Wee William's Woman, Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series (47 page)
Read Wee William's Woman, Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series Online
Authors: Suzan Tisdale
“Bree, leave us now. Let yer father and me talk fer a time before we give ye our decision,” Isobel stood and laid a hand on Bree’s shoulder.
“Is it no’ my decision to make, mum?” Bree asked.
“To a certain extent, it is lass. But the final say rests with yer da and me. Now, go on with ye. Wait for me in yer chamber.”
Bree took a deep breath before leaving the room.
She thought back to her own words the night before.
What harm could one meal do?
Apparently, far more than she could ever have imagined.
W
ord of Bree’s impending engagement spread through the keep like wild fire. To say the people were shocked and surprised would have been a tremendous understatement. To say Caelen and Nial were beside themselves with frustration and disgust was just as grand an understatement.
“This is all Angus’ fault!” Nial seethed as he paced back and forth in front of the stables.
Caelen sat on the ground nearby and kept his anger hidden, at least for now.
“How could Bree agree to such a thing?” Nial asked, not expecting an answer.
“We’ve time to stop it,” Caelen said rather flatly as he pulled a dagger from his belt. The morning sunshine glinted off the cold steel and brought a slight smile to Caelen’s lips.
Nial ran a hand through his hair, his insides all a jumbled mess. “What could she possibly see in the lad?”
“I never much liked the boy and I like his da even less,” Caelen said as he ran his thumb along the blade.
“There be something wrong with that lad, I can feel it in me bones!” Nial shook his head and continued to pace.
“I wonder if the lad can fight?” Caelen asked to no one in particular.
“Bree canna ken what she is doin’, there can be no other explanation.”
“I do no’ think he can fight. ’Twould be easy enough to run me blade across his throat. He’d be none the wiser fer it.”
“This is why women should no’ be allowed to choose their own husbands, fer they do no’ always think with clear heads.” Nial spat at the ground and continued to shake his head.
“I could kill him easily enough, ’twould no’ even break into a sweat.” Caelen’s smile broadened at the thought.
“She’s far too good for the little snot!” Nial continued to rant.
“I could blame the Bowie clan fer I have a bit of their plaid saved fer such an occasion.” Caelen chuckled at the devious plan running through his mind.
“He’ll ruin her. He’ll try to break her spirit! And ’tis her spirit that makes her so, so…” Nial searched for the right word. “Her spirit is what makes her so bonny!”
“I suppose I should kill the da as well. I do no’ trust him. James Randolph is just as odd as his son.”
“We must go to Angus and protest this. We must get him to see that Bree be making the biggest mistake of her life.”
There were two different conversations taking place, but the intent of each man was the same. They had to stop Bree from marrying Gillon Randolph. Either by reasoning with Angus or by killing the young man. At the moment, it mattered little to either man how they might stop the wedding, so long as it was stopped.
Nial stopped and looked down at Caelen. “So ye agree then?” he asked.
Caelen sheathed his dagger and pulled himself to his feet. “Aye, I do.”
Nial nodded his head and breathed a sigh of relief. “Do ye think Bree will forgive us fer stoppin’ this?”
“Mayhap no’ at first. But eventually she will see the right of it,” Caelen said as he patted Nial on the shoulder.
“I would no’ care so much, her gettin’ married, if she’d chosen a lad more likable,” Nial offered.
“True,” Caelen agreed. “There are many more suitable men fer Bree. Far more honorable men.”
“Aye, and eventually she’ll see we were right and did this only fer her benefit,” Nial said as he began walking toward the keep.
Caelen agreed with a firm slap to Nial’s back. “Aye!” he said with a broad smile. “She’ll no grieve long, I’m certain.”
Nial assumed Caelen meant that Bree would grieve over the loss of a wedding and not a life.
Gillon had been so angry with his father that he had spent the better part of the evening trying to figure out a way to get even. As luck would have it, Bree was easier to mold than he had anticipated.
He stood now, alone on the top floor of the tall north tower. It was very late and a light mist hung in the warm summer night air. He could see the many small fires still burning in the camps that dotted the horizon and laughed in amusement at the false security those below him felt.
None had an inkling or suspicion as to all the secret meetings taking place while they slept peacefully, in utter ignorance. His own father was included among those ranks.
His thoughts turned to Bree McKenna. He did not care for the lass’ cheerful disposition or her easy smile. Her only saving grace was that she was a beautiful young woman, curvaceous, and untouched by another man’s hands. The fact that she had little interest in or knowledge of clan politics only played to Gillon’s favor.
It had been easy enough to convince her that the only way to have peace amongst the clans was for them to marry. The fact that he stressed to her his lack of interest or want in such a betrothal was of great benefit to him. Letting her know he was just as against such a union had only helped matters.
’Twas only after he told her that his desire was for them to eventually forge a genuine, honest bond out of respect for one another, did she finally agree to his proposal. Bree’s heart, honor, and love of clan would not only be her downfall, it would also lead to the downfalls of others.
Bree was as unsuspecting a lass as he’d ever encountered. It hadn’t taken much work on his part to convince her, to get her to see that the fate of seven clans rested entirely upon her shoulders. Had she not been so confoundedly honorable or possessed such a good heart, his words would have fallen on deaf ears.
His father had been extraordinarily surprised as well as pleased to learn that Gillon had successfully convinced the girl to marry him. James hadn’t asked outright what Gillon had done to turn the lass’ head so and in such a quick manner, for he had been far too happy with the news.
Gillon had known the truth for quite some time now. James Randolph was not his blood father. It wasn’t James Randolph’s blood that ran through his veins. Nay, he was not weak like the man who claimed to be his father.
As a younger boy, Gillon had always suspected something was wrong with his mother as well as with the man who called him son. It wasn’t until his mother’s death three years ago that he learned the truth of his conception, the truth of his mother’s whoring ways.
At first he had mourned her death, had missed her terribly. Then a man—a man Gillon felt an immediate connection to, a connection he’d never felt with James Randolph—stepped from the dark shadows and told Gillon the truth.
His mother had been quite the whore in her younger days and Gillon had been born the result of her inability to keep her legs together whenever James was away. There was much doubt as to who fathered his four sisters. Who knew if any of them belonged to James or to some other man?
Gillon didn’t much care, for soon, they’d all bow at his feet. Everyone in his clan would. Everyone in attendance of the festival and games would bow before him. All of Scotland would.
Gillon paced, growing impatient as the moments passed by, as he waited for his blood father to appear. He tried to quell his growing anger and frustration by thinking of his future. Within a year’s time, all of Scotland would know his name and people would quake with fear at the mere mention of it. It was his destiny and he would not be denied.
He knew he could not wait for James to die of natural causes. Nay, James Randolph was far too healthy a man to hope he would die soon. So Gillon would take matters into his own hands to insure that all he’d been working for these past few years would come to fruition.
Gillon looked forward to James’ death with great anticipation. He could hardly wait for the moment when he would tell James Randolph that he knew the truth. That he knew James had lied to him all these years.
He would tell him as he lay dying, a painful, agonizing death. James Randolph’s last images on earth would be of Gillon and his
real
father. James’ last thoughts would be filled with regret as well as fear. For in his last moments on earth, he would know that Gillon would no longer be denied that to which he was entitled. No longer would he look at Gillon with shame. Nay, his eyes would be filled with fear. Fear in knowing that all that James had tried to quash twenty years ago, was born again and that more than one man’s destiny would finally be filled.
Oh, how he relished the thought of confronting him, of letting him know he knew, that he knew all of it. That James had stolen everything he owned, had taken it from Gillon’s blood father out of spite and jealousy. James Randolph, by rights, should never have been the chief of Clan Randolph. He had no right to it, by birth or by law.
To the world, James Randolph appeared to be an honorable, honest man. People looked up to him, they admired him, and they believed and trusted him. When the rest of Scotland learned that James was no better than a common thief, that he had killed the true heir and the rightful chief of Clan Randolph for his own selfish pursuits, they’d no longer hold him in such high esteem. They’d spit every time the name James Randolph was mentioned.
A smile formed on Gillon’s lips when he thought about that moment. Revenge would be his and it would come very soon.
His hand immediately went to the hilt of his sword when he heard the latch on the door being lifted. Even though only one man knew he was waiting in the tower, one couldn’t be too careful. The door pushed open ever so quietly and a moment later a shadow stepped into the room. Gillon smiled and let loose a sigh of relief.
“Da,” he said happily as the man walked toward him.
“Son,” the shadow whispered. “I hear the lass has agreed to marry ye.”
Gillon nodded his head and smiled. “Aye, she has. It did no’ take much to convince her.”
The shadow crossed the room to look out the narrow window. He stood silently for a time before speaking over his shoulder. “’Ye’ve done good, son. I be verra proud of ye. Our plan is falling into place verra nicely. The lass is a bonus, to be certain. We need to have ye married as soon as possible of course.”
Gillon didn’t understand the need to marry quickly and asked his father to explain.
“Ye will give James the poison only after ye marry Bree McKenna. After he’s dead and we tell the world the truth, Angus will be so worried fer his daughter’s safety that he’ll agree to anything.”
Sudden awareness dawned in Gillon’s eyes. He had not thought of how the marriage would affect Angus McKenna. He’d only been concerned with the thought of bedding the virginal Bree and the eventual death of her inane happy spirit.
“Angus has no’ yet agreed to the union, da,” Gillon informed him.
“But he will. Ye need to work on Bree. If she is insistent that ye marry soon, she’ll be able to convince her da of it with that bonny smile of hers. Father’s can seldom say no to their children.”
Gillon didn’t think that necessarily true, for James had often told him no. But then, he wasn’t really James Randolph’s son to begin with, so that may have played a part in how he treated Gillon.
A
ngus McKenna could never be mistaken for a foolish nor stupid man. From the moment Bree came to him asking permission to marry Gillon Randolph, he knew something had gone horribly awry. He had agreed only to Gillon courting his youngest daughter as a means of showing James Randolph that his intentions toward the Randolph clan were good. He hadn’t meant for his daughter to be swept away by Gillon.
Isobel agreed with Angus’ instincts that Bree was being less than genuine and honest with them. He was glad his wife had also seen through their daughter’s lie. They both knew that Bree didn’t care for Gillon anymore than they believed she’d fallen in love with the little bastard.
Something more was afoot and it did not take long to determine what had happened. James Randolph had broken his promise not to tell Bree the true reasons behind Gillon courting her. It was the only plausible explanation for her sudden interest in marriage.
Thus, Angus called another private meeting, this time, with only a handful of men. Men that he trusted and whose council he put good store in.
Duncan sat to Angus’ right, with Wee William to his left. Rowan and Black Richard sat on either side of them. Directly across from Angus sat Nial McKee, Caelen McDunnah, and Findley McKenna.
Findley, Angus’ nephew by blood, was now a laird of a vast estate in the eastern part of Scotland, a day’s ride from Stirling Castle and more than a weeks travel from Castle Gregor. Findley and his new family had arrived just that morning to participate in the festival and games. He hadn’t not been included in the meeting of the seven clans for several reasons, the primary one being he’d sworn his fealty to Angus years ago. He swore it again just a few short months ago, after Angus and the others in attendance had helped him to free Maggie Boyle from Malcolm Buchannan. Findley had married Maggie not long after and together they were raising her five sons and rebuilding her estate.
These were the men Angus trusted, not only with his own life, but the lives of his wife and children.
“So, ye think James Randolph broke his word to ye?” Wee William asked.
Angus studied him for a moment. It had been more than a month since Wee William had shaved his face and married Nora. Angus didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing Wee William without all that hair and his long beard.
“Aye, I do.”
“But why would he do such a thing?” Wee William asked. “He had already signed the agreement. What good could come of tellin’ Bree?”
“I do no’ think it was James,” Nial offered up. “I think ’twas Gillon. I told ye from the start I did no’ trust the little bastard.”
“We all ken how ye feel about Gillon, Nial,” Angus said gruffly.
“I feel the same,” Caelen said. “The lad is no’ to be trusted.”
Angus let out a frustrated breath. “It matters no’
which
of them told her. The point is, she’s insistin’ on marryin’ the boy, and she’ll no confess the truth.”
Low burning embers crackled softly as each man sat in stony silence. There was not a man in the room who did not hold a special place in his heart for Bree. They would do whatever they could to either change her mind or protect her from making the biggest mistake of her life.
Nial worked his jaw back and forth. The more he thought of Bree marrying Gillon, the more enraged he became. She was too beautiful, too sweet, and far too innocent to understand the consequences of marrying Gillon Randolph. Bree deserved a far better man for a husband than the young lad who made the hair on the back of Nial’s neck stand on edge each time he was in his presence.
“So will ye allow her to marry him?” Nial asked. He’d already made up his mind that if Angus agreed to the union, he’d kill Gillon before the boy had time to rejoice at the news.
“Nay, I shall no’ allow it. I do no’ like the little shite any more than ye do,” Angus told him.
Nial breathed a barely perceptible sigh of relief as he cast a look at Caelen. For a brief moment, Caelen looked let down by the news. Nial supposed the man was disappointed that he’d not get the chance to take Gillon Randolph’s life.
“So why are we here, Angus?” Findley asked. He had been sitting quietly, with his chin resting on his fingers and his index finger near his temple.
Angus took a deep breath in, held it for a moment before releasing it slowly. “I fear there is somethin’ amiss. Somethin’ I can’t quite put me finger to. It warns me we’ve a traitor in our midst.”
The men looked at each other. Wee William sat forward in his chair. “A traitor? Among the MacDougall clan?” It was not easy for Wee William to believe one of their own would turn against them.
“Nay, not among our clan, Wee William,” Angus said as he leaned back in his chair. “I fear it be one of the seven who signed the agreement of peace.”
Nial and Caelen looked to one another. Something silent passed between them and it did not go unnoticed by Angus.
“I do no’ believe it be either of
ye,
lads,” Angus said. His voice was low and steady. “Elst I would no’ have ye here this night.”
Rowan had been listening intently. There was no way on God’s earth that Angus could believe that his father, Andrew Graham, was a traitor. But his lack of presence in the meeting gave Rowan pause. “Do you think me father a traitor?” he asked, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
Angus shook his head. “Nay, I do no’. But I fear we must be verra careful from this point forward. The fewer people who are aware of my suspicions, the better off we’ll be. Yer da is no more a traitor than I.”
Angus’ statement did nothing to make Rowan feel better. “If ye do no’ consider me da a traitor, then why is he no’ here?”
“Rowan, do no’ be offended!” Angus barked at him. “I’ve already spoken privately with yer da, he’s well aware of me suspicions. He agreed to no’ attend. No one will suspect anything unusual in the seven of us meeting.”
Rowan sat back in his seat, glad to know that Angus had already discussed his concerns with Andrew.
“So who do ye think it be?” Wee William asked as he shrugged first one shoulder, then the other, to work out the kinks in his neck. He was tired and sorely missing his wife.
“I prefer to keep that to meself fer now,” Angus said. Before anyone could protest, he explained his thinking to them.
“I do no’ want me own suspicions to keep any of ye from seein’ somethin’ that I canna see. There be a good chance I’m wrong. I do no’ want me own suspicions cloudin’ yer good judgments. If I’m right, then I ken I haven’t lost too much of me senses with me auld age,” he smiled at the men.
Findley, Wee William and Duncan chuckled softly. The other men were in far more serious moods. “And if I be wrong, I trust ye’ll bring it to me attention one way or another.”
“So what is the plan then, Angus?” Duncan asked.
“Bree will no’ tell me the truth. James and Gillon Randolph are anxiously awaiting me decision. I fear that if I say nay, without good cause, James will do somethin’ stupid and back out of the agreement. So,” Angus said as he looked at both Duncan and Wee William, “I want to enlist yer wives to help.”
Wee William and Duncan looked at one another before turning back to Angus.
“I fear Bree willna talk to me or her mum on this. She may however, speak to yer wives. Aishlinn be her sister and Nora a good friend. Mayhap the two of them can find out
why
Bree is insistin’ on marryin’ Gillon. While they do that, I’ll tell James that I’ll give me answer in five days, before we call an end to the festival. That should buy us time to learn if there is truly is a traitor among us or no’.”
The men agreed that it was a good plan to start with. Each man would be keeping a close eye on Bree as well as looking for anything out of the ordinary as it pertained to the other chiefs who had signed the peace agreement.
Nial felt better knowing that Bree would not be marrying Gillon. Aye, he knew he had no chance of his own in gaining Angus’ approval at courting her himself. Although Angus never gave Nial any real reasons for being against such a match, Nial assumed it was because he was nearly seven years older than Bree. He also suspected that his life of debauchery and drinking had just as much to do with it as anything else. Nay, more likely than not, Angus felt his daughter could do much better than Nial.
Bree was, after all, Angus’ youngest daughter, and more precious to him than breathing. She was a beautiful, sweet, funny lass with a good heart and high spiritedness that one seldom found in women. Those were the qualities that drew Nial to her to begin with.
As Nial left the war room to head above stairs to his own chamber, he reflected on his own life. Like Bree, Nial had a love of life. But where Bree’s zealousness of life tended to lean toward things such as riding horses, kissing wee bairns, and far more feminine pursuits, Nial’s interests had leaned more toward debauchery and sinful delights.
He had been made chief of his clan -- much to his own surprise and anguish—just three years past. He had been the second son and had never believed he would someday be the leader of his clan. But when his father and older brother were both killed in battle, the responsibility fell to him.
Prior to their deaths, Nial had lived a rather spoiled life, coming and going and doing as he pleased without a care in the world. He would often be gone from home for months at a time, working his way across Scotland in a frenzy of bar wenches, drink, and gambling.
Nial made his way through the dark corridor of the third floor and into his chamber. He stripped off his tunic and trews and climbed into his bed and tried to shrug off the sense of loneliness that had settled over him these past few months.
Had he known he would have been made chief of his clan, he wouldn’t have wasted so much time lingering between the sheets with one prostitute after another. He would not have drunk or gambled so much. Instead, he would have listened to his father’s good advice, grown up and behaved in a far more honorable manner. He would have spent more time learning from his father than traipsing across the country tossing back whiskey and lifting skirts.
For three years now, he had done his best to make up for lost time and lack of wisdom. Nial maintained the same council of men that his father had relied so heavily upon. He also relied on Caelen McDunnah’s good sense, even though it was often hidden behind a dark and brooding facade and his love of fighting.
Nial knew there was far more to his friend than what he let the rest of the world see. Hidden behind the mask of shadows was a man in deep mourning. Caelen’s wife had died in childbed five years past. He had never quite gotten over the loss and Nial doubted that he ever would. Caelen had loved her more than he had ever loved anyone or anything. She had been the love of his life. When she died, she took Caelen’s heart with her, along with a huge part of his soul.
Prior to becoming chief of his clan, Nial would never have put much stock in love, at least not the kind of love he’d witnessed between Caelen and Fiona.
Physical love, Nial knew from far too much experience, could be purchased for a few groats.
Real love, the kind you felt clear to your bones, was not so easily obtained. He reasoned that not everyone could be blessed with that kind of adoration or devotion. But he was willing to settle for something close to it.
As often happened when he mused on the subject of love and adoration, his mind turned toward Bree McKenna. Aye, she was young that he could not deny. But most lasses her age were already married with one or two babes.
Bree was different.
It wasn’t just a physical attraction that he felt toward her. Aye, she was beautiful, there was no denying that fact. But there was so much more to Bree than her long, dark hair and bright green eyes. She never played dumb or coy. She was not afraid to speak her mind nor was she afraid to smile when the mood struck her. Nor was she afraid to give a man a piece of her mind if she thought him deserving of it. She was a lady, but not so much so that she worried over getting her hands dirty or was afraid to ride a horse astride.
Nial rolled onto his back and stared up at the dark ceiling. The sun would be up in a few hours and there was much to do. Try as he might, his thoughts kept returning to Bree.