MacGregor's Daughter_A Scottish Historical Romance Page 10

  Hugh took a deep breath, then began. "Several years ago, Lyall Campbell and his army attacked Dunstan Castle, killing and setting fire to everything in sight. Many of us, along with the laird and lady, managed to escape. Lady MacGregor was a MacDougal, and her father, Angus MacDougal, was the laird of Teineaer Castle. After changing our names to MacDougal, we lived here for many years, with no one outside this place being none the wiser—until now."

  "Were the laird and lady blessed with any offspring?" Alex watched his reaction.

  His blue eyes softened. "Aye, a lovely daughter."

  Lovely, indeed. "Do you ken what happened to the lass?"

  He shook his head. "Nay. She wasnae in the great hall with her parents, and the Campbell chief had the castle searched above and below, trying to find her. Thank the saints, he didnae, for hers would have been a fate worse than death. 'Tis believed she might have escaped on his prized warhorse, which angered him greatly. He intends to find the stallion, and to take Lady Ceana's life in the doing, for he repeatedly said as much."

  Alex clenched his teeth, rage heating his blood. "You've no idea where she might be?"

  He shook his head. "Nay. I wish that I did, then I might be able to help her. She seems a daughter to me."

  "There's no need for you to fash any longer. Lady Ceana is safe at Blackstone."

  Hugh's eyes widened and a smile spread across his weathered face. "Thank the saints! I feared greatly for her safety. How does the lass fare?"

  "She's well. But when we found her, she was nigh frozen to death. Her feet were frostbitten, but now healing."

  He beamed. "I'm most thankful to ye for telling me." He suddenly looked somber. "And the warhorse? Did she take it?"

  "Aye, she did."

  He shook his head. "That was another thing that angered Lyall Campbell."

  "What?"

  "That a wee lass could control a devil like his stallion."

  "We wondered that ourselves, but she did ride him, all the way from here. She calls him Cree, and he's in my stables. His initial intention had been to kick his way through the walls, but Ceana visits with him each day, and that calms him greatly. You'd think him a wee lamb, the way the lass treats him."

  He shook his head. "The lass always had an unusual way with God's creatures. I'm glad to hear she's able to walk."

  "But she cannae yet," Drostan inserted. "The laird carries her to and from the stables himself."

  Alex stiffened, groaning inwardly, as his gaze met the steward's.

  Something akin to humor flashed across Hugh's face, then was gone. "We're most thankful to ye fer taking such good care of our lady." He rose to his feet. "'Tis safe to show yerselves," he shouted, his voice echoing through the almost empty room.

  One by one, men—most in various stages of healing, emerged from the shadows, followed by several fatigued looking women, children and elderly. But there was one young man among them, perhaps near his own age, who was fit and did not appear the least bit worn-down. Had he been somewhere else during the battle?

  "Ewin, come over here. I wish ye to meet someone," he called to a young man with a mass of fair curls. His right leg had been badly injured, and a slash across his left forearm had almost healed. Hugh turned back to Alex. "Ewin and Ceana are as close as brother and sister. He'd wanted to go out and look for her, once the Campbells left, but, as you can see, he was unable to do so."

  "But it was most noble of him to at least try," Alex said, watching the young man wince each time he put his foot down.

  Using a crutch, constructed of wood and leather, Ewin limped over to the table and sat down beside the old man. "Aye, Hugh? What is it?"

  "This is Laird MacPherson."

  Ewin nodded. "Pleased to meet you, laird."

  "Likewise." Did he and Ceana truly only care for each other as siblings? A pang of jealousy raised its ugly head.

  Hugh smiled. "He's found our Ceana, and she's safe."

  A broad grin spread across Ewin's face, as he looked at Alex. "I thank you, laird. I've fashed something awful about the lass. She's a close friend, as well as my cousin." An attractive young woman moved up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "This is my wife, Millie," he said, glancing lovingly up at her.

  "Millie," Alex said with a nod, as his earlier jealousy subsided. "Much thanks to you and the others for the fine meal."

  She smiled. "You're most welcome. Might I get you anything more?" Millie's high-born speech and mannerisms told Alex she had been raised in a castle.

  "Nay. Our bellies have been quite adequately filled."

  Ewin patted her hand. "He's come to tell us Ceana is safe."

  She gasped. "Thank the saints! We've all been fashing about her. 'Twas terrible what happened to her parents." Two small girls ran up beside them, giggling in play.

  "And these willful fae are our daughters, Jenny, and Heather." Ewin chuckled.

  Alex laughed, as the young girls raced back across the room, as fast as their wee legs could take them, to join a group of children.

  Hugh got up from the bench. "Gather around, everyone. I've something to tell you," he shouted to the others. "Lady Ceana is safe inside Laird MacPherson's castle, Blackstone."

  Smiles spread across their faces, and they cheered. The fit young man seemed elated, as he thrust his fist into the air, his cheering drowning out the voices of the others.

  Alex frowned. Were he and Ceana close, and did he care for her romantically? If so, then did she feel the same way about him? The thought caused his chest to tighten. "Is this everyone?"

  Hugh nodded. "Aye."

  "Do you have food enough to get you and your animals through the winter?"

  The steward slowly shook his head. "I fear not. When the Campbells left, they took what they could carry, and tried to destroy the rest. We saved what we could from the fires, and have been selling bits and pieces in the village to feed ourselves."

  "Once I return to Blackstone, I'll send supplies."

  He beamed. "Much thanks. Ye are truly a good man, Laird MacPherson. Lady Ceana is fortunate to have found herself in your very capable hands."

  With a twinkle in his eyes, Drostan opened his mouth to say something, but Alex brought his boot down on his foot.

  Drostan grunted but kept his mouth shut.

  "If you'll have someone gather her things, I'll take them back with me. I'm sure she would rather be wearing her own clothing, instead of my sister's."

  Hugh nodded. "I'll have Mistress Grant do so first thing on the morrow. Now, if you've finished with your meal, I'll show you two to your bedchambers. The others are welcome to bed down here, near the fire."

  Alex got up from the table. "We thank you." He and Drostan followed the steward from the great hall, and up the torch-lit stairs.

  Hugh brought them to a stop in front of a door. "This was the laird's bedchamber, but I think he'd be more than happy for you to have it. After all, ye did save his only child." He turned to Drostan. "Take the connecting chamber. 'Twas Lady MacGregor's, of course. Sleep well," he said, then turned to leave, but Alex stopped him.

  "Much thanks for your hospitality, Hugh. There's something more I should perhaps tell you. It seems I inadvertently purchased Ceana's wolfhounds, and they are at Blackstone as well, in case you were wondering what might have happened to them."

  "I thought perhaps they'd been killed by the Campbells, but pleased to hear otherwise." He chuckled. "'Tis not unusual to find Duff, Ross and the lass together."

  "I've found that to be so as well. I have some questions I dinnae wish to ask you in front of the others. Do you mind?"

  "Nay, not at all."

  "I thank you. Who's the other young man down below?"

  "Ye must be talking about Mungan MacDougal, another cousin of Ceana's."

  "He must be very fond of her, as he seemed most pleased to learn she was safe."

  Hugh shook his head. "Nay, I cannot say that he is. He came here to live but six months ago, and to my knowledge, t
hey but speak in passing."

  "I've one more question. "Have you any knowledge of a man called Art Grant? He's apparently no stranger to Lady Ceana."

  The steward rubbed his forehead as he thought, then suddenly looked up at Alex. "I ken of only one man called Art whom she would also ken. Artagan MacGregor, the laird's younger brother. I've not seen him since we made our escape to Teineaer. I had thought him dead since he never came here, nor did the laird ever speak of him."

  Alex nodded. "I'll keep you from your bed no longer. I bid you goodnight."

  "I'll see you in the morn," Hugh said, before slowly making his way back down the stairs.

  "Now we ken Grant's true identity," he said to Drostan, "which explains why Ceana confided in him."

  Drostan nodded. "Aye. Apparently, the lass had not seen him since she was a child, and did not readily recognize him."

  "Which makes sense. Grant must have told Ceana he was her uncle the day he went to her bedchamber." He yawned. "Sleep well, my friend." He entered the bedchamber and closed the door. The fire had recently been tended and the room was warm and cozy. After having slept very little at the inn the night before, Alex thought the bed looked most inviting. Tossing his pack onto a chair, he got undressed and crawled beneath the covers. He was almost asleep when Drostan opened the door between the two bedchambers.

  "Do you intend to tell Ceana you were here?"

  Alex laced his fingers behind his head. "If I return with her things, she'll ken where I've been."

  "True. How do you think she'll react?"

  "I dinnae ken, but I'll soon be finding out." Alex prayed she would not hate him when she learned he had gone behind her back and visited Teineaer. But that was the chance he had to take. For in order for Alex to protect her, he needed to know who and what he had to protect her from, and it appeared to be none other than that whoreson, Lyall Campbell.

  Chapter Nine

  Mungan MacDougal made his way past the sleeping guards, while three of the MacPherson clansmen kept their eyes on him. He found a place near the fire, drew his plaid around his shoulders, and lay down.

  Earlier, when he had overheard the MacPherson laird speaking to old Hugh, he had not believed his luck. He no longer had to wonder what had happened to Ceana, for he now knew she was tucked away at Blackstone, most likely being waited on hand and foot by the MacPhersons.

  The wind howled around the castle, rattling the windows, and he moved closer to the fire. Upon his brother's death, a few months before, 'twas Mungan who had fallen next in line to become laird at Teineaer, but Angus MacDougal, Ceana's grandfather and the Laird of Teineaer had seen fit to change all that. Mungan closed his eyes, remembering with absolute clarity the night he had confronted the old man on the matter.

  After learning that Angus had willed the castle and surrounding estate to his only child, Lady MacGregor, Mungan had slipped to the old laird's bedchamber, knocked, and walked in, quickly closing the door behind him.

  "Who's there?" Angus asked weakly, unable to recognize his great-nephew in the dim firelight.

  "'Tis I, Mungan," he said, keeping his voice low, as he made his way across the room to the bed.

  Angus lay on his back, the bedclothes pulled up to his white-bearded chin. His face was an ashen pallor and his jaws sunken, due to his failing health. Even so, his mind was as sharp as a broadsword. "What is it you want?" he demanded, through narrowed eyes.

  Too angry to sit, Mungan paced back and forth in front of the massive four-poster bed. "Why did you will Teineaer to your daughter? 'Twas my destiny to be laird of this place, as you well ken, and you yanked it right out from under me."

  "I had my reasons, the foremost being the kind of laird you would, and would not make."

  "I dinnae ken what you're talking about, old man."

  He shook his head. "Of course not. When you arrived at Teineaer after your brother's death, nigh on six months ago, I had high hopes of you making a great laird, as your brother, Brian, God rest his soul, would have. Instead, you turned up dragging a legacy of thievery and debauchery along with you. In your time here, I've overlooked much of your behavior, and even though you've tried to keep your transgressions hidden from me, I've found them out. My people deserve a fair, just, and trustworthy leader, and you, Mungan MacDougal, hold none of those qualifications."

  "Why you conniving old bastard," he growled through clenched teeth, as rage and hatred heated his blood. Mungan moved to the bed and grabbed a bolster, pressing it down hard against the laird's face, until he ceased flailing.

  When the servant found him the following morning, it was thought he had died of natural causes. Though it had been good to feel the deceitful old fool's last breath drain from his body, he had been no closer to becoming laird, for the MacGregors still stood in his way.

  To rectify the problem, Mungan had sought out Lyall Campbell, in Argyll, several weeks later, telling him he knew where many MacGregors were in hiding. The chief had been especially pleased to learn the whereabouts of the MacGregor laird, who had escaped him many years before when Lyall had attacked the MacGregor stronghold under the king's orders. Their demise would further validate the Campbell chief's loyalty to the king.

  Mungan had agreed to see that the portcullis was raised on the appointed day if Lyall would rid Teineaer of the MacGregors. But there was one condition. Lyall would not go to the king and request the castle and lands be given to the Campbells, as was his right. Thus assuring, Mungan would become the next laird of Teineaer.

  That morning, he had waited for the agreed upon signal, before slicing open the throat of the guard on duty—a distant cousin—and raising the portcullis himself. Then he had quietly slipped away and stayed hidden until the battle was over, and no one had been the wiser—even Hugh—the old fool that he was.

  When the Campbells had left Teineaer, Mungan had acted as if he had been in hiding like the others, rather than holed up in a guest bedchamber with all the food he could eat, and whisky he could drink. But everything had not gone as planned. Ceana had lived, and the will had specified she would inherit Teineaer upon her mother's death, to be managed by Ceana and whomever she wed. But that problem would soon be taken care of.

  Stifling a chuckle, he imagined the surprised look on the Campbell chief's face when he told him the whereabouts of Ceana—and Lyall's prized warhorse. Once Campbell did away with his bonnie cousin, Teineaer would belong to Mungan free and clear.

  Then he would be the Laird of Teineaer and sleep in the laird's bedchamber, have many willing women to warm his bed, and clothing to befit his new position. No longer would he have to sleep on a hard floor before a fire to stay warm, while listening to the resounding snores of a multitude of others. He would remain warm in his soft bed piled high with furs. Aye, fate had indeed smiled upon him.

  GRIPPING THE WINDOW seat, Ceana placed first one foot on the floor, then the other, and pushed herself upright. She clenched her teeth against the pain that generally came with it, and was relieved when she only felt a bit of discomfort. Day by day she was getting better and better, and would soon be able to walk on her own. Holding onto the wall for balance, she took a step, then another. She let go, and stood, savoring the freedom she felt from such a small venture. At least she knew she could stand alone, albeit for only a short time.

  On trembling legs, she stepped toward the bed and stopped, not believing how weak her legs had become. Ceana turned back to the window seat, but her strength was gone. She fell, crying out, as her knees slammed against the hard, oak floorboards. After allowing herself a moment to regain her strength, she crawled the rest of the way, then pulled herself up into the seat. Trembling and with heart pounding, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She was not ready, but with much practice and determination, she soon would be. And then she would leave Blackstone—and Alex behind.

  Thinking of him brought to memory his mouth on hers, and her breath quickened. How wonderful it felt to be in his strong arms, her body pressed against his hard
chest—feeling so safe and protected. The thought of never experiencing any of that again brought tears to her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away.

  Alex had been more than kind to her, and Ceana knew the time would one day come when she would have to leave him. Of course, when she did, she would not be alone. Her Uncle Artagan would be with her. Of that, she was certain.

  Ceana looked through the window at the calm loch, mirroring the snow-covered mountains and blue sky. In a different time, a different place, she and Alex might have made a match, for she was most attracted to the handsome Highlander, and she knew he was attracted to her, as well. Even so, she did not wish to cause him any problems with the king, though he had told her not to worry. And then there was Lyall Campbell. What if he were to find out where she was? Did he hate the MacGregors enough to come after her? And if he did, Ceana knew Alex well enough to know he would protect her to the death—and that, she could never allow to happen.

  IN THE GREAT HALL OF Kilchurn Castle, Lyall downed his third goblet of ale, and the new servant girl quickly refilled it. She was a pretty young thing, with big dark eyes that never looked directly at him. He reached out, wrapped his arm around her tiny waist and pulled her onto his lap, then squeezed one of her firm round breasts.

  "Please, m'laird," she begged, struggling to get up, which only served to heighten his desire.

  "Please you I will, lass," he said loudly, eliciting a roar of laughter from those sitting within hearing distance. His need intensified as he slipped his hand beneath her skirts and up her long legs. He groaned inwardly. If he did not satisfy his lust soon, he might very well make a fool of himself.

  Sitting across from him at the high table, Ellen, his brother's widow frowned. "Leave the lass be. You're frightening her, and you're frightening Mairi."

  Mairi, his fourteen-year-old niece, sat beside her mother, her gaze fastened on the table.

  "Cease your infernal blathering, woman," he told his sister-in-law, even though he knew it would do no good.