Authors: Highland Princess
“I suggest we not wait for the others, your grace,” Lachlan said as he jumped ashore, accompanied by a loud roll of thunder. “They’ll arrive soon enough, but the rain is coming down heavier, and I suspect we’ll have lightning soon.”
MacDonald nodded and led the way up a steep flight of rough-hewn steps to the castle’s front door, while fierce winds tugged and pulled at them. As the huge door clanged to behind them, the wind’s roar diminished.
The hall fire blazed brightly, and in the absence of wind, the place seemed welcoming. Lachlan said lightly, “Whilst we wait for the others, sir, perhaps you would like to show me the trick of that portcullis.”
“I don’t think so, lad. Not yet, at all events.”
The winds raged around Ardtornish Castle, as if trying to blow it right off its promontory, and the rain had attacked with vengeance. By the time Mairi and Elizabeth had managed to excuse themselves from Alasdair Stewart’s company, the need was so great to ready themselves for supper that it occurred to neither of them that MacDonald should have arrived home soon after they had.
They did not think of him until Lady Margaret entered the bedchamber to tell them she had ordered supper in the great chamber for the family and their most honored guests. Gillies would carry the food up from the kitchen in the new wing, rendering it unnecessary for anyone but servants and men-at-arms who would sleep in the great hall to venture out in the storm.
“But have you any idea what may be keeping your lord father so long?” she asked as she finished explaining her plan.
“Is he not here?” Mairi asked. “What of the others from Duart who were to follow us back?”
Lady Margaret shook her head. “The wind has grown dangerously strong,” she said. “They say it blows straight through the Sound, making the water wild enough to toss galleys about like children’s toys.”
“Was Ranald with his grace?” Mairi asked, unable to remember.
“Nay, he came back in an earlier boat.”
“I’m going to find him,” Mairi said, snatching up her cloak. The air outside would be icy, and if she did not find him inside, she would have to go out.
T
he storm struck with a fury that everyone enduring it would long remember, but nothing could have suited Lachlan’s purpose better. While the wind howled around Dunconnel and heaving seas crashed below, no one could touch them or interfere. To his further satisfaction, his men had found plentiful stores of food and drink, and the meal they prepared, while simple, was sufficient and tasty.
They ate in the castle hall, which, along with the entrance chamber, occupied most of the second floor. After supper, Lachlan, MacDonald, and their companions lingered over wine and brogac at the table where they had eaten.
MacDuffie, as hereditary record keeper to the Lord of the Isles, carried a small leather bag with him everywhere, and kept it beside him on the bench now. MacDonald and MacDougall sat with him, while Lochaber shared the bench on the other side of the table with Hector and Lachlan. The boatmen and the two lads who looked after Dunconnel ate at a second table.
Waited on throughout by his body servant, MacDonald looked as relaxed and comfortable as anyone in such an uncertain situation could look. Deciding the time had come to begin their discussion, Lachlan dismissed everyone to the floor below, except Hector and the three gentlemen who had accompanied MacDonald.
“What we want to discuss, sir,” he said, pouring the six of them more brogac after the others had gone, “concerns the future of the Lordship. What happened today will surely stir more trouble, because unless we can think of a way to stop Mackinnon’s kinsmen, they will declare a blood feud against Clan Gillean to avenge his death, regardless of its cause. You know that as well as we do.”
“Aye,” MacDonald agreed. “The Green Abbot’s bound to demand one, and mayhap do worse things himself. He’ll not sit quietly by, that one.”
“No,” Lachlan said. “We have all had a lucky escape from Mackinnon’s scheming, for I believe he intended more perfidy once he had me out of the way. I fear that greed had overcome his good sense. What your grace needs, I’m thinking, is an absolutely loyal, trustworthy man to act as your second in command.”
“Aye, sir,” Hector said softly. “’Twould be a good thing, that.” He had removed his battle-axe and other weapons to eat, and like MacDuffie with his leather satchel, had set the axe in its sling beside him. From time to time, idly, he stroked it with a finger or thumb. He was doing so now.
The stroking, as Lachlan knew well, was no more than habit formed over the years by a man who rarely let his great historical weapon out of his sight, but noting MacDougall’s gaze riveted to the axe and MacDonald’s drifting that way, he nearly cautioned Hector to mind what he was about.
The thought had no more than crossed his mind when MacDonald looked at him and said, “You suggest yourself as that alter ego, do you?”
Lachlan nodded. “I do, your grace, because I believe such an arrangement would benefit us all, but the decision must naturally be yours.”
“Exactly what do you propose?”
In another, less pragmatic leader, Lachlan would have suspected irony or at least a lack of sincerity in such a request. However, he knew the Lord of the Isles was not only practical but a realist and one, moreover, who had set aside his first wife to marry his second, in order to gain the benefits of Margaret Stewart’s close connection to the Crown for the Lordship and Clan Donald. Thus, he believed that MacDonald would listen now and judge his plan on its merits.
“What we all want is to protect the Lordship from further strife and Clan Gillean from Mackinnon hostility,” he said. “My proposal is to provide indisputable evidence that Clan Gillean enjoys your grace’s favor, so any attack on us equals an attack on the Lordship of the Isles. Any of several acts might send such a message.”
“Go on,” MacDonald said, glancing at MacDougall, who frowned heavily.
“I believe, for example,” Lachlan said, “that I could serve you well as High Admiral of the Isles and commander of your grace’s armed forces.”
“By God, lad,” MacDougall exclaimed, “you aim too high.”
MacDonald put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Let him continue.”
“Thank you, sir. I realize that I must seem presumptuous, but with me in command, your grace need never worry about routine military matters. Lord Ranald and Lord Godfrey are fine leaders, as we know, but they cannot be everywhere. They’d each still answer only to you, but with my vast network of political, social, and military intelligence, plus the loyal cooperation of nearly every Islesmen that would follow your grace’s endorsement of me, I can promise that your men will always be well armed, well equipped, and well led, and your ships well manned and seaworthy. Your Council of the Isles would then be free to deal with broader questions of policy and strategy that often now you must set aside to deal with time-consuming, less important details.”
Silence followed, but he did not attempt to break it, knowing that all four men were thinking over his words. He did not care what MacDougall, MacDuffie, or old Cameron thought, however. MacDonald was the only one who counted.
Outside the storm raged, flashing lightning and booming thunder, pounding against the stout stone walls as if wind, fire, and sound would devour them. Inside, silence reigned a few moments longer, and Hector continued to finger Lady Axe.
At last, MacDonald nodded and said, “Such an arrangement could provide a number of benefits.”
“Aye, it could,” Cameron of Lochaber said, his words measured, his aged brow heavily creased. “I’m thinking, though, that we may yet hear more than one version o’ what took place on the wharf at Craignure Bay.”
MacDougall nodded, seemed to catch himself, and then glanced at Hector before shifting his gaze with visible reluctance to Lachlan. “Dinna take offense, lad,” he said. “’Tis no so much doubting your word as wondering how others will look on such a demand coming so speedily upon Mackinnon’s startling demise.”
“Taking offense would do naught to persuade you that my word is good, sir,” Lachlan admitted. “But I’d remind you that we can produce witnesses, including at least five Mackinnon men who survived the battle.”
Hector said with an edge to his voice, “One may have more to tell us than mere details of today’s battle, your grace, because two of them testified against Ian Burk at Finlaggan. Only one survived, but I’m thinking, though I’ve no proof yet, that he may be able to tell us more about Elma MacCoun’s murder.”
“Faith,” MacDonald exclaimed, “can you honestly think Niall Mackinnon had aught to do with that tragedy? She fell.”
“What I’m thinking, sir, is that the prisoner, being one who laid information against a man who afterward proved innocent, may have more yet to tell us.”
“Aye, well, we’ll see then. Niall was an honorable man, and loyal for many years. Still, when we were younger, he did have a fond eye for beauty,” he added thoughtfully. “He may have indulged it again after his wife’s death. I saw no more than a glint in his eye, mind, but we’ll question that prisoner of yours thoroughly.”
Hector said, “I doubt that any of the men there today would dare lie to you about what happened, your grace.”
“They would not be the first if they did,” MacDonald said with what might have been a twinkle of humor. He turned to Lachlan, adding, “Such matters aside, I own that I find your argument persuasive. Naught can be gained by a blood feud between Macleans and Mackinnons, and much may well be lost.”
“I was certain that a man of your vision would quickly grasp the advantages of my proposal once I had explained it, sir,” Lachlan said. “’Tis plain that to be secure, the Lordship must be well and faithfully served.”
“I agree with that,” MacDonald said with perhaps the slightest touch of irony. “May I take it then that you have naught else to demand from me?”
MacDonald’s three companions seemed to stop breathing as they awaited Lachlan’s answer. This time the hitherto silent MacDuffie glanced at Hector, but that gentleman’s elbows were planted on the table, his chin resting on one fist.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling, Lachlan said, “I do want to discuss one other matter with you, your grace, a matter that is more important to me than any question of high position. Nevertheless, ’tis a proposal that if put into action would send the strongest message possible of your confidence in me and mine.”
“I see,” MacDonald said. “I believe I can guess what that is.”
“You need not guess, sir. I want the lady Mairi’s hand in marriage. She loves me, and I own that I care for her more strongly than I had thought it possible for any man to care for a woman.”
“So it is love between you now, is it?”
“I believe my feelings for her are as strong, if not stronger than yours for the lady Margaret when you offered for her,” Lachlan said. “And, too, such a union would strengthen the bonds of our kinship, a point always counted to the good.”
The glint in MacDonald’s eyes was sardonic now, as if perhaps he recalled feelings other than love when he had set one wife aside for the other, but he said only, “If my daughter still desires such a marriage, I’ll not withhold my consent.”
Lachlan stood, picked up the jug of brogac, and refilled each man’s goblet to the brim. “I propose then that we drink to your grace’s good health and future prosperity, as well as to that of your council and loyal allies, the sons of Gillean.”
When every man had emptied his goblet, Hector filled them again, so it was fortunate that MacDonald’s body servant entered not long afterward to replenish the fire, and remained to look after it and to keep their jugs and goblets full.
After a time, in a voice slurred with drink, MacDonald said, “By my troth, lad, I own that at the outset o’ this business I expected ye t’ demand the entire Lordship in return for our safety, what wi’ such boldness as you’ve shown today, and wi’ Hector the Ferocious thumbing that damned great axe o’ his as he were.”
Lachlan smiled. “Aye, sir, ’tis a bad habit Hector has, I’ll agree.”
“I suppose you’ll be wanting our agreement writ down now.”
“That must be as you wish, your grace, but I trust our witnesses, and yourself. I know you are all men of your word.”
“Aye, and ’tis no as if there were land grants involved,” MacDougall said.
Another silence fell before Lachlan said, “That must also be as your grace wishes, of course, but as you treasure your reputation for generosity, I am confident that you will not be sending your daughter into marriage empty-handed. Naturally, you will want to discuss settlements at some point, so if you like, I can save time by telling you now what heritable holdings would suit us best.”
Old Cameron cleared his throat and looked toward the ceiling.
MacDonald glanced at him, but said in his usual calm way, “I am curious what they may be. Is it Ardtornish or Aros that you seek?”
“Nay, sir, I’d prefer Duart, an it please you. ’Tis a better location for your high admiral’s seat, commanding as it does the Sound of Mull, the Firth of Lorn, and the entrance to Loch Linnhe. Moreover, my lass is partial to the Isle of Mull, so Duart would please her well. However—”
“Aye, we did expect a ‘however,’” Cameron interjected dryly.
“As I said,” Lachlan went on equably, “receiving Duart as part of her tocher would much please her ladyship. If you should likewise wonder what would please me, it would be to gain hereditary title to the four Isles of the Sea, and to serve you as captain and constable of Dunconnel here.”
“As a memento, doubtless, of the pleasant hours we have all spent here,” MacDougall said with a grimace.
“Just so, sir,” Lachlan agreed.
“And what of Hector the Ferocious? What wee memento would he like?”
Without missing a beat, Lachlan said, “Hector is likewise partial to the Isle of Mull, sir. I wager the hereditary rights to Lochbuie would please him well.”
MacDonald listened to the exchange silently, and that silence reigned for minutes afterward, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the soft, padding steps of the body servant as he moved around the table to refill goblets again.