Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

Ian decided he could live with a smiling ghost if it made his wife happy.

As he leaned down with his babes in his arms to give his beloved Sìleas a kiss, he could have sworn that the Green Lady winked at him.

HISTORICAL NOTE

Last summer, I was lucky enough to take a trip to Scotland. One memorable afternoon, I drove across the Sleat Peninsula of Skye, from the ruins of Knock Castle to the ruins of Dunscaith Castle, on a one-lane road that had more sheep than cars. Seeing the castles I was writing about was an amazing experience, and the island is breathtakingly beautiful. The landscape hasn’t changed much over the centuries, so I found it easy to imagine my heroes traipsing over the hills or sailing the shores.

Researching clan histories of five hundred years ago proved far more challenging. Not much was recorded in a written record at the time. While there is a rich tradition of oral histories, clans often have different versions of the same long-ago events. And clan alliances, including marriages between chieftains’ families, were made and broken with a frequency that is hard to follow.

The MacDonalds of Sleat are a prime example of the complex family relationships. Hugh (Uisdean), the first MacDonald of Sleat and the grandfather of my fictional character Connor, had six sons by six different women, all from prominent families. If I have this right, Hugh, one of his sons, and one of his grandsons all married daughters of Torquil MacLeod of Lewis—and another of Hugh’s sons married Torquil’s former wife.

As is often the case, Hugh’s proliferate ways did not lead to family harmony. Hugh’s first son hated his half brothers so much that upon his death he turned the clan’s lands over to the Crown to keep the others from inheriting them. The lack of legal title to their lands caused later chieftains problems for years. Two of Hugh’s other sons were murdered by their brothers, and another was murdered by Hugh’s grandsons.

In this series, I’ve kept the family animosity, but changed the details and timing of these events. I’ve also changed the name of one of Hugh’s sons from Archibald to Hugh. A number of other secondary characters in The Guardian are real historical figures, including Shaggy Maclean and Archibald Douglas. I embellished freely upon what I knew of their personalities.

For ease of reading, I used anglicized versions of Gaelic names for some of my fictional characters. For the same reason, I did not follow the practice of calling a person by different names when he was with his mother’s clan, his father’s clan, or somewhere else.

Finally, I confess that I shortened travel times to suit the needs of my story and that Knock Castle was still known as Castle Camus, or Caisteal Chamuis, in 1513. I did not, however, make up the legend of the Green Lady of Knock Castle.

Look for the second book of this sizzling series featuring the fearless Highlanders!

Please turn this page for a preview of

THE SINNER

Available in November 2011.

CHAPTER 1

BARRA ISLAND,

Scottish Highlands

SPRING 1515

“Can ye hurry with your stitching?” Glynis asked, as she peered out her window. “Their boat is nearly at the sea gate.”

“Your father is going to murder ye for this.” Old Molly’s face was grim, but her needle flew along the seam. “Now stand straight.”

“Better dead than wed again,” Glynis muttered under her breath.

“This trick will work but once, if it works at all.” Old Molly paused to tie a knot and rethread the needle. “ ’Tis a losing game you’re playing, lass.”

Glynis crossed her arms. “I won’t let him marry me off again.”

“Your da is just as stubborn as you, and he’s the chieftain.” Old Molly looked up from her sewing to fix her filmy eyes on Glynis. “Not all men are as blackhearted as your first husband.”

“Perhaps not,” Glynis said, though she was far from convinced. “But the MacDonalds of Sleat are known philanderers. I swear on my grandmother’s grave, I’ll no take one of them.”

“Beware of what ye swear, lass,” Old Molly said. “I knew your grandmother well, and I’d hate for ye to cause that good woman to turn in her grave.”

“Ouch!” Glynis yelped when a loud banging caused Old Molly to stick her needle in Glynis’s side.

“Get yourself down to the hall, Glynis,” her father shouted from the other side of the door. “Our guests are arriving.”

“I’m almost ready, da,” she called out.

“Don’t think ye can fool me with a sweet voice,” he said. “What are ye doing in there?”

Glynis risked opening the door a crack and stuck her face in it. Her father, a big, barrel-chested man, was looking as foul-tempered as his reputation.

“Ye said I should dress so these damned MacDonalds won’t soon forget me,” she said. “That takes a woman time, da.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but he let that pass. After all these years of living with a wife and daughters, females were still largely a mystery to him. In this war with her father, Glynis was willing to use whatever small advantage she had.

“Their new chieftain didn’t come himself,” he said in what for him was a low voice. “But it was too much to hope a chieftain would take ye, after the shame ye brought upon yourself. One of these others will have to do.”

Glynis swallowed against the lump in her throat. Having her father blame her for her failed marriage—and believe she had dishonored her family—hurt more than anything her husband had done to her.

“I did nothing shameful,” she said through clenched teeth. “But I will, if ye force me to take another husband.”

“Ye were born obstinate as an ox,” her father shouted through the six-inch crack in the door. “But I am your father and your chieftain, and ye will do as I tell ye.”

“What man will want a woman who’s shamed herself?” she hissed at him.

“Ach, men are fools for beauty,” her father said. “Despite what happened, ye are still that.”

Glynis slammed the door shut in his face and threw the bar across it.

“Ye will do as I say, or I’ll throw ye out to starve!”

That was all she could make out amidst his long string of curses before his footsteps echoed down the spiral stone staircase.

Glynis blinked hard to keep back the tears. She was done with weeping.

“I should have given ye poison as a wedding gift, so ye could come home a widow,” Old Molly said behind her. “I told the chieftain he was wedding ye to a bad man, but he’s no better at listening than his daughter is.”

“Quickly now.” Glynis picked up the small bowl from the side table and held it out to Molly. “It will ruin everything if he loses patience and comes back to drag me downstairs.”

Old Molly heaved a great sigh and dipped her fingers into the red clay paste.

Alex stretched out and closed his eyes to enjoy the sun and sea breeze a little longer. It was a long sail from the Isle of Skye to the MacNeil stronghold on Barra, but they were nearly there.

“Remind me how Connor convinced us to pay a visit on the MacNeils,” Alex said.

“We volunteered,” Duncan said.

“Ach, that was foolish,” Alex said, “when we know the MacNeil chieftain is looking for husbands for his daughters.”

“Aye.”

Alex opened one eye. “Were we that drunk?”

“Aye,” Duncan said with one of his rare smiles.

Duncan was a good man, if a wee bit dour these days—which just went to show that love could bring the strongest of men to their knees. Alex had known the big, red-haired warrior since they were bairns. They and Alex’s cousins, Connor and Ian, had been fast friends all their lives.