One
Holy Father, guide me with Yer infinite wisdom and divine inspiration, so I dinna bungle ma interview with the king. Lord, keep me from making an eejit of maself. St. Columba, spiritual ancestor of the MacKinnons, watch over me. Infuse me with yer way with words. Pray for ma soul that I dinna say the wrong thing and embarrass maself and ma people. Oh, and Lord, thank Ye for the blessings of the coming season. May I keep in ma heart and ma mind the season of Advent and the celebration of the coming birth of our only Savior, Yer Son, Jesus Christ. In Yer name, I pray. Amen.
Ronan MacKinnon opened his eyes and realized he was the last person in the church at Stirling Castle. He’d thought to say a few extra words after the morning Mass ended, but his prayers drew out as his nervousness about meeting with King Robert the Bruce increased. Unfamiliar with the castle and life at court, Ronan had never felt more like an islander and less like a Scot in his life. His home on the Isle of Skye felt like a million miles away, a foreign realm compared to life on the mainland. He would have much preferred the constant drizzle and gloom of winter in the Hebrides because it came with the fresh saltwater scent and the sound of crashing waves, the call of seagulls, and the brisk sea breeze. The sights and sounds of Stirling Castle were off-putting to a man accustomed to the wilds of the Hebrides.
Ronan rose from his knees, making the sign of the cross one last time, and turned toward the doors. It surprised to him to see a young lady kneeling with her head bowed several pews behind where he’d been praying. He hadn’t heard a sound and believed himself to be alone in the castle’s kirk. He was grateful he hadn’t spoken his prayers aloud, as he often did at Dun Ringill Castle. He could see little of the woman’s face, but he noticed her ebony locks shone like a raven’s wing. Her hands were fine-boned, and her fingers showed cleanly manicured nails. Her gown was elegant, but not as ostentatious as those worn by many women at court. He deduced from her age and her appearance that she was one of Queen Elizabeth de Burgh’s ladies-in-waiting. When her eyes shifted as he approached, he blinked twice at their color. They were the same greenish blue as a robin’s egg. She didn’t acknowledge him but dipped her head again and resumed her prayers. Ronan had been unprepared for the shocking contrast between her inky hair and light eyes and the stunning combination it created. Even though she couldn’t see him as she prayed, he still nodded as he walked past. If all the women at court were as striking as this youthful one, he would likely trip over his tongue every time he opened his mouth. He would undoubtedly make a fool of himself and the MacKinnons. He wished he could call for his horse and gallop away, never looking back.
Abigail MacLeod first sensed, then saw, the man moving toward her. She’d seen the back of his head when she slipped away from the other ladies-in-waiting, opting for additional time in prayer rather than gossiping with the ladies as they broke their fast. It was a fortnight before Advent started, and the beginning of her third month as a lady-in-waiting. She spent a few extra minutes in prayer after the Sunday Mass to thank God for where her life had taken her after the last few years of turmoil.
Abigail reflected upon the woman she was not so long ago. Her cheeks always grew heated as shame washed over her as she remembered how abominably she acted toward her sister-by-marriage, Maude Sutherland. She recalled the hateful and mean-spirited things she said when her loving and patient sister-by-marriage arrived at Stornoway, on the northeastern side of the Isle of Lewis, as Abigail’s older brother’s bride. She and her mother had been atrocious because they believed Kieran should have married a woman of their choice, a woman they believed was more like them. They’d ridiculed Maude for her appearance, though now Abigail couldn’t fathom what they’d seen as the woman’s flaws. She wasn’t a striking beauty, but she was pretty in her own way. She wasn’t the image of the thin and comely lady-in-waiting that Abigail’s older sister Madeline had been. But Maude made life better at Stornoway Castle, and she was a model wife, mother, and chatelaine. But in the beginning, Abigail and her mother had only seen what they’d believed were Maude’s flaws, and blamed her for Madeline’s banishment to an abbey. They refused to accept Kieran’s decision to send Madeline away because of Abigail’s sister’s disgraceful choices at court.
Abigail prayed for thanksgiving that Maude survived an animal attack that nearly killed her and could have killed the twins Maude carried. It had been a devastating and eye-opening experience to see Maude fight for her life and the toll that fear took on Kieran. It caused Abigail and her mother Adeline to re-evaluate their perception of Maude and the dreadful way they treated her. While the two women turned over a new leaf, Kieran initially hadn’t been as forgiving as Maude. He’d threatened to send Abigail to court as Madeline’s replacement among the ladies-in-waiting, or to marry her off to an old toad still in need of an heir. She was grateful that she had wound up as a lady-in-waiting after a failed yearlong handfast. Abigail forced herself to set aside thoughts of her doomed trial marriage. She didn’t wish to ruin a beautiful morning or her concentration by rememberinghim.She finished her prayers and left the kirk to find the other ladies and the queen.
* * *
Ronan swept his eyes over the Great Hall filled with courtiers and visitors as they settled at tables and waited for the evening meal to begin. He’d been at court for three days, but he still found the Great Hall and the evening meal to be a jarring experience. He spotted the table where his guards sat chatting with guardsmen who wore the MacLeod plaid. He recognized the red pattern and knew the conversation was genial. Had it been the blue MacLeod plaid, he feared a fight would have broken out. His clan was on amicable terms with the MacLeods of Lewis, but there was constant strife with the MacLeods of Skye, who were less than thrilled to share the island with the MacKinnons. The Bruce had rewarded the MacKinnons with more land after the Battle of Bannockburn. Ronan’s family had lived at Dunakin Castle for generations, but with the royal gift came a new castle. His home was at Dun Ringill, the place he longed to be.
“Strathardale,” a booming voice called out. Ronan wanted to cringe. He held various titles, but “MacKinnon of Strathardale” grated on his nerves when used in public. Ronan supposed it came from not wanting to alert any MacLeods of Skye that their enemy lurked among them. Ronan much preferred to go unnoticed. It allowed him to observe, rather than take part in conversation.
The deep voice belonged to John MacDonald of Islay, Lord of the Isles. Ronan wanted to cringe again. The man was as powerful as he was ambitious. He’d inherited his title of Lord of the Isles, but he was ambitious enough to have pursued the title “King of the Isles” if not for his loyalty to Robert the Bruce. While the MacDonald lived at Loch Finlaggan on Islay, his clan had Dun Sgathaich Castle on the Sleat peninsula of Skye. It made them neighbors, but fortunately they were a full day’s ride apart. Ronan wished the ride took the three days that separated Dun Ringill from Dunvegan, the MacLeod of Skye stronghold. With such proximity to Dun Sgathaich, Ronan hosted John more often than he liked when the man came to Skye. The Lord of the Isles boasted that Ronan’s cook was better than the one at Dun Sgathaich, but Ronan wasn’t fooled. John MacDonald was simply nosy.
“John of Islay,” Ronan returned the greeting, knowing the lesser title irritated the man. But Ronan refused to call the man “Lord of the Isles” when he stood before him. It was too pretentious for Ronan’s taste, and it annoyed him. The MacKinnons descended from the first kings of Scotland. They weren’t minions to Clan MacDonald. The two men clasped forearms, and Ronan sensed when John capitulated in their silent power struggle.
“MacKinnon, it’s good to see you among the splendor of court. You so rarely get off the island,” John sniped.
“Why leave when it’s God’s gift to Scotland?” Ronan grinned. He could match John’s snide comments. “The king summoned, so I came. I’m uncertain why he did, but here I am.” Ronan wasn’t certain, but he suspected it had to do with the ongoing troubles with the MacLeods, and King Robert’s wish to see him secure an alliance through marriage. Ronan didn’t oppose marriage; he just hadn’t met a woman who didn’t madden him with frivolous talk. He would never understand why their mothers raised them to believe it was expected of a lady. He’d rather not talk at all.
“MacLeods still giving you trouble? We’re getting along these days.”
“Aye. And you’re getting along because the MacKinnons keep you both on your sides of the island while we’re trapped in the middle,” Ronan grumbled.
“If Skye is God’s gift to Scotland, then you’re God’s gift to Skye. You keep those upstarts from claiming they should be Lord of the Isles. They’re no more than a gnat buzzing aboot,” John smirked.
Ronan hardly agreed. The MacLeods of Skye were a powerful clan that held influence throughout the Hebrides, and they outnumbered the MacKinnons. But they didn’t outnumber the MacDonalds, who had two branches on the island: those in the north and the MacDonalds of Sleat in the south, which John claimed as his branch. They also had the MacQueens on their side, and Clan MacNeacail strongly allied with the MacDonalds of Sleat. There was no love lost for the MacLeods of Skye after the MacLeods of Lewis pushed Clan MacNeacail off that isle. The MacKinnons often felt like little more than a buffer, as their land ran through the middle of the island, separating the MacDonalds of Sleat from the MacLeods of Skye.
John took Ronan’s silence as an invitation to continue speaking. “If King Robert doesn’t want to discuss the MacLeods with you, what do you think he wants?”
“I shall find out when I’m called for an audience with him,” Ronan demurred. “I understand you were in Lochaber again not too long ago. How do things fare there?”
“Bluidy hell! Ever since the Mackintoshes convinced the Shaws and the MacThomases to join them in that ridiculous plot to attack the Camerons, it’s been a right bluidy mess for the MacDonalds. Hardwin decided that once Artair died—had a crazy bitch for a wife, that one—he wouldn’t allow another MacDonald to sit as chieftain at Inverlochy. Now he has one of his own as the guardian.”
“But your people still live at Inverlochy, don’t they?” Ronan hoped they could remain on this topic rather than shifting back to him. He suspected he might spend the entire night listening to John’s tale of woe about how people thwarted his ambition.
“Aye, but Hardwin–really his wife Blair–renegotiated the levies again. She might look like a saint, but her mind is as sharp as the devil. The banalities and pannage will keep that branch from ever prospering,” John frowned. Ronan knew the MacDonalds at Inverlochy were doing just fine with the portion of land the Camerons gave them. He also knew that John wanted Inverlochy to belong to the MacDonalds outright, so he would have more sway in the western Highlands. He considered Lochaber to be his, never mind the several other clans who had rightful claims to that land. Ronan wished for at least the tenth time that day that he could return to Dun Ringill, even if he didn’t see the king. He was a Hebridean, not a Scot.
Ronan muttered his excuses and slipped over to the table where his men sat with the MacLeods of Lewis. He joined the conversation in time to hear that the laird and lady were preparing to celebrate Christmas with a larger feast than usual to celebrate both their bairn and their twins’ saint’s day.
“I wonder if the laird’s sister will join them,” one of the MacLeod guardsmen mentioned.
“I doubt it. It’s too far to travel as is. The weather has been foul, and I doubt it will improve,” another MacLeod commented. “And the laird willna want to leave our lady and the bairns to fetch his sister. I ken I dinna want to travel in this.”
“I feel a wee bad for the lass after everything that happened last year. I mean, she could be aboot as sweet as pickled herring, but she and Lady Adeline came around to Lady MacLeod. She was even friends with Lady MacLeod before she left Stornoway. The lass deserves a chance to see her family. She’s a different woman these days,” the first guardsman stated. Ronan only partially paid attention as he chatted with his own men. The evening meal progressed, but as soon as the servants cleared away the tables, Ronan made his escape to his chambers.
Two
How am I lost again?Ronan looked to his left and his right, but he couldn’t orient himself in the passageway. He was attempting to make his way to the lists, but he couldn’t tell which side of the castle he was facing or how to find the doors that would take him to the bailey. The one time he needed someone milling about to give him directions, every passageway was empty. He continued in the direction he’d been walking, hoping he would find an arrow slit to look out of to determine where he was.
“You can’t be here,” a woman’s voice hissed from behind him. Ronan spun around and came face-to-face with the woman from the church the previous morning. He hadn’t seen her again until now. Her bright blue eyes scrutinized him, and Ronan suspected she wanted to tap her toes as she waited for him to respond. But he had no idea why he couldn’t be wherever it was that he stood. “This is the wing for the ladies-in-waiting,” she confirmed. “This entire passageway until the end is where our chambers are. Men aren’t allowed here.”
