Authors: Sandy Blair
The Laird (33 page)
“Don’t believe them,” Beth hissed through clenched teeth. She tried to roll onto her back again, but he gently held her on her side as the mid-wife had ordered.
“Hush, dearest, hush, ‘tis almost over.” Leastwise, he prayed it so.
Why in God’s name had he allowed Beth to talk him into this? A husband’s place during a birthing was pacing the great hall or out on the lists. Not here, where her every tear and cry rent his heart to shreds.
‘Tis barbaric, this custom of hers!
Watching Beth grimace yet again, he wanted out so badly he would have given his sword arm to escape. But he’d promised to see her through, and so he would. “Ye are the bravest, lass.”
“Duncan, if you ever want to see the light of day again, you’ll take...OOOW!” Beth’s face contorted into a frightful grimace.
The midwife popped up from between Beth’s legs. “That’s right, my lady, push!”
As Beth’s nails dung deeper into his flesh and her face turn fuchsia, his fashing turned to panic. “What is--”
Rachael placed a hand on his shoulder, “’Tis well, my lord, the head is here.” To Beth she said, “A deep breath,
mon ami
, and push!”
Beth growled, and the midwife crooned, “‘Tis well done, lass; now pant.”
Rachael started panting so Duncan started as well. Sweat-soaked, Beth locked her gaze on his and followed suit.
“Lass, have I told ye how much I love ye?”
Before she could answer the midwife coaxed, “Now one deep breath. That’s the lass. Now push! One more grand push, and ‘tis done.”
Apparently the promise was all Beth needed. She gritted her teeth and bore down for all she was worth.
In a heartbeat she heaved a great sigh and relaxed in his arms. When a strident cry suddenly filled the solar, he released the breath he’d been holding and laughed.
He’d never felt such relief in his life. His Beth had labored, given birth, and was still alive.
He brushed the sweat from her brow and kissed her. “I love ye beyond all words.”
With her eyes still closed, she smiled. “You’d better.”
“My lord.” The midwife chuckled as she held up a plump, furious, red-faced babe for his perusal. “Ye have a bonnie son.”
“A son.” His heart swelled to near bursting as he looked upon his handsome heir. ‘Twas a miracle.
Crying, he pressed his forehead to his wife’s and whispered, “Ye saved my soul, my beloved Beth.”
She stroked his cheek. “Nay, my love, you did it yourself.”
____________
“E
nough, Tom. Sit!”
Margaret Silverstein had waited long enough. Bone weary of watching her husband pace and equally tired of fashing about her beautiful son’s future, she would learn--here and now--if she could dream for her child or not. Would he have the freedom to follow his heart into medicine or perhaps music, or would her child be trapped in this wee village like his predecessors until the day he died?
She handed Tom their Laird’s diary. “Open it, husband. I’ll not wait another moment, let alone another day.”
Tom nodded, kenning she had the right of it. Beth had never been found and the ghost and the ring had not returned. He had put off reading the diary for long enough.
His hands shook as he turned the key in the bronze lock and lifted the ancient wooden cover.
The laird’s bold strokes appeared unchanged from the last he’d seen them and his heart sank.
Kneeling before him with their son clutched to her breast, Margaret whispered, “Turn to the last entry that Isaac had made, love. The one describing the Laird’s death from the infection.”
“Aye.” He carefully turned the frail pages one after the other, needing only to scan for he had the words memorized and then he stopped. He read for a moment and choked on a sob.
“What? Tom, for heaven’s sake! What does it say?”
Tears streamed down his face as he handed her the ancient tome. An unfamiliar script in fading ink covered the last page.
“Let it be known that on this day, the sixth day of April in the year of our Lord one thousand four hundred and nine, was born a healthy son, Duncan Thomas MacDougall, to Lady Katherine Elizabeth and Duncan Angus MacDougall, Laird of the clan MacDougall, Blackstone Castle, Scotland.
Katherine Elizabeth MacDougall Pudding MacDougall
PS: Love blooms. Give Margaret and the babe a kiss for me.
Speechless, Margaret reached for Tom’s hand. A plain woman with a great need and capacity for love had finally broken the curse that had shaped their lives.
Her love had set them all free.
T
his work of fiction came to life while visiting Scotland and after reading the lore associated with the Bruce’s Brooch of Lorne.
My hero Duncan is fictional. In reality, this particular MacDougall line, started from Dougal, son of Somerled of the Isles, ended with Laird John MacDougall, who died without issue in 1388.
His holdings in Lorne, the area along the western coast of the Scottish Highlands near the Firth of Lorne where this story is set, passed to the Stewarts of Lorne after John’s death. Fictional Castle Blackstone was inspired by my husband’s clan’s ancestral home, very real Stewarts of Appin’s Castle Stalker.
The references made about the MacDougall and Bruce feud are true. The Bruce did murder Ewin MacDougall’s father-in-law, Red Comyn in 1306.
As for the Bruce’s broach; By chance, the MacDougall clan surprised the Bruce, then king, at Dalrigh near Tyndrum. The king escaped the battle, but on his discarded cloak was found a magnificent example of Celtic jewelry, which was later known as the “Brooch of Lorne”. It became one of the MacDougall clan’s great treasures.
Eventually the MacDougall chiefship passed to John MacAlan Macdougall of Donollie. The MacDougall lands were again restored. The twenty-second chief, Ian Ciar, fought in the rising of 1715, at the Battle of Sheriffmuir. His son, Chief Alexander, a Jacobite sympathizer, did not join in the 1745 rising, although his brother and clansmen fought at Culloden.
The books Beth finds in the keep and those Duncan gives her were hardbound publications in circulation in Scotland in 1408. The references to the Papal Bull and Pope Clements are fact, as well.
Award-winning author Sandy Blair has slept in castles, dined with peerage, floated down Venetian canals, explored the great pyramids, lost her husband in an Egyptian ruin (she still denies being the one lost,) and fallen (gracefully) off a cruise ship.
Winner of Romance Writers of America’s © Golden Heart and the National Readers Choice Award for Best Paranormal Romance, the Write Touch Readers Award for Best Historical, the Golden Quill and Barclay Awards for Best Novella, and nominated for a 2005 RITA, Sandy loves researching and writing about Scotland’s past.
Sandy resides in New Hampshire with her tall Scot husband and spoiled pup, Coco.
In the Castle Blackstone series
THE ROGUE
A THIEF IN A KILT
(
Coming June 2013
)
THE WARRIOR
Other TIME-TRAVEL novels
A HIGHLANDER FOR CHRISTMAS
THE MACKINNON
MACDUFF’S SECRET
Other novels
THE KING’S MISTRESS
THE ACCIDENTAL DUCHESS
The Rogue
Be careful what you wish for, very careful.
1410, Loch Ard Forest, Scotland. To win a wager—and the keys to a castle from his liege lord, Sir Angus MacDougall must find an acceptable bride within three months. Unfortunately, his battle-scarred countenance and lack of title has made the task difficult. He has only three weeks left to find an educated and devote woman to become his chatelaine when an inadvertent handfasting binds him to the beautiful but illiterate pagan, Birdalane. The arrangement can only lead to ruin and both now rush to undo what the gods and ill-phrased wishes have set in motion.
Copyright © 2013 Sandy Blair
First printing by Kensington Publishing September 2004
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