Chapter One #3
“You of all souls ought know that I cannot control what my taibhsearachd wishes me to see,” she said, stepping forward to take the parchment from his hand and return it to the table. “Had I known,
I would have told you. As is” — she paused to push her heavy, flame-colored braid over her shoulder — “I cannot understand
the force of your reaction. There have been many other offers, and you’ve ne’er been pleased, but you’ve always brushed them
aside. Ne’er have I seen you take to your solar in such a ferment.”
“A ferment?” Turning to the table, Duncan poured himself a hefty portion of good and strong uisge beatha, tossing down the fiery Highland spirits in one throat-burning swig. “Fermenting doesn’t begin to describe it,” he avowed,
slamming down the cup, then dragging his sleeve across his mouth. “Not in a thousand lifetimes.”
To his horror, his wife’s eyes filled with pity. Clearly misunderstanding the reason for his ire, she quickly took on her
Saint Linnet demeanor, clucking and cooing as she reached to adjust his plaid and smooth his shoulder- length, wind-tangled hair.
Sleek, gleaming black hair shot through with only a few streaks of silver, a matter of great satisfaction to him. Not that
he’d e’er admit his pleasure in retaining his youthful good looks. Or his tall, well-muscled form, his undisputed prowess
and continued ability to best any and all comers, regardless of age, boasts, or strength. His pride in still turning female
heads, at times even earning a few oohs and ahhs at his feats in the lists.
Och, nae, he wouldn’t admit that such things pleased him.
Far from it, he set his jaw and folded his arms against his wife’s coddling.
“If you find the thought of Gelis’s marrying so unpalatable, why not offer Arabella?” Linnet smiled encouragingly. “She is
the eldest, after all.”
Duncan snorted. “You read the missive. ’Tis Gelis they want, and no other. Word of her high-spiritedness clearly reached them
and” — he closed his eyes for a moment — “they’ll know, too, of Arabella’s calm. Seemly or no, it must be Gelis. Her fiery
blood has blazed like a beacon and caught the devil’s own eye!”
Drawing a tight breath, he glared at her. “And now I am to lose one daughter and offend the other!”
“Arabella will understand. And you must stop tying yourself in knots.” She fussed at his plaid again, the damnable sympathy
in her eyes worsening the twitch in his.
“For the love of Saint Columba, let it be,” he growled. “I willna have your pity.”
“You have my love,” she returned, deftly unfolding his arms and entwining her fingers in his. “And my constant adoration.
Though we have two daughters grown and well of an age to marry, my desire for you has ne’er lessened and shall ne’er lessen.”
She leaned close and kissed his cheek, the heathery scent of her hair swirling around him, almost letting him forget his turmoil.
Then she stepped back and angled her head, the measuring look in her eyes breaking the spell. “Your age will not increase
simply because Gelis becomes some man’s wife. She will still be your daughter and you shall e’er be —”
“Think you I am so riled because of age?” His brows shooting upward, Duncan stared at her, uncomfortably aware of the heat flashing up the back of his neck. “My
age, and even Gelis’s own, has little to do with it!”
“Indeed?” drawled a deep Sassunach voice from the shadows. “Then why do you feel a need to remind us? The saints know you’ve
made such a claim every time a new suitor has come to call.”
His day now wholly ruined, Duncan clamped his mouth shut and spun around to face the speaker. He was a tall, scar-faced knight
who leaned against the far wall, arms and legs casually crossed, sword at his hip, and such an air of imperturbability about
him that Duncan was certain that the heat flaming the back of his neck would soon shoot out his ears as steam.
“This is a different suitor.” Duncan’s head began to throb.
An annoyance that worsened when the other man pushed away from the wall and appropriated a chair, lowering himself into it
with a studied grace that was particularly annoying.
Especially since the chair was Duncan’s own.
Crossing the room in three angry strides, Duncan jammed his hands on his hips and stared down at his long-time friend. The
only soul who could dare show such insolence and live to tell the tale.
“What are you doing here?” Duncan took a step closer. “Have the southern boundaries of my territories gone so quiet that you
can leave Balkenzie for the sole pleasure of coming here to plague me?”
Sir Marmaduke Strongbow leaned back in the chair, steepled fingers slowly tapping his chin. A champion knight and staunch
supporter of the House MacKenzie, he affected as offended a look as his battle-scarred face allowed.
“You wound me,” he said, stretching his long legs toward the fire. “Balkenzie is ever held safe for you. And when I have business
elsewhere, my sweet lady wife is better at keepering than most men. As well you know.”
The Black Stag hurrumphed.
Sir Marmaduke pinned him with a stare.
“I will not contest Lady Caterine’s many talents,” Duncan conceded, restraining himself with effort. “Even so, you have yet
to tell me why you e’er seem to lurk about at the worst possible moments?”
Perchance to help you becalm yourself?
Duncan blinked, certain he’d heard the lout mutter such nonsense under his fool English breath. But his friend and good-brother
was merely studying his knuckles, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.
A smile that indicated he’d soon spew some sage wisdom that Duncan knew he didn’t want to hear.
“We’ve journeyed a long road together, and it grieves me to say this,” the other began, proving it. “But mayhap you should
be concerned about age if your memory serves you so poorly. I am here to collect your promised winter provender for Devorgilla.
Caterine and I set sail for Doon within a sennight and you’d offered —”
“I ken what I offered!” Duncan began pacing, furious he’d forgotten. “Not that she needs aught. I’d wager my sword that old
woman can spin porridge from moonglow and ale from sunshadows on the hills.”
Certain of it, he paused by one of the arched windows, his gaze stretching across Loch Duich’s glittering blue waters and
beyond, seeking a certain little-visited corner of Kintail.
The only tainted corner of his lands.
His back to the room, he swallowed hard, not wanting to admit the dread spreading through him, tightening his chest and robbing
him of breath. Only when he knew nary a sign of it would show on his face did he turn around, immediately scowling upon seeing
his wife presenting the Sassunach with a platter of oatcakes and cheese.
Just as she’d plied the courier from that place with good ale and a hot meal, even promising him a soft heather pallet before the hall’s fire.
Ne’er guessing the damnation the man had brought them.
His mood more sour than ever, Duncan folded his arms. “Mayhap I should venture along when you set sail for Doon,” he said,
ignoring his wife’s head-shaking in favor of throwing a dark look at his friend. “Perhaps the cailleach can toss together some toads’ warts and newts’ eyes, chant a few spelling words, and rid me of my troubles?”
His wife ceased her head-shaking at once. “Oh, Duncan, you are making your troubles,” she said, setting down the tray of oatcakes
and cheese.
“It scarce matters whether I am or not. Or if I traveled to Doon.” Tipping back his head, Duncan stared up at the heavy-beamed
ceiling, then at his wife. “I doubt even the great Devorgilla can undo the past.”
Linnet’s eyes widened. “The past?”
Duncan nodded. “So I have said. My own and that of Clan MacRuari.”
“The offer for Gelis came from the MacRuaris,” Sir Marmaduke observed, pushing to his feet. “The courier feasting on meat
pies and stewed eels in the hall is one of that ilk. I heard the name before I came abovestairs.”
Duncan frowned at him. “Be that as it may, this is one time when you are not privy to my affairs. Take heed before you speak
that name so easily.”
“ ’Tis a name I’ve never heard before.” The Sassunach slanted a glance at Linnet, but she only shrugged, her face echoing
his puzzlement.
“I knew naught of them either,” she said, her gaze lighting on the rolled parchment. “Not until their chieftain’s man rode
through our gates this morn.”
“Very few know of them.” Duncan took to pacing again, not surprised when two of his oldest hounds struggled to their feet
to trail after him. Named Telve and Troddan for two ancient broch towers in nearby Glenelg, the beasts always knew when his
moods were at their darkest. “From what I hear, the clan wishes it that way and” — he paused to shove a hand through his hair
— “for certes, they are best avoided.”
Sir Marmaduke snorted. “I see no reason for your concern, my friend. If you find the MacRuaris so unsavory, send their man
on his way. As you’ve done with all the others.”
Duncan sighed, his world contracting to a small, spinning place of misery.
Slowing his pace to match his dogs’ stiff-legged gaits, he slid a look at his lifelong friend and the woman he loved even
more than life, no longer caring if they could see into his soul, recognize the fears simmering there.
The saints knew he had good reason for them.
“I told you,” he began, directing his words at the Sassunach, “this suitor is different. He is a man like no other. The last
man I would see married to either of my girls. And” — Duncan pressed his fingers to his temples — “he is the one man I cannot
refuse.”
Linnet gasped.
Sir Marmaduke had the audacity to remain unmoved. His gaze flashed to Duncan’s great sword, the jeweled dirk thrust beneath
his belt. “Since when have you lacked the courage to decline an unwelcome marriage bid for one of your daughters?”
“They call him the Raven,” Duncan said as if his friend hadn’t spoken. “Ronan MacRuari is his given name. He is the scion
of a dark clan, his house the most blighted in all the land.”
Duncan paused, clearing his throat before his tongue refused to form the words. “I ought say my land, as they live hidden away in a bleak and empty corner of Kintail. Castle Dare is their home. A place I haven’t visited
in many a year. No man wishing to see the next day’s sunrise would willingly set foot there.”
“They are that evil?” Linnet sank onto a chair.
“They are that cursed,” Duncan amended, knowing the distinction made little difference. “Tradition claims they had a sorcerer
ancestor in their distant past. Maldred the Dire. An archdruid of such great wickedness his legacy has marked them, bringing
doom and grief to the clan all down the centuries.”
“Dear saints.” Linnet clapped a hand to her breast.
Sir Marmaduke frowned, already reaching for his sword. “You must refuse this offer by any means. I will postpone the journey
to Doon.” He stepped forward, patting his blade. “My sword arm is yours, as always.”
“Your sword arm is the last thing I’d want unleashed on the MacRuaris,” Duncan said, touched by his friend’s loyalty but well
aware that he couldn’t make use of it. “Such recourse is closed to me.”
“I do not understand.”
“You would if I’d spoken plainer words.”
“Then speak them,” his wife urged. “Please, I pray you.”
His heart heavy, Duncan went back to the table, helping himself this time to a cup of tepid ale. The drink’s staleness suited
him. He picked up the rolled parchment, only to let it drop again as if it’d been an adder and bit him. “The offer for Gelis
did not come from the Raven but from the man’s grandfather, the MacRuari chieftain. He is the man I cannot refuse, not his
grandson and heir.”
“Why can you not refuse him?” His wife came into his arms, holding him tightly. “Surely you can?”
“Nae, I cannot,” Duncan spoke true. “My honor forbids it.”
“Your honor?” Linnet pulled back to stare at him. “How can you speak of such a thing with your daughter’s life at stake?”
“Because,” Duncan told her, the truth breaking him, “without the valor of old MacRuari, I would not have a daughter. Not Gelis.
Not Arabella. Nor even you. Valdar MacRuari saved my life when I was a lad. I owe him that long-standing debt and now he is
wishing to claim it.”
“Oh.” The color left Linnet’s face. “Now I see.”
And Duncan saw that she did.
Honor was everything to a MacKenzie. Even death was preferable to forsaking it.
“Indeed, I see as well.” Sir Marmaduke sighed. “You have no choice.”
“Such is the way of it,” Duncan agreed, wishing it were otherwise. “As soon as arrangements can be made, Gelis must wed the
Raven. God help the man if aught befalls her.”