Chapter 1
Chapter One
Rain filtered
through the thick canopy of trees in the forest, drenching the man
who stood as still as a statue. Jamie’s gaze was fixed on the
courtyard of the fortress looming before him. For nearly two hours
he had watched as the mounted men arrived, one after another, to
disappear inside the sprawling Gordon manor house.
These would be the sons, he decided. He knew
there were four of them, though so far he could account for only
three. They, along with the old chieftain, Douglas Gordon, would
prove formidable opponents. But if he could get the fierce old
warrior and his sons to work with him, they would bring a dozen
fractious clans along with them. First he would have to get their
attention; no easy task, since they respected no one outside their
own blood. Then the trick would be to force them to sit still long
enough to hear what he had to say. With so many of them, he was apt
to find himself at the point of a sword before his first words
could be spoken.
Jamie touched a hand to the stiffness of his
shoulder, the lingering effects of an old battle wound. All those
hours in the saddle, and now the rain that chilled him clear to the
bone, were taking their toll. He yearned for a warm fire and a soft
bed. With a trace of impatience he shook his head to clear his mind
of such annoying thoughts. He could not afford to allow himself any
distractions.
These Gordons were fighters like himself.
They would not willingly listen to talk of peace among the Highland
clans. Nor would they respect a man who came, hat in hand, to ask
their help. It would take bold measures to get their attention. And
even bolder measures to enlist their aid. He had not yet decided
just what those bold measures would be.
Out of the comer of his eye he saw a sudden
movement and forced himself to remain motionless. As the rider
passed, Jamie noted the stubble of dark beard in a brooding,
handsome face. The lad’s hat was worn at a rakish angle. His dark
eyes gleamed with the sleek, smug look of a cat that had just
stolen his master’s cream. This would be Donald Gordon, the second
son, a rebel, and by all accounts a man who loved the wenches.
Jamie gave a satisfied nod. At last all the
sons were accounted for. Now he would wait and watch for an
opportunity to catch them unawares.
* * *
“So, laddie, you’ve finally come home.”
Murray Gordon, touching a hand to his newly cultivated beard, gave
his brother a lingering look. “We were just about to break our
fast. You’d best have an explanation ready. Father was planning to
have Robbie and Neal comb the village until they found you even if
it meant searching every maiden’s bed.”
Donald Gordon gave his elder brother a wink.
“They’d have had to look no farther than the widow Lennox’s
cottage.’’
“The widow Lennox?” Murray’s mouth dropped
before he added, “Have you cut such a swath through the eligible
wenches that you are now reduced to the charms of that plump
baggage?”
Donald threw back his head and roared. “Not
the widow, you dolt. Her fetching daughter.”
Murray shot him a withering look. “Why, she’s
no more than a child.”
“A child?” Donald tossed his cloak on a peg
and shook the rain from his hair. Turning to his brother he said
with a grin, “While you were looking the other way, that child grew
into a very charming lass.” He dropped his arm around Murray’s
shoulder as they strode toward the refectory. “And believe me, she
was most eager that I sample all her charms.”
Both men threw back their heads and roared.
The laughter died on their lips when they caught sight of the stern
countenance of their father. Douglas Gordon, seated at the head of
the table, speared them with a look of righteous anger.
“How kind of you to spare your family a few
moments of your precious time, Donald. It seems you can no longer
sleep in your own bed.”
“There are so many more—interesting beds in
the village,” Donald said as he seated himself.
Douglas slammed his fist on the table,
sending the dishes clattering. Everyone in the room fell
silent.
“Have I raised a son, or a rutting goat?”
“By all accounts, Father, I am merely
following in your glorious footsteps.”
Someone snickered.
Douglas Gordon’s eyes narrowed. It was clear
the lad had touched a nerve. He spoke in a tone of regret. “Aye. I
fear I was guilty of wenching in my youth.”
He fell silent as his only daughter circled
the table to fill his goblet. His gaze softened. How like his dear
wife Lindsey had become. She had inherited her mother’s thick,
auburn hair, framing the face of an angel. Her slight, slender
stature seemed even more pronounced because of a limp, which was
only noticeable when Lindsey was agitated or weary. It was the
result of a childhood injury that had nearly devastated her loving
parents.
Her mother had died when Lindsey was but a
child, and Douglas had done what any father would do; he had simply
taken the girl with him and treated her the same way he treated his
sons. The lass, surrounded by a warrior father and four brothers,
had abandoned all attempts at feminine pursuits.
Despite her physical frailty, the lass
possessed an indomitable spirit and a bright, logical mind. She had
mastered the use of small weapons as easily as her brothers. The
broadsword and longbow, however, required more strength than she
possessed.
Douglas knew that if she had been born a
male, she would have been his first choice to inherit the
leadership of this fierce clan.
Realizing his family had grown uncomfortably
silent, Douglas struggled to pull himself back from his somber
thoughts. “My wenching ended the moment I met Diedre. I want you to
know that from then on, there was never another lass who could turn
my head.”
Hearing the pain in his tone, Lindsey Gordon
brushed a kiss over her father’s shaggy eyebrow. “Aye. I remember
the love shining between the two of you. We all share your pain.”
Her warning gaze swept her brothers around the table. “Do we
not?”
“ ‘Twas a love like no other,” Murray said in
quick agreement.
Lindsey signaled to a servant, who filled the
other goblets.
“When I meet the woman of my dreams, my
wenching days will be over as well,” Donald said defiantly.
His words were greeted with hoots of laughter
from his sister and brothers.
“The woman of your dreams.” Neal, the
youngest, turned to the brother closest in age to him, whose
sun-kissed hair and fair features caused many a village lass to
turn and stare. “Tell me, Robbie. Has Donald been reading your
poetry?”
“ ‘Twould seem so. Tell us about this dream
vision,” Robbie said, winking at his sister as she took the seat
beside him.
“It wouldn’t do to fill your head. You’d best
keep your thoughts on those pretty words you write, Rob. And leave
the wenches to me.”
Lindsey joined in the laughter. “Describe
this woman to me, Donald. Mayhap I will find her for you among the
village wenches.”
“I need no help from my sister to find my
future wife.” Donald lifted his goblet, ignoring the jeers of
laughter from the others.
“Will she have big—eyes, like the widow
Lennox?”
Even Donald found himself laughing at that.
But one look at his father’s face wiped the smile from his lips.
Usually the old man was the first to join in the laughter and
teasing. But this day he was in a somber mood.
“What is it, Father? What troubles you this
morrow?”
‘We speak of foolishness while there are
rumors of turmoil at Holyrood.”
“Turmoil.” At the mention of Holyrood, the
queen’s residence in Edinburgh, Murray’s head came up sharply.
“What have you heard?”
“Rumors. Gossip. No one seems to know
anything. But ’tis whispered that the queen and her husband are far
from happy.”
“Is there not soon to be a child?” Lindsey
asked.
“Aye.”
“Then what can be wrong? They are so newly
wed.”
“There are those who say the queen’s foolish
young husband, Lord Darnley, would make our Donald look like a mere
jester among the women at court.” He glanced around the table at
his children. “If such whispers have reached us here in the
Highlands, do you not think Queen Mary herself has heard the
rumors? And is surely disheartened by them?”
Neal, the youngest, broke the silence. “Mary
is queen. Can she not command Darnley to love only her?”
Everyone burst into peals of laughter.
Lindsey touched a hand to his cheek, but he pulled away sharply,
embarrassed to be petted like a child. He was, after all, ten and
six years, and taller than two of his brothers. Only Donald was
taller, taller even than their father.
“Why does that amuse all of you?”
“Because,” Lindsey said patiently, “even the
queen cannot command someone to love her. Love cannot be ordered
about. Love just happens, without reason.”
“And how would you know about such things?”
Murray asked. As the eldest, he felt a keen sense of responsibility
toward his sister. She was, after all, still a maiden.
“Mayhap she has been reading your poetry,
Robbie,” Neal called out with a laugh.
“What care I about love?” Lindsey snatched up
her goblet, suddenly stung by their teasing. “ ’Twould only mean
having another man underfoot.”
“That would not be the worst thing to happen
to you,” Donald said with a sly laugh. “It is time you gave some
thought to taking a husband and filling this old house with
children.”
“I thought I would save that privilege for
you, Donald. Since there are so many willing maidens hoping to
catch your eye.”
“If the truth be told, there are far too many
to make a choice. You, on the other hand, have had so little
experience with the lads, any sturdy bumpkin should do nicely.
Perhaps you would like us to pick him out for you.”
“I shall do my own choosing, thank you.”
Lindsey pushed away from the table. “If you will excuse me, Father,
I will see to the servants preparing our meal.”
“Aye, lass.” Douglas watched as she flounced