Kilgannon (45 page)

"But it will not, Alex," I said softly. "It's coming to us every day, demanding that you join them."

"Aye." He nodded. "I have noticed that myself."

"What are you going to do?"

He shook his head and frowned. "I dinna ken. Try to stay out of it if possible. I dinna ken what will happen, Mary."

We stood in silence for a long moment. "Don't go." I had not meant to say it, and it surprised me when I did.

"I ken yer wishes, lass." When he spoke again, his tone was soft. "And I'm weighing all the choices, Mary Rose. I dinna mean to act in haste." He kissed me again, and I had to be satisfied with what little I had.

The next two days were placid. The calm before the storm, I remembered it later, and wished I had enjoyed it more. The days were growing shorter at the end of the summer, and preparations for winter were already under way. After the wettest spring and summer anyone could remember, the fall was lovely, although early. We had warm and clear days followed by cool nights.

On September sixth the Earl of Mar had raised the Stewart banner on the Braes of Mar and declared himself for James Stewart, and the cry, so long in coming, had gone out throughout Scotland for the clans to rise and join him. Three days later the MacDonald arrived in the loch. I turned to Alex in agitation.

"You know why he's here," I said. "What will you do?"

Alex shrugged. "Listen. It canna hurt to listen to the man."

"I didn't expect you to love King George or be his ally, but neither did I expect you to change your mind about James Stewart."

His eyes flashed, but his tone was calm. "I havena changed my mind about James Stewart, Mary," he said. "But this is less about Stewart and more about MacDonald. I am only going to listen. Surely there's no harm in that."

"He is a persuasive man, a man used to having his own way."

"Aye. And so am I, Mary Rose."

"He's very fond of you and thinks you are fond of him."

Blue eyes met mine. "Aye, well, I am, lass, but I'm
no’ likely
to be swept away by friendship. I'm a great deal fonder of Murdoch and he left without my agreement, if ye'll remember." I nodded. Dear God, I prayed, make the Mac-Donald turn now and sail away.

But he didn't sail away. He landed, determination obvious in his brusque manner when Alex and Angus greeted him as though this were a simple social visit. The MacDonald merely nodded at me, not bothering with his usual greeting. Something serious had brought him here, and it wasn't more wedding plans. Alex led the way into the courtyard and then the hall, calling for food and whisky. Most of the MacDonald men had stayed with their boat, which was odd enough to cause many raised eyebrows among the MacGannons. Those that had accompanied Sir Donald into the hall stayed close to him and watched. I grew un-easier by the minute.

Alex led the way to a seldom-used room on the other side of the keep. The hallway skirted the ancient structure, and at the last corner, instead of turning left to go the armory as we so often did, we turned right and entered a room built of stone, its walls unrelieved by paneling or plaster. The room held one long table, surrounded by chairs, and one chest placed to the left of the tall western-facing window. A few chairs were lined against the walls. Dust motes danced in the beams illuminated by the last of the afternoon sun, setting the worn surface of the oak table shimmering with light, and I felt the same sense of foreboding that I had felt when Alex rode into the wood with the MacKinnon.

This time, I thought, I will be with him.

ALEX AND THE MACDONALD FACED EACH OTHER ACROSS the table. Angus, Thomas, and the other men each sat on the same side as his chief. No one noticed me, I thought, as I crossed the room behind Alex and sat next to the chest, away from the table. The light from the window behind me lit Alex's hair and cast shadows behind him, while the MacDonald's age showed clearly in the brilliant beams. And showed something more in his manner as well. Weariness? Hostility? I could not be sure. I put my hands in my lap.

Alex's tone was unruffled. "Ye are welcome to Kilgannon, Sir Donald, but I fear ye have a message that is not."

"It should be, Kilgannon," the MacDonald said. "I ask no more of ye than ye should be offering freely. To join with us."

"In?"

"Ye ken what in, Alex," Sir Donald snarled.

"Say it," Alex said, his voice as fierce as the older man's.

"In restoring our rightful king to his throne, in putting a Stewart at the head of Scotland again."

Alex leaned back in his seat and put his hands on the edge of the table. "No." Although he spoke softly, the word resonated through the room. The MacDonald looked through narrowed eyes at Alex as he sat back in his chair. The other men exchanged glances and I met Angus's steely blue gaze. Alex watched the
MacDonald. "Say
it again, Kilgannon," said the older man.

"No," Alex said. "No, I willna join in a fight that puts my family and my clan in jeopardy for a man I dinna respect."

Sir Donald's tone was flat. "Ye do not respect James Stewart."

"I do not." Alex crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

The girls from the kitchen entered then and served whisky, placing platters of food on the table while we sat in silence. The liquor was gratefully accepted; the food went untouched. Sir Donald sipped his whisky and looked at Alex over the brim of his cup. When he spoke again, the MacDonald's tone was mild. "Ye'll have heard about Mar raising the standard at Braemar."

Alex nodded. "Aye, I did."

"And ye'll have heard that many of the clans are rising." "I've heard that." "MacKinnon came to see ye." "He did."

"And me," Sir Donald said.

Alex nodded again. 'That I heard as well."

"Murdoch Maclean has come. And told ye he's joining us." "He did."

"And yer own brother sends ye this," said MacDonald, pulling a letter from his plaid and slapping it on the table between them. Alex did not look at it. "Yer brother is a vassal of Mar's, ye ken."

"Aye," Alex said.

"And Mar has ordered all his vassals to rise with him." Alex was silent. "Will one MacGannon join us in restoring Scotland while the other sits home with his English wife?" One of the MacDonalds snorted with laughter but stopped at a harsh glance from Sir Donald. Alex slammed the table with his fist, and the other MacGannons muttered and started to rise, but Angus gestured for them to sit. Alex sat back in his chair, his expression stern. If I did not know him as well as I did, I would have thought him, despite his pounding the table, very calm. I wondered how well Sir Donald knew him. "Ye'll know I'm leaving my family to join the rising?" asked the MacDonald.

"I have assumed that."

"Ye ken my family means much to me, and I listen to my wife, Kilgannon, as ye do yers, no doubt, but I make the decisions. Do ye ken what they're saying about Alexander MacGannon these days?"

Alex rubbed his chin. "No, Sir Donald," he said. 'Tell me."

The older man sipped his whisky and his eyes flickered toward me before returning to Alex. "They're saying that when Kilgannon was married to a MacDonald he was allied with the MacDonalds, and now that he's married to an Englishwoman ..." He let the words hang in the air. Angus looked at Alex, his anger visible for a second before he carefully blanked his expression again. Alex leaned back, then laughed, shrugging.

"Aye," Alex said lightly. "I've always been known for how easily I am led. That one willna work on me, Donald. Try again."

The MacDonald's mouth twisted as if he would smile, but he sipped his whisky again. "Ye'll ken that Marischal is with us."

"I've heard that."

"And the Emorys. And the Frasers." "Some."

"They're yer kin. What will they think if ye don't join?"

"I care not what they think, Donald."

"And Drummond and Lindsay, MacKinnon, MacLachlan, MacEwen, Maclean, MacKenzie. ... Do ye not care what any of them think?" "No."

"Ye'll be a lonely man here in Kilgannon, Alex." Sir Donald scratched his chin and then sipped his whisky. His tone was light as he continued. "Do ye ken how I got here today?"

"By sea."

"Aye, but, Alex, think of the route." The MacDonald shifted in his chair and traced a route on the table, ignoring the letter. "This is Kilgannon." He pointed to a spot. "And this is yer normal route out of Loch Gannon." He drew a line on the table. "If ye leave Kilgannon and go south, ye go by Mull and the other islands. If ye go north, ye go past Skye. Do ye understand my drift?"

Alex leaned forward, his voice mild but his eyes gleaming. "No, explain it to me further."

MacDonald spoke as though his words were of no consequence. "Well, Alex, ye'll be surrounded in yer sea routes by those who joined the rising. What will they think of ye for not joining?"

"I care not what they think."

"And by land, let's think on it. Clan
R
anald to the north and east, MacDonalds to the north and south and west. And MacDonnells beyond them. It seems to me yer travels would be very restricted."

"At Braemar," said Alex, "the clans were ready to go home when the top of the standard fell. Some think it an omen." "I ken yer not superstitious, lad." The MacDonald leaned back, then shifted his weight and slapped the arm of his chair, his anger evident as his voice rose. "Why will ye no' join us?" he shouted. "Speak to me, Alex. I'm too old for these games."

"As I am," Alex answered grimly. They stared at each other as if they were alone in the room. Alex sipped his whisky and watched the older man, then leaned forward, his voice for the first time his usual tone. "When the Stewarts gained the throne, the first James turned his back on us. He went to London, and Scotland suffered because of his indifference. He could have ensured us equal treatment in England, but he dinna, and no Stewart since has lifted a finger to help us. All the Stewarts have meant for Scotland is trouble and more trouble. We'd have been better if Queen Mary had been barren."

The MacDonald narrowed his eyes. "Those are strong words."

"Aye, but think on it, Donald. How have the Stewarts aided their own? From the first James to Anne, they've not made Scotland's lot any better. Why should I risk all I have for a man whose family has never thought of Scotland, or the Highlands, or the MacGannons, except for how we can assist them?" He put his hands on the table. "In' 88, my father rose. What was his gain?" He waved his hand sharply. "James Stewart canna manage a rising. Ye remember the battle of Killiecrankie."

"Aye, I remember it," Sir Donald said grimly. "Ye were three, lad. Dinna tell me ye remember it." "I do not, but I was raised on the stories. We had Scots on both sides of the battle. What has changed?"

"That was then. This is now." "Do ye remember Glencoe?"

The MacDonald's voice was grim. "Ye use the massacre as yer reason to join the English?"

"No," growled Alex. "I use the massacre to remind ye of what happens if ye do not win."

Sir Donald's voice rose. "Ye think we willna win?"

"Are the Campbells with ye?" Alex asked heatedly. "And the Camerons? And all the Frasers and Munros and MacLeods?"

"No."

"Exactly my point, MacDonald. It's the same as ever. Did James Stewart win in ' 08? No." Alex spat out the words. "The man got the measles and dinna even land."

"Ye blame the man for getting the measles?"

"No." Alex shook his head in scorn. "I blame the man for his usual lack of planning. I could get my household to China before he could get himself to Scotland. By the time he got here the English were ready. He's no soldier, Donald, and he's no leader. Ye've met him. The man whines about his comforts. He doesna win my respect." Alex paused, and continued in a calmer tone. "He has ignored the Highlands except now when he wishes us to shed our blood for him. He ignored us and it was an insult. And now, when he chooses, we're to leave our homes and families and risk all for a man who, seven years ago, could not even remember that we existed?"

"Yer King Geordie insulted us as well, Alex, when he would not open the chiefs' letter. He wouldna even open it."

"He's no' my Geordie, man, and ye prove my point. Why should I risk me and mine for a king who canna rule? And neither can."

Sir Donald stroked his chin and watched as Alex, his color high, poured them both more whisky. "Buchanan is with us," Sir Donald said mildly. "And Farquharson and Carnegie and Forbes and Maxwell and MacDougall." He paused. "Alex, will ye no' join us?"

Alex put his hands flat on the table. "No."

"It's no' like ye to be afraid of a fight."

Alex smiled. "I'm no' afraid of a fight."

"But ye willna join with us."

"We willna join with ye."

"Ye will join the English."

"No, we will remain aloof." "That may be difficult to explain to yer neighbors. Some of Clanranald may be difficult to control."

"What do ye mean, MacDonald? Say it."

"They'll bum ye out."

Alex smiled coldly. "They may try."

"They'll attack ye at sea."

"Ye mean ye will. MacDonalds rule the straits here."

"I may not be able to control all of my men, Alex."

Alex laughed harshly. "That will be the day, Donald. If yer threatening me, man, say it out. Are ye saying that if we do not join with ye, ye will try to bum me out?"

"We will bum ye out."

The MacGannon men reached for their weapons, but Alex stopped them with a gesture and turned back to Sir Donald, speaking very slowly. "I canna believe this from ye, Donald. Yer great-uncle to my sons, and yet ye say ye will bum me out if I do not join ye."

The MacDonald nodded. "Aye."

Alex lifted his chin. "I would like to see ye try." They glared at each other while their men shifted uneasily. Angus scanned the faces of the men opposite him, his hand nearing his knife.

Alex poured more whisky with a steady hand. "I think ye should rethink yer position, Donald," he said mildly.

To my surprise, the MacDonald roared with laughter. "Ye've a bit of yer grandfather in ye. I miss the bastard."

"Aye." Alex smiled, but his eyes never left the other man's face as Sir Donald emptied his glass and placed it on the table, turning it slowly between his fingers.

"Alex, do ye remember staying with me before ye wed Sorcha?"

"Aye."

"And do ye remember us talking about history, lad? About Scotland, about the Romans and Robert the Bruce and Kenneth MacAlpin and how victors win?" Alex nodded, and the older man leaned forward again, his tone weary. "Do ye remember how many times ye told me that the tragedy of the Gaels is that they do not unite?"

"Yer using my own arguments, Donald."

"Aye, because they are good arguments," Sir Donald said, and sighed. "Alex," he continued, his voice heavy now, no longer threatening. "If we do no' unite we are doomed. If we band together we may win our independence. Can ye sit idly by and know ye could help yer own but refused? Can ye watch us fail because ye would not lift a hand for
Scotland? Will
ye no' join us and try one more time to set yer country free? I thought I knew ye, laddie, but the man I knew would not sit by and watch us struggle without him." He shook his head. "I have no more words, Alex. We need ye. We need yer brain and yer courage and yer men. Help us. And if ye do not..." He pushed his chair back and rose. "God help ye." His words echoed against the stone.

Alex stood and extended his hand to the older man. "Good day to ye, Donald MacDonald," he said calmly. "And safe journey home. Ye'll have my answer shortly."

The other men stood as well. The MacDonald nodded, clasped Alex's hand, and left the room without another word. His men followed him. We waited in silence until the clatter of their footsteps faded away.

"When they're gone, Thomas," Alex said evenly, with a glance at Angus, "light the torches. Call the clan." Both Thomas and Angus nodded. Alex turned to the other men. "Leave us now." They were gone at once and Alex, with a sigh, picked up Malcolm's letter. "Ye ken what this will be," he said. Both Angus and I nodded. Alex read the letter, then read it again before handing it to Angus with an abrupt gesture. "Show Mary." He spun away from the table, tossing a chair out of his path. It clattered to the floor with a din. Mo Dia he snarled, "the only thing they've left out is my father's ghost." He stalked out of the room.

I stared after Alex, then turned to Angus and watched him read the letter. He handed it to me. "It's as I thought," he said. I read it for myself. Malcolm had written that Mar threatened to destroy his holdings and drive him out if he did not join Mar.