Glencoe
A Romance Of Scotland
by
Muireall Donald
Laughing Owl Publishing, Inc.
Glencoe: A Romance of Scotland © 1998
By Muriel Donald. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from Laughing Owl Publishing, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and review.
This is a work of fiction. The characters and events described in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, as are those fictionalized events and incidents which involve real persons and did not occur or are set in the future. Their inclusion in this book is intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity.
FIRST EDITION First Printing, 1997
Cover art and design: Laughing Owl Publishing, Inc.
ISBN: 0-9659701-3-2
LCCN : 97-073403
CHAPTER 1
Edinburgh
January, 1693
A woman’s low, throaty laughter drifted down a curved stairwell. In the entryway below, a man named Niall MacDonald paused before ascending the stairs, listening to the admiring murmurs issuing from within the lady’s drawing room. Niall indulged himself in the momentary enjoyment of a fragrant scent permeating the hallway, borne by opulent blooms of purple and dark vibrant blue heather stuck casually in cloisonné vases. The lady’s hand was evident in the careless arrangement of flowers, similar to her whimsical attitude toward the men she collected.
Niall took an extra moment before announcing his arrival in her home, paying a silent homage to the seductive talents of Maire Douglas. Her receptions were well known throughout Scotland; her power to ruin reputations, legendary.
In Edinburgh, where political liaisons were as changeable as the fierce winds of the Highlands, Maire’s skill in being at the center of current intrigues and conspiracies afforded Niall rare access to the secrets of King William’s court. The gossip of Edinburgh’s noble ladies and the pillow talk of its most powerful men were substantial gifts, dropping like jewels from Maire’s soft red lips. There were those who suspected her of being wanton, but no one, so far as Niall was aware, knew her for a spy.
Niall handed his walking stick to the parlor maid and took the stairs with three great strides. He entered the small foyer that led to Maire’s rooms and bowed slightly to the gentleman just leaving.
"MacDonald," said the Englishman stiffly, inclining his head.
"Sir." Niall spared but a cursory greeting for the man. His glance went eagerly to the room beyond, where Maire reclined on a chaise. As Niall joined her, lifting her hand to his lips, he heard the Englishman snort.
The departing guest, head held high, took his time descending the stairs. Niall waited to speak until he was certain the Sassenach was listening outside the doorway.
"Lady Douglas, thank you for seeing me. I came as soon as I settled into my rooms."
"How perfectly wonderful of you to visit me," Maire crooned, winking licentiously at him. "Especially since you have neglected me for the past year." She assessed him with pleasure, her eyes lingering on the well shaped calves beneath his green and white plaid. He had invaded her dreams far too long, and no other man even came close to firing her imagination the way Niall MacDonald did. Maire’s catlike green eyes narrowed; it was past time to remedy the matter.
"I could stay away no longer." He cast a watchful glance over his shoulder.
They heard the entry door slam downstairs, and Maire covered her mouth to stave off a fit of giggles.
"Poor Charlie," she said at last. "He so wants to believe that he alone holds my heart." She sent Niall a measuring glance. Perhaps his return signified a desire to take up their alliance where he had left it. Her skin heated at the thought.
"A dangerous desire for a Sassenach," Niall said with an answering grin. "One that will cost him his own heart, should he seek to act on it." He rose and walked to the window, twitching the lace curtains aside to watch as ‘poor Charlie’ drove away in his carriage.
"Not so dangerous, I think, as the look in your eye." Maire raised a peach colored silk fan to her face and waved it gently. "The English are here to stay, you know, so long as our good king reigns."
"And not a moment longer than that." Niall turned back to face her. "Tell me, Maire, how is it that you alone in all of Scotland are possessed of heather? ‘Twill be more than a half-year before the hills are purple."
"Having a wealthy Englishman for a friend has many advantages. My heather comes from a hothouse in France. Dear Charlie knows it is my favorite flower, and he indulges me terribly." The corner of her mouth turned up in a sly smile.
"Enough of Charlie. What news have you?"
She lifted her yellow flounced silk skirt, affording him a glimpse of slender white-stockinged ankle as she stood to pour him a cup of mulled cider. She smelled of lavender scented toilet water and sweet wine, an intoxicating mixture for any man, be he Scot or Sassenach.
"Is it only news that you want, Niall?" Maire handed him the steaming drink. "‘Tis a sad remark on my efforts, that you alone of all Edinburgh do not fall at my feet. Tell me, what is it that I do wrong? Only a year ago, you were all afire for me. Given but a little more time..." her voice trailed away in a sigh.
Only a year ago, he thought. Niall studied the woman before him. The passing of time had only enhanced her charm. He spared a moment’s pity for poor Charlie, her latest amusement. Let Charlie have the pleasure of drowning himself in Maire’s honey. Niall had no desire to repeat the experience. Only a year ago. He thought of all that momentary dalliance with Maire had cost, and his lips curled back in what might have passed as a smile.
He took the cup from her, sniffing appreciatively at the blend of whiskey and pale cider rising from the brew. "This will chase the shivers away, lass. Here’s to the retreat of the English." He drank it down in one large gulp and set the cup noisily upon a marble-topped table.
"Now. What news?" He sat down on the settee across from her, crushing several delicate tapestry cushions in the process.
Maire sat too, and arranged her black curls over one shoulder. "The usual sort of tattle. I do grow tired of hearing about Lord Sinclair’s newest horse and Lady Glensin’s latest lover." She paused and touched one long, sculpted fingertip to her right cheek. "I seem to recall, though, that your poor dead uncle’s neighbor, Robert Campbell, is to receive a promotion soon. He may also be given a wardship over the lands of Glencoe. "Tis whispered that Breadalbane arranged it all."
"With King William’s sanction." Niall scowled. His heavy black brows met across his forehead. "They willna find Glencoe so easy a target, even with my uncle MacIaian dead and his sons scattered."
"Perhaps not," Maire said, idly examining the amber and silver ring on her right index finger. "But Campbell of Argyll will be seeking satisfaction for the slight suffered by his ward at the hands of one of your surviving kin. The lass rode alone to the village and was accosted by a man wearing a MacDonald plaid. Argyll’s compassion toward your clan stops short when he feels his generosity has been thrown back at him."
"He did help to relocate some of the folk, and has sent several wagons full of provisions. That will cease, if what you tell me is true. Was the girl raped?" Niall asked with a frown.
"I think not, merely frightened. The man asked for alms and she laughed at him." Maire shrugged. "He pulled her from her horse and shook her roundly for her rudeness. To any other lord it would be a small matter, easily resolved. I doubt such an outcome in this case."
"They are starving in the hills." Niall said. He rose from the settee and paced the room, stopping before the mullioned windows that looked out toward Holyrood. His fist closed around the delicate curtains. "Can the Campbells leave us no dignity? It’s enough that they slaughtered my uncle in his own hall last year. I’ve bided hard since, waiting for the opportunity to repay Robert Campbell."
Maire went to him, reaching out to stroke his hand softly, her pale, cool fingers barely grazing the top of his whitened knuckles.
"‘Tis not time for you to plan revenge," she argued. "This rivalry between the two clans was ancient before Robert Campbell or MacIaian Donald were ever born. You must let your cousins, John and Alasdair, decide what is best. They have been pardoned. Isn’t it enough?"
Niall stared at the dainty hand resting atop his hand. He released the curtains, sliding his palm out from under her touch.
Maire stiffened, and folded her hands across her tiny waist. It was clear he had not come to Edinburgh simply to be with her. Pride made her eyes widen slightly, her lips curve up in a slight pout.
"Be realistic, my dear," she said, her voice light and indifferent. "Your cousins are no longer outlaws. Wait for them to return home. Let them avenge their father’s honor."
Staring into the past, remembering the dead he had buried a year ago, Niall did not answer. The time for waiting was past. King William’s infamous oath of loyalty was a matter of strife throughout Scotland. The Highland chiefs were the last ones to hold out against it, the only Scots with any honor remaining. They would have a Scottish king or no king at all. His uncle MacIaian died for his views, speaking out where others reluctantly conceded.
And now Niall’s kin were paying the price.
"I canna allow Campbell to ride against the few remaining people at Glencoe," Niall said at last. "The snow is hard upon the Highlands and the clan is hungry. Damn! Why couldna the girl have ridden on past? Is there aught else I should know?"
Maire shrugged again, her white shoulder lifting prettily under its soft pale sleeve. "Campbell of Breadalbane is not a man to play with, Niall. He took oath to the King that he would clear Glencoe of traitors. Now those traitors have threatened the ward of Argyll, the very man who acted as their benefactor. It will not be easy for you there. Few of your kin remain, only a handful."
She turned the full force of her pleading gaze on him. "Think, Niall. Can you lead an attack on Robert Campbell with so few? For you can be certain, Breadalbane will have a hand in this, too. He surely has already sent his condolences to the Earl of Argyll, and Robert is but their poppet, dancing to whatever tune they order played."
She watched Niall carefully, noting for perhaps the hundredth time the graceful strength of his arms and the proud glare of his hooded black eyes. She and Niall were so alike in appearance, with their shining black hair and resolute expression, that many had mistaken them for brother and sister. Once, she remembered with a pang, they had been closer than that.
As though reading her mind, Niall stepped away from her and resumed his position on the settee. When at last he looked at her, Maire smiled with sweet tolerance.
"You know that I am right."
"The clan has little left to lose," Niall said. "Such stakes make the possible rewards all the more desirable."
The door downstairs opened and closed again and a draft of cold air rushed up to the small sitting room. Maire shivered delicately. "Arygll is enraged over the insult to his ward. Do tell the men to remember that, Niall. You cannot afford to lose any more of your family."
"Especially over a Campbell brat," Niall agreed. He crossed his legs at the ankle and the green and white plaid settled snugly around his thighs.
Maire looked away from him and fanned herself again.
"She is comely and spirited, I hear, given to riding alone when the mood strikes her. ‘Tis said to infuriate Robert, who has been given the guardianship of both her and her sister."
"She is a Campbell," he repeated, "no doubt possessed of bad teeth and a pocked complexion."
"How discourteous of you." She wrapped a lacy shawl about her shoulders. "I will be so glad to see the last of the winter," she vowed, affecting a disinterest in the subject of the feud.
They heard her maid run lightly up the stairs. "Beg your pardon, ma’am," the girl bobbed her head. "But this here’s a letter for you from that Lady Cathaleen."
Maire raised her eyebrows. "Do you refer to Lady Cathlan, child? Try to get the name right, details are so important." She reached for the packet and the servant dropped it into Maire’s outstretched hand.
The maid curtseyed, then ran out of the room.
"I see your attitude toward the servants has not improved," Niall said. He knew her far too well, his questing black eyes missed nothing.
Maire lifted her chin and stared at him defensively. "The girl is English and of little use other than to provide me with occasional bits of gossip."
"Are you going to open it?" he asked, frowning at her delay.
She turned it over in her hands, remembering the last letter she received from her friend. Niall had been attending her then, also. Their delay in reading that letter had cost him dearly. But it had cost her his companionship.
She cast the missive onto her dressing table. "I know the contents of this one. An invitation to her ball. Lady Cathlan feels I am long past the desired age of being married. She continually seeks to help me out of my doleful state."
"And you continually resist her help. How uncharitable of you." Niall smiled. He crossed the room and took Maire’s hand. "Thank you for your help. I must leave you now, to arrange for my return to Glencoe."
He smiled wickedly, showing the edges of his white teeth. "As always, it has been a rare treat."
"You might stay to amuse me," Maire pouted. "I shall have to send for Charlie again, I suppose, to divert me from my boredom. Really, Niall, you just arrived and now you are leaving again? It is too bad of you." She sat down on the settee he had vacated, petulance covering the longing in her heart.
"You bored? Never. Not while there’s a living man within smiling distance." Niall kissed her hand and returned it to her lap. "You know why I do not stay."
"It was a tragic accident, Niall. You had no way of knowing what lay in that letter. No one could blame you. And you have not censured me for my part in it. Can we not go back to where we were?" Maire counted five heartbeats before he answered. Her beringed fingers clenched the silk of her skirt.
"You were not responsible," he said heavily. "I am Highland. That makes me responsible, and I can never go back. Have a good time at the ball. But don’t get married, Maire. Thousands of hearts would break at the news."
Niall turned, ignoring the sudden sadness he saw filling her dark blue eyes. There was nothing he could say to lessen her disappointment, no gesture he could make to put things back they way they were a year ago. He was a different man now, one with no time or inclination for dangerous indiscretions.
He left her house in a swirl of plaid, a heavy dark green cloak thrown over one shoulder to ward off the biting north wind.
Plans for evening the odds against Robert Campbell churned through Niall’s mind. The man was only the instrument of his superiors, of course, but it was Robert who had accepted MacIaian’s hospitality. He had eaten MacDonald food and slept in the MacDonald hall. Then he had raised his men in the dark of night to run their swords through the clan in the worst breach of Highland honor ever known. Had it not been for Robert’s own piper, who played a warning that night, and the personal integrity of a few of his men who helped their hosts escape, the entire glen would have been massacred along with their chief.
There could never be a true reckoning, not with so many dead and dishonored. Retribution was not totally within Niall’s grasp, not against the powerful Campbell clan. The best he could do was make them uncomfortable, and prick at their damned crooked-mouth Campbell pride.
Of a certainty, he could do that. And he would start with the Campbell brat who made a habit of riding alone against the orders of her guardian. Holding Robert’s ward hostage would insure a fine ransom, one that would easily see Niall’s clan through the rest of the winter and even beyond, if he were canny enough to strike a good bargain.