FLAME ACROSS THE HIGHLANDS (25 page)

“And you plan to hold a dirk to her throat to make certain she’ll say the vows?” Ian
said caustically.

“I’m hoping it willna come to that!” But the expression on
Duncan’s face warned he would not be crossed on the matter.

There
seemed to be no reasoning with him and this severely  troubled Ian. He’d always admired his uncle’s prowess in battle, his ambition, his determination to succeed. Since his uncle had taken over as chieftain of the sept he’d raised the Campbells from relative obscurity to a powerful force in Scotland, a clan that was at the king’s right hand. Why then should he risk so much on this MacQuarie issue?

Was his uncle going mad? Ian carefully scrutinized
Duncan’s face. It was not unheard of. The strain of being clan chief took a great toll on a man. It was a great responsibility  to be leader of so many people as well as pleasing the king. It had happened before. Now that the Campbells had been granted their charters there was the added burden of keeping them. No title to possession was worth anything without armed force to back it up. That had been proven at Bannockburn. It was in the interests of the chief to have as many followers as he could effectively muster. Why then was Duncan risking the goodwill of so many men? Could he so easily forget that if he caused a stir by breaching the Highland code of laws he would not only alienate the MacQuaries but their kinsmen as well. The MacGregors, the MacDonalds, the MacKinnons to name only a few. Truly, the situation did bear watching. And if he were really certain that Duncan’s wits were addled, would he take over temporary leadership. It was his right as
toiseach
.

“Ian!
Come, dinna be so glum. Drink wi’ me.” That seemed to be the answer to any argument, or so Duncan seemingly thought. Just as suddenly  as he had scowled at Ian, Duncan now gave vent to smiles. Praising Ian for past victories. It was obvious he wanted to placate him. Gone was the tone of anger and in its place was a manipulative charm. “I hae great things in mind for ye. Ye were like my own son after Morgan died. Ye were! That is why I sent ye to Parliament at Sterling rather than going myself. To further yer power, lad. I think ye know that. In truth, ye remind me of him. I hae great affection for ye, lad.”

“Then let me have some happiness,” Ian answered bitterly. “I’ve earned it over the years.”

“Och! Forget the lassie! She’s no’ for ye. A Gordon lassie or a Ross.” He pushed Ian into the large, carved wooden chair he usually sat in. “There lad, try it out! The MacQuaries are considered rebels. Oh, aye, they fought at Bannockburn but they were not as crafty as we Campbells. They and the MacDonalds began the Bruce’s reign wi’ rewards, but thereafter arrogantly resisted the Bruce’s authority. A costly mistake. We, on the other hand, hae preserved our valor with cunning, playing on the gratitude of Robert the Bruce to found our mountain empire. Och, power. Ye’ll soon learn there is nothing so stimulating to a mon as that.” Ian started to get up but Duncan firmly held him down. “I intend to make ye my successor. Tomorrow night before all! Think on it, lad. Ye’ll be tanist to one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands. And power must marry into a like powerful clan.

Earlier it would have seemed a logical choice, one Ian would have expected, yet now the declaration made Ian feel hollow. Empty inside. It was as if he
were being bribed, trading his happiness to wear the laird’s feathers in his bonnet. And what would be the cost of this prize? He knew very well. Aye, strange how at one time that had been his obsession, to be named as his uncle’s heir. Now it seemed a curse. He would be named as tanist but Robbie would win the real prize, the woman Ian loved.

.

Chapter Thirty
             

The hall was enshrouded in dusky
torchlight; smoke from the hearth fires stung all eyes as the Campbell clan gathered for the evening meal. And what a meal it was! Clearly Duncan Campbell was celebrating. Trenchers were piled high with mutton, beef, English rabbit and all manner of fowl.  There were plates of oysters, bannocks, fruit, cheese and even pastries. All to be washed down with tankards of ale and chalices of the finest wine.

Brianna watched as  Dunstaffnage's servants hurried swiftly to and from the kitchen, their arms heavily laden with platters, bowls and pitchers, thinking she would never get used to others doing the work for a few.  Unlike in he father's hall
, there was a distinct difference between those who served and those who ruled.

Looking around her
, Brianna was once more stung by the contrasts between these people and her own. There was no laughter here, few smiles. Instead, an atmosphere of anxiety hovered about, a tense sense of anticipation.  Even the bard's song was ponderous, a repetitive strumming with none of the lilt of Alastair's tunes.  He warbled a history of the Campbell's progenitors, known as the race Diarmaid, who were for centuries a powerful influence in Argyll and who had originally settled the early Scottish Kingdom of Dalriada.

“Ha,” Brianna scoffed beneath her breath. They called themselves a race of Diarmaid, from a shadowy lord of Lochow into whose family a Gillespic Campbell
had married, but the originator of the clan’s good fortune was Sir Neil Campbell who had transferred his allegiance from John Balliol to his rival, Robert the Bruce, at just the right moment and profited thereafter with grants of lands and castles in the west. She’d even heard it said that the Campbells were of Norman or Saxon ancestry and had come into England with William the conqueror. Now they paraded their noble lineage in song. 

"There w
as none so fair as Diarmaid, no man could e'er be as braw," the bad sang. It was a tragic tale of the handsome laddie with whom the wife of Fingal fell in love.  In revenge, the song said, Fingal challenged Diarmaid to slay the wild boar that harried the village and then to measure its carcass against the lie of its bristles with his bare feet.  A bristle pierced Diarmaid's vulnerable spot on his heel, and Fingal heartlessly refused him a draught of his healing cup as Diarmaid lay dying.

Fingal?  Ah, Brianna had heard other tales of him.  Marauding Norsemen had been wary of landing their boats on
Staffa because he had used the island as his base in warfare against the sea-raiders so long ago.  One of the caves on Staffa was named for the ancient hero.  Alastair had composed many a song of him.
Alastair
.  The name made her exceedingly wistful for it reminded her of Glenna and home.

"Di
nna look sad.  Ye are much bonnier when ye smile."  Robbie Campbell was seated to her left, and as he spoke he gently touched her hand.

"I was thinking of my sist
er......."

"A sister? H
ow lucky ye are.  I hae no liking for being the only child.  'Tis very lonely."  He pushed his trencher closer to share his food with her, a custom she found most strange. English, she supposed. On Ulva they ate bread, here they used it as a plate. "Tell me all about yer family.” His wide brown eyes offered her sympathy and understanding of her uneasiness.

“Morgana is the wee bairn, she’s ten summers old, Orianna is four years older; and then there is Glenna, who looks the very image of me. And my father, chief of the
MacQuarie, a big bull of a mon. I love them all dearly.”

Brianna felt comforted talking about her sisters and her father,
relating humorous as well as sensitive stories. It was as if the thought of them somehow brought them nearer. As she ate the highly spiced food, she told Robbie about her mother and that poor woman's bout with insanity, and he seemed touched.

"So sad."

"And your mother?"

"I didna even know her.  I was taken from her arms shortly after my birth and fostered here wi' my uncle.  I've been told my father was killed in battle, that my mother feared his enemies would try to take my life.  For my own protection I was
nurtured here."  Picking up a leg of mutton, he toyed with it nervously. "And for that I am grateful to my uncle but....."

"But
he isna always a gracious mon.” she had noticed the curt manner in which Duncan talked to his nephew. She supposed he had never been close with Duncan’s daughters as she had been with her siblings.

"Aye."  He laughed nervously.  "I shouldna be sayin' this
, but somehow its as if I dunna belong here.  As if I'm out of place.  I try to please my uncle, I surely do.  But somehow it seems a losing battle.  He is always harsh wi' me, criticizes every little thing that I do.  Indeed I think, my marrying you is the first thing that's caused him to smile."

His eyes mirrored a sadness as he looked at her
, and Brianna was startled by the thought that even though she'd just met him there was something  very familiar about his face, his expression.  "Yer uncle, I beg to say, seems to be a very strange mon."

"A bit harsh perhaps.  But very, very braw!"  The way Robbie spoke, it was obvious that even though
Duncan seemed to have little affection for him he admired his Uncle greatly.  "But tell me what drew ye here.  Surely ye were not that anxious to wed w’ me.”

"Nae. 
I hate to say that I came here with full intent of making  your uncle change his mind."  In a whispered voice she told him the story of the voyage, her admonitions to her sister to take her place.  It brought forth Robbie's laughter, a melodious, rippling sound.

"Poor lassie.  She must be having quite a time.  Being in two places at the
same time must be difficult!"

Brianna joined in his mirth. "We did it all the tim
e when we were small just to be mischievous."  Her smile sobered. "Aye, as a matter of fact it was Glenna and not myself who was to be yer bride at first.  But she was in love with the bard and I couldna stand by and see her cry.  So I said I would take her place.  How was I to know....."

Her eyes were drawn to Ian remembering in vivid detail the passion they had shared last night when their love had come
so close to being consummated. One brief look at him set her blood to pounding as she relived the delight of holding him close.  When he had held her in his arms, when he had pressed his hard, arousing body against hers, all thought of leaving here had vanished, dissolved in the heated torrent of their love.  He had said he'd take her back to the MacQuarie hall if she wanted to go, but somehow she didn't want to leave. Not yet. Perhaps she still held hope of Duncan changing his mind.

Robbie caught sight of her stolen glance, the wa
y her eyes caressed his cousin. "Ian? 'Tis
Ian
that ye love...."  Far from sounding piqued at the thought, Robbie's tone proved his approval of such a match. "He is a fine mon."

"If
a bit of a ….”

“All bluff and bluster. In his heart he is most kind. He canna help it if the lassies all adore him.”

“No, I suppose not. If only…” Brianna sighed, trying to concentrate on what was happening in the hall.  Duncan had provided entertainment.  Acrobats who performed wondrous tricks of skill, tumbling and balancing on each other's shoulders. Jugglers who tossed up bright colored balls, spinning them with a steady hand.  Not one dropped to the ground, much to her amazement   Oh to tell Glenna of this game.  Leaning back in her chair she felt herself relaxing.

“Ye havena eaten much.” Robbie pushed the trencher closer.

She didn’t want to hurt his feelings so she forced herself to eat some of the heavily seasoned food, wondering how the Campbells could find it palatable. The portion that she took was a leg of rabbit, a small animal the English had introduced into Scotland several years ago. The meat had a yellowish cast which Robbie told her was from the saffron used as a dye. Somehow she choked the meat down, following each mouthful with the tangy, sweet red drink Robbie told her was French wine. That at least she favored.

A long time later
, the long trestle tables were dismantled and pushed back against the wall.  Duncan rose to his feet, putting his finger to his lips to gesture silence.  The room quieted in an instant.  Upon every face an upraised brow asked what was going to happen.  That question was answered quickly as the Campbell laird addressed the gathering.

"There has been some concern avowed as to who is to succeed me.  Though I'm no' anxious to become a ghostie I've decided to address that issue now."  He flashed a rare smile, enjoying the o
pen-mouthed looks of surprise. All eyes were riveted his way. "From time to time I've mentioned Robbie, other moments I've given a nod to Ian and given thought to his becoming tanist.  It is as ye know a most serious duty.  As tanist it will be his special duty to hold the clan lands in trust for you and your posterity.  As chieftain my successor will be called upon to determine all differences and disputes, to protect our followers, to lead this clan in times of war. I've made my choice and tonight I will make it formal.
Ian
, please stand up."

Nae, Brianna thought. Not now!
She felt all hope for a future with Ian slipping away.  It was Duncan's plan to placate Ian, she knew at once it was the Campbell's plan.  If Ian was tanist, named officially, there was no way this side of heaven that he could agree to her father's terms for the marriage.  He could not take on the MacQuarie name or allow any children he might have to be another clan's successor. All was lost!  In a mood of hostile despair she watched as Ian took his stand by the sacred stone of the Campbells, placing one foot upon the rock as custom decreed.

Had he known last night that he would be given such an honor?  Had he?  And yet he had not said a word.  Instead
, he had come to her room, initiated lovemaking and told her that he cared for her.  Tears of angry frustration stung her eyes.  No wonder he had run like a whipped hound when Ducan's voice had hailed him. So much for matters of the heart.  Where honor and ambition were concerned a woman was naught.  Ian had bartered his love for a Tanists crown.

Brianna watched as
Ian was presented with a sword and white wand as the Campbell bard recounted all his acts of bravery at Dumfries, the Forth of Clyde and many other battles. Ian Mac Niall was son of Niall who was son of Ian and on and on and on. There was no doubt that Ian came from noble lineage, nor that he was brave in his combat with other men, and for that she admired him,. But she felt a sense of hopelessness too, for all the talk of fighting only proved that in reality there was a gulf as wide as Loch Tuath between them.

Ian look at me. Let me know with yer eyes that ye still care for me, that yer uncle has not won after all
.  It was foolish of her to even make such a wish, she thought. The reality of the matter was that she had lost him, just as Duncan well knew.

Though she tried to hide it, tried to smile, Ian’s seeming disregard for her throbbed painfully. Not once had he  even glanced at her tonight, nor even exchanged more than polite salutations with her. Was he so afraid of his uncle then? Aye. Had being made tanist meant more to him than the love they had shared? If so, then she was extremely disappointed in him and angry with herself for being such a lovesick fool.

Ian Mac Niall can never be mine! she thought.  Suddenly the futility of her feelings for him  came back to haunt her full measure. Now when she remembered last night, she was left with only humiliation.  How quickly she had capitulated to his advances, like some besotted dairy maid.  She had not even tried to hide her attraction to him.  In truth, right from the first she had not even tried to be coy in espousing just why she had come to Duncan’s castle. Ian knew her feelings. Had his been just as true, or was he the rogue she had first supposed him to be, thinking to take he virtue just to soothe his ego?

Her thoughts were tormenting.  One instant she was apalled at herself and her boldness, the next she was overcome by a feeling of sharp disappointment that they had been interrupted before she had experienced fully w
hat being a woman meant.  Even now, the memory of the way he had caressed her, kissed her, and touched her so intimately caused her body to long for the touch of his hands and mouth again.

“
What a fool ye are to love him, Brianna," she whispered to herself,   "for he does not feel the same emotion in kind, I would wager." No indeed, she thought watching him strut about the hall, so prideful at the honors being bestowed on him.  He reminded her of a preening rooster.  Sadly she was all too slowly learning the ways of men. Warfare was all they really cared about.  Honor. Bravery. Did she really think he would give up his role as Tanist for love of her?  Of course not, though she would have given up the world for him.

"Lassie, what is wrong?"
Robbie Campbell put a hand on her shoulder, his wide eyes mirroring his concern for the tears that flooded her eyes.

"Wrong?"  Brianna dashed the tears away with the back of her hand.  "Just the smoke in my eyes, that is all.  Dunna fash yerself, Robbie.  It i
s nothing at all.  Do ye ken?"

Nothing at all.  That is what her love for Ian meant to him.  The longer she watched the ceremony
, the more she realized how quickly her own unhappiness loomed ahead.  It was glaringly apparent.  Even now, Ian did not even deem to look at her. Had he heeded Duncan's threats?  Was he fearful of losing his new prize?  So much for his avowal of helping her.