Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A listair could feel Niamh’s tension growing as they approached the walls of Castle MacDuff. He sympathized. Whether Niamh knew it or not, she wasn’t the only one apprehensive about what would happen when they arrived at his home. There was no telling what had happened in his absence, and it worried him. Especially in light of what he’d seen the night before, while they were eating in the dining section of the tavern inn.
He raised his arm to flash a signal to the guards, to let them know who he was. The tartan he wore was identification enough in general, but they’d arranged extra measures after Fergus MacTavish had tried the tactic of sneaking mercenaries into the castle, wearing tartans stolen from fallen MacDuff clansmen on the battlefield. Just the memory of that incident made him sick to his stomach.
The heavy gates opened as he guided the horses up the last part of the road. Alistair breathed a sigh of relief to see his brother Ewan and Catriona. Though she was a second cousin, he’d always gotten along with her, to the point that she was like a sister.
If she was here, Niamh would have someone to befriend. And if Ewan had let her accompany him to the gate, rather than asking her to remain at the doors to the keep proper, then his brother wasn’t expecting trouble.
His brother followed the horses as he guided them into the courtyard, then waited until Alistair had dismounted and helped Niamh down. “So this is the lass ye went tae see about courtin’?”
“This is me betrothed, aye.” He offered Niamh his hand. “Niamh Cameron, allow me tae present me braither and second-in-command, Ewan MacDuff, and me second cousin and kinswoman, Catriona MacLean.”
“Och, dinnae need tae be so formal, Alistair.” Catriona stepped forward. “’Tis good tae meet ye at last, cousin.”
Niamh blinked. “Cousin?”
“Aye. Didnae the great lout tell ye? Yer maither was a member o’ the MacLean branch o’ Clan MacDuff – a daughter o’ the cadet line. ‘Tis more that we’re second or third cousins, I’m thinkin’ but we’re kinfolk nonetheless.”
“I see. I didnae ken.” Niamh looked a little overwhelmed. Catriona, healer that she was, noticed it at once. Her expression softened, and she put an arm around Niamh’s shoulders.
“Apologies. I shouldnae have spoken so much when ye’re fair wearied from the journey, and like as nae worried about the wedding.” She began to lead Niamh away, talking of rooms and wedding preparations in a low, soothing tone.
“Catriona will see yer lass is well cared fer.” Ewan clapped Alistair on the shoulder. “The Council’s been waiting fer a seven-day, and they began gathering as soon as the watch guards signaled yer arrival.”
“I expected as much.” Alistair sighed. He wanted a bath to wash the dirt of the road off, a hot meal, and a glass of strong spirits to soothe the cold from the marrow of his bones. He knew, however, that the Council was unlikely to wait for him to take his ease.
“I’ve made sure there will be food and a fire laid in, and mulled wine as well.”
“Bless ye, Ewan. I need it sore.” He gave the servants directions on how to handle the packs, and how to stable Laird Cameron’s horses, then followed his brother inside the castle.
“I imagine ye dae need the food and drink, but there’s something I’m wondering about.” Ewan’s voice was low, and Alistair felt his gut clench in apprehension.
“Aye? And what’s that?”
“Ye look fair troubled. Was the journey so rough? Or was it the company on the road back that has ye troubled?” Ewan’s question made Alistair stop short.
“’Tis naething in particular. Naething against Niamh.” Alistair shook his head. “Ye ken how I feel about marriage.”
“Aye, and why. But if ye think I didnae see that the ring ye used tae wear is on yer lass’s finger instead o’ the cord about yer neck, then yer wits are muddled.”
“The lass needed a ring tae mark the betrothal.” Alistair brushed the question aside. He didn’t want to think about the question Ewan was really asking.
“Why that one? Ye had plenty o’ time tae have a new one made. Fer that matter, ye were at the festival. Surely there was a metal-smith who could have made one fer ye.”
He wasn’t about to explain the debacle he’d made of courting Niamh to his brother, so he shrugged. “’Twasnae the right time, and I was in a hurry tae return.”
“Alistair…”
Alistair barely restrained a snarl of exasperation. “Let it alone, Ewan. There’s more tae be concerned with right now than yer questions about a ring, and I’ve duties tae attend tae. Nae the least o’ which is the Council meeting ye were in such a hurry tae make sure I attended.”
Ewan gave him a searching glance, but finally nodded. “All right. If that’s the way ye feel, Alistair. I’ll leave the matter be fer now.”
Alistair scowled. “Rather ye left it be entirely.” He took a deep breath to gather his composure, then pushed open the doors to the Council chamber.
Alistair gave a nod to the assembled Council members, then went and got himself a tankard of mulled wine and some roast meat. The fire offered welcome warmth, driving away the autumn chill. Once he’d refreshed himself, he turned to the assembled Elders and leaders of his clan, including Ewan, who had taken his place as second in command.
“How did yer journey go, me laird?” The opening comment was made by one of the older members of the council. ‘We expected ye far sooner.”
“Ye kent I’d be courtin’ a lass tae bring home as a bride.” Alistair retorted. “Besides, ye ken full well that autumn is turning tae winter and the weather’s as fickle as the moods o’ the Fair Folk.”
“Did ye at least win the lass?” Another one of the elders spoke up.
“Aye. Her name’s Niamh Cameron, daughter o’ Laird Bruce Cameron and his wife Kathleen, who was formerly a MacLean.”
“Kathleen’s the one who ran off with a Lowland Laird. And ‘tis her daughter ye’re marrying? A Lowland lass born and raised?” That was Connor MacDuff, Alistair’s grandfather’s younger brother.
“Aye, she’s Lowland born, but she has the blood o’ the Highlands in her, and in any case, ye ken as well as I that the MacLean branch o’ the clan is one o’ the wealthiest. Unlike the main MacDuff line, they’ve nae been beggared by constantly supplying men, weapons and food fer the border wars.”
Alistair looked around the room, meeting the gaze of each man of the assembled council. “We need MacLean’s help, tae survive the feud with MacTavish.”
“True.” Connor nodded. “But will they give it?”
“Aye. But they wanted Kathleen’s daughter wed tae a Highlander as a condition o’ their aid. They’ll give gold only tae kin-by-marriage.”
Connor subsided. Devlin McDermont, another elder of the clan, spoke up. “What o’ yer trip? It lasted near a month.”
“Actually less. The return journey was slower than the outward one, due tae the extra horses carryin’ the lady’s luggage. As fer the journey itself…” Alistair took a deep breath, then began a recitation of the journey, including his expenses in each town, the cost of inns and food and stabling the horses. Once they were detailed for the steward and the records keeper, he started speaking of the hazards.
He hadn’t seen any bandit activity, which was a mercy, as it usually grew worse in fall, in preparation for the winter, which often kept bandits in their holes as much as it kept clansmen in their holds. There were a few places, however, where he’d noticed that the roads on MacDuff lands needed to be cleared and shored up to prevent being washed out in winter storms.
Then it was time to speak to the issue that truly worried him – the truth he’d been careful to conceal from Niamh the night before. Alistair took a deep breath. “There’s one more thing. Last night, when Niamh and I stopped tae avoid bein’ caught in the storm... there were MacTavish soldiers in the tavern we stayed in.”
“MacTavish men? On MacDuff lands?”
“Within a candle-mark o’ the border, aye.” Alistair nodded.
“’Tis worrisome. Dae ye think they’re planning something?”
“I wouldnae put it past Fergus tae plan an attack in the middle o’ the harvest, tae try and deprive the clan o’ men and resources we need tae get through the winter.” Alistair grimaced.
Fergus MacTavish was a black-hearted son of a devil, and it would be like him to try and burn out the fields or steal the harvests to starve Clan MacDuff in the winter. Either that, or stage attacks that would force men away from harvest and winter preparations to defend their lands. The sight of his soldiers so close to MacDuff borders filled Alistair with foreboding.
From the looks and muttering around the council table, he wasn’t the only one concerned by the revelation.
Evan Dearmont finally spoke up. “If MacTavish is planning something, ‘tis best ye wed yer lass as soon as possible, and get her with child. Ye need an heir, and the sooner the better.”
Alistair scowled. “The wedding is set fer tomorrow. I cannae wed the lass any sooner. And I’ll certainly nae dae her the dishonor o’ beddin’ her afore the wedding.”
“And nae one askin’ ye tae, but we all ken that ye’ve been near celibate since ye lost yer MacBeth lass. Ye cannae have a chaste wedding night, nae if ye intend tae ensure the clan has the heir it needs.”
Alistair bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to hold his temper. He knew Evan was only voicing the fears of the clan as a whole, and that he couldn’t afford to get angry. Nonetheless, what they were asking for? “Yer point?”
“The clan needs proof that yer willing and able tae dae what needs tae be done, nae matter how ye feel about the marriage or the lass. Tae that end, ‘tis only fair tae ask ye present proof o’ a proper wedding night. The lass is untouched, is she nae?”
“O’ course she is. Her faither’s fair protective of her.” And Niamh herself was so terrified of childbirth or anything that could lead to it that he couldn’t imagine she’d ever let any man touch her in such a fashion. He didn’t think she’d even been kissed before that day at the Festival, from the way she had reacted.
Not that he was going to tell the council that. Some things were private, even for a laird and lady. Niamh’s fears and nightmares were one of those things.
“Then bring the sheets from yer marriage bed, the day after yer wedding. ‘Twill be proof enough.”
Alistair scowled. His first impulse was to refuse. Niamh might be more trusting of him now than she had been, but her nightmares were proof enough that she wasn’t ready for what the council would consider a proper wedding night. For that matter, he wasn’t sure he was ready, even if the sight of her did make his blood heat and his manhood stiffen.
On the other hand, the elders had good reason for their demands. To refuse would arouse suspicions neither her nor Niamh needed to be dealing with. The last thing he needed was someone questioning why he felt ‘unable’ to consummate the marriage properly.
Ultimately, he needed an heir. More immediately, he couldn’t afford rumors to begin about either of them being lacking in that department. No matter what reason he gave, if he refused the Council’s demand, rumors would spread that one or both of them were incapable.
“Ye’ll have yer sheet.” Alistair growled the words out. He didn’t like the idea, but it was the best solution he could think of, and the only answer he knew the Council would accept.
He only hoped he could convince his very unwilling – and very wary – bride-to-be of the necessity.