Black Raven's Lady: Highland Lairds Trilogy (30 page)

When the young horse reached Keir and Lady Emma standing by the fence railing, he whickered in curiosity. He nuzzled Keir’s hand and sniffed the shiny red fruit with his velvet nose, then accepted the offering while Emma fed the mare an apple as well.

Smiling with approval, Keir patted the colt’s head fondly. “Have you named him?”

Lady Emma nodded. “I’ve named him Ruaidh,” she answered, then peeked up at Keir from the corner of her eye. “I hope you like it, son.”

Keir stiffened at the mention of his father’s name. “Since you’ve chosen it, I like it well enough,” he said with measured restraint. He wouldn’t spurn his mother’s gift or cause her unhappiness for the world.

The breeze from the woods nearby drifted around them. The foal turned and raced back across the paddock. Kicking his heels and frisking in glee, he rejoined the yearlings, while the mare moved to stand in the stable’s shade.

“Mother,” Keir asked in a low tone, “did you love my father?”

Emma placed her hand on Keir’s forearm and squeezed compassionately. “I take it you’ve heard the stories that surrounded our unlikely courtship.”

“Were you abducted?”

Emma laughed softly. “That particular rumor was true. Ruaidh swooped me up and took me to his castle in Barra. He claimed that I was surrounded by so many suitors at Stalcaire, he didn’t have a chance to catch my attention.” She patted Keir’s hand affectionately. “Perhaps your father was right, dear, for I don’t remember speaking with him once until I found myself on his galley sailing to the Outer Hebrides. As you know, Ruaidh’s line descended from Celtic and Norse kings,” she reminded her son with a tender smile, “and sometimes he acted in a most impulsive and high-handed manner—like someone else I know.”

“What happened at Barra?” Keir asked, his voice gruff in his constricted throat. “Tell me the truth, Mother. Please don’t lie in a mistaken attempt to protect me.”

His mother slipped her arm through his. “Oh, Keir, I hope you never believed that Ruaidh harmed me in any way. Your father behaved with great chivalry. He promised that I could leave Kisimuth Castle at the end of a month if he could not convince me of his devotion. He wooed me like a knight from the ancient sagas. And by the close of the thirty days, I had fallen deeply in love with him.”

“Then you didn’t marry my father to provide me with legitimacy?” Keir asked, the bitter words torn from deep inside. “To insure that I would be the next chief of Clan MacNeil?”

“Keir!” Emma cried in astonishment, “how could you think such a thing? My dear son, you were conceived in love on our wedding night. I had no idea you held such a dreadful misconception. Why did you never ask me about this before?”

His words came low and filled with a wretched sorrow. “I feared my questions would bring you too much pain.”

Keir felt once again the terrible shock of being told—at the age of eight—that his father had raped his mother and he was the tragic result. Knowing now that he’d been lied to, Keir had the sickening realization that if his father hadn’t been killed he might have loved the man he’d hated for so long.

“Your father loved us both very much, Keir,” Emma said. “Ruaidh was so proud the day you were born. When you were a toddler, he’d lift you up on his shoulders and carry you about—just as I’ve seen you carry your nephew with the same love in your eyes. Have you no memory of your father whatsoever?”

Keir shook his head. “Nothing but vague glimpses of a black-haired giant with no meaning behind them. Ruaidh had been gone for a long time in the wars of rebellion, and I was only seven when he was killed in battle.”

Emma nodded sadly. “And the next year I took you to Stalcaire to live with my brother. I couldn’t bear to stay at Kisimuth with the memories of my beloved husband lingering in every room. A few years later, Duncan used his influence at court to have you fostered to the king’s admiral, Sir Anthony Wood, until it was time for you to attend the university in Paris.”

“ ’Twas a wise choice all the way around,” Keir assured her. “As Uncle Macraith insists to this day, the MacNeils are born with salt water in their veins.” He enfolded his mother in his arms and kissed her on the forehead. “You can’t imagine the joy I feel, Mother, knowing you loved my father and mourned his passing. And that when you look at me, you feel no sorrow or regret.”

Emma reached up and framed Keir’s face in her hands. “My darling son,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes, “I am so proud that you are the spirit and image of your father.”

L
ATE THE NEXT
morning, Raine and Keir reached Rannoch Mill on horseback. She’d asked to go for a ride after breakfast, suggesting they might enjoy a bit of privacy. She hadn’t disclosed that she wanted to talk with him alone without the chance of being interrupted. He’d agreed at once. Raine suspected her future husband had an entirely different reason for seeking seclusion.

The abandoned millhouse stood on the confluence of the River Leven and Loch Leven beneath the shadow of Garbh Bheinn’s rocky peak. ’Twas a perfect autumn morning with a cool breeze in the shade of the tall pines.

Raine looked about her with pleasure. The reflection of the clouds scudding across the deep blue sky, the snowcapped mountain peaks and the dark green forest shimmered in the loch’s turquoise water.

They dismounted and while Keir tended to the horses, Raine spread a red-and-black Cameron tartan on the grassy bank. She placed the wicker basket Cook had packed for them on a corner of the wool plaid.

Raine peeked at Keir in admiration as he removed the saddles and laid them on the grass nearby. He wore the MacNeil green-and-black kilt, and his bonnet sported the three plumes of a clan chief. Long-limbed and muscular, he moved with a lithe grace that belied his immense strength.

From their shady bower beside the broken waterwheel, they could see the walls of Kinlochleven Castle sitting high on the rugged cliffs above. They could hear the rushing waterfall that plummeted down to the cold waters of the deep loch. The castle was the home of Keir’s oldest brother, Laird Rory MacLean, and his wife, Lady Joanna. Gideon Cameron had fostered Rory as a young lad and the families had a deep and abiding friendship.

A large party from Archnacarry planned to ride to Kinlochleven the next day to visit the MacLeans and their children. Soon Fearchar would also be at the castle, reunited with his loving wife, Maude.

“This is one of my favorite places,” Raine said.

“Aye, ’tis lovely,” Keir agreed, removing his sword belt and bonnet and dropping them on the blanket. He sat down and leaned against a tree trunk, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “I remember riding here on a hunt from Archnacarry stables. Though you were only fourteen, you managed to keep up with the rest of the hunters.” He flashed her a teasing smile. “You were always a fearless rider, even at a young age.”

Raine nodded absently as she set out the cheese and meat along with a loaf of bread, freshly baked that morning. “Keir, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” she announced, her soprano sounding more high-pitched than usual. “Something important, which could affect our future together.”

She had his instant and undivided attention.

“And what would that be?” Keir asked gruffly, as though he suspected he might not be pleased with what she had to say. He must have sensed her anxiety during their long ride. Or her shrill, worried voice had just given her away. “We’re to be married as soon as the banns are read in Kinlochleven’s chapel,” he added in a voice of unquestioned authority. Before she had a chance to reply, he reached out to catch her hand and bring her closer.

Settling down beside him, Raine offered a tentative smile. “Before those announcements are made at Mass, I’ve something to ask you which might change your mind.”

“Change my mind about what?” Keir growled. His eyes glittered like emerald shards, making it clear he wasn’t going to even consider that he might not want to wed her. No matter what she said.

“About your wish to marry me,” she blurted out.

“Go on.” He waited, his stubborn jaw set, his brow furrowed.

“Do . . . do you remember what Aunt Isabel said when we announced we were going to be married?”

Keir grinned, clearly diverted by her question and unaware of course that what he found so amusing was at the very crux of her dilemma.

“Aye,” he answered with a short laugh. “Isabel said she always knew we were meant for each other.” He slipped his arm about her waist to bring Raine even closer. “Have you changed your mind about the faeries at Calanais, love?”

Raine tried to wriggle out of his hold, only to discover he held her clamped against his side with maddening ease. She met his gaze, glowing now with outright amusement at the turn in their conversation. “Never mind about the faeries at the standing stones,” she said. “Don’t you remember what else my aunt said?”

“Certainly.” Keir lifted Raine onto his lap and nuzzled the curve of her neck. His hand slid from her waist to cup her breast, and he moved his thumb across its crest provocatively. “Isabel said she didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when you were born without a pair of wings.”

Determined to continue, Raine pushed against his wide chest with the palms of both hands till she was able to look into his eyes once again. “And that doesn’t worry you?”

“Not a bit.” Keir tipped her back so she was resting in the crook of his arm. He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers in a light, teasing kiss.

Impatient Raine pressed two fingers against his mouth. “I’m not through,” she insisted. “There’s more I need to say.”

“Go on, love,” he murmured as he kissed her fingertips. “You have my complete attention.”

Raine drew a deep, steadying breath and her words tumbled out in a rush. “If Aunt Isabel were right—if I
were
part faery—would you still want to wed me?”

He took her earlobe between his teeth and gave her a playful nip before he whispered in her ear. “I’d marry you, Raine, if you were half witch.”

“Well . . . well,” she sputtered, indignant at the very suggestion. She struggled to sit up, to no avail. “I’m most definitely
not
a witch,” she stated unequivocally.

Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. Keir appeared vastly entertained at her annoyed reaction. “I’m nay so certain you’re not a witch,” he told her in a teasing tone. “Let’s find out.”

Before Raine realized his intention, Keir lifted her off his lap and onto the blanket. Rising to his feet he first kicked off his brogues and then removed her half-boots. Without a word of explanation, he bent down and scooped her up in his arms. He marched down the grassy bank to the river’s edge and continued straight into the moving water.

“What are you doing?” Raine squealed. “You’ll get us both wet.”

“That’s the idea,” he said with a wicked grin. “If you’re a witch, you’ll float.”

She shrieked as the cold water sloshed over her skirts. “You already know I can’t swim!” Raine grabbed his side-braids and gave a warning tug. “I won’t let go, no matter what!’ she declared. “I’m warning you, Keir! If I go under I’ll take you with me!”

Her threats seemed to go unnoticed. “What else do you need to ask me, Lady Raine?” he demanded, making it clear he’d allow her one more question and only one.

Raine met his gaze, determined to face the truth no matter how painful. “Would you still want to marry me, Laird MacNeil, if ’twas I who cast a spell over you at Calanais?”

She could feel his laughter rumbling deep in his chest. “Rainey, love,” he said, his deep baritone filled with happiness, “you wrapped me in your spell long before we visited the Isle of Lewis.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Raine protested. She scowled at him. “You’ve wanted nothing to do with me for the last two years. Not since the day I bested you in chess when I was seventeen.”

He grinned as he walked farther into the water. “You think that’s why I stayed away from you, sweetheart? Because I was angry that you’d bested me in a chess game?”

“Well, of course,” she replied. “You left Archnacarry immediately, not even saying farewell to my mother.”

He chuckled as he placed a kiss on her brow. “That wasn’t why I left. Or why I stayed away.”

“Why did you then? For you all but avoided me after that.”

He carried her even deeper into the river, till the water was nearly up to his waist. “Lady Raine Cameron—soon to be Lady MacNeil—I avoided you because I’ve lusted for you from the moment you did that victory dance celebrating my defeat. I stayed away because I was convinced I could never have you.”

“Oh, what nonsense,” she said with a laugh. “Women were pulling each other’s hair out fighting over you.”

“While you were calling me an idiot.”

“Is that why you’re carrying me into the river, Laird MacNeil? You’re getting us both soaked to our skin because I called you an idiot?”

Keir’s eyes smoldered with erotic intention. “Now that we’re soaked to our skin, Rainey, love,” he replied in a husky tone, “we’ll need to strip off our wet clothes and spread them out on the grass to dry in the sunshine.”

“Mm,” Raine said, batting her lashes seductively, “whatever shall we do while we’re waiting for them to dry?”

“First,” he said, “I’m going to teach you how to swim.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Epilogue

May 1505

Kisimuth Castle

Isle of Barra, Outer Hebrides

T
HE
B
LACK
R
AVEN,
the
Sea Hawk
, and the
Sea Dragon
rode at anchor in the protected harbor of Castle Bay. The MacLeans and the MacRaths had gathered for the imminent birth of Laird and Lady MacNeil’s first offspring.

Lady Nina and Lady Emma, accompanied by her brother, Duncan Stewart, earl of Appin, had arrived a month before. Keir had sent Macraith to bring them in the
Raven
, wanting to be certain the ladies were at the castle in ample time should the bairn arrive early. Laird Alex Cameron and his sister, Isabel, had also sailed with them.

Three weeks after that, Laird Rory MacLean, Lady Joanna, and their two children reached Kisimuth in the
Dragon
, along with Fearchar and Maude.

Then two weeks ago, Laird Lachlan MacRath, earl of Kinrath, and his wife, Lady Francine, arrived with their four children. They’d brought their nursemaid, Signora Grazioli, to help with the young triplets, who’d been born the previous spring. Lachlan’s cousin, Colin, and his uncle, Walter, had sailed the
Hawk
into the wide bay, hove to and dropped anchor.

The crews of the three galleons were fed daily in the castle’s enormous great hall. The seamen spent the daytime hunting, fishing, and enjoying games such as lawn bowls and archery contests on the extensive castle grounds, for the entire island belonged to the chief of Clan MacNeil. The sailors spent their night hours on the ships.

For the past few weeks, Kisimuth Castle had rung with children’s voices in play, high-pitched feminine chatter, and the deep, resounding laughter of men bonded by the ties of kinship and brotherhood.

That very morning a galley sailing all the way from the Solway Firth, which lay between Scotland and England, had arrived in Castle Bay, carrying bags of grain, bolts of cloth, fresh fruits and vegetables—and a special guest few were aware of, save Francine and her husband, Lachlan.

After the midday meal in the great hall had been cleared away, some of the crewmen left for a hunting foray. Others went on a fishing expedition in the ships’ longboats. While the nursemaids put the little ones down for a nap, the castle’s womenfolk went upstairs to attend the mother-to-be and prepare the clothing for the newborn babe.

The gentlemen of the three families stood before the huge fireplace as a servant carried around a beaker of port and wineglasses on a tray. Once Rory MacLean saw that every kinsman had been served, he turned to his Uncle Duncan. “What’s the latest news from Edinburgh?” he asked.

“I was with the king,” Duncan replied, “when the earl of Argyll defended himself from accusations of treason. The wily old fox pleaded that he knew nothing of the release of his grandson from Innischonaill until it was an accomplished fact. He adamantly denied any contact with his brother-in-law, Torcall MacMurchaidh. Nor did he know anything about the English-built carracks that had invaded Scottish waters.”

Incredulous, Macraith stroked his long brown beard with its glass beads. “And did King James believe Argyll in spite of Allan MacRanald’s testimony to the contrary?”

Duncan Stewart, a counselor and kinsman to the king, shook his gray head. His astute hazel eyes revealed his perplexity. “Whether James Stewart believed Argyll or MacRanald, ’twas impossible to tell,” he confessed. “ ’Twas one man’s word against the other. For no one except Laird MacRanald actually claimed to have seen Argyll with MacMurchaidh. And Archibald Campbell is by far the more powerful laird.”

Rory’s handsome, auburn-haired brother nodded. “Aye,” Lachlan agreed. “The king needs Argyll to keep the clans of the Western Highlands in check. Without the earl’s far-reaching influence throughout the Isles, the rebellion will never be completely quelled, and Scotland will never be strong enough to defeat its foreign enemies.”

“And what about MacMurchaidh?” Rory asked Laird Alex Cameron. “I understand that Parliament summoned him to answer the charge of treason.”

Alex was the surviving brother of Rory’s foster father. A deep bond had been forged between them when Gideon Cameron was murdered. Rory and his two brothers had pledged to find the killer and bring him to justice.

“Laird Torcall is still entrenched in his fortress at Steòrnabhagh,” Alex replied. “The rumor is that Donald Dubh has returned from Ireland now that winter is over.”

Colin MacRath stood next to his cousin, Lachlan, listening attentively. The tall, lean redhead stuttered nervously around the beautiful ladies. But with the men, he easily joined in the conversation. Rory had always admired the lad’s sincere commonsense.

“I’ve heard the king will send the earl of Huntly to capture MacMurchaidh and his traitorous guest,” Colin said. “The royal fleet will sail to the Isle of Lewis to lay siege to his castle sometime this year. I’m thinking of sailing with them.”

The gathering of men grew quiet as they paused to recall the events of last summer. Keir had chosen to leave Castle Murchaidh standing and its laird unharmed solely because of his devotion to Raine. King James, being a romantic himself, hadn’t punished The MacNeil. Neither had the title of earl been forthcoming as most had expected at the onset of the campaign.

At that moment Francine and Joanna bustled into the hall.

“Is it the baby?” Rory asked his wife, who’d come to stand beside him.

Small-boned and vivacious, Joanna wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Not yet,” she answered with a happy laugh. “But my good-sister has something to announce.”

Lady Francine’s brown-eyed gaze flew around the group to light on her husband, who responded with a knowing grin. “Lachlan and I have invited a guest from England,” she explained to the curious gentlemen. “The lady is a dear friend of mine, who’s recently become a widow.” Francine turned to the hall’s wide entryway expectantly.

Intrigued, Rory waited to see who the mysterious guest could be.

But for several minutes, no one appeared.

Then a lovely brunette, somewhere in her late twenties, peeked around the edge of the entryway. Her gray eyes, framed with dark, luxuriant lashes, betrayed her hesitation, as though she were uncertain of her welcome.

Rory recognized the Sassenach lady immediately. He’d met her at the royal wedding two summers ago. Colin had engaged in a passionate affair with the married lady, whom he’d met on the journey from England to Edinburgh. The lad had been heartbroken when she’d been forced by protocol and custom to return home with her elderly husband.

“Come in, Lady Diana,” Lachlan encouraged with a wave of his hand. He gave her a wide, welcoming smile to reassure her. “I believe there’s someone here who’ll be especially glad to see you.”

Everyone turned to look at Colin, whose freckled face grew beet red. For the space of a long minute, he didn’t say a word, just stood staring at the bonny young widow in dumbfounded surprise.

Standing in the entryway, Lady Diana Pembroke ducked her head and gazed at him through lowered lashes, as though afraid he might not even remember her.

Without a sound Colin left the group of men at the fireplace, walked across the great hall and took Diana in his arms. Their impassioned kiss, filled with love and longing, seemed to go on and on. Still without saying a word to anyone, Colin took Diana’s hand and led her through the doorway and out of sight.

Walter shook his head and grinned unabashedly. “My son always did have a way with the ladies.”

Laughter broke out among the men, but the appearance of Fearchar’s wife at that same moment interrupted their hilarity.

“Is it the baby?” Fearchar boomed, his full-throated baritone echoing through the cavernous hall.

Sturdy and solid like her husband, Maude smiled and nodded. “The birth contractions are coming strong and fast now. We thought the husband would like to know.” Then she bobbed a curtsy and left. Francine and Joanna immediately hurried after Maude to join the other women upstairs.

The men looked around for the new father-to-be, only to realize that Keir was nowhere in sight.

“Come to think of it,” Macraith said with a frown, “I’ve nay seen my nephew since early this morning. He looked a little green at the time.”

“Where could Keir be?” Duncan remarked. “I can’t remember when I spoke with him last.”

Lachlan looked at Rory with a worried frown. “Where the hell is our little brother?”

“Let’s try the chapel,” Rory suggested. “That’s where I spent the night at Kinlochleven when Jamie was born.”

R
ORY AND
L
A
CHLAN
stepped through the vestibule’s arched portal and into the central nave, where Keir MacNeil had been baptized as a newborn babe. There at the front of the chapel, surrounded by a brilliant shimmer of light, he knelt at the altar railing, his dark head bowed in prayer.

Every vigil candle in the place had been lit.

The poor box had probably been stuffed with gold unicorns as well.

The two Highland warriors, known by their enemies as the Hellhounds of Scotland, moved quietly up the center aisle, knelt down on either side of their youngest brother, and made the sign of the cross.

Keir’s face was buried in his folded hands. His deep voice sounded muffled and forlorn. “I’ve made a vow,” he told them in a strangled whisper. “If God will let Raine and the baby survive, I’ll never lay a hand on my wife again. Not for as long as I live.”

Over the top of Keir’s bent head, Rory met Lachlan’s amused gaze.

This was their ferocious younger brother, whom they’d watched take down eight men in as many seconds, dispatching two at a time, one with his broadsword and the other with his dirk, in a merciless display of close-quarter fighting that would make most men’s blood run cold. ’Twas no wonder his enemies had labeled him the Black Beast’s Spawn after his equally ferocious father.

Rory placed his hand on Keir’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort and understanding. “I made the very same vow the night that Jamie was born,” he said, trying hard not to smile. “But Joanna would have nothing to do with it. She reminded me that I’d made another vow first in front of God and the priest at the altar. I had promised on our wedding day to worship Joanna with my body for the rest of my life. And as my wee, red-haired wife summed the matter up, that was that.”

Lachlan grinned. “I can just hear Joanna saying it in her own inimitable way.”

Keir shook his head, but managed a weak smile. “Since both of you lived through this same intolerable waiting, I’m surprised every hair on your heads isn’t white.”

At that moment Lady Emma came into the chapel by a side door. “I thought the three of you might be here,” their mother said with a loving smile. “I came to fetch Keir. The baby has arrived.”

His swarthy complexion drained of color, Keir jumped to his feet. His words came thick and choked with fear. “And Raine?”

“Mother and child are fine,” Lady Emma assured him. She stood on tiptoe and kissed her youngest son’s cheek. “Congratulations, Keir. You’re a father.”

“A boy or a girl?” Lachlan asked.

“I’ll let Keir find out for himself,” their mother replied. She slipped her arm through Keir’s and together they left the chapel to go upstairs.

Lachlan and Rory returned to the great hall to share the happy news with the other gentlemen and pass around a bottle of whisky in celebration. In the harbor of Castle Bay, cannon boomed in a salute to the newest MacNeil.

L
ADY
E
MMA KNOCKED
softly on the bedchamber door, and Raine’s mother opened it at once. With an angelic smile, Lady Nina reached up to kiss Keir on the cheek. “Come in, my dear,” she said, her blue eyes shining. “Someone’s waiting to meet you.”

The large bed was surrounded by a bevy of females. Aunt Isabel, Francine, Joanna, Maude, and Signora Grazioli quickly moved away to let Keir approach his wife and child. Carrying soiled linens and basins of water, the women hurried out the door and closed it softly behind them, leaving the new family alone.

Propped up on pillows and dressed in a fresh white nightgown, Raine smiled at Keir. Her ebony eyes sparkled with happiness as she motioned for her worried husband to approach the bed. “Come see your new daughter,” she whispered.

His heart lodged in his throat, Keir slowly walked to the bed and looked down at the tiny bundle cradled in the crook of Raine’s arm.

“Don’t be afraid, dearest,” Raine said. “Take her in your arms.”

Keir lifted the baby girl wrapped in swaddling clothes, trying to see the wee face through his tears. “She’s beautiful,” he croaked, though all he could discern was a tiny red blur. A wave of immeasurable love washed over him. He placed the fragile, helpless newborn carefully back in her mother’s arms and sank to his knees beside the bed. He took his wife’s hand and lovingly kissed her fingers. “Thank God, thank God,” he murmured.

“Keir,” Raine asked softly, “what shall we name her?”

“Titania,” he answered at once. “Since my daughter might be part faery, I think she should have the name of a faery queen.”

His wife’s eyes widened in surprise, for they’d discussed naming a girl after his mother. Then Raine smiled and beamed with pleasure.

“Titania Emma MacNeil it will be.”