“Wait I dinnae ken yer clan,” she could hear his voice call out after her, but she did not turn around. She and Diana took off at a run in a panicked need to get back to the castle before her father found out their secret.
Diana clutched her hand in fear. “We are no’ goin’ tae make it!”
“We must!”
Chapter Three
“Wait, I dinnae ken yer clan,” Duncan called out after the beautiful red haired lass. Holding her in his arms as they danced had been the most wonderful experience of his life. He could not let her go without knowing for sure whether she was a secret MacGregor or not. He followed her in hopes of an answer, but found his way blocked by Lachlan. His cousin stood in front of him, his arms crossed, a disapproving look upon his face.
“Do ye ken who ye were dancin’ with?” Lachlan demanded frowning.
“Her name is Marra. I dinnae ken her clan,” Duncan replied attempting to move around him.
Lachlan moved to block him once more. “She is a MacDonald. The laird’s daughter o’ the MacDonald’s o’ the Isle o’ Jura.”
“Nae, she cannae be,” Duncan protested.
“She is,” Lachlan confirmed.
“How could ye possibly ken such a thing?” Duncan demanded to know, angered by his cousin’s intrusion.
“Yer faither ordered me tae spy upon her faither. I saw her then.”
Duncan knew that his father had spies among the MacDonald clan, but he did not know that Lachlan had been one of them. His heart sank. “I am supposed tae meet her here upon the morrow.”
“Yer faither will have ye at the mercy o’ the lash were he tae ken yer plans,” Lachlan warned. “Ye must no’ meet her. If she were tae discover who we truly are, all would be lost.”
“She will no’,” Duncan argued. “How would she?”
Lachlan shook his head in disapproval. “Ye think the MacDonald does no’ have spies o’ his own. It would no’ take any time at all afore yer faithers kenned what ye were doin’. Ye could bring down the entire clan with yer foolishness.”
“Are ye absolutely certain that she is a MacDonald?” Duncan did not want to believe that the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was his enemy.
“Aye, I am certain. She is no’ the sort o’ lass one easily forgets,” Lachlan confirmed.
“Nae, she is no’.” Duncan shook his head in frustration. He felt connected to the lass even now. They had barely spoken to one another and yet had shared more than words could ever express as he held her in his arms. He could still feel the heat of her body against the palm of his hand. The emerald green of her eyes was burned into his mind. Every time she looked up at him, his heart had skipped a beat in his chest. He had never felt anything like it before, and the notion intrigued him.
“Ye cannae see her again and that is the end o’ it,” Lachlan demanded.
Duncan felt anger and rebellion rise up within him at his cousin’s words. He knew he should not feel so strongly about a lass that he just met, but he could not seem to help himself. It angered him that she was the daughter of his father’s mortal enemy, but deep down he knew that she had no say in the matter of her paternity. She in turn would not have known who he was. Was it fair to hold her identity against her when he himself had a less than ideal pedigree in the eyes of her own clan? Were she to discover who he really was, would she have anything to do with him? Would she turn him in? The questions tumbled through Duncan’s mind like rapid flowing water over a rocky stream bed. He knew it would be best if he walked away and never saw the lass again, but he could not bring himself to do it. In spite of Lachlan’s warning, Duncan decided that he would meet her on the morrow. He would never know the answers to his questions unless he did.
The pair of cousins returned home, but Duncan’s heart and mind remained with the beautiful red haired lass. The next morning Duncan informed his father, who was still sick abed, that he would be gone for most of the day out hunting. He purposefully avoided Lachlan, so as not to cause another argument, and left the castle. Will she be there as she promised?
He made his way back to the gathering ground and, not seeing her, sat down on a rock to wait. Remnants of the previous day’s festivities were scattered about the grounds. Those who had stayed overnight had departed, leaving nothing but smoking coals in their wake. Duncan kept his eyes out for possible game, but the smell of the smoke kept anything of note at bay. The sun crossed the sky, but there was no sign of her, and yet Duncan continued to wait. Where are ye lass?
He waited until the sun began to sink into the earth before he gave up and returned home. She had not come, and his heart felt as though it had been trampled. He knew it did not make any sense to be so hurt by her rejection, given their brief acquaintance, but he was. His father had known from the moment that he met Duncan’s mother that she was the one for him, and Duncan had felt the same about the lass. She is my còmhla ri anam. The instant their eyes had met he had known, but apparently she had not.
He returned to the castle in a foul mood. He found his father sitting in the great hall in front of the large fireplace. The MacGregor looked up from staring absently into the flames. “Duncan, ‘tis nae like ye tae return empty handed, my lad.”
“Aye,” Duncan grumbled as he sat down in the chair across from the laird. “The gatherin’ scared off most o’ the game.”
“Aye, that would do it,” his father nodded his head in acknowledgement. He coughed hard, covering his mouth with a cloth he clutched in his hand. When he pulled it away, there were flecks of blood staining its surface.
“Faither?” Duncan leaned forward in concern.
“’Tis nothin’, my lad. Dinnae fash. All will be well in time. Idonea has it in hand.”
“But the blood…?” Duncan questioned, but stopped when his father raised his hand for silence.
“As I said, all will be well in time,” the laird insisted. Nodding, Duncan arose and bid his father a good night. “Sleep well, my lad.” He took his son’s hand, squeezed it affectionately, and then let go.
Duncan spent a restless night and did not fall asleep until just before the dawn. When he awoke some time later, it was to a great deal of commotion below stairs. Duncan threw on his clothes and rushed down the stairs sword in hand. When he entered the great hall, he found his father surrounded by warriors from the Clan MacDonald. The MacDonald laird was yelling at his father, while MacGregor warriors stood between them. “Yer son has taken my daughter, and I want her back. Yer son will face my wrath, or I will bring this castle down around yer ears afore I slit yer throat,” he roared.
“I did no’ take yer daughter, MacDonald,” Duncan answered from behind them.
The MacDonalds turned around and glared at him. Three of the warriors stepped forward, swords at the ready. “I ken that ye were with her at the gatherin’ and that she was tae meet ye again. Her maid Diana told me all when Marra did no’ return. I ken it was ye, and I demand ye return her tae me.”
“I did no’ take yer daughter. She did no’ meet me as we had agreed. She ne’er came,” Duncan answered.
“Ye will face justice for what ye have done if it is the last thing these auld bones e’er do. Take him,” the MacDonald laird commanded his men, motioning for them to obey.
“Ye will no’ touch my son if ye value yer lives,” Duncan’s father roared, pushing himself to his feet coughing. When he caught his breath, he stepped forward and stood to his full height. As a large man, he towered over the MacDonald warriors and glared at them menacingly. Turning to the MacDonald laird, he tempered his gaze. “Ye and I have been enemies for many a year, but ‘tis a sad thing indeed for a faither tae lose a bairn. We did no’ have anythin’ tae do with her disappearance. My son would ne’er be responsible for the takin’ o’ a lass.”
“I demand that yer son accompany me back tae my castle as a hostage until my daughter is returned tae me. Ye return my daughter tae me, and I will return yer son,” the MacDonald laird demanded.
“I will n
o’ allow ye tae take my son,” his father motioned for the MacGregor warriors to move forward.
Duncan took in the situation and knew that blood was bound to be shed. If they were to fight here as they were, many of them would die, and Marra would be left alone without anyone to find out what had befallen her. “I did no’ take yer daughter, and I will no’ go with ye, MacDonald, but I will find her. I take full responsibility. Though I did no’ take her, I am the reason she was outside o’ yer castle walls. When she did no’ come tae meet me, I thought she had decided tae honor yer wishes and remain at home. Had I kenned she was in danger, I would have done all in my power tae protect her. I will do all in my power now tae find her. I swear it on my life. If I dinnae find Marra, I will place myself in yer hands tae do with as ye see fit.”
“Nae,” Duncan’s father protested. “I will no’ let ye take my only son.”
“Faither, it is the honorable thing tae do. Ye ken well my skills as a hunter. I will find her.”
His father stared at him, a myriad of emotions crossing his face. “I will no’ lose ye, my lad. I would slaughter all o’ Scotland afore I would let anyone harm ye.”
“As I would do for ye, Faither,” Duncan replied, coming to stand beside him. He laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder and squeezed it affectionately.
“What do ye say MacDonald? Do we have an accord?” Duncan asked.
“Aye, we have an accord. Ye will find my daughter or ye will die by my hand,” the MacDonald laird nodded sheathing his sword.
“I will depart immediately. Did yer daughter’s maid give ye anythin’ that might be o’ use in findin’ where she might have gone?” Duncan asked, sheathing his own sword.
“Aye, she told me o’ where they landed the boat for the gatherin’ and that Marra had intended tae do the same on the day she was tae meet ye. We found her boat on the shore. There were signs o’ a struggle on the beach, but nothin’ more. I forbade her tae attend the gatherin’, but she defied me. She snuck out o’ the castle before dawn tae row across, alone in the darkness, tae meet ye, the foolish lass. She is meant for a better man than ye Campbells.” The MacDonald laird spat on the floor in disgust at the idea of his daughter courting the son of his enemy. “Ye will ne’er have her, find her or no’.”
“Her safety is all that concerns me,” Duncan replied, scowling at the man before him. The MacDonald laird hated them for being Campbells, something they were not, but to reveal their true identity was to die.
“See that it is,” the MacDonald growled, then jerked his head for his warriors to follow him out of the castle. Before he walked out of the door, he turned back and leveled a menacing gaze at Duncan’s face. “Find her or die.”
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Kenna Kendrick is an American based author of Historical Scottish Romance living in Austin Texas with her husband and three children. Her more than 25-year-old experience as an English Teacher has brought her close to the literary world, growing her love for fictional stories.
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