by Annis, Dawn
Callum stepped over to Charles, in a dilemma as to how to address him. He refused to call the man ‘prince’ and would not call him the ‘Young Pretender’ to his face.
“Are you Laird MacLeod?”
Callum waited a moment to show the man he would not yield easily. “I am he,” Callum said firmly. “I hear ye believe ye have business with me.”
“Yes, I do. However, I am in need of sustenance. My carriage horses and men the same.”
Charles scratched his head. A fine dusting of powder landed on his shoulder.
Callum surveyed the road. He eyed Charles. “I was expectin’ an army or at least an escort. ’Tis dangerous country to travel alone.”
Charles bristled. “I am in my homeland. I have no danger here.” He surveyed the surrounding area as he inhaled deeply. “Yes, it is good to be home.” Raising his foot, he rubbed his mud-sprinkled leg. “My men are with the MacDonald clan. I reasoned my presence would be better received if I came alone. Dame Flora assured me of my safety.” He pointed to his footmen.
Callum took a closer look. One of them smirked at him.
MacDonald men.
The MacDonald line was as distinguished as his own. The clans and septs shared a battle-riddled past. The MacDonald clan kept their distance since the Faerie Flag had been waved so many years ago. Who knew what had won the battle that day for the MacLeod clan, but legends die hard. He could not help but believe it himself. There had been mild skirmishes here and there since, usually when hunting parties got too close.
The MacLeod men standing beside Callum raised their weapons.
“Nay,” Callum hissed. The men lowered their arms but glowered at their foes.
Callum turned to Prince Charles. “Ye havena fear o’ yer safety here though I canna guarantee the results ye want.”
“Well, we will see once you have given me the chance to speak. Now, will you invite me into your home for the refreshment we discussed?”
Callum stepped aside and extended his arm toward the hall. “This way.”
Charles glided through the door and into the hall. He gave no indication he’d heard Callum’s tone of disgust.
Callum stalked behind the prince, fists clenched. He relaxed his hands when they reached the door. He would control this situation from start to finish.
Fiona waited for the men inside the door. The MacLeod clansmen trooped in behind their laird.
“Maw, may I present . . .”
“Charles Edward Stuart.” He grabbed her hand and placed it into his own. “Though most call me the Bonnie Prince Charlie.” He giggled. “I know what my people call me,” he said to Callum over his shoulder.
Turning back to Fiona, he fawned, “It is my pleasure to meet you. What is your name, dear woman?” Charles kissed her hand. “Oh, do not tell me, Lady Fiona MacLeod.”
Fiona grimaced as soon as the prince’s attention returned to Callum. She wiped her hand in her skirts, and Callum cleared his throat to hide his chuckle.
“And this winsome young woman must be Lettie.” Charles reached for her hand as well. “Are you not the prettiest thing I have seen in quite a while?”
Callum’s senses heightened, and his body tensed. He slipped his hand in and grabbed her elbow. He did not like the attention the prig was showing Lettie. The Young Pretender knew the MacLeod family’s names despite his pretense. What else did he know?
Lettie cringed as Charles kissed her hand. She withdrew before he could slobber on it as he had her mother’s.
Fiona led the way into the great hall. She extended her hand, indicating the repast laid out on the table in the center of the hall. Charles cried out in glee. “Oh, dear woman. You have saved me from starvation. I am quite famished. I do hope it is as good as it looks. I am delighted.”
Callum stepped out of the hall to the waiting MacDonald men who had accompanied Charles. MacLeod men stood at his side.
“Ye can go around back to the stables with the horses if ye have a mind to.” Callum scowled and pointed. “The kitchen is over there. Mayhap ye can beg the cook to feed ye. If no, yer welcome to go hungry. I will no be entertainin’ a MacDonald at my table.” He’d be damned if he would.
By the time he returned with his men, Charles was seated, sipping the wine Fiona provided. He wiped his hands on a wet cloth.
“Traveling is such a filthy bit of business.” He glided his arm in a regal fashion to and fro. “Ah, but so necessary when one wants to accomplish so much.” Charles took another sip of wine. “Do you not agree?”
“‘Tis,” Callum said through his clenched teeth. He sat next to the prince.
Charlie eyed Callum’s family. Callum excused himself and stood. Walking his mother and sister to the other side of the hall, he leaned over and stated, “I want ye to havena part o’ this. Take Lettie upstairs.”
“Nay, Ye may have need o’ us. We have an interest as well.” Fiona placed her hand on her son’s arm.
Lettie shook her head. “Maw told me to watch m’self, and I will, but I am no’ feart o’ a gruntin’ pig.”
“I am firm, Maw,” Callum said, taking her hand and placing it on Lettie’s. “Take Lettie and go upstairs. I dinna want ye around the bag o’ shite.”
Fiona wound her arm in Lettie’s, worry in her eyes.
“Get up those stairs right now.” Callum pointed angrily. “I am tellin’ ye as yer laird.”
Fiona and Lettie turned and, with slow intention, climbed the stairs.
With a sly motion, he sent two of his men upstairs after them.
Callum walked toward the table where Charles tore a chicken apart with his chubby fingers and smacked his greasy lips. He looked up from his effort. His thick lips pursed.
“Aw, must the ladies leave so soon? And here I was looking forward to getting to know them better.” Charles wiped his fingers on the linen napkin, his grin lascivious. “Perhaps later. Lettie, in particular, looked simply delicious.” Charles chuckled.
Callum ground his teeth together. “Nay, ye will no be seein’ Lettie agin.”
“Oh, it is a shame.” Charles wiped his hands once more. “I am accustomed to receiving whatever I desire.”
“Ye will no here.”
Callum was determined to stay in control of the debacle. “The Lairds MacNichol and MacCrimmon with their clans will arrive shortly. Ye can present yer plans then.”
“I take it from your cool reception your mind has already come to its conclusion.” Charles popped a piece of carrot into his mouth. Its juice dribbled down his chin.
“The clans will gather tonight. Includin’ my own. We will have a ball in yer honor.”
“I am delighted. I have always enjoyed a good ball.”
Irritated at Charles’s priggish behavior, Callum held his tongue. It was crucial the man remain benign. The ball had been Chief MacNichol’s idea, reasoning the clan should give Charles a pleasant but firm no. Callum would sooner have done with him.
~ ~ ~
Thea and her clansmen entered Dunvegan Castle. As soon as she crossed the threshold, the smell of food made her stomach rumble. The hall, bright with the many candles set in pewter holders, was decorated with the clan tartans of MacLeod, MacNichol, and MacCrimmon. The space was festive and exuded clan unity.
The tables were laden with food and drink, and she accepted a glass of wine from one of the women. People were gathered in knots here and there. She searched the hall for Lettie and Callum as she moved through the room, occasionally saying hello to a friend but not lingering for conversation.
After spending the day with Callum, her thoughts were in a turmoil. She’d enjoyed herself with him, but his mood and words at the end of the day frightened her. Should her father know what the MacLeod had said about being replaced? It would pose a great threat to the t
hree clans to have their laird gone with none to replace him. She wasn’t sure what to do.
A man held court near the fireplace. He must be Prince Charles. His gaze landed on her like a wolf on its prey, and her nerves heightened. She searched the hall, looking for an escape, but felt pinned to the spot. She clasped her shaky hands in front of her, not wanting to expose any more of her breasts than what the prince had already feasted upon. Thea’s eyes locked onto Callum across the room. She crossed the hall, weaving through the crowd, clanswomen here and there stopping her to question if she knew any more than they. She could only say she shared in the anxiety of the day.
When she reached Callum’s side, he took her hand and pulled her next to the wall. He kissed her hand gently before letting it go.
“Are ye all right? Did he frighten ye?”
Thea shook from head to toe. “I am fine, though he seemed to see right through my blouse. He’s horrible.”
“That he is, my dear. That he is.” Callum rubbed his hands up and down her arms, warming them. He caught her eye and smiled. “Ye look fetchin’ this night. The blue in yer dress makes yer eyes shine.”
Feeling better, safer, she curtsied. “Thank ye for the compliment. Though I wouldna like it from him”—she directed her eyes toward the dais—“I do appreciate it from ye.” Thea smiled. He could have meant anything by his words at the fair. But he mustn’t leave. Not only for the good of the clan, but for her. He had her heart.
“Where’s yer da. I must have words with him.” Callum searched the throng, then glanced at Thea. “Nay, I will no be tellin’ him I am to leave.”
Thea let out the breath she held. “I spent the eve thinkin’ o’ what is on yer mind. I hope when the business is done we can speak more on it.”
“We can and we will,” he reassured her as he patted her shoulder.
“Where is Lettie?”
“She is upstairs in the salon. Charlie had too close an eye on her. Much as ’tis with ye. If I had my way, ye would be up there as well. Find Michael and ask him to take ye to the salon. Tell him the MacLeod asks him to stay with the ladies.”
“Nay, I will no. My clan has a stake in what is happenin’, too.”
Callum cocked a brow. “Find Michael then and dinna leave his side.”
~ ~ ~
Callum clasped Anthol’s forearm. They moved to the edge of the hall where their conversation would not be overheard.
“Well, ye have given quite the show for the horse’s arse,” Anthol said, then took a long swallow from his tankard of ale.
“That ye have,” Henry MacCrimmon said as he stepped into the group.
“I felt ’twas necessary to give an appearance. ’Tis yer idea for a ball. Best no show our decision too soon, though he suspects. I would soon shove him out on his silken-clad arse. He has MacDonald men with him.”
Anthol bristled. “The son o’ a whore. To bring the likes o’ them here. Let us get this farce o’ a ball started. The sooner we do the sooner we can toss the prig awa’ from here and back to his protector, Dame Flora.” Anthol spit.
Callum called for the music to start as people from the three clans gathered around him. To greet his guests, he stood beneath the spot where the tartans hung on the wall. Thea stood next to Callum as he spoke to each man, warning of the presence of MacDonalds with the caveat none would be harmed by his clansmen.
Bonnie Prince Charlie sat at the head of the dais, placed close to the fireplace as he exclaimed the Highland weather sent a chill through him. Anthol and a MacNichol clanswoman started a country dance to his delight. He clapped his hands to the beat of the tune, his feet dancing steps as he sat in his chair, his head bobbing out of time to the music.
Couples wandered out to join the dance. Thea watched as her clansmen reluctantly put on the show the Young Pretender expected. Callum moved from group to group, encouraging all to participate with the promise it would not last long.
“Would ye care to dance with me?” Callum reached out his hand to her. He dipped his head to Michael.
Michael returned his quick bow with his own.
Thea slipped her hand into his with the slightest curtsy and followed him out to the center of the couples.
“Ye are lovely.” Callum took Thea into his arms.
“So, ye are no angry with me?”
“Nay. I wish ye wouldna be in his path, but ye have made up yer mind, stubborn as ye are. I dinna have any power over ye other than I am yer laird,” Callum grumbled.
Thea lowered her eyes. “I apologize, Callum.”
“I am no up for yer apologies right now. Stick close to me or yer family.”
Thea glanced at the festivities. “The pretense makes me sick to my stomach. ’Tis truly necessary?”
“I ken no other way. We must give the impression we are no agin’ him, more that we choose no to fight the Sassenach.”
They finished their dance. Callum gave her hand a squeeze and returned her to Michael. He stopped the musicians with a look. At his signal, the clansmen gathered as one and faced the Young Pretender.
Callum strode to the front of the group. Still refusing to call the man “prince” or bend a knee, he inclined his head.
“Oh, we are ending the festivities so soon.” Charles pouted. He took a long drink from his cup of wine. “I was hoping to sneak a dance for myself. There are several young ladies here that are simply enthralling.” Charles winked at Thea.
She backed away slowly and bumped into Geoffrey. He and Michael guided her behind them.
Watching Thea, Callum bristled at Charles’s words.
“We have gathered to discuss yer campaign aginst King George and his son, the Duke o’ Cumberland.”
“A small campaign if you will. It should not take more than one or two well done skirmishes to oust the usurpers and place the Stuarts once again on the throne,” Charles slurred. “I will see myself on the throne, the Jacobite’s have assured me.”
Aggravated at the man’s drunkenness, Callum continued, “Our clans participated in the last Jacobite fight for the throne in sixteen fifty-one. We lost nigh on five hundred men. Good, stalwart men.”
“A hundred years ago, man.” Charles tried to stand and slumped in his chair. “What are you and your bastard clansmen, cowards? Hiding behind the skirts of your women and wars so long ago.”
MacLeod clansmen stood, fuming amongst themselves. Callum waved them back into their seats.
The MacDonald men, having entered the hall once the music stopped, edged closer to Charles.
Callum’s teeth clenched. He glared at them. “Stinkin’ scum like ye are no welcome in my home. Leave now. Yer prince will no come to harm.” Callum turned to his unwelcome guest. “I will no argue with ye. Our answer is nay.”
“You cannot deny me a chance to make my case. I am the Bonnie Prince Charlie. I rule by divine right. I am loved and adored by many.” The man tipped his cup, saw it was empty, and motioned for another. No one moved to do his bidding.
“This is our decision. Make no mistake, we are no agin’ ye, but we will no follow ye.”
“If you are not against me, then what, my dear man, are you saying? You would go against God?” Charles cocked his head like a dog listening to his master.
“Nay,” Callum said. “We are out o’ the fight.”
“I will not stand for insolence. Mark my words, you will be persuaded to see the situation my way. My father and his father before him were the true heirs to the English throne. It is now my intention to take it.” Charles rubbed his hands together. “Come, come, let us not quarrel. You will see the right of it.”
“I mean what I say. We will no stand with the Sassenach, but we will no fight alongside ye.”
“Well, then it is off to bed. We will see if you feel differently in the mo
rning. Now, there was a nice little piece here earlier. Your sister, I believe. She will warm me nicely.”
“Oh,” Thea cried. She held her hand to her mouth, her face red.
Charles pounded his cup against the table and tried to stand. One of the MacDonald men stepped up to Charles and helped him from his chair.
“Perhaps I can convince you in the morning,” he repeated, shaking off the man’s hand.
Callum blinked at the prince’s mercurial mood swing.
“Nay. I will no keep ye from Dame Flora’s company any longer.” Callum motioned to the MacDonald man. “I canna ensure yer safety, and I am no truly sure I want to. ’Tis best ye be on yer way.”
Anthol and Henry grinned and shook each other’s hand. The clansmen and women spoke in hushed tones.
“You are throwing me out? I am outraged. I have never been treated thus. I am highly insulted. I will not stand for it, do you hear?” Charles roared.
Callum’s temper rose, his fists clenched. “Ye have yer answer, ye witless gobshite. ’Tis time to get yer royal arse off my land,” he yelled.
The clans of MacLeod, MacCrimmon, and MacNichol moved as one toward the Young Pretender.
The MacDonald men pulled out their swords with a zing and surrounded Charles. They half carried, half hurried him out of the hall. Callum followed and watched as they loaded him into his gilded carriage.
Callum spoke to the nearest man. “No harm will come to the MacDonald clan as long as ye stay on yer side o’ the island. We havena argument with yer clan. We want none from ye. Tell yer dame.”
The man acknowledged Callum and followed his clansmen atop the carriage, and they trundled off into the night.
Returning to the hall, Callum was greeted by cheers and slaps on the back. Anthol and Henry were waiting for him. Each reached out and shook his hand.
“There will be songs sung about this night,” Anthol shouted.