The Viper (48 page)

The dark-haired, green-eyed charmer graced her with a dazzling smile. "My, you look beautiful today, Mother."

Oh, God help her!

Bella shot Lachlan another glare when she heard him laugh.

"Don't look at me," he said. "You're the one that wanted to name him after Hawk."

He might look and sound like his father, but Erik MacRuairi was as charming, roguish, and irresistible as his namesake. It was impossible to stay angry with him. He had her wrapped around the hilt of one of his tiny wooden swords. He insisted on two. Just like his father's, each was engraved with the words "
usque ad finem
." To the very end. Again, just like his father's.

Lachlan crossed the room and knelt beside his firstborn. Despite his amusement, he managed an impressively stern frown. "Remember our talk, son?"

Erik nodded, a disreputable wave of dark hair falling across his forehead.

"I'm disappointed in you," Lachlan admonished gravely. "It's not polite to curse around ladies."

The miniature Lachlan frowned, seeming to consider this for a moment. But then he smiled. "All right, I'll just curse around the men. But you might want to tell Tina--she was cursing something fierce a few minutes ago when Ranald stopped her from taking your
birlinn
out with Robbie."

"What!" Bella cried.

This time it was Lachlan who cursed.

Erik looked at them as if they were addled. "That's what I came to tell you," he explained patiently. "Tina wanted to take Father's
birlinn
out to meet Uncle Erik, but Ranald wouldn't let her."

"For God's sake!" Bella exclaimed, covering her mouth in horror.

Erik tugged on his father's sleeve. "Isn't that a blasphemy, Father?"

"Don't worry," Lachlan said to her, saving some kind of explanation to Erik for later. "I'll take care of it."

Bella nodded, collapsing in the nearest chair. The four-year-old blond-haired, green-eyed pirate-in-the-making thought she could sail a ship--with her two-year-old brother Robert, no less, as her second-in-command. She could probably do it, too. The little termagant would be the death of her. Their daughter had been named after both her famous Aunt Christina of the Isles as well as Tor MacLeod's wife, who'd become one of Bella's closest friends in the past six years, but the Viking blood of her ancestors coursed strongly through her veins.

Hand in hand, father and son strode out of the hall. Lachlan with the predatory grace she'd always admired, and Erik with a swagger that in not too many years would break countless hearts.

How she loved them. After years of hardship, fortune had smiled on her indeed. She'd thought when she hadn't quickened with child for so many years after Joan that she was barren. But she'd discovered that she was pregnant with Erik not long after they'd returned from Berwick.

At the time, the little boy had been a ray of light in more ways than one.

She pushed aside the sad thoughts and walked back to the window. She smiled, seeing Lachlan tossing Robbie up in the air with Erik and Tina chasing circles around him in the sand. So much for the new clothes she'd dressed them in. Unable to resist the lure of her family and a rare sunny day in December, she hurried out of the Hall to join them.

But as soon as Bella stepped out of the entry, she caught sight of the sail. She froze at the top of the stairs as the
birlinn
with its hawk-carved bow sailed effortlessly into the sea-loch.

She was here. Bella closed her eyes, giving a silent prayer of thanks. After all these years, Joan was finally here.

The swell of emotion hit her hard, landing with a thud against her chest. Tears glistened in her eyes.

She gripped the wooden rail like a lifeline as she slowly descended the steps. But when Joan stepped onto the jetty and began walking toward her, Bella gave up all pretense of composure. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as her legs carried her faster and faster.

Joan looked up. She was so beautiful. The promise of beauty had been fulfilled in the gorgeous young woman who met her gaze. And when a broad smile of joy broke out across that serenely beautiful face, Bella knew that everything was going to be all right.

Her daughter had come back to her. A daughter who was more like she than she'd ever imagined. Perhaps better than anyone, Bella understood the choice Joan had made. Why she'd done what she had. But nearly ten years of sacrifice was over; the rest of their lives would be for them.

Dropping the hand of the man at her side, Joan ran the last few feet and launched herself into Bella's arms.

They laughed, cried, and experienced every kind of joy in between.

They had so much to say to each other, but it could wait. They had time.

Eventually, Bella held her out to look at her. "You are well."

Joan smiled. "Very well."

Bella didn't miss the glance she gave to the man who stood beside Hawk on the jetty. She was relieved to see there didn't seem to be any lingering animosity between the English knight and the
Gall-Gaedhil
seafarer. She hoped Lachlan, too, would keep his promise to be nice.

The children peeked out from behind Lachlan's legs, not quite knowing what to make of the scene.

"Why is mother crying?" Tina asked her father.

"Because she's happy." Lachlan's eyes met hers, and he smiled. "Very happy. Come, little ones, it's time to meet your sister."

As Bella watched her children come together, at long last her happiness was complete.

It had all been worth it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The character of Lachlan is a compilation of the actual Lachlan (or Roland, as he is sometimes called) MacRuairi and his brother Ruairi--both bastard sons of Alan of Garmoran. Historians seem to agree that the MacRuairis were the wildest and most lawless of the descendants of Somerled, who'd inherited the "piratical tendencies of the Vikings" (R. Andrew MacDonald,
The Kingdom of the Isles
, Tuckwell Press, 2002, pg. 190).

Lachlan is referred to as "a 'sinister figure,' and a 'buccaneering predator' who 'played solely for his own hand.' " (See MacDonald, pg. 190, and G.W.S. Barrow,
Robert Bruce
, Edinburgh University Press, 2005, pg. 377.) As Barrow describes him: "A shadowy figure, Lachlan flits in and out of the record of the Anglo-Scottish war, always in the background, always a troublemaker. He defied in turn and with impunity King John, Edward I, the Guardians and the earl of Ross. In his own esteem he may well have ranked as a king of the Isles ..." (Barrow, pg. 377).

With references like that, it was hard not to be intrigued. Talk about the makings of a perfect "bad boy" hero!

Lachlan was said to be married to John of Lorn's daughter, whose given name is not known. In keeping with my attempt to use appropriate clan names, I borrowed the name Juliana from her aunt who was married to Alexander MacDonald (Angus Og's brother).

The battle at Kentra Bay in 1297 was reputedly fought between Lachlan MacRuairi and the English. The setup by John of Lorn, however, is my invention. Lachlan did spend some time in a MacDonald prison, and the MacDougalls gave him refuge after he escaped. But sometime shortly afterward he switched allegiance from the MacDougalls to the MacDonalds, which got my imagination going. It sounded like the perfect makings of a betrayal.

In contrast to the piratical MacRuairis, Isabella MacDuff, Countess of Buchan, has gone down in history as one of the great Scottish heroines. Married to John Comyn, the Earl of Buchan (who was decades older than she), at an early age, she escaped from her husband (some say on his stolen horses) and raced to Scone to crown Bruce, arriving a day late. A second ceremony was indeed held, demonstrating how important tradition was to establish the legitimacy of Bruce's claim.

Technically, the chief of the Clan MacDuff had the right to enthrone Scotland's kings by leading them to the stone of destiny (which had been removed by Edward I). Significantly, crowning was not part of the ceremony prior to this time. The absence of a coronation in the ceremony along with the king not being anointed were arguments used by Edward to show that the Scots were sub-kings to England. For simplicity, I used crowning and enthronement interchangeably.

Why Isabella risked so much for Bruce is unclear. There were rumors, as I alluded to, of her being Bruce's lover. I suppose it's possible, but it seems more like English propaganda to me, especially since the queen and Isabella were traveling together when they were taken. But Bruce did have a number of bastards.

When Bruce's fortunes fell after his loss at the battle of Methven, so, too, did Isabella's. Most historians agree that the women were with Bruce until the battle of Dal Righ, where he ordered them to the safety of Kildrummy while he and his men fled west. Why the women left Kildrummy is unclear, but they were captured in Tain, betrayed by the Earl of Ross, who violated sanctuary to take them.

Kildrummy Castle fell not long after the women escaped. As I described, the garrison was betrayed by the blacksmith who set fire to grain that was being stored temporarily in the Great Hall. Nigel Bruce was captured, as was Robert Boyd, who apparently managed to escape. Nigel, however, was executed (the third of Bruce's brothers to be killed in a year). The English did indeed pay the blacksmith his gold by pouring it down his throat.

For her part in Bruce's coronation, Isabella MacDuff was imprisoned in a cage and hung from a tower at Berwick Castle. Those who read French can see a link on my website to Edward's actual order for imprisoning the women.

How long Isabella was forced to endure her cruel captivity is not known, but it might have been as long as four years. She was eventually transferred to the convent at the monastery of Mount Carmel, but what happened to her afterward is unclear. Most likely she died in the convent, as she was not returned with the other women after the war. I did find one account of an escape, however, which I thought the most satisfying, if not the most likely, of endings for such a great heroine.

Although there was no evidence that Buchan attempted to divorce Isabella, it doesn't seem illogical. He made no attempt to influence Edward to lessen her punishment. Indeed, some sources suggest he wanted her executed. The dissolution of marriage in medieval times is an extremely complicated subject, with experts disagreeing on just how prevalent it might have been. You can read more about it if you are interested in the "Special Features" section of my website.

Isabella and Buchan probably didn't have any children, although I did come across one instance of a daughter named Isabel. Conveniently for my story, Buchan died in 1308 while Isabella was still in captivity. Although the connection with Lachlan is fiction, I thought she deserved a happy ending.

The fate of the other women is much clearer. Bruce's sister Christina (the widow of the Earl of Mar and Christopher Seton) was taken to Sixhills nunnery. Queen Elizabeth got off fairly easy--probably because of the influence of her father, the Earl of Ulster--and was placed under house arrest in Burstwick. Bruce's young daughter Marjory, by his first wife Isabella of Mar, was originally slated for a cage in the Tower of London. When Edward relented, she was taken to Walton priory. Mary, Bruce's young sister, suffered a similar fate to that of Isabella, ordered to a cage in Roxburgh Castle.

Why was Mary Bruce imprisoned in a cage when the others weren't? I don't know, nor was I able to find an explanation for why she might have been singled out among the others for such cruel punishment. At the time, she was probably only thirteen or fourteen.

Mary was released in 1309, but the rest of the women were not returned to Scotland until after the end of the war in 1314. Mary married the much older Neil Campbell (Arthur's brother in
The Ranger
) and then, after his death, Alexander Fraser (Christina's brother in
The Chief
).

For more, please visit my website at
www.monicamccarty.com
.

Read on for an excerpt from

THE SAINT

by Monica McCarty

Published by Ballantine Books

Inverbreakie Castle, Ross, Scottish Highlands, August 1305

Magnus MacKay caught the movement out of the corner of his swollen eye, but it was too late. He couldn't get the studded leather targe around in time to shield himself, and the war hammer landed with full, bone-crushing force across his left side, sending him careening headfirst into the dirt. Again. Albeit this time with at least a few broken ribs.

Behind his own grunt of pain, he heard the collective gasp of the crowd, followed by the anxious silence as they waited for his next move. If he had one.

A broad shadow fell across him, blocking out the bright sunlight. He gazed up into the menacing visage of his enemy.

"Had enough?" the Sutherland henchman taunted.

Every inch of him had had enough. Magnus hurt in places he didn't know he could hurt. He'd been bruised, battered, and hammered to a bloody pulp, but he wouldn't give up. Not this time. For five years he'd suffered defeat at the hands of Donald Munro, the Sutherland champion. But not today. Today he fought for something too important.

Magnus spit the dirt out of his mouth, wiped the blood and sweat from his eyes, and gritted his teeth against the pain, as he dragged himself back to his feet. He wobbled, but through sheer force of will steadied and shook the stars clear from his vision. "Never."

A cheer went up from the crowd. Or half the crowd, that is. Like the rest of Scotland, the clans gathered to watch the Highland Games were divided. But it wasn't Robert Bruce and John Comyn that men took sides with today (though both of Scotland's claimants to the throne were present), but between an even older and bloodier feud: the MacKays and the Sutherlands.

"Stubborn whelp," the other man said.

Magnus didn't necessarily disagree. He lifted his targe in one hand and his hammer in the other and prepared for the next blow.