Duty of the Chieftain - a Highland 'Lord's Right of the First Night' novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #3) (5 page)

"
I am riding home this day!" she cried, so frightened by the men who crowded close enough to trample on her hems that she began slapping at their chests.  "Stand aside, I tell you!"

R
anald’s towering figure came through the ranks to stand over her.  "My men guard your life, Elinor Keirston.  Be gentle with them, aye?"

T
he circle moved suddenly, with Elinor lost to sight in the middle.  She could do nothing but move with the throng, her protests lost among the men’s loud bantering, and blind to anything beyond the array of leather vests until they arrived at the boat and she found herself lifted bodily aboard by Ranald.

He carried her down the wooden steps into the
captain’s cabin, deposited her unceremoniously on the chair and left her to her tantrum.

Ranald was on deck when
Ginny appeared, negotiating barrels and ropes to reach him, and newly dainty in her step to hansel the gown he'd last seen some years ago on his sister.

N
o fool, the Ginny one, for many of her kind would have grabbed the silks for the look of them and never mind the offshore winds.  She'd chosen the warmth of velvet to wear at sea, and a woollen cloak which matched in both color and moth-holes.

"
Well, lass, has the Lady Elinor stopped her noise yet?"

"
Nay, milord," she answered, curtsying.  "She sends word that ye're away the wrong road entirely."  She dipped another little curtsy, thrilled to be of such personal service to the chieftain and wanting to do everything to please him.  The Lady Elinor's ranting mattered not a whit to her if he showed no care.

"Tel
l her we are headed for the Prison Island.  Protect your head after ye say it, and get out the cabin quick."

"
Thank ye, milord!"  She curtsied yet again, losing her balance completely as the boat hit a wave full on.

R
anald grasped two handfuls of skirts and hoisted her upright.

"
Ginny, it is only the fish will pay heed to yer etiquette here, for ye will tip over the side afore noon if you do no' cease that infernal curtsying every minute.  No more until we are on land again, do ye hear?"

"
As ye say, milord!"  She halted herself in mid-bob, remembering what she'd only just been told, and inclined her head to her master as she'd seen his guardsmen do.

Dougall
appeared at Ranald's side, summoned by a glance once she was gone below deck.  "Yer betrothed is skittish as a foal new out the stable," said Ranald.  "Can ye help with that?"

"
Oh aye," said the steward.  "She'll settle well with a cuddling in, if ye'll give me a minute."

"Carry on, man
!  Ye may keep her at yer side until we reach the island, and see that I am disturbed by none at all whilst I speak with the Lady Elinor."

Women.  One on board needed a man's embrace to calm her, and the other was hysterical for
much the same reason.  Maybe he should be taking lessons from Dougall.

Ranald found Elinor sitting mi
serably in the captain's chair.  At once he was reminded of the previous day in his room when he'd received a better welcome.  Taking the berth, it being the only other seating available, he waited benignly for her to fill the silence.  Women always did.

Elinor did not.

"Do ye know what my clan use the Prison Island for?"  He kept his voice even and pleasant, and watched her face redden.

"A prison," she said stiffly.

"It is more than a prison, being far out of earshot.  It is where we question captives, so that the clansfolk are no' disturbed by their screams.  How long were ye wed to Sir Alain Douglas?"

Elinor
flinched and turned to look out the little square of window, denying him any answer.  The boat nudged against the quay of the tiny island, and she could see sailors busy with ropes and greetings and provisions.

Ra
nald stood up carefully, aware that his height exceeded that of the cabin.

"
Come and see another trade."  He stood over her, and she accepted his offered hand, knowing she had little option in spite of his amiable tone.

On
the quayside, her arm was once again unwillingly linked with Ranald's as they strolled towards a small stone keep.  A soldier appeared from its entrance.

"
Symon, guid man!  How goes it?"

"Guid enough
, chieftain," the soldier replied, distracted by the unusual sight of a proper lady on the island.

"L
ady Elinor, this is Symon, retired from honorable service in the king's army.  Take us in, man.  My father tells me you have Euan as guest yet again."

I
nside the tower, the guest sat chained to the far wall in a puddle of filth of his own making and with several rats eating the stale food placed out of his reach.  Ranald kept tight hold of Elinor's arm lest her shuddering turn to swoon.

"
Symon here is as fine a jailer as ye'll meet.  Who does the job down at Fordnethan and Keirston for ye, Elinor?  Have ye the power of pit and gallows there?"

"
The... the Douglases attend to such matters..."

"
Then I would recommend ye take a personal interest in the choosing of your jailers.  We had one that hurt the prisoners just for his own pleasure, and that's a queer sort.  Our men take turns here, for we do not want a man who would choose it as his trade.  Best to inspect the wife with her back bared.  As a judgement, ye understand.  Symon hurts none lest there is no other way."

"
Please, I would return to the boat now..."

"Stay
a bit longer!  You might be the last pretty sight this spy sees.  Look how glad he is of yer merrisome company.  And here – let me show ye the tools of Symon’s trade."

Turning
Elinor to a selection of torture instruments, he felt her fingers dig into his arm.  Over his shoulder, he asked Symon, "Remind me which of these enticements ye use for women who speak ill."

S
ymon pointed to a rusted framework contraption with a sharp spike inside.

"Oh
aye, the Scold’s Bridle," said Ranald.  "Ye padlock it over a woman's head and she canna speak without the spike digging into her tongue.  Seldom used, by its look.  Our clanswomen were never like others.  When was the last time we had need of it?"

The old jailer
could see his chieftain was at a game, but could not fathom what amusement such a highborn lady would find in it.

"
I believe it would be for the dairymaid who wrongly miscalled the cattle drover.  Stripped naked and a public whipping, milord, and the Bridle put on her until the next moon."

"
Her that lost her tongue and never spoke thereafter?"

"
That's the one," said Symon.  "She wouldna keep it still even with the spike on it.  But she survived fine on milk."

Ranald nodded.  "
And which of your enticements are for those who refuse to speak?"

The jailer
turned almost full circle, displaying the array of implements with a sweep of his hand.  "All that ye see."

With a faint
"By your leave..."
Elinor jerked her arm free and ran outside, skirts flying as she made for the sanctuary of the boat.

Elinor
shook uncontrollably as she paced the small cabin, wondering how to even begin explaining as she now knew she must.

Stupid! 
Stupid
of her to have chosen Ranald MacKrannan on the whim of circumstance alone.  She'd thought the opportunity too provident to miss, for his esteem at court as a man of honor was legend.

Glad she
was that her marriage to the Earl of Maxton had been announced, and the other widows at court made no pretence of hiding their envy at her becoming a Countess.  An earl would more usually be given a young virgin.  Such irony…

That neither Maxton's words nor his
nearness had ever stirred one extra heartbeat in her was of no consequence.  Elinor's brief widowhood had shown her that no woman could manage alone in the Borders.

Her late husband's Douglas relatives treated Fordnethan Tower as a convenient halfway hostelry for their raids, taking away her guards and bringing back English retaliation. 
Keirston Tower and its lands, her dowry, was now being used as a Scots garrison and filled with soldiers.  Her people were frightened, the lands sacked by Scots and English alike, and the king's solution the best available.

Ford
nethan and Keirston would go to the Earl of Maxton, and so would she, and her people would be well protected thereafter.

Before she could wed him, however, she must
do something about her virginity.

No-one knew that her union with Alain Douglas had never been consummated
.  She had but little time in which to lose her maiden state before her wedding night with Maxton, and her stay at MacKrannan Castle had presented the ideal chance.

The Swordmaker's wedding had been rather beautiful in its simplicity.  After the fleet of galleys was sighted and Sir
Thommas announced the Lord's Right would be performed by the returning chieftain, she'd overheard a gaggle of maids talking excitedly of the MacKrannan brothers.  And when she met Agatha's maid with the bride in an upstairs corridor, it seemed her little problem could be solved much easier than she'd thought.

No need to throw herself at him at all.  Just allow herself to be breeched without any explanation whatsoever.  It would be over quickly, for
they'd both be expected at Hall for his homecoming supper.  And she might even find it somewhat enjoyable, if even half the gossip were true from either end of the country.

And afterwards?  Well, she'd just brazen it out, knowing he'd never tell a living soul.

Hardly had he entered his room but she knew exactly what the ladies of the court talked of.  Such presence, such raw manliness even before he'd disrobed but a pace away from her.  She'd felt her mouth open to catch her breath as he gazed down at her, his eyes piercing into her own as if opening up her heart for inspection.

She'd so nearly run off there and then.  Everything, even that first kiss, had been a revelation of all she had missed in her marriage to Sir Alain Douglas. 

She'd taken a gamble, and lost.  Where was MacKrannan’s honor now?  Where was the chieftain who demanded such discretion in his liaisons that not one of the court ladies would own to having known him beyond idle conversation, in spite of their blushes at his name?

It was all so different from the other
s they discussed.  At the mention of Ranald, the talk turned to whispers, all of it about 'a friend' here and 'an acquaintance' there but their descriptions and the shocking details were too intimate to be from a third party.

She'd kept silent, having neither clue to what peculiar meaning they attached to his words nor personal experience of the outrageous acts they spoke of, yet feeling excluded and wistful of the joy they related.

Last eve she had found out for herself just what sort of joy that was.  His attentions had been so ardent, and her heart jumped in remembrance at the strange feelings he had occasioned in her.