MacGregor's Daughter_A Scottish Historical Romance Read online

  "Did any of you come upon MacGregor's daughter?" the Campbell chieftain shouted across the great hall.

  She shivered. Had she lingered there much longer, he would have discovered her himself.

  He continued, "I've been told she's a bonnie lass. She was but a child the last time I saw her, but even then, she showed the promise of great beauty."

  "The lass stood at the top of the stairs during the battle," answered the guard she had stabbed. "I went after her. 'Tis how I got this." He pulled open his bloody shirt, revealing the nasty gash her blade had left behind.

  A few of his clansmen snickered.

  Ceana hoped the wound festered.

  Lyall Campbell shook his unkempt head of black hair. "Och! She'll have to come out sooner or later, and if not, we'll search the entire castle until we find her. Then, after a wee bit of sport, I'll make short work of her as well. Only those without the MacGregor name will be allowed to live, whether it be man, woman, or child. Drag the dead out into the bailey, then fetch all the whisky you can find, for tonight we celebrate our victory. Gordon, bring me the kitchen wench you found hiding in the storeroom. I'm certain she'll be more than willing to provide us a bit of entertainment."

  Cheers echoed against the oak timbers.

  Hate raged through Ceana, and her hands curled into fists. She forced herself to calm down. Nightfall was not far off. She would wait until they were deep in their cups, then slip away. She had no idea where she would go, but she had no choice but to leave. The alternative was unimaginable.

  There was a sudden commotion in the great hall, and when she looked for the cause, she found Nessa, a dark-haired lass of no more than twenty, surrounded by leering men. Her face was as pale as snow and even from a distance, Ceana could see how hard she trembled.

  "Bring her here," the Campbell chief ordered. Once she stood before him, his gaze slowly traveled over her. "What's your name, lass?"

  "Ne-e-essa R-r-ramsay," she stuttered, keeping her gaze locked on the floor.

  "Then you'll live," he stated, pulling the frightened girl onto his lap and kissing her roughly.

  Nessa tried to jerk away, but he grabbed a handful of her hair to keep her still, while he continued to ravish her mouth.

  Ceana's stomach wretched with disgust, as she watched the girl struggle to get free.

  Suddenly the terrified young woman went limp and slid onto the floor in a heap. She had fainted dead away, which was not surprising since the lass was prone to do so at least once a week.

  Lyall Campbell snorted. "The prospect of being bedded by a fine specimen of a man, such as myself, nigh frightened the lass to death."

  Laughter filled the air.

  "Get her out of here. I'll see to her later. But for now, bring me more whisky."

  Ceana shoved herself away from the scene below, relieved Nessa had gotten off as easily as she did—at least for the time being. She leaned back against the wall, rested her head on her knees, and thought about her own predicament. Her parents were dead. She still could not believe it, even after seeing them both murdered right before her very eyes. Never in her life had she felt such devastating heartbreak, agonizing pain, and overwhelming anger. Tears spilled down her cheeks. And never would she forget the horrifying scene she had witnessed that morning. But if it took the rest of her days, she would make Lyall Campbell pay for what he had done to her parents and her people.

  Without any siblings to aid her, she knew of no one to whom she could turn to for help. Her closest living relative had been an uncle, her father's younger brother, Artagan, but she had not seen him since she was a child, and had no idea where he was. More than likely he was dead, like so many other MacGregors. But before worrying too much about where she would go, she had to first get past the Campbells. Once she was safely away from the castle, then she would worry. Surely there was someone who would provide her a safe haven—or so she wished to believe.

  Throughout the night in the laird's lug, Ceana dozed in and out of sleep, only to jerk awake, praying what had happened was naught but a horrible nightmare, even though she knew the truth of it. The castle soon grew quiet, and she again peered below. By the light of the fire, she saw men sprawled on benches, tables, and the floor. It appeared all of them had deeply imbibed in her father's fine whisky. Tears sprang into her eyes at the thought of him, but she forced them aside. She would grieve later, but for now, she must focus on staying alive. Her gaze fell upon the tapestry, and her heart ached at having to leave anyone behind. Thankfully, most of the servants were from other clans, and Ceana prayed those who were MacGregors had enough sense left about them to deny it if they were found.

  She quietly left the laird's lug. Morning was not far off. She needed to make her escape while the dark of night could shroud her in its shadows. There had been no servants to light the torches, and the castle corridor was cloaked in darkness, but lighting a candle was out of the question. Using her memory and the wall to guide her, Ceana made her way to the end of the corridor, then took the servants' stairs down to the kitchen. There, the fire had burned down but still gave off enough light to allow her to search the cupboards. She needed food for her journey, but would there be anything left after the marauders had taken what they wanted? With some searching about, she managed to find a bit of bread and cheese they had somehow missed during their pilfering and stuffed it into her pocket.

  Drawing her cloak tightly around her, she opened the door leading to the frozen vegetable garden and kitchen midden pile. Checking to make certain all was clear, she pulled up the hood of her cloak, stepped onto the snow-laden ground and headed for the stables. She needed a horse. For without one, the murderers would catch up to her in no time at all. But would she be able to make her way through the bailey, and out the postern gate, with as large a thing as a horse, and not be seen?

  The snow had stopped falling, and the slight pinking of the horizon gave Ceana cause to worry. She peered around the side of the castle into the bailey. The snow-blanketed bodies of MacGregor guards lay scattered about, and she wondered what the bastards had done with her parents. Blinking back tears, she noticed the portcullis had been left raised. Uttering a prayer of thanks, she hurried on to the stables.

  At first, it appeared to have been left unguarded, but then the snores of two or more men reached her ears from the hayloft. She would have taken her mare, Renny, but the little horse's stall was positioned at the far end of the stables—directly beneath where the men were sleeping. Ceana regretted having to leave her behind, but she had no choice.

  With morning quickly approaching, she made the decision to take the first horse she found saddled, which happened to be a black warhorse, large and muscular, left tethered just inside the entrance. She was an excellent rider, but still, she prayed he would not be too much horse for her to handle and would follow her commands.

  The stallion snorted and tossed his massive head, as she walked up beside him. Whispering softly, she patted his forehead and scratched him beneath the chin, then secured her pouch to the saddle and reached for his reins. As she turned around, her cloak caught on a nail. With shaky hands, she quickly snatched herself free, for she had no time to spare, then quietly walked the horse from the stables, across the bailey, and through the portcullis to the thick cover of the wood. Though walking the horse had taken more time, she had not wished anyone to hear the horse's hooves pounding against the frozen ground close to the castle.

  It was nigh impossible for Ceana to mount such a massive steed without something to aid her. She climbed onto the stump of a fallen tree and drew the stallion alongside her, then swung her leg across his broad back. Thankfully, he remained fixed to the ground like a boulder. She settled herself in the saddle, noting how her legs stuck out on either side, like those of a small child. Under other circumstances, it might have been quite humorous, but not today.

  Taking a deep breath of icy air to steady herself, she nudged him forward. That was all it took for him to go racing across the froz
en moor. If Ceana had not been holding tightly to his mane with her free hand, she would have been tossed aside like a sack of oats. She leaned forward, close to his black coat, praying they would not be noticed by a Campbell guard who might still have his wits about him. Once they were out of sight of the castle, she brought the horse to a halt. He pranced to the right, and she knew with a certainty, if she gave him his lead, he would take her straight into Campbell territory, and she could not allow that to happen. Instead, she turned him in the opposite direction and prayed she had made the right decision.

  As the day wore on, the snow deepened, and Ceana was thankful she had chosen this horse for her mount. Renny would never have made it through the deepening snow drifts, no matter how hard the wee mare would have tried. She patted him on the neck. "I think I'll call you Cree, as you have a strong heart and a courageous spirit."

  The stallion whinnied softly.

  "I'm glad you approve."

  With the sudden need to relieve herself, she turned the stallion into a stand of pines. As she dismounted, she noticed marks of varying lengths all along his rear, and it brought tears to her eyes. She did not know to whom he had belonged, but whoever it was had treated the beautiful animal poorly. Ceana leaned against his massive chest and gently stroked him. "I'm sorry you've been treated so, but I promise, I'll only treat you with kindness." She pressed her lips against the velvetiness of his warm cheek. When she moved away, he looked at her, and she somehow knew he understood what she had said—perhaps not her words, but her feelings.

  A few minutes later, she was once again on her way. To where? Ceana did not know, but nonetheless, she had to keep going to survive, for Lyall Campbell had declared, "Only those without the MacGregor name will be allowed to live, whether it be man, woman, or child"—and he had meant every word.

  Chapter Two

  Lyall Campbell raised his head from the table and blinked into the bright morning light streaming through the windows behind him. A sharp pain struck him between the eyes like the blunt edge of a broadsword. He growled and shook his head to clear away the cobwebs woven by the overindulgence of whisky the night before.

  Getting unsteadily to his feet, he staggered across the great hall. Even though the castle had been emptied of the dead the evening before, the strong smell of blood and death still lingered in the air. The fire had burned down to cold ash, but the men snoring before it did not take notice. He would wake them soon, and they would be on their way back to Campbell lands, where a warm bed and a warmer lass would be there to greet him.

  The Campbell chief frowned when he noticed the Ramsay wench, asleep behind an overturned table, his nephew, Dougal, beside her. He had forced the lad to come along with him, by threatening to send his mother and younger sister away from Kilchurn Castle to fend for themselves in the middle of the winter. But upon their arrival at Teineaer Castle, Dougal had outright refused to participate in the battle and had remained outside the castle wall until it was over. When Lyall had confronted his nephew, he'd had the nerve to say, "I'm nay a coward, Uncle, but I dinnae believe in killing innocent people," which earned him a hard fist to the jaw.

  Then there had been the unfortunate matter of the lass. Lyall had grown tired of her swooning every time he looked her way. The screams he had not minded and had much preferred those to her seemingly lifeless form. Lyall had given her to his men to do with as they saw fit, but his nephew had come to her aid, daring a single man to touch her, and had stayed by her side, with sword drawn, to see that no one did. He snorted. If the boy's father had not been his own brother, he would never have believed the lad's veins carried a single drop of Campbell blood. He was naught but an embarrassment to his own clan.

  Drawing his cloak around him, he opened the door leading outside into the bailey, stepped into the knee-deep snow, and frowned. More than likely, they would be staying where they were for another day or two—at least. Once he finished relieving himself, he made his way to the stables to see to his horse, as he had not done so the night before. The stallion needed to be well fed, for the blasted steed would need all his strength to get him home in such poor conditions. Besides, he had paid a hefty price for the ornery bastard. Deamhan, he called him, and a devil he was. Lyall had taken the flat edge of his blade to the horse's rump more than a few times since he had purchased him, six months ago.

  The stable door had been left open, and his guards were nowhere to be seen. He peered into the stalls but did not see the stallion among the other horses. His anger boiled. Cursing under his breath, he went in search of the two whoresons he had left to tend the horses. He found them in the hayloft fast asleep. "Where the hell is my horse?" he roared, aiming a few good kicks at their ribs.

  Bert crawled to his feet, clutching his side. "The stallion was tethered outside the first stall when I saw him last, chief."

  Gus nodded his agreement.

  Lyall growled. "Did I not order you two fools to unsaddle him, feed him and put him in a stall?"

  "We tried, chief, but the beast bit me," Gus shoved up his sleeve, where a black bruise covered his forearm.

  Bert yanked up his belted plaid, exposing a horseshoe-shaped bruise on his thigh. "See where the ornery devil kicked me? Gus and m'self thought it best to leave him be and feed him where he stood afore he killed us."

  He grabbed each man by the shoulder, digging his nails in until they winced. "If you worthless curs have allowed my prize warhorse to be stolen, I'll have both your hides." He turned them loose, then spun around and went back down the ladder.

  "I swear, chief. He was tethered right there." Bert pointed as he paused on a rung.

  Lyall raised a brow, as he plucked a palm-sized piece of white fur and dark wool fabric from a nail. "What the hell?" he muttered to himself, rubbing it between his fingers. Ermine? He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. Roses. Only a lady would be wealthy enough to wear ermine, or smell like roses. Was it possible the MacGregor lass had taken his horse? Was that the reason she had been found nowhere inside the castle? He walked outside the stables and searched about until he found what he was looking for. Although partially covered with snow, the small print of a lady's boot was clear, alongside that of his stallion's large hoof. He could tell it was his horse by the notch in the shoe. Clenching the bit of fabric in his fist, he hurried back to the great hall.

  "Get up, ye lazy bastards," he roared, sending his men scrambling to life and to their feet.

  "I want every inch of this place searched and bring me who you find."

  Gil, his warlord, walked up beside him, scratching his head of red hair. "Is something amiss, Lyall?"

  "Aye. That devil horse of mine is missing, and I've a hunch MacGregor's daughter is the one who took him."

  He raised a brow and stared at Lyall as if he were daft. "What gives ye reason to think such a thing? If the lass had tried to ride him, he'd have surely stomped her to death. Ye and I both ken what a willful beast that stallion is."

  Lyall nodded, but his mind was not about to be so easily changed. He opened his hand. "See this? 'Twas caught on a nail where the horse was tethered. It smells of roses, and no one, save the wealthy, can afford to wear ermine. I also found the print of a finely crafted boot, one that only a lady would wear. If she's not found inside the castle, I'll ken 'twas her, but I cannae for the life of me figure out how she managed to ride that black devil without getting herself killed. If the stallion hasnae already taken care of the MacGregor wench, by the time I find them, I'll be more than eager to oblige."

  WITH THE LONG SHADOWS of impending nightfall blanketing the land, Ceana had nigh given up all hope of finding shelter, when a tiny cottage came into view. The gray smoke curling above the roof beckoned her, for she knew its source would provide her with much needed warmth. As she neared the house, the delicious aroma of baking bread caused her stomach to rumble. Her own meager amount of bread and cheese had been finished off earlier that day.

  As she neared the house, she thought of asking the people in
side for a bite to eat and shelter for the night, but decided against it. What if they were Campbell allies? Or from another clan who despised her people? Nay. The byre would have to do. She slipped from Cree's back and quietly opened the door, then led him inside. At least there they would be dry and out of the bone-chilling wind.

  Tethering the horse to a post supporting the tiny shed, she drew the ermine cloak tightly around her and curled beneath the thick pile of hay in the corner, while Cree greedily ate his fill nearby. The milk cow in the adjacent stall did not seem to mind having them as guests, nor sharing her meal.

  Having been traveling since before daylight, Ceana was bone-weary, and exhaustion pulled her into a deep sleep. She did not open her eyes again until voices inside the cottage woke her early the following morning. Not wishing to be caught hiding in the byre like a common thief, she quickly untied Cree and led him outside, then quietly fastened the door behind them. Balancing on a less than sturdy three-legged milk stool, she mounted the warhorse. As she rode away from the cottage, Ceana prayed no one inside had noticed her departure. If so, they knew the direction in which she had gone, and if indeed they were a Campbell ally, they would soon know, as well.

  By afternoon, her stomach growled and pained from hunger, and she knew she would need to find food soon, for she was becoming lightheaded. She rode the horse down to the edge of a partially frozen loch to allow him to drink. The strong scent of smoke filled the air, and she searched for its source. A short distance down the loch, a fire burned, and a large trout cooked over it. When she caught a whiff on the wind, her mouth watered at the delicious aroma. She prayed whomever the camp belonged to was friendly and would not mind to share a small portion of their meal with her.