Highland Knight of Rapture (Highland Dynasty Book 4) (2 page)

She pursed her lips and slid into the chair at Aleck’s right, then looked out over the hall. Stunned faces gaped back—faces of people she’d grown to love and she hoped had also developed a fondness for her. She spread her palms and offered a gracious smile. The banter resumed and a servant placed a tankard of mead in front of her.

Helen bowed her head in appreciation. “My thanks, Roderick.”

On her other side, Grant, the MacIain henchman, dipped his head politely. “’Tis good to see your bonny face this eve, m’lady.”

He’d learned his manners from Glenda, his ma.
Thank heavens all MacIain’s are not brutes
. “I’m glad to be well enough to dine in the hall, though it was difficult to leave Miss Maggie.”

“Och, the bairn will be right with Sarah. She’s a fine nursemaid.” Grant held up a trencher of bread and offered it to her.

“Aye, she is,” Helen said, reaching in.

Before she could tear off a bit from the loaf, Aleck stretched in front of Helen and snatched the tray from Grant. “When I said it was time to return to your duties, I expected you to be attentive to the ram’s horn announcing the evening meal.”

Helen drew back her fingers and clutched her fist to her chest. “Forgive me. I had a bit of trouble fitting into my gown. The one I wore for my confinement is now too large and this one…” She gestured downward.

He arched a brow and glanced at her breasts. “I reckon a bit of fat on your bones is not a bad thing.”

She pulled her mantle across her open neckline. “I was thinking of asking the tailor to let out one or two gowns to provide a bit more comfort.”

His shoulder shrugged. “Do what you must.”

When he started to turn toward Mary, Helen grasped his arm. “It would be ever so nice if you would pay a visit to Maggie, m’laird. She changes every day.”

Aleck brushed her hand away and gave her a steely glare. “I’ll not be visiting the nursery until there’s a wee lad occupying it. I need a son to inherit my name, not a daughter. You’d best heal fast, wife, for I’ve no option but to visit your bed again soon.”

She preferred not to have this conversation in the hall, but now that he’d mentioned the bedchamber, Helen would have her say. She leaned closer so only he could hear. “And once you return to my bed will you stop keeping company with the widow?”

“Wheesht and mind your own affairs.” He grasped her hand under the table and squeezed. Hard. “I’ll not have any lassie yapping in my ear like a bitch. I need your noble arse to bear my son and that’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

Suddenly not hungry, Helen pulled her hand away and rubbed her fingers. How could her brute of a husband treat her with such disdain? And how in God’s name was she to endure his boorishness for the rest of her life? Yes, her mother had always repeated the words:
that which cannot be helped must be endured
. But Da had treated Ma with respect, even in the beginning. Though Helen’s parents had an arranged marriage, they’d grown to love each other, and in short order, too. Helen glanced at Aleck’s bald head. She no longer harbored hope of love ever growing between them—tolerance was the best she could hope for.

But I must try harder
.

The big oak doors at the far end of the great hall opened with a whoosh. A sentry wearing the king’s surcoat emblazoned with an orange lion rampant stepped inside. “I’ve a missive for Sir Aleck MacIain.”

The Chieftain stood and beckoned him. “Are you blind? Bring it here to the
high
table.”

Helen huffed. Decorum would never be her husband’s strong suit. Who on earth would not be aware the clan’s chieftain sat at the high table? And flaunting the fact by being rude only served to promote discourse among those who paid fealty to him.

Aleck drummed his fingers while the man strode through the hall and climbed up to the dais with all eyes upon him. The room hummed as people mumbled, clearly impressed that a king’s man had come all the way to Ardnamurchan to deliver a missive to their chieftain. Aleck snatched the velum from the man’s fingertips and sliced his eating knife under the seal. Leaning toward the light of the enormous candelabra, Aleck knit his bushy eyebrows as he read.

Helen craned her neck in a futile attempt to see the writing. “What news, m’laird?”

With a frown, he shoved the missive into his doublet and looked to Grant, completely ignoring Helen’s question. “The king has requested my presence at Stirling Castle. We must leave on the morrow.”

“Stirling?” Helen clapped her hands together. “Oh it would be lovely to purchase some new fabric at the castle fete.”

“Aye, but
you
will not be accompanying me.”

Helen frowned. It was no use asking if he would bring back a bolt of gold damask. He wouldn’t do it. And making such a request would only give him another opportunity to berate her.

Grant stood and bowed. “I’ll ready the men.” He looked to Aleck. “We’ll take the galley to Dunstaffnage and ride from there as usual?”

“Aye.”

Helen nearly melted when she heard the henchman say
Dunstaffnage
. She had many fond memories of that castle. It was only a short ride from Dunollie where her sister, Gyllis, lived with her husband, Sean MacDougall. If only she could stow away on Aleck’s galley with Maggie. Helen could visit Gyllis and then travel east to Kilchurn Castle and see her mother. How wonderful such a holiday would be. She hadn’t seen her kin in years.

Alas, Aleck would be in too much of a hurry to take her and Maggie to Dunollie—only four miles south of Dunstaffnage.

However, in her usual mien, Helen chose to see the positive side of this turn of events. Perhaps this journey would take Aleck away for an entire month. She smiled. Indeed, his absence was something she would welcome.

Eoin MacGregor, Chieftain of Clan Gregor, sat at the king’s table. The gathering was a clandestine assembly, conducted in the king’s antechamber, one doorway from his royal highness’s bedchamber. The room was appointed with landscape tapestries woven with iridescent silk threads. The particularly rich greens made the scenes appear almost lifelike. The table itself was a work of art, hewn from walnut with carved lion’s heads at each corner.

Eoin was flanked by Duncan Campbell, Lord of Glenorchy, and his brother, Sir Iain Campbell, who had recently been granted the title of Chieftain of Lawers.

Across from them, Eoin’s good friends Sir Sean MacDougall and Sir Robert Struan completed this group of nobles who comprised the upper echelon of the king’s enforcers. Each one a fierce warrior adept in weaponry, not even the English could stop their armies when united.

Seated at the head of the table was King James IV who, at the age of twenty, still looked like a lad with his brown shoulder-length tresses curling out from under a gold crown. But Eoin knew better than to underestimate his monarch. The king had risen to power five years earlier, having taken part in the rebellion against his father, the very unpopular King James III. Even though youthful, this James exuded authority with iron-clad confidence, and Eoin respected him as Scotland’s sovereign.

Lord Duncan flicked a speck of lint from his velvet doublet. With a thick head of black hair combined with a neatly cropped beard, the baron could pass for a pirate on a sunny day. “Word has it the MacDonalds are rebelling to the north.”

The king’s eyebrows arched and disappeared beneath his gold crown. “’Tis why I summoned you. Now that I’ve stripped John MacDonald of the Lordship of the Isles, it appears his nephew, Alexander, has taken up his mantle and is raiding the entire west coast.”

“Miserable, spineless dog,” Sean MacDougall said from across the table. He had good reason for concern. His keep, Dunollie, sat on the western seaboard.

“Aye,” the king agreed. “I’ll not tolerate insurrection from any one of my subjects.”

Duncan eyed each of his men—the inner circle of the Highland Enforcers. Though nobles and clan chieftains, each man was a sizeable warrior, every one willing to lay down his life for the other. “Spies report Alexander has made contact with all MacDonald Clans down the coast. He’s planning a rebellion.”

Eoin nodded. “Any idea when…or where?”

King James tapped his lips with his pointer finger. “My guess is he’ll amass his army first.”

Duncan studied the map on the table. It was dotted with red-inked circles and, leaning closer, Eoin realized each marked a MacDonald stronghold. Glenorchy pointed to the Isle of Islay. “They control this entire region. It makes no sense to mount an attack on the crown from the north. I’d wager they’ll be building their forces at Dunyveig or Finlaggan.”

The king ground his finger onto a cluster of red dots on the Isle of Skye. “Aye, but they also control the northwest. Do not underestimate the MacDonalds. They’ll be marshalling their forces in the north as well as the south.”

Duncan’s lips thinned and he sat back. “The bastards.”

“That is why we need the enforcers to lead sorties along the western seaboard.” The king snapped his fingers at the sentry guarding the door, who swiftly exited. “I want three separate forces. Duncan, you and MacDougall will combine and train the troops at Dunstaffnage. Iain and Robert will lead my men at Tabert.” His Grace looked to Eoin. “I want you to prepare the forces at Mingary in the north.”

Eoin glanced from the king to Duncan and gulped. “Mingary, your Grace?”

Duncan spread his big palms to his sides. “’Tis a MacDonald keep.”

The king ran his fingers over his smooth chin—yet to grow a full beard. “Aye, but Aleck MacIain MacDonald has stripped away the
MacDonald
name and has sworn fealty to the crown.”

“I knew about the name, but can you trust him?” Duncan asked.

“You question me?” The king snorted. “God’s teeth, he’s your brother-in-law.”

Duncan bowed his head. “Forgive me, your Grace.”

King James leaned in, gesturing for the men to follow suit. Then he eyed Eoin. “’Tis why I chose Mingary. If you’re based at MacIain’s keep, the MacDonalds will be none the wiser, and you can watch the chieftain’s every move.”

“Then why are you not sending the Lord of Glenorchy up there rather than me?” Eoin would much prefer to be stationed at Dunstaffnage. There were a host of reasons why he’d do anything to avoid Mingary, not the least being its vulgar lord and master.

The king rapped his knuckles on the table. “Because I agree with Campbell. The greatest threat comes from the south where the bastards are closer to the throne. Glenorchy needs to be stationed at Dunstaffnage because he has the largest army at his disposal.”

The door opened and in walked Aleck MacIain—the very man they had been discussing. He was a thick Highlander with a scraggly black beard. His beady eyes darted around the chamber until they rested on Eoin. Looking away, Eoin’s upper lip curled. He didn’t know Aleck well, but the few times he’d encountered the man, he hadn’t been impressed. He was loud and gluttonous. Worse, he was Helen Campbell’s husband. Aside from Aleck MacIain, the last person on earth Eoin wanted to see was Lady Helen.

Aleck bowed to their sovereign. “Your Grace.”

“Sir Aleck.” Duncan stood and offered his hand. “How is my sister?”

MacIain looked at Duncan’s outstretched palm a bit too long before he shook it. “Birthed a bloody lass.”

Eoin clenched his fist and ground his knuckles into his palm.
If the bastard utters a single insult about Lady Helen, I’ll wring his unshaven neck—providing Duncan doesn’t beat me to it
.

“Aye?” Duncan grimaced. “The good news hadn’t yet reached me.”

Aleck took a seat across from Eoin and shrugged. “Such is the tireless duty of a chieftain. I’ve not yet set quill to parchment.”

“Gentlemen,” said the king. “Allow me to apprise Sir Aleck of our plans.”

Eoin regarded the black-bearded rogue across the table while the king talked. What Helen saw in the man, he had no idea. Other than being uglier than a hairy arse, she might be attracted to his size—though MacIain had a belly like a pregnant heifer.

Eoin again glanced to Duncan. Helen’s marriage had been arranged by her elder brother. Though Eoin had never asked, he’d always wondered if the lass had encouraged it. He swiped a hand across his mouth. It didn’t matter now. She’d been married for ages
and
she’d just given birth to a daughter. Eoin doubted Lady Helen would even remember him from their childhood.

When he was a lad, Helen’s mother had asked him to stand in as an occasional partner for the lass’s dancing lessons. Aye, he’d spent his youth as a squire for the Lord of Glenorchy, Duncan’s da. Eoin smirked. Sitting across the table, Sean MacDougall had also attended those lessons. The Chieftain of Dunollie always managed to be partnered with Helen’s elder sister, Gyllis, who happened to now be his wife of five years.
Lucky bastard
.

“How fast can you and your men relocate to Mingary?” the king asked.

Eoin looked to his sire and realized the question had been directed toward him. “Ah...If I leave for Glen Strae at first light, we should be in Ardnamurchan before the month’s end.” He turned to Aleck. “Have you cannons?”

“Bloody oath, I do,” the braggart gloated. “Two black shiny barrels arrived from Portugal but two months ago.”

“Good. We’ll build a platform on your galley and turn it into a warship.”

Aleck frowned. “Warship? I wouldn’t want one of my cannons to sink—they’re worth their weight in silver.”

The king rapped the table with his knuckles. “You’d best change your thinking, Sir Aleck. The way to beat the MacDonald upstarts is to ensure we have bigger cannons, faster boats and better trained soldiers. Sir Eoin MacGregor is one of the best fighting men in Scotland. He’ll see your men become trained soldiers and make the best use of your guns.”

Aleck glared across the table. Eoin folded his arms and raised his chin—not about to cower at the overblown boar’s show of impudence.

The king appeared to ignore the exchange. “I’m famished. Shall we retire to the great hall?” When the monarch stood, all chairs scraped across the floorboards as the men rose and bowed.

After the king took his leave, Eoin adjusted his sword belt and headed for the door. Sir Aleck stepped behind him. “I give my men all the training they need.”

Eoin made a show of glancing at the man’s belly. “Well then, it should be easy work to quash the MacDonald uprising to the north.”

“Aye, and then I will enjoy the spoils.” MacIain grinned.

Eoin’s jaw twitched. So that was why Aleck had opted to side with the king—not that it wasn’t common for a chieftain to shift his loyalties with the promise of riches. It’s just that Eoin MacGregor would never turn his back on his clansmen and thank God he was on the right side of this battle.

***

While Aleck was away, Helen found it necessary to jump back into assuming her duties a little faster than she would have liked, though she still spent every spare moment in the nursery with Maggie. Honestly, she welcomed the added work, regardless. Everything was so much more pleasant when Aleck was anywhere other than Mingary Castle.

This morning, she stood in the enormous kitchen with Peter the cook. Since she’d been a lass, the kitchen had always been one of Helen’s favorite places in a keep, and Mingary’s scullery was every bit as large as Kilchurn’s had been. It was always so warm inside, even during the bitterest days of winter. At one end, a fire crackled endlessly in the giant hearth, with all manner of iron pots stewing over the grill at any given time.

Adding to the warmth was the bread oven. It, too, baked loaves upon loaves during the day to feed the many soldiers and their families who resided at the keep. Helen inhaled and filled her senses with the mouth-watering scent of baking bread while she stood at the board, reviewing a ledger of food stores with Peter. “I think we’ve enough flour to last through the first harvest.”

He scratched his chin. Though Peter couldn’t read, he was more familiar with the contents of the barrels in the cellar than she. “I think you’re right, though it will be close.”

“Should I order a barrel just to be certain?”

“I’d reckon so.” He nodded. “And while you’re at it, we could use two more barrels of oats.”

“Very well.” She made a note in the margin.

The outer door opened. “I’ve brought a basket of eggs. My hens have started laying like they’ve been sprinkled with fairy dust.”

Helen turned. Though every muscle in her body tensed, she forced a smile.

Mary’s eyes widened, then she quickly looked away. “M’lady. I didn’t expect to see
you
in the kitchens.”

“Oh?” Helen had no idea why. She had always spent a great deal of time working with Peter, from ensuring the stores were in good order to menu selection. She glanced to the basket. “Thank you for the eggs. It does look like your hens have been busy.”

Mary arched an eyebrow and set the basket on the table. Then she regarded Helen with a defensive air. “Do you think Sir Aleck will return soon?”

A dozen retorts sprang to the tip of Helen’s tongue. She wanted to shake her finger and accuse the woman of being an adulteress. But that would only serve to deepen the ill feelings between them. She was lady of the keep and she would maintain her poise and authority. In no way would she lower herself and engage in a discussion of Mary’s lewd behavior—especially in front of Peter. “I imagine the galleys will return any day now.” Helen plucked an egg from the basket. It was still warm.

Mary had the gall to jut out her chin. “Things around the castle are ever so dull when the chieftain’s away.”

The egg in Helen’s palm cracked, sending yellow goo oozing through her fingers.
Has the woman no shame?

Peter handed Helen a cloth. “Gratitude for the eggs, Mary. We’ll see you at the evening meal.” He inclined his head toward the door.

She gave Helen another look, her eyes as deceitful as a snake’s. Mary drew in a breath as if she had something more to say, but she smirked, then turned with a huff and left.

“That windbag’s head will be too fat to fit through the door soon,” Peter said.

Helen chuckled and rubbed her hands clean. Gossip of Aleck’s indiscretions would have run rampant through the castle like a brushfire. After all, he hadn’t even tried to be secretive upon her appearance in the great hall. Even if that was his only slip, one act of carelessness was enough. It was human nature for everyone to love scandalous gossip—
everyone aside from me, that is
.

Hamish, one of the crofters, strode inside and dropped a massive mule deer stag across the table. “I’ve come to pay me rent, m’lady.” He puffed out his chest and gestured toward the dead animal, blood encrusted around its nose. “He’s an eight-point beauty.”

Helen clapped. “My, that
is
an impressive animal.”

Peter grabbed the basket of eggs from the table and clutched them to his chest. “Remove the beast from me board and go hang him in the cellar.”