The Clan MacDougall Series (150 page)
Read The Clan MacDougall Series Online
Authors: Suzan Tisdale
Tags: #Historical Romance, #Love Stories, #Medieval Scotland, #Mystery, #Romance, #Scottish, #Thriller & Suspense, #Highlanders, #Love Story, #Medieval Romance, #Scotland, #Scotland Highlands
So much had taken place in the past year. Most of it was for the better. The rest of it was heartbreakingly sad.
The seven clans had come together in a formidable union, even though Gillon Randolph had done his level best to see that it didn’t happen. Of course, he hadn’t come up with the idea of his own accord. He’d been deceived and in the end, the deception was more than the young man could bear.
Gillon had been duped by his blood father, deceived into believing falsehoods and unimaginable lies. Part of Wee William felt sorry for Gillon Randolph. Gillon had put his belief in the man who had raped his mother and was long believed to be dead, only to come back a year ago and claim otherwise.
After learning the truth, the
real
truth, Gillon Randolph had been so overwrought with grief, anger, and betrayal that he took his own life. It was James Randolph who had found his son hanging from the rafters in his bedchamber just three short days after learning the truth about the man whose blood ran through his veins.
Apparently, Gillon could not stand knowing that Randall Bowie had lied, that Randall wasn’t the man he had portrayed himself to be. He ended his life without leaving a letter of explanation. One could only assume that it was guilt that had led him to it. Overcome with his own grief, James Randolph swore he would kill Randall Bowie as soon as he was found. To date, Randall Bowie was still out there, hiding only heaven knew where. Wee William prayed that James Randolph would soon be able to avenge his son’s death. Gillon may have hung himself, but as far as most were concerned, Randall Bowie might just as well have killed the boy by his own hands, for the blame lay with him.
Rowan had married the beautiful Kate Carruthers and they were now living quite happily at Castle
Áit na Síochána
, a little more than a week’s ride from MacDougall lands. Though for years Rowan had been quite reluctant to set a date for him and Kate to marry, once he had set eyes upon the beautiful woman, all his worries faded away rapidly.
Findley had written months ago, announcing that Maggy had given birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl. In his letter, Findley had informed Wee William that he was in the process of building four trebuchets and having a moat installed around their home.
A soft knock on their chamber room door broke Wee William’s train of thought. He smiled down at his wife, kissed the top of her head, thanked God once again for all the blessings He had bestowed on him and bid whomever entry.
Elise bounced in, excited that she was an aunt at the ripe old age of seven. John followed behind, with his arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the Highlander with a dagger in his belt and the MacDougall plaid draped across his chest.
Not long ago John had informed Nora and Wee William that he had decided Scotland wasn’t such a bad place after all. Witnessing the way his former villagers had treated Nora last summer had left a very bitter taste in his mouth. John vowed never to return to England. Scotland was now his home.
Wee William watched quietly as Elise carefully climbed into the bed and placed herself directly between him and Nora. John stood next to Wee William and looked quite amazed by his niece and nephew.
“What are you going to name them?” Elise asked.
Nora and Wee William glanced at each other. There were many names to choose from and they had decided to wait until they saw their babe before naming him or her. Now that they had two, the choices had doubled.
“Well,” Nora said as she looked adoringly at her husband. “I would like to name the boy William John.”
Wee William and John each looked very pleased with that choice. “I’d be verra honored,” John said. Nora giggled when she heard the faint Scottish brogue that had begun to form in John’s speech.
“And me daughter,” Wee William said as he looked down at the sweet little bundle in his arms. “She should have a name to go with her beauty. Siusan Elise I believe will work. Siusan is Gaelic for lily or beautiful, dependin’ who ye ask. And I do believe she be as delicate as a lily and just as beautiful.” He pressed a gentle kiss to his daughter’s forehead before looking to his wife.
“What say ye, wife?” Wee William asked with a broad smile.
Nora could never say no to that braw, handsome smile of his. “Aye, I think that is a very fine name, William.”
So the little family sat looking in awe at the wee, tiny babes.
And never was a man more proud of his family than than Wee William of Dunshire.
A
n old adage declares there is no honor among thieves. The same can be said of traitors. Traitors often hide in the open, in plain sight. The truth is there for people who choose to see it, for those who are determined to see things as they are and not as they wish them to be.
In reality, traitors are nothing more than pretenders. Master manipulators. Actors in a play in which only they know who is who and what is what.
The people around them are but an audience, often seeing only what they
wish
to see.
When a traitor performs, openly defending the weak, speaking only with highest regard for his king and country and displaying an unequaled façade of honor, well, who would question his fealty? The traitor reveals only what he
wishes
others to see and only what he knows they wish to believe.
All the while the traitor silently laughs at the folly he has created, taking great pleasure in the absurdity of the entire situation.
And if he is extremely careful the world will never know who or what he
truly
is.
However, as is often the case with thieves, traitors, and ne’er-do-wells, fate steps in at the most unexpected times. It rips away the heavy curtain of subterfuge and duplicity, to openly display to the world not what it wishes to see, but what it, in fact,
must
see.
Such inaugurations to the truth are often painful and traumatic, leaving the newly inaugurated feeling stunned, stupefied and bitter. For some, the only means of survival is outright denial. They shun the truth, cursing it, preferring instead to live in denial. Mayhap because they love the traitor so much, it is easy to justify the traitor’s behavior. Or, they may not wish to believe they could have been so easily duped.
But as in all good plays, there are subtle twists and turns. Some are quite obvious, others, not so much. Mayhap the truth isn’t always what it seems. Mayhap there is far more to it than anyone realizes.
What then, motivates a man? A man like Angus McKenna who has spent his life defending the defenseless, offering hope to the hopeless, lifting up the weak? Honorable. Honest. Steadfast. A leader of men. A man loyal to king and country. A man above reproach. This is the man Angus McKenna’s people see, the man other leaders see, the man the world sees.
Ever since the day he took his oath as chief of the Clan MacDougall and made the promise to uphold and protect his clan above all other things, Angus McKenna put his family and his clan first. Each decision he made since that fateful day in 1331 was made with only one thought in mind: how will it affect his family and his clan?
Nothing mattered but the safety and wellbeing of his people. Not his own comfort, his own desires nor his own needs could be taken into consideration when making decisions that would directly affect his people.
What could have made Angus McKenna don a red and black plaid and turn against his king? His country? How could a man like Angus McKenna do such a thing? What could be of such a value that he would plot to murder his king and to forge a pact with the English? A pact that would cause the fall of his country and put it squarely into the hands of the very people he has spent his entire life fighting against.
Gold? Silver? Power? Something more?
Time and experience reveal that things are not always as they appear.
Suzan lives in the Midwest with her verra handsome husband and the last of their four children. They are currently seeking monetary donations to help feed their 16 year old, 6’ 3” built-like-a-linebacker son.
When she isn’t working, taking care of her family or spoiling her grandchildren, she writes. Some say it borders on the obsessive. Suzan prefers to think of it as passion.
“There is great joy in writing, but an even greater joy in sharing what you’ve written.”
—Suzan Tisdale
Twitter:
@suzantisdale