Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

“ ’Tis true that Ian didn’t want to help me. But I forced his hand because my step-da means to wed me to his son so they can claim Knock Castle.” She dropped her eyes and said in a shaky voice, “And it wasn’t just that, but I don’t wish to speak of the rest.”

Sìleas was always one to exaggerate. If she didn’t have Ian’s father in her hands before, she surely did now.

“ ’Tis a lucky chance the lass learned of their plan and got away,” Ian’s uncle said. “We can’t let the MacKinnons steal Knock Castle out from under us.”

His father stood and rested his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I know ye didn’t intend to, but you’ve compromised Sìleas’s virtue.”

Ian’s stomach sank to his feet as he felt disaster coming. “But, da, that can’t be true. I’ve known Sìleas all her life. And she is so young, no one will think anything of my spending the night in the woods with her.”

“The men who found ye already believe the worst,” his father said. “ ’Tis bound to become known to others.”

“But nothing happened,” Ian insisted. “I never even thought of it!”

“That doesn’t matter,” his father said.

“This isn’t about Sìleas’s virtue, is it?” Ian said, leaning toward his father with his fists clenched. “It’s about keeping her lands from the MacKinnons.”

“There is that as well,” his father owned. “But ye have ruined Sìleas’s reputation, and there is only one way to set that aright. The two of you will be wed as soon as we get to the house.”

Ian was aghast. “No. I will not do it.”

“What ye will not do is shame your mother and me,” his father said, his eyes as hard as steel. “I expect honorable behavior from my sons, even when it is hard. Especially when it is hard.”

“But I—”

“Ye have a duty here, to the lass and to your clan,” his father said. “You’re a MacDonald, and ye will do what is required.”

“I’ll gather the men,” his uncle said. “I don’t expect the MacKinnons will be pleased when they hear the news.”

Sìleas was crying soundlessly, holding Ian’s plaid to her face and rocking back and forth.

“Pack up your things, lass,” his father said, giving her an awkward pat. “Ye must be wed before the MacKinnons come looking for ye.”

CHAPTER 2

THE DUNGEON IN DUART CASTLE

Isle of Mull

OCTOBER 1513

“Damnable vermin! The straw is alive with the wee critters.” Ian got to his feet and scratched his arms. “I hate to say it, but the Maclean hospitality is sadly lacking.”

“ ’Tis the Maclean vermin on two legs that concern me,” Duncan said. “Ye know they are upstairs debating what to do with us—and I’ve no faith they’ll chose mercy.”

Connor rubbed his temples. “After five years of fighting in France, to be taken by the Macleans the day we set foot in Scotland…”

Ian felt the humiliation as keenly as his cousin. And they were needed at home. They had left France as soon as the news reached them of the disastrous loss to the English at Flodden.

“ ’Tis time we made our escape,” Ian told the others. “I expect even the Macleans will show us the courtesy of feeding us dinner before they kill us. We must take our chance then.”

“Aye.” Connor came to stand beside him and peered through the iron grate into the darkness beyond. “As soon as the guard opens this door, we’ll—”

“Ach, there’s no need for violence, cousin,” Alex said, speaking for the first time. He lay with his long legs stretched out on the filthy straw, untroubled by what crawled there.

“And why is that?” Ian asked, giving Alex a kick with his boot.

“I’m no saying it is a bad plan,” Alex said, “just that we won’t be needing it.”

Ian crossed his arms, amused in spite of himself. “Will ye be calling on the faeries to open the door for us?”

Alex was a master storyteller and let the silence grow to be sure he had their full attention before he spoke. “When they took me up for my turn at being questioned, they got a bit rough. The chieftain’s wife happened to come in, and she insisted on seeing to my wounds.”

Connor groaned. “Alex, tell me ye didn’t…”

“Well, she stripped me bare and applied a sweet-smelling salve to every scratch from head to toe. The lady was impressed with my battle scars—and ye know how I like that in a woman,” Alex said, lifting one hand, palm up. “It was all rather excitin’ for both of us. To make a long story short—”

“Ye fooked the wife of the man who’s holding us? What is wrong with ye?” Duncan shouted. “We’d best be ready, lads, for I expect the debate on whether to kill us will be a short one.”

“Now there is gratitude, after I sacrificed my virtue to set ye free,” Alex said. “The lady’s no going to tell her husband what we done, and she swore she could get us out.”

“So when’s she going to do it?” Ian didn’t question whether the lady would come; women were always doing unlikely things for Alex.

“Tonight,” Alex said. “And it wasn’t just my pretty face, lads, that persuaded her to help us. The lady is a Campbell. Shaggy Maclean wed her to make peace between their two clans. She hates him, of course, and does her best to thwart him at every turn.”

“Ha!” Ian said, pointing his finger at Connor. “Let that be a lesson to ye, when you go choosing a wife among our enemies.”

Connor rubbed his forehead. As their chieftain’s son, he would be expected to make a marriage alliance with one of the other clans. With so many men dead after Flodden, a number of clans would be looking to negotiate such a match.

“Interesting that ye should be giving advice on wives,” Alex said, raising his eyebrows at Ian. “When it doesn’t appear ye know what to do with yours.”

“I have no wife,” Ian said with a deliberate warning in his voice. “So long as it hasn’t been consummated, it’s no a marriage.”

While in France, Ian had done his best to forget his marriage vows. But now that he was returning home to Skye, he would put an end to his false marriage.

Alex sat up. “Anyone willing to make a wager on it? My money says our lad will no escape this marriage.”

Duncan grabbed Ian before he could beat the smile off Alex’s face.

“That’s enough, Alex,” Connor said.

“Ye are a sorry lot,” Alex said, getting to his feet and stretching. “Ian, married but doesn’t believe it. Duncan, who refused to wed his true love.”

Ah, poor Duncan. Ian glared at Alex—the tale was too sad for jesting.

“And then there’s Connor,” Alex continued in his heedless way, “who must try to guess which of a dozen chieftains with unwed daughters would be the most dangerous to offend.”

“Ach, my da’s brothers will likely kill me first and save me the trouble of choosing,” Connor said.

“Not with us watching your back,” Duncan said.

Connor’s half-uncles would be pleased to have one less obstacle between them and leadership of the clan. Connor’s grandfather, the first chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat, had six sons by six different women. The sons had all hated each other from birth, and the ones still alive were always at each other’s throats.

“I hope when my brother is chieftain he’ll save the clan trouble by keeping to one woman,” Connor said, shaking his head.

Alex snorted. “Ragnall?”

That was a false hope if there ever was one, though Ian wouldn’t say it. Connor’s older brother was no different from his father and grandfather when it came to women.

“So who will you wed, Alex?” Duncan asked. “What Highland lass will put up with your philandering without sticking a dirk in your back?”