“The man is daft.”
“Aye, he is. Spoiled as well,” Callum agreed.
The two men fell silent until they reached the fork in the road taking them in different directions.
Anthol adjusted himself in the saddle and turned to Callum. “I will no follow his royal arse.”
“Nor I, Anthol, ye can bet on it. Let us watch and wait.”
“Aye. I will follow where ye lead.”
Callum raised a hand in farewell.
When Callum arrived to Dunvegan, he paused and rubbed at the tension above his eyes knowing the hard news he was about to share. He rode into the yard near the stable. One of the young men hurried out to take his horse.
“Once yer finished with the horse, run and spread the word there is a clan meetin’ in the hall.”
The man touched his forelock and hurried to do the laird’s bidding.
Callum sat at the head of the hall, waiting for everyone to gather. He declined the food Fiona offered, touching her hand with a slight smile. Once he saw everyone gathered, he stood and informed his clan of the impending visit and the anticipated request.
“What does the bastard want with us?” one man shouted.
“I am sure he wants us to join the fray,” Callum said patiently.
They discussed the problem most of the evening. The candles lit the hall where only a short period ago he had taken on the mantle of authority of the clan, soon to be put to the test.
“We mind the last time we joined the Stuarts . . .” a clansman said. He paused and spit the taste of his words out of his mouth. “Back in ’51. Five hundred o’ us died that day. It has been a hundred years, but we dinna forget.”
Men mumbled their agreement.
Callum let the men talk until the conversation died down. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing fallen locks out of his eyes. “Ye all.” Callum jerked his chin toward the women bunched up near the kitchen area. “What say ye to this matter?”
The women spoke in low tones to each other. A heavy woman, her hair tucked up under a kerchief, spoke up.
“MacLeod,” the woman said, her voice strong. “We will see no more killin’ o’ our men. We, too, mind ’51.”
“And if our refusal triggers a battle with the MacDonalds?”
“Better to be in a fight for what is ours than in a war for what is no.”
“Well said.” Callum smiled at the woman before he sat down in the laird’s chair. “I have decided we will no join Prince Charlie. We will no fight with Charlie’s army. We will no fight to gain him a throne.”
Murmurs of relief spread through the room.
Callum waited for quiet and the attention it brought. “There is still a matter o’ Charlie’s visit.”
Those in the crowd gossiped quietly amongst themselves. They had not anticipated a visit from the exiled prince.
“He comes to ask for our assistance,” Callum stated. “I ken no how long he will stay, nor do I ken how he will react to bein’ told nay. But we must endure a visit. If we refuse to offer our hospitality, the consequences may be immediate. I dinna want a confrontation with him or the MacDonald clan.”
“What will be the consequences once we tell the prince we will no fight for him? We are runnin’ the same risk.”
“Mayhap,” Callum said, his fierce voice belying his inner trepidation.
“’Tis my thought once he has our answer, he will no risk troops fightin’ aginst us when he has a war planned on the mainland.
“I believe the consequences for failure to entertain him will come from the MacDonald clan. When he has his answer, he will waste no time in takin’ them with him. The danger will have passed.”
“We are no feart o’ danger, MacLeod.”
“O’ that I am sure, Ian.”
The group chuckled. Ian looked around with fierce eyes for a moment, then grinned. “I want to be sure we fight for the right cause.”
Callum waited until the discussion slowed to a trickle. Groups of men had been reduced to twos and threes. The others seeking their wives and homes. The talk was quiet, the men having shouted themselves out. There were soft murmurs from the women, satisfied with the outcome of the meeting. They would not have to bear the pain of their men being lost to war.
~ ~ ~
John Fendrel stood in an alcove adjoining the hall, listening to Callum. He leaned against the wall with one shoulder, his ankles crossed. His hat obscured his features.
He pushed himself from the shadows. “Fool.” Unseen, he stepped away from the wall and strode from the room. Oaf and Spit met him at the stables.
“I dinna ken, John. If we miss Prince Charlie, we couldna return to our clan,” Spit complained.
“Dinna worry, we have time to talk to the prince,” John said in a sharp tone. He glared at his two companion’s protests.
“D’ye think he will hear us out?” Oaf rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean he is the prince after all.”
John tilted his head back and let out an exaggerated sigh. “How the hell would I ken? I am sure once he hears o’ my handiness with a sword and yer willingness to knock heads together, he may be more inclined to listen. With three men from the MacNichol clan ready to join the fight, the prince will listen.” John eyed the other brute, taking in his rough appearance. “Spit, ye are awfully quiet. Ye sure ye want in with us?”
“Just doin’ some thinkin’.” Spit cocked his head.
John’s eyes narrowed. “There is no need for ye to do any thinkin’. I am the one thinkin’ here.”
~ ~ ~
They could do nothing but wait. There was no preparation they could make. Tomorrow a local fair. While he did not feel in a festive mood, his presence was expected. He hoped it would ease the tension surrounding his clan. He’d encouraged all to attend. The clans must appear as if all was well and there was no cause for concern.
Callum climbed the stairs, a torch burning brightly every couple of steps. Reaching the top of the Faerie Tower, he filled his lungs with the fresh night air, so different than the stale air of London. Deep in thought, he walked the ramparts, his boot heels clicking with every step along the stone floor. Prince Charlie would come. Callum would tell him no, and the prince would leave. No harm to the MacDonald’s honor. No need for there to be any posturing. But was he right? Callum raised his eyes to the heavens, where the stars winked back but gave up no answers.
Would the prince go peacefully? Callum fervently hoped so. Still, he would come up with a plan to fight the MacDonalds, perhaps the MacKinnons, too.
Callum was tired. Bone weary. So much had happened in such a short period of time.
Hard to believe a little over a month ago he’d been sitting in his favorite club trying to figure out a way to push off the favors of Lady Monforte. Now he was engaged in possible war. A war he didn’t believe in from the very depths of his soul. A battle he did not want to lead his clan into.
So. A strategy. A plan to prevent war, a contingency should the need arise.
The moon was out. He scanned the vast land surrounding him, clear in the night’s light. His people’s land. He was but a steward, in charge of the safety and well-being of the clan and all they held dear. He was their laird.
I will defend my clan ’til the verra breathe leaves my body.
He hadn’t been a good man and could expect little, but he hoped God was listening nevertheless.
Chapter 7
Thea woke to birds singin
g, her reluctance to rise made easier by their lively tune. She gazed out the window. The sky, clear and blue, watched over the leaves on the trees swinging lazily on their branches.
She dressed with her usual slow pace, expecting once more the chiding of her brothers. Thinking of the threat they faced, she sank down onto the bed, her knees weak with the fear of Prince Charlie and the intimidation he brought with him. She’d believed Callum when he said he thought the prince would accept his refusal and leave. She certainly hoped for such an outcome.
The MacLeod had taken charge. So valiant, so sure of himself. He cared for her clan, no doubt as much as all the clans in his charge. As laird, which he proved last night, he would lead them in the right direction.
Her thoughts took a turn. To Callum, a man she found very attractive. His fingers were so long and strong he’d wrapped them around her waist easily. She’d reveled in his firm body against hers. After her argument with John, Callum had left her with a feeling of peace and security. Nothing could harm her.
In their brief time together, she’d come to know a little bit about him. She wanted to understand more.
Thea rose from the bed. Steady now, she descended the stairs and moved into the hall.
Per the MacLeod’s wishes, her clan would be attending the fair. Many of the adults could not go. Some were busy with the chores of life at the manor. Most of the men were with patrols, surrounding the MacNichol lands. The MacLeod and MacCrimmon men would be doing the same on their lands.
Thea volunteered to take the children of the clan. Geoffrey and Michael were with her father, so Simon and Timothy would accompany her and her charges. Simon, because he wanted to make sure there was no trouble should the MacDonalds show their faces. Timothy, to protect the wee ones.
She watched for a moment from the door the children eating as fast as their little spoons could make it to their mouths. One spied her and jumped out of his seat, the others racing after him.
“Oohh, Mistress Thea. Will there be sweets at the fair?” One child hung onto her skirts.
“Well, I would imagine so.” Thea remembered her visits as a child to the fair and the rich tastes to be had. “But mind, the fair is to celebrate the rebirth o’ the earth after its long sleep o’ winter.”
“Mistress Thea, will there be games?” another child begged.
“I believe there will be.” She squeezed the child’s hand and chuckled. When she’d been a child, she, too, hadn’t cared why the fair had come. Only that it had.
“Will there be a magician?” one boy asked eagerly.
“I couldna tell ye.” Seeing his crumpled face, Thea amended her answer, “But I am sure if there is a magician to be found on the Isle o’ Skye, he will be there.”
The boy’s face brightened. “I hope so!”
“I hope so, too.” Thea ruffled his hair and spoke to the group of children, “Now, finish eatin’. Quickly, so we can be off.”
Thank the heavens the children had been spared the frightening events of the night before. Several of the women had hustled the children off to bed when the MacLeod, her father, and his clansmen entered the hall, their faces stern and serious. The children were unaware of any threat and the danger it held.
She sat down next to Timothy. “How are ye this morn?” She took a fruit bun from the platter on the table.
“I am fine. Worried about the horse’s arse headed our way. But who’s to say? Mayhap his own troops will grow weary o’ his selfish prig ideas and take care o’ our problem themselves, so we can have done with him.”
“One can only hope,” Thea said, munching her bun.
“Aye,” Timothy agreed. “So, ye and me this day? We will have a grand time at the fair.”
“That we will, but dinna forget Simon is comin’.”
“Och, we will no let him keep us from enjoyin’ ourselves.” Timothy leaned in and confided, “Mayhap we can tell him we saw a MacDonald. Oh, oh, oh, nay. Dame Flora herself. Let us tell him when we get there and watch him run from one end o’ the fair to the next lookin’ for her.” He beamed.
Thea grinned. “Then where will we be if we do see a MacDonald?”
Timothy stood, waggled his eyebrows at her, and strode out to the yard. On his way, he passed Simon. He turned to Thea. “Oh, nay,” he mouthed behind Simon’s back. “Save us!” He snickered and continued out the door.
Thea burst into laughter.
“What is so funny on a day o’ worry and concern?” Simon growled as he sat down beside her.
“’Tis nothin’. I was just thinkin’ o’ somethin’ Timothy said.”
“Och. Well, I hope he straightens up before we go. I dinna want to be the only one out there mindin’ what is happenin’ around us.”
Thea gave him innocent smile and stood. “I will gather the wee ones. Will the other clans meet us here?”
“Aye. We are meetin’ in the yard.” Simon took a bite of food. “I will be there in a thrice.”
The children from the MacLeod and MacCrimmon clans traveled from their respective clan seats to the MacNichols. They lived the closest to Portree where the fair arrived yearly.
Soon everyone waited in the yard. The children were circling the adults, running and chasing one another in their excitement to get to the fair. Tom and Mary had decided to join them along with Isolde and her husband, Clifton. Together with Simon and herself, it counted as six adults, one Timothy, and twelve children. Simon ordered the children to stop running and called the little group to order.
“We will be walkin’ to Portree. ’Tis only a few miles. The day is fine but cool, so there shouldna be any problems.” Simon instructed further, “I want everyone to keep a sharp eye out. I dinna expect trouble but—”
“Och, man.” Timothy exchanged a knowing look with Thea. “Aye, everyone keep a sharp eye out. Now let us go on. Time for some fun.”
He threw his arm over an older boy’s shoulder and waved everyone forward. The children surged on, laughing and pushing one another while the adults followed at a slower pace, keeping an eagle eye on their charges. Timothy and Thea led the way with Simon bringing up the rear, his head moving from one side of the lane to the other, scanning for MacDonald men.
The trip was carefree. The birds chirped a happy song in the bushes. The crowberries, with their purple, star-shaped flowers, bobbed in the light breeze. Thea raised her face to the sun. Its warmth soothed any uneasy feelings lingering in her thoughts.
One of the older boys, too enthusiastic in a game of tag, pushed Mara, a sweet wee lass of five.
“Ompf,” Mara cried. She pushed to her feet and rounded on him. “Ye did that a purpose.”
The boy raised his hands in surrender. “Nay, I dinna!”
Timothy stopped. “Ye both have a case. Let us no ruin anyone’s fun.” He brushed off her skirts and eyed her scraped knee. With a solemn voice, he declared her fit to continue the journey. After tears, apologies, and promises of sweets, all was set right.
Thea watched Timothy, and an ache of gratitude swelled within her. She loved her brother. While a prankster, he had a tender heart.
Timothy scooped Mara into his arms, and they soldiered on.
Simon paced as he waited, searching every direction, moving from one end of the group to the other.
They crested the rise, and below them lay the village of Portree. Ships dipped lazily with the tide in the harbor. The smell of the brine pricked Thea’s nose. Flags on the ships flapped in the light breeze while houses dotted the area around the water. With the children in hand, Thea and the group made their way down the rocky path, stones skidding every which way.
“Wait for us,” Isolde scolded the children as they ran ahead.
“Ah,” one boy complained as he returned to the group.
“Ye dinna ken what mayhap lie
in wait, lad. We must be vigilant,” Simon shouted sternly.
Timothy rolled his eyes.
Soon enough, they reached the outskirts of the village, and the children scattered to the relief of their temporary guardians. This was Clan MacNichol lands and the children were in no danger despite Simon’s worry.
The pipers played a lively tune while the drummers kept a steady beat against the melodies of the pipes. The adults followed the sound of music and laughter, looking for what the fair had to offer themselves.
Thea searched the grounds for Callum. She glanced here and there, never staying too long in one place. Timothy would certainly make sport of her if he noticed. He would want to know why she scanned the crowd and for whom. She eased her way through the fair grounds and headed toward the stalls to see what wares were on the shelves and tables. She picked through a few things at one stall and moved on to another, never really seeing the bright-colored fabric or bit of lace. She looked out of the corner of her eye, searching.
Thea sat on a nearby bench, her shoulders slumped. She played with the hair in her braid while she observed the folks around her. She hoped Callum would come to the fair.
~ ~ ~
Sitting in the hall, Callum spread jam on his scone. His mother and sister sat at the table with him, breaking their fast. “Ye are quiet,” Callum said to Lettie.
“Aye,” she replied.
“Are ye goin’ to the fair this morn?” Fiona asked.
“I dinna wish to go. My heart will no be in it.”
“Come now, Lettie. ’Twill relieve yer mind and lighten yer heart.” Callum leaned over and rubbed her arm with affection. “’Twill be good for us both to attend. I asked it o’ all the clans. I hope ye will help in settin’ an example.”
“Maw, ye must come then as well. Yer heart is as sore as mine,” Lettie pleaded.