Pride of the Clan (27 page)

“I can tell,” his younger brother replied, his voice edged with sarcasm. “I regret the interruption, pray forgive me, Margaret, but Tannoch has asked both of ye to come to the Hall.”

“For what?” Rheade replied, noticing Logan still wore his best plaid.

His brother shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. “He has summoned me as well, and the elders of the clan. He’s making an announcement about Blair Castle within the hour.”

He turned and left before Rheade had a chance to protest.

“What’s this about?” Margaret asked.

Still on his knees, Rheade gathered her into his arms, unsure of how she might react to his suspicions. “I fear he plans to give Blair Atholl to me. It will get me out of his hair and ensure Blair’s controlled by a family member.”

She made no reply, but he felt the tension in her body.

“I ken ye dinna want to live where Robert Stewart—”

She silenced him with a fingertip on his lips. “Tannoch would only give ye the castle if he trusts ye. We’ll soon rid Blair of its ghosts.”

REWARDS

Margaret expected the people gathered in the Hall to be seated ready for the evening meal. She was taken aback at the sight of a large crowd of clan folk on their feet. Men stood with legs braced, arms folded across their chests. Women soothed restless bairns hoisted over their shoulders, or corralled unruly youngsters. Youths slouched against walls eyeing groups of giggling girls.

The odor of unwashed bodies assailed Margaret’s nostrils, though it seemed most had made an effort to look their best. The children’s hands and faces were clean, their hair combed.

A rousing cheer went up when she and her husband entered. Her frayed nerves settled. The folk of Dunalastair loved Rheade, and she supposed the bed linens Hannah had discreetly removed from the chamber were now flapping in the breeze atop the flagpole.

Tannoch beckoned them to join him and Logan on the dais.

The crowd quietened, every enquiring face turned to the chieftain, but his stern features betrayed nothing of what he was about to say.

His eyes ranged over the crowd, until only an occasional cough or the hiccup of a child intruded on the silence.
 

“Queen Joan has ceded Blair Castle to our clan,” he declared.

Raucous cheers greeted this pronouncement, though Margaret was certain news of the Queen’s gift had already reached the ears of most.

When calm was restored, Tannoch continued. “Blair Atholl is a fine edifice, its lands extensive.”

Murmurs of
Aye
rippled through the crowd.

“’Tis fitting such a demesne be forfeited by traitors and given to a loyal clan.”

More loud cheers.

Tannoch glanced at Logan. Margaret’s legs began to tremble. She gripped Rheade’s hand.

A rare smile cracked Tannoch’s face, but its accompanying frown belied any hint of happiness. “Ye ken I was wounded in pursuit of the assassins, so Blair is out o’ the question for me. Canna deal with the stairs.”

Polite laughter ensued, as if folk weren’t sure whether they were meant to be amused or not.

“In these uncertain times, ’tis vital Blair be in the hands of a strong leader, a man I trust; a warrior the clan can depend on.”

Margaret hazarded a glance at Rheade. Most in the crowd looked to him. His face gave no hint of his emotions, but his grip on her hand tightened. The knot in her belly refused to loosen.

“And thus, with the clan’s blessing I appoint my younger brother Logan as laird of Blair Atholl.”

Margaret closed her eyes as indignation soared into her throat. “Nay,” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

~~~

Rheade hooked his arm around Margaret’s waist and hastily pulled her to his side. The
nay
he was sure she was about to utter emerged instead as a strangled
yeah
. She scowled at him, her hand on his chest, her eyes full of anger, for his sake.

His disappointment was for her. Logan had always been Tannoch’s favorite, but this decision was an insult to his new bride. His younger brother had no wife, no one to fulfill the role of Blair’s chatelaine.

Tannoch’s announcement had been greeted by a strange silence. Eyes darted from one member of the family to the other.

Rheade took a step towards Logan.
 

His brother avoided his gaze.

“He knew,” Margaret hissed, confirming Rheade’s suspicion.

He looked to Tannoch. The chieftain had a peculiar grin on his face.
 

He’s enjoying my humiliation.

“I have another announcement,” Tannoch said softly.

His tone of voice took Rheade aback. He’d never known his brother do anything but bellow if he wanted attention.

“Ye ken I’m a man of few words, but this day there is much to be said. However, I beg yer indulgence while I sit.”

Rheade’s mouth fell open when Glenna appeared from the back of the Hall, ushering two men through the crowd. “I barely recognised her,” he murmured to Margaret. “She’s cut her hair.”

“Aye,” his wife replied. “She actually looks like mistress of a castle, and folk are paying her heed.”

The men positioned the large ornate chair they’d carried on the dais, then retreated. Glenna assisted her husband to sit, adjusting the plaid to cover his stump, ensuring the trefoil brooch was in the correct place. For once, Tannoch didn’t shoo her away.
 

Margaret curled her fingers into the edge of Rheade’s plaid. “He seems to be enjoying it.”

The crowd watched, many of them gaping, as if fascinated by the scene unfolding before them.

Tannoch tucked his big feet under the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles.

“Just like Da,” Rheade muttered under his breath.

Tannoch stroked a finger and thumb of his left hand down the sides of his beard then leaned forward. “Since I was a boy, I’ve been jealous of my brother Rheade.”

Crivvens!

Several people coughed nervously.
 

A bairn wailed.

Sweat trickled down Rheade’s spine.

Glenna stood like a statue, one hand resting on the back of her husband’s chair.

“In return, my brother showed me only love and respect.”

“Which probably wasna always easy,” Margaret whispered.

Rheade shrugged, wondering who had conjured this new Tannoch. Mayhap his wounds had stolen his wits.

“The reasons for my envy are complicated, and not entirely clear to me, but in return for Rheade’s love and loyalty, I stole credit for capturing the Stewarts. I hoped mayhap to win a title.” He chuckled. “Imagine, me, an Earl!”

Again the crowd seemed uncertain how to respond. Some tittered, others stared open mouthed.

“Aye,” Tannoch affirmed. “’Twas Rheade and Logan and their comrades who captured the Stewarts.” He winked at Margaret. “With the help of Rheade’s new wife.”

Every head swivelled to Margaret.

Tannoch chuckled. “Mind, we willna ask what Rheade and Margaret were doing alone together in one of the turret rooms at Blair.”

Nervous laughter trickled through the Hall.

Rheade feared he might have been stricken with a deadly fever. His body was on fire, Margaret’s steadying presence the only thing keeping him from bolting. Tannoch was working up to some monstrous humiliation. Belittling him was one thing. He was used to it, but if he picked on Margaret—

“And,” Tannoch continued, “without Rheade’s vision, we would never have unearthed Graham.”

Applause broke out.

“So. The assassins have been caught and punished. Our clan enjoys the Queen’s favor and has been rewarded with a handsome castle that now has a new laird. There remains but one last thing.”

To Rheade’s surprise, Tannoch beckoned Glenna to unpin his brooch, then came to his feet, this time without assistance. He held out the brooch. “For several years Rheade Robertson wore this pin. Ye all ken it belonged to my father.”

He looked over at Rheade then continued. “I’ve been yer chieftain, and I’ve led the clan as I deemed fit.”

Murmurs of agreement wafted over the now riveted crowd.

“But—”

Mouths fell open as Tannoch uncovered the stump of his right arm and raised it for all to see. He’d left off the bindings that usually concealed the ugly brutality of it.

Rheade’s heart filled with pity and pride. “I canna believe he would reveal his weakness,” he whispered to Margaret.

Women turned away. Bairns made noises of disgust only bairns can make. Men gritted their teeth. The loss of a limb meant destitution and isolation.
 

“Dinna pity me,” Tannoch roared, brandishing the severed limb. “This is my badge of honor. I gave my right arm to capture Graham. ’Twas worth it.”

He paused, his gaze ranging over the crowd before it came to rest on Rheade. “However, ’tis no longer possible or fitting for me to continue as your laird.”

The adder coiled in Rheade’s gut hissed. “What is he doing?” he muttered under his breath.

“He’s making ye chieftain,” his wife whispered in reply.

Tannoch held out the brooch to Margaret. “I canna pin this on yer husband’s plaid, Lady Margaret. I’d be obliged if ye can do it for me.”

Rheade feared his knees might fail him as his grinning wife pinned the trefoil brooch onto his plaid.

“I declare Rheade Donnachaidh Starkey Robertson chief of this clan,” Tannoch thundered.

A loud
Aye
echoed from the gathering.

“Will ye declare yer loyalty to him?”

“Aye!”

“Is there any man, woman or bairn present who opposes his right to be chieftain?”

“Nay!”

Loud shouts and cheers filled the Hall, but Rheade heard only his heart thudding in his ears. The responsibility of lairdship was something he’d never sought, but he was his father’s son, and with Margaret as his helpmate—

He swallowed the lump in his throat as Tannoch embraced him.

“’Tis a big relief for me to turn this o’er to someone I trust,” his brother whispered, clamping his good hand on his shoulder. “I’ll try not to interfere.”

Rheade looked into Tannoch’s eyes and saw there the love he’d craved all his life. “Margaret willna let ye,” he replied.

Tannoch laughed. “Now,” he declared, turning his attention to the boisterous crowd, “as my final act as yer laird, ye’re ordered out o’ the way so tables can be set up for supper.”

Folk scurried to comply as a smiling Glenna came to assist him from the dais.

The elders approached Rheade to offer their congratulations and support. Margaret stood at his side, accepting the courtly gestures with grace.

When they were the only ones left on the dais, she turned to him. “Did ye notice Tannoch gave ye no opportunity to refuse?”

GREEDY MEN

Blair Castle, Two Years Later

“I’ll take Jocelin, my lady.”

Hannah’s whisper jolted Margaret from her doze. Confused, she looked down at the babe nestled to her breast, sound asleep. She lifted the six month old into Hannah’s arms and hastily covered her bare breast, relieved she’d dozed off in a shadowed corner away from the Great Hall.

“’Tis no wonder ye are both exhausted. Poor bairn could barely stay awake to suckle,” Hannah declared. “Ye must get to bed. Yer husband was right ye should have stayed at Dunalastair in yer condition.”

Margaret admitted inwardly the journey had been harder on her than she’d expected. Her feet had swollen to twice their size and her back ached like the devil. “But I had to come for Logan’s wedding,” she whined, wondering if her aches and pains and premonitions of an ill-wind had been brought on by the ghosts of Blair.

Hannah pecked a kiss on the sleeping babe’s forehead. “I agree with my lord Rheade. Women in their fifth month shouldna be traipsing around the Highlands, especially when they’re carrying the clan’s heir.”

Margaret recognised that arguing with her lady’s maid would be futile. Hannah had become the irrefutable authority on everything since they’d first met in Stirling, and had assured everyone her mistress’s third child would be a boy. It was true this pregnancy had been more difficult, but it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Rheade longed for a son, but he’d never censured her for their two daughters. If ever a man was in love with his bairns, it was Rheade, and at eighteen months, Isobel Roberston knew it.

Margaret made an attempt to prize her hips out of the comfortable chair. “I suppose Logan and his lady will be leaving the gathering soon, I must—”

Hannah snorted. “
Losh
! My lord Logan and his Douglas bride are long gone to their nuptial chamber.”

A memory surfaced of her own wedding night, when Logan had hinted at shenanigans. “I canna credit I didna hear a commotion,” she said, conjuring a vision of her fun-loving husband leading the bawdy well-wishers. “Did Rheade go with them?”

“Nay,” Hannah whispered. “Keegan and his pals took care of the nonsense, not to mention the rowdy lot from the Douglas clan. Yer husband’s too busy with his daughter.”

Their attention was drawn to shouts coming from the Hall itself. “Well, something’s going on in there,” Margaret said, managing to extricate her weight from the chair. “Take Jocelin to our chamber. I’ll follow soon, I promise.”

She waddled into the Hall, alarmed that the mood was now far from festive. Angry men brandished swords, calling for revenge. Something had gone terribly awry. She quickly located Rheade. He came towards her, Isobel in his arms. He tried to pass the bairn to her, but his daughter clung to his neck like a limpet.

“What’s happened?” she asked, trying to ignore the lead weight in her belly that made her feel twice the size she was.

Rheade kissed his wailing daughter’s head. “She’s upset at the commotion, and no wonder,” he rasped. “News has come from Stirling. Queen Joan has been arrested.”

She gasped, envisioning the haughty Queen’s anger. Her fury when Archibald Douglas assumed the Regency was legendary, though the recently departed Douglas had proven to be a wise Regent. “Arrested?”

“Aye, the thing we feared after Archibald’s death might yet come to pass,” he replied, smoothing a hand over Isobel’s blonde braids. “Those who’ve long coveted Douglas’s power have moved to exert their control over the young King.”