Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series (2 page)

Aileana removed her girdle, the one her uncle had ordered from Edinburgh last year. She folded the gold stitched piece and placed it on the edge of her bed. She untied the sleeves and sides of her gown and scooped the thick garment over her head, laying it across a chair.

Her limbs were heavy and her head pounded. She blew out the candles and crawled into her down-filled bed. The quilt’s weight was more effective than Gwen’s valerian, soothing her body and pulling her toward sweet slumber.

Aileana arose at sunrise the next morning, climbed the stairs to the tower, and gazed out beyond the palisades to the loch beyond. On a morning like this, Uncle Iain would point out the mirror image of the mountains and water. She closed her eyes and drank in the fresh air,
willing her anguish to settle.

Many clansmen would come to mourn today. She must face these men her uncle was
honour bound to protect for they were more than that to him—they were brothers. She linked her fingers together. Before this day was over, her grief would surely coil around her heart and consume her. She breathed in the cool air as deep as she could, as if that one act alone would give her the courage she needed.

After breaking her fast, she tried stitching bluebells onto a lace handkerchief while she waited for Andrews near the great hall’s stone hearth. She’d welcome any task to refocus her mind for the next few hours. After she clipped the threads and reworked the pattern several times, she threw it down and reached for her manuscript.

She ignored surprised expressions from new servants regarding her ability. True, not many ladies of the gentry in the Highlands could read, but that was because not all were fortunate enough to have a doting parent whose fondest wish was to make them happy.

She would steal away whenever possible and had read and reread her uncle’s humble collection many times. Her
favourite was Christine de Pizan’s
The Book of the City of Ladies
. It had been a gift from him the previous year.

“You’ve a clever mind, lass, keen on the written word I see,” her uncle had said. “I’ve brought you something special from France
.” His grin had stretched wide.

“What’s it about, Uncle?”

“Let’s just say it’s better to see all sides of a thing before judging it.” He had placed the manuscript in her hands and kissed her forehead. “I’ll let you decipher the rest.”

He’d been right. The book detailed ridiculous falsehoods about women
—written by men. Still, the broader topic of a woman’s ability compared to a man’s had sparked many lively discussions between them. She stroked the leather-bound script before laying it aside. Reading it would now never be the same.

Her thoughts turned to Gawain. He was a good man who would do his duty and marry her and little would change. It wasn’t as if she were to marry someone who didn’t understand how Chattan Castle operated or her role in it. She could rely on him.

She would prove to him he could rely on her as well. He would want to examine the estate’s assets and his inheritance right away. Andrews would pull their records and she’d review them with Gawain the moment he was ready. While Chattan Castle wasn’t large, they were comfortable enough and he would take charge of it all.

“M’lady?”

She looked up to see Andrews waiting. There was no turning away. She must face the task ahead because her uncle would expect no less. She squared her shoulders and followed him to the solar.

She was surprised to find Father Addison inside, pacing. And further surprised when Andrews closed the door behind her.

“Where is Sir Gawain?” Aileana asked.

“M’lady, ’tis unnecessary for the constable to attend matters related to your uncle’s funeral,” Andrews said.

She hadn’t asked about the constable. She’d asked about her future husband.

“You see, my dear, Gawain
—”

The door swung wide and the man in question stepped into the room, scowling straight away at Andrews.

Aileana stepped back a pace. His normal aloof demeanour was much preferable to the imposing figure before her. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. His face was red and a sheen of sweat marked his brow.

“What passes here?”

His voice was tight, as if he held his control by a thread.

“We were about to discuss the funeral service with her ladyship. Is there something we can do for you, Sir Gawain?” Father Addison asked.

“As I instructed yesterday, you may not burden Lady Aileana with these unpleasant details.” Gawain clenched and unclenched his hands as he spoke.

Father Addison moved closer to Aileana and placed his arm around her shoulder, “Sir Gawain, ’tis natural for her ladyship to help plan the funeral service for her uncle. She will be better prepared for what is to come. Afte
r all, he was her only family.”

She stiffened. Gawain was a distant cousin, bu
t she still considered him kin.

“Please,” Aileana said. “We’re all grief-stricken. I thank you, Father, and you Andrews, for your consideration. It means a great deal to me, as it would have to my uncle.” She turned to Gawain, “Your consideration for my well-being is much appreciated, Sir Gawain, but I am quite able to discuss the funeral. Your kindness does your clan great justice.”

What else could she say to him? She hadn’t spoken to him since they parted ways the day her uncle had been brought to the stable and they had not yet discussed any of that which consumed her thoughts.

His eyes narrowed and his lips formed a thin line, “As you wish, my lady.”

Before she spoke another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. She closed her eyes. How on earth could she resolve anything with the man when he kept her at such arm’s length?

The remainder of the day was a blur of faces and condolences. Aileana registered little of it. As the last shovel full of earth fell onto her past, her future, cloaked in black, mounted his horse and tore off toward the gatehouse and beyond. His grief must be overwhelming indeed.

* * *

James MacIntosh tried to reconcile his dilemma as he looked down upon the mourners from the crag above them. He’d indulged the old man last year by agreeing to his terms out of mutual respect, though he never intended to see it through. Now the man was dead and he was
honour-bound to attach himself to a young, unsophisticated lass and an outdated way of life with no room for change. His destrier, Arion, fidgeted beneath him and he flexed his thighs to still the animal.

A moment later, a man broke from the group on horseback, tearing off with his black cloak flying behind him. He would expect they all return to Chattan Castle to commiserate. Whoever the rider was, it appeared he
couldn’t get away fast enough.

Courtesy dictated James join them and address the arrangement. Instead, he watched the remaini
ng group retreat to the castle.

He scratched his day-old beard. There must be a way out. By tomorrow
, if he hadn’t shown up to pay his respects, it would be considered a slight. The last person disappeared through the gatehouse. James stared after them for several moments before turning in the opposite direction. He needed one more night to think it through. Tomorrow he would meet with Lady Aileana and defy the old man’s wish.

Chapter Two

“Your absence was notable yesterday, m’lord.”

James locked eyes with the grey-haired man seated across from him in his solar. His gut twisted. Normally, he would have entertained a guest in the great hall, but with so many servants bustling around, James preferred privacy for what he thought might be on the man’s mind. Still, James didn’t expect this sort of bold reproach
for missing Chattan’s funeral.

“I had pressing business at Inverness. You may pass along my condolences to the lass and tell her I will visit in person as soon as my schedule permits.” James leaned back, folding his arms across his chest.

The visitor had arrived early and was afforded all the courtesy a clergyman should, but James was not about to be chastised. He need not answer to this man or anyone else except his king.

“M’lord, I am duty bound to provide my lady with the anticipated time of your arrival.” Father Addison settled in his
chair, hands folded in his lap.

Was this a standoff? Christ! The priest had more patience than Chattan and his father had two years prior. He didn’t want this match
then and he didn’t want it now.

James crossed the room toward a side table topped with a tankard of heather ale and goblets. Hanging above the table was one of numerous tapestries dotting the stone walls of Moy Hall. The exquisite weaving created a visual history of battles fought and won. This one depicted a conflict between his clan and the Camerons. MacIntosh longswords assaulted the brass-studded targe of the Cameron’s defeated chief. The warrior used it to shield himself from the onslaught to no avail, and yet the man
smiled. He had accepted defeat.

James poured the golden draught into two goblets, breathing deep and steady. This alliance represented everything he didn’t want. Why in hell his father had insist
ed upon it, James couldn’t say.

Chattan had approached them and persisted until the contract was signed. Not long after, James’s father died. James had been too busy over the last two years leading his clan to give the arrangement much thought. In truth, he preferred to keep it as quiet as possible. The Chattans refused to support the king’s progressive law on authoritative reform, so there was no way James could see the betrothal through
—he being on the opposite end of the debate.

Now everything had c
hanged.

The contract would be difficult to break since the girl had no ward. Chattan’s steward and this priest knew about the agreement and it appeared they intended to hold him to it.

If James aligned with this clan, the king could very well remove his title, lands, or worse! James valued his neck too much to risk it for the likes of a woman.

James scrubbed his hand over his face. The priest wanted the betrothal to occur straight away, however, and James had no choice but refuse. It was an impossible time for him since Parliament would convene at Inverness in four days and he must be present. Now was not the time to topple the king’s delicate balance of power.

He shook his head. Chattans were not just non-supporters; they were superstitious and incapable of change. He’d heard the child Aileana even kept a witch for a maid. Such wise-women, or healers as they liked to call themselves, had no place in a lady’s chamber. How could this Father Addison, a so-called man of God, defy the Bishop and tolerate such heresy? They would not progress and James would be damned if he’d take one step backward.

He returned to his seat and passed a goblet to Father Addison. The man raised it in silent salute as he leafed through a bound copy of the Gospels on James’s desk.

“I never took you for devout,” the priest said and smiled.

“It belonged to my mother.”

“She could read?”

“Aye, a little.”

“Hmm. Lady Aileana as well, though more than a little. Her uncle devoted many hours to her education.”

“To what end?” James asked.

“A good question. He said he wanted her to always understand what occurred around her.” Father Addison replaced the wooden cover on top of the elegant scripture. He took a deep draught of the ale and leaned back with all the countenance of a man engaged in a most pleasant conversation.

James shifted in his seat, trying to ignore his persistence. This was ridiculous.

“Father—”

“She doesn’t know about the arrangement.” The p
riest’s expression turned grim.

“How is that possible?” So much for knowing what happened around her. Perhaps the girl grew too headstrong for them. Though, that was unlikely considering she was just a waif. Yet, Chattan had claimed his greatest concern was her wellbeing, so why keep the arrangement from her? Whether she was strong or weak was irrelevant since her opinion was of no consequence in this matter.

“Because the laird never got around to it.”

“To telling her she’d be engaged in a month? Cruel.”
So much for her wellbeing
. “And to think, I agreed to this out of pity for the old man. Perhaps he had me fooled the whole time.”

“No!” Addison slammed his goblet on the desk.

James leaned forward. “I should not have to remind you, Father, whose company you keep. If there’s something else I need to know, be out with it and take your leave.”

“I beg your pardon m’lord. I meant no offence. You see, the situation with Lady Aileana requires delicacy and swiftness.”

James cocked his head to the side.

“You imply the lass carries a bastard?” This was too much. How dare he beg on the part of the loose wench? No wonder Chattan wouldn’t give up until the contract was signed. Christ, the girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen summers at the time.

“Father, I think it is time you leave here and beg for alms someplace else.” James stood and pointed toward the door. “You may inform Lady Aileana she is under no obligation from me.” Could it be this easy?

Father Addison deflated and looked like he was about to weep.

“Please m’lord, Lady Aileana is most chaste. She carries no bairn, yet her affliction has to do with another.”

“Enough! I’ll hear no more. You may expect me later today to discuss the contract.” James strode toward the door and cast his eyes outward leaving no doubt in his meaning. Father Addison obliged and left the room, offering a curt nod as he passed.

James returned to his writing table, pausing before moving to the shelf. He opened a wooden box lined with red velvet. Inside were papers his father had insisted must be kept separate from the account scrolls. One never knew when one might need things like land deeds and other written agreements in haste.

Among the documents was a folded, wax-sealed letter. He flipped it over several times before securing it inside his jerkin.

James returned to the writing table, downed the last of his ale, and slammed the goblet hard on the desk with a resounding thunk. He turned to stand at the open window resting his hands on the window ledge. The sky was a pale yellowish hue and the day would be bright, despite the gathering storm within.

He stood motionless for a long time, scanning the activity three stories below. Men trained with wooden swords, a market offered wagons full of produce, and many of his tenants had already arrived to barter their wares. He had everything he needed; enough men to defend his territory, more resources than he could deplete in two lifetimes, and plenty of women
to bed when and where he chose.

His legacy to his clan would be ill served by adding a meager estate and a young, unsophisticated lass into the mix. His future success must include a union with another strong, noble family. Times had changed under a new monarchy and, in order to survive, he must change with them.

King James Stewart, first of his name, had already demonstrated just how far he was willing to go to impose his idea of progress. James and his younger brother, Calum, had travelled to Parliament at Inverness shortly after their father’s death. The king had extended the invitation so that James, among thirty-nine other Highland chiefs, would accept new laws restricting their power. They listened in shock. The resulting uproar ended in three hangings and several imprisonments. James remembered it well.

He had learned much through his dealings with the king to date. This monarch cared little for how Highlanders resolved their issues in the past, and in order to prosper in King James’s new Scotland, he would have to somewhat conform to the man’s ways. That meant earning an earl’s title and strong position at court. The simplest way to do that was to accept a marriage proposal from someone of the king’s choosing. He’d inherited his baron’s title and while that distinction allowed him many privileges, as the Earl of Moray he would be afforded a much stronger voice.

James watched Father Addison cross the bailey’s threshold leaving Moy Hall. A great number of men greeted him as he passed. Despite his tolerance of the old ways, respect followed the priest.

Fulfilling Chattan’s contract or any previous offers from among his
neighbours meant he would forever remain stagnant. Constant bickering over tiny strips of land was by no means his idea of progress. His fingers gripped the stone window ledge.

As the priest disappeared past the gatehouse, a knock echoed through the door, interrupting his thoughts.

“Enter.”

Calum MacIntosh swung the door wide and sauntered into the solar. His smirk implied he’d spoken to Father Addison on his way out.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Brother.” His dark eyes twinkled.

James faced the man, younger by two years, and glared. Calum’s g
rin broadened. He enjoyed this.

James shook his head. “Do not be absurd. I’m not marrying anyone, much less a waif who has y
et to see her eighteenth year.”

“Now, now. There’s no need to be unkind. I hear Aileana Chattan has grown into quite the beauty in the last couple of years.” Calum helped himself to the remaining ale.

“I doubt that very much. Look, Calum, I have little interest in this subject, as you well know.” James crossed his arms. “I have no intention of carrying out a contract with anyone’s niece, daughter, or sister until I’m damn good and ready. While Chattan was our father’s oldest friend, my respect for him will only stretch so far. The priest was just here telling me the girl was not virginal.”

Calum relaxed into the seat Father Addison had occupied. He leaned back with his long legs outstretched as if they discussed nothing mor
e than a tenant’s sheep count.

“That may be so, Brother, but you have a responsibility to this clan and this family. You are its chief and are expected to produce its next one.” Calum linked his hands and placed them behind his head. “In order to do that, you must stop trying to bed every loose woman in the country and marry. Wait.” Calum released his hands, sat up straight and chuckled. “You’re worried she’s not virginal? When has that ever mattered to you before? You accepted this proposal and you are
honour bound to see it through since the girl has no one to care for her.” He re-linked his hands behind his head and leaned back once again. “You know if Father were here this would have already occurred.”

James had heard enough. He didn’t need a reminder of his duty. Before he died, their father had expressed his sincerest wish that his sons back the progressive Stewart. It hadn’t been easy at first. The man was bent on unifying Scotland, which meant the chiefs and nobles must relinquish some of their power for the greater good. In theory this made perfect sense, but theory meant little in the real world of the Highlands where centuries of feuds had shaped a people who would not change without a damned good reason. His father might have been swayed by Chattan’s proposal, but he would have seen more sense in James’s intentions.

“Well, Father’s not here, is he? I am Chief. And if I say I will refuse this match then that’s the way it will be.”

James refused to listen to any more of this nonsense. He would not bend, not to a priest and not to Calum. He passed his brother and crossed the room in three strides. He was almost in the hallway when Calum spoke again from over his shoulder.

“James, Clan Chattan needs your protection.”

The comment stopped him at the threshold. Raiding in the shire had increased and the Chattan estate was small and vulnerable, meaning an alliance would benefit them. There were benefits to his clan as well. Clan Chattan was a confederation of smaller ones and some had stood in battle with him before. Their loyalty would not be an issue. The extra numbers they provided would assist with surprise attacks from
those damned Camerons as well.

“James, you do realize you would control the estate that includes Chattan Castle and the farms Chattan oversaw?”

James’s own lands stretched as far north as Inverness and as far east as the Cairngorm Mountains, and while these acquisitions were valuable, were they worth the personal sacrifice?

Why couldn’t Calum see ’twas impossible? It would be easy to marry someone local and ignore the affairs of their nation, but he could not. His influence was great enough that if he were to back the Stewart, others would follow, yet it was a delicate operation which took time and patience.

“Aye, but at what cost?”