Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1)

C
opyright ©2015
Suzan Tisdale

Cover art by Seductive Designs

Cover images by: Thomas Gunter and Crooked Kitty Photography

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system - except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper - without permission in writing from the author.

ISBN: 0-985543-9-2

ISBN-13: 978-0-9855443-9-3

F
or
Suzan’s Highland Lassies
—
you’re more than just a street team, you’re my sisters.

F
or Mamma
. You are missed.

I
want
to extend special thanks to Kathryn Le Veque, Tanya Anne Crosby, and Ceci Giltenan --
my sisters from other misters.
Your friendship and counsel means more than you could ever possibly know or imagine.

A
very special
thank you to Kathryn Lynn Davis, Sue-Ellen Welfonder, and Victoria Zak. You helped me through one of the most difficult times in my life. Kathryn Lynn and Sue-Ellen: we'll always have the beach.

I
would like
to also thank my wonderful cover artist, Carrie with Seductive Designs. Thanks for putting up with me.

A
lso
, my editors, Judy T. and Scott M. I'll try not to vomit commas and italics next time.

And to all indie authors:
Carpe Diem!

F
iona McPherson was many things
. Stoic, calm in the face of chaos, and fierce. She could also be considered kind as well as generous. Determined, however, was the word most oft used when describing her. And today, she was very determined to get through the remainder of this meeting without committing murder.

If there was one thing no one could ever accuse her of, it was being foolish. The man at the opposite end of the table must not have been privy to that bit of information, for he acted as though she were the biggest fool he’d ever encountered.

Stoically, she cast a glance at the men who sat around the large table. Three of the seven were her brothers. By order of birth they were Collin, William, and Brodie, and they sat on her right. The brothers had all been blessed with their mother’s good looks and their father’s tall stature. They were exceedingly handsome young men, inheriting their mother’s dark hair and blue eyes, and yes, even her grace. Skilled warriors, intelligent strategists, and good, kind men. Not only could they wield a sword unlike any other she’d ever known but they could dance and sing as well. Women practically threw themselves at the three of them, caring not that two of the three were married. They were — and it was no stretch or exaggeration — beautiful men.

Fiona, from the day she was born, stood in stark contrast to her brothers. Unfortunately, she had inherited her father’s fair hair, green eyes and slight overbite. She was taller than the other women in her clan and could neither dance nor sing. The only thing she possessed that even remotely gave her any resemblance to her mother was her slender build and big bosom. Other than that, there was no doubt she was, in every sense of the word, her father’s daughter.

To her left were three men she had known for most of her life. Seamus McPherson, Andrew McFee, and Richard Wallace. Seamus resembled a whisky barrel with arms and legs and possessed a personality that could be considered dark. Andrew could have passed for one of her brothers, were it not for his crooked nose. Richard was a ginger-haired fellow and as ornery as the day was long. They had been her husband’s most trusted advisors. Now they were hers.

Then there was Aric MacElroy, chief of Clan MacElroy, the only man in the room who thought her a fool. Older than she by at least fifteen years, which would make him well over forty, he was a cocky man. But even she had to admit that he was handsome, with long light brown hair and big brown eyes. Fiona did not hold as high an opinion of the man as he held for himself. She found him boorish and arrogant.

Calmly, she answered his question. “Nay.”

Aric stared at her from across the table, making no attempt to hide his surprise. “What do ye mean,
nay
?”

Fiona was better at masking her thoughts and feelings than the man before her. That skill put her at a distinct advantage over nearly any opponent. They might not be on the battlefield right now, but she still thought of Aric MacElroy as an opponent. Not necessarily an enemy — at least not yet — but an adversary just the same.

Fiona gave a sidelong glance at her youngest brother, Brodie. He rolled his eyes and looked just as vexed by this meeting as she felt. Turning her attention back to the MacElroy, she said, “I believe nay means nay no matter where ye go, MacElroy.”

Even from the distance of ten feet, she could see his ire rising. He worked his jaw back and forth before asking his next question. “Why?”

Fiona was growing weary of the man. There were several ways of answering that particular question. All but one would inevitably lead to a clan war and that was something they could ill afford at the moment. Instead of telling the man that she found him far too full of himself, she took the road she hoped would keep her people out of war.

“I be verra flattered fer yer offer, MacElroy,” she said, using the most soothing voice she could muster. “But I canna marry ye. Me heart, ye see, still belongs to me husband, God rest his soul.” ’Twasn’t necessarily a full out lie. She did still love her husband very much, though he had passed away two years ago. James had been a good, kind decent man. Everything Aric MacElroy was not.

Aric cocked his head to one side and grunted. “Ye should be flattered,” he said haughtily. “But ’tis no’ yer heart I seek, Fiona McPherson.”

Reflexively, her hand went to the dagger in her belt. She rested her palm on the hilt and silently counted to ten. What he had said was not nearly as important as how he said it. She could easily read the underlying tone.
Ye should be flattered Fiona, fer yer no’ a bonny, young lass anymore. Ye should be flattered that a man as handsome as I would offer to marry a woman as plain as ye.

“I may be the chief of Clan McPherson, Aric MacElroy, but I am still a woman. Matters of the heart may no’ be as important to ye as they are to most, but I’ll no’ marry a man I do no’ love.”

“Bah!” he said with a wave of his hand. “What does love have to do with anythin’?” he asked derisively. “I’ll no’ lie and say ye’ve stolen me heart, or that ye be the most bonny woman I ever laid eyes to.”

I wouldna believe ye if ye did
. She took a deep breath and began counting to ten again.

“But even ye can see how this marriage would benefit each of us.”

The only one who would benefit would be ye, ye arrogant turd.

“And if ye canna see that, then ye be no’ as smart as people say.”

Fiona sighed again and pushed away from the table. Standing to her full height, she let Aric MacElroy see her hand resting on the hilt of her dirk. “If ye believe that I be dumb enough to marry ye, then ye are as dumb as I believe ye to be.”

She watched as it took a moment for her insult to sink into his thick skull. “I be givin’ ye the same answer that I gave the McKenzie, the Farquar, and the McGregor. Me reasons be me own and I owe ye no explanation.”

Aric shook his head and stood. “Allow me to make a prediction, Fiona McPherson.”

Fiona spread her hands with a wide flourish, the sunlight flickering against her mail as she feigned eagerness to hear what he had to say. In truth, the only thing she eagerly anticipated was his quick exit from this room, her keep and her lands.

“I predict that before the year be out, no’ only will ye no longer be chief of Clan McPherson, Clan McPherson will cease to exist.”

He looked quite proud of his prediction. Fiona gave it as much weight of importance as when auld Fergus McPherson gave his prediction that the earth was going to end. Fergus had made the prediction once, back in ’31 and again when Fiona was made chief of their clan two years ago.

“Allow me to make a prediction as well, Aric MacElroy,” Fiona said through gritted teeth as she unsheathed her sword. Under her mail, her padded vestments, her skin turned to gooseflesh. For reasons she’d never been able to work out, the sound of a sword being set free from its sheath gave her a tingly sensation in the pit of her stomach. She found the sound as pleasing as a babe’s laughter, birds twittering in the air or the breeze as it caressed spring flowers.

Aric mimicked her earlier hand flourish.

“If yer no’ out of this room by the time I count to five, ye’ll be dead before ye hit the floor.”

His face went pale as the blood rushed from it.

Anyone who knew Fiona McPherson knew she never made idle threats. She was also infamous for counting very quickly. Without further argument or even a cursory good day, Aric MacElroy quit the room at a full run, leaving behind him any dignity he may have possessed.

Once he was out of her war room, Fiona returned her sword to its sheath and turned to face the men in the room. Each of them looked especially relieved that she hadn’t killed Aric MacElroy. Richard was the only one smiling.

“I wish he had argued,” Richard said. “I would verra much have liked to see ye run him through.”

Fiona returned his smile. “I would have enjoyed that as well, Richard,” she began. Her brothers cleared their throats in unison, a quiet rebuke for her behavior. “But, that would have done nothin’ but lead us to war. Which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid.”

“‘Twould do ye good to remember that next time,” Collin said as he stood up.

“How many does that make?” Brodie asked as he sat cleaning his nails with his dirk.

“The MacElroy was the fourth,” Seamus told him. “That leaves two more. The MacKinnon and the McDunnah.”

Fiona stepped to the side table and poured herself a mug of ale. “God’s teeth, when will this end?” she muttered.

Seamus grunted and shook his head. “’Twill no’ end until ye either agree to marry one of them or when we all lay dead on the battlefield.”

Fiona turned to look at her men. Seamus was the only one willing to put to voice what she was quite certain the others were thinking.

“Clan McPherson has been at peace fer more than one hundred years,” she reminded them. “We’ve no’ fought against another clan in all that time. I find it odd that now, when there be a woman as chief, the rules have suddenly changed.”

But the rules had changed and that fact gnawed at her. Clan McPherson, a very small clan when compared to most, sat near the base of
Sidh Chailleann
. They had lived in relative obscurity for centuries because of the rough terrain and the fact that it rained nearly every day. No one really wanted this little spot of earth the McPhersons called home, so they were left alone.

When one looked at their little bit of heaven on a map, it very much resembled a sunburst pattern. At the top was the McPherson land. Branching off from its borders were the Clans McKenzie, Farquar, McGregor, MacElroy, MacKinnon and McDunnah. Fiona could leave her keep and need only walk a few hours in any direction before she would find herself on lands belonging to any one of those clans.

The McPhersons were by no means a rich clan. They made a living at raising sheep and producing some of the best wool in all of Scotland. But what set them apart from anyone else was their whisky. ’Twas said that when David was held prisoner by the English, part of the ransom demand was one hundred barrels of McPherson whisky. Fiona knew the story wasn’t true, but still, she took some measure of pride in knowing what fine whisky they made.

Unfortunately, no amount of wool or whisky would see them through the troubles they now faced.

Her husband had died young and though they had been married for seven years, they had not been blessed with children. Without an heir or any siblings, everything had been left to Fiona, including the chiefdom. No one had argued — save for Fergus who declared the world would most assuredly end with a woman at the helm. Fiona was loved by her clan’s people and since they had lived in peace for so long, no one thought that having their first female chief was cause for concern or alarm. Fiona was levelheaded and intelligent.

For the first year after James’ death, everything had run smoothly. The only concern anyone had was who would become chief if something happened to Fiona. She had put their concerns to rest by announcing that should anything happen to her, Collin, her eldest brother, would be appointed chief. Because her people loved Collin as much as they did Fiona, they accepted her mandate. Aye, the first year had passed by uneventfully.

In retrospect, Fiona realized the other clans were merely showing her the courtesy of allowing her to mourn the loss of her husband.

The real trouble began less than a year ago when the chief of Clan McKenzie showed up on their doorstep with a bargain he was certain she’d not be able to turn down. If Fiona would marry his third eldest son, Darren — a lad really at the age of nine and ten — and make him chief of Clan McPherson, then the McKenzies would offer their eternal protection.

Neither Fiona nor her advisors thought it a very good bargain. It wouldn’t have mattered to Fiona if every member of her clan was for the union. She would not have married a lad so young. She had boots older than the boy.

And so it began. More chiefs had come to her with similar proposals, all of which Fiona had politely turned down. She hoped that once word spread that she wasn’t going to marry any one of them that eventually, they would all give up the notion.

“Only the MacKinnon and McDunnah have no’ offered fer ye,” Brodie said.

Fiona let loose with a frustrated sigh. “I pray they continue to leave us be.”

“Are ye certain ye do no’ want to marry anyone?” William asked.

Fiona shot him a look that said she questioned his sanity. “William, there be no’ a man on God’s earth who could get me to change me mind.”