Page 53 of Kilgannon #1

“Do I like it? Alex, it’s so beautiful! Thank you, my love.”

“I love ye, Mary Rose, and now ye can see it every time ye look at the ring.”

“Alex, thank you. But, my love, I have nothing to give you.”

His mouth twisted as he gave in to the grin and leaned back. “I’ll think of something,” he said, reaching for me.

Winter began early with a fierce storm, but we were ready for it, and though restless within walls, we were safe and well fed.

The men trained daily in the armory. I hated to think they would ever need their training, but I understood now why they did.

At night we’d gather in the hall, where Murreal would sing or Thomas would tell another of his fantastic stories to an enraptured audience.

His favorite was about the fairies stealing a horse and changing it into a water horse who lived in a loch in the Western Highlands.

So much for Alex’s explanations, I thought, and the swimming.

From the look on Jamie’s face he’d probably not even drink water again, let alone swim in it.

Even Matthew and Gilbey sat listening, and I hid my smile.

Gilbey Macintyre was, I suspected, a bit younger than I had at first believed.

The boys settled into daily lessons with Gilbey, and Gilbey into daily lessons with Angus.

As the months went on he added weight and muscle, filling put that lanky frame, and soon could not be recognized as the same young man who had arrived in August. When I asked him about his family he gave me a sad smile.

“My family are dead, Lady Mary,” he’d said, lifting his chin.

“And I’ve made my own way. I’m not afraid to work hard.

I am glad to be here and I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.

I am very happy to be with the MacGannons. ”

“We’re very glad you’re here too, Gilbey,” ! said, and we smiled at each other.

I thought of that conversation just a few weeks later as I sat in the crowded hall while the MacGannon men lined up to pledge their loyalty to Alex and the clan.

Gilbey was on one side of me, Ellen on the other, we three outsiders watching the pageant.

Gilbey was entranced. The oath-taking was held every year just before All Hallows’Eve, when clansmen filled the hall and every room of the castle, arriving with their families for the ceremony.

I had been told that the oath-taking in other clans could be dangerous, for the men pledged by drinking with the laird and the drinking continued for most of the night.

But at Kilgannon it was a festive evening, the men pledging in the hall before the whole clan, their individual families cheering as each man promised his loyalty.

It was not dangerous, but it was loud and raucous, and my head ached with the noise.

How Alex could drink so much and still be vertical I did not know.

He stood firmly on the dais at the end of the hall, dressed in his finest, his hair shining as it fell to his shoulders.

He was armed—for show, he had told me—and looked very fierce and regal.

Every inch a, leader , I thought with pride as I watched him.

This is my husband , I said to myself. Let the world know, this one is mine.

Angus and Matthew were on one side of him, Ian and Jamie on the other, and he turned often to them, making them laugh.

As the line lengthened and at last dwindled, he spoke warmly to each man who approached him, drawing smiles and comments from them.

The room echoed with laughter, and then the pledging was finished and the dancing began.

Benches were cleared and die musicians struck a lively tune as the center of the room filled with eager dancers.

Alex walked through the crowd and reached for my hand.

As I stretched my hand out to take his, wee Donald reached for Ellen’s .

Alex slapped Donald on the shoulder. “Behave yerself, man,” he laughed. “That’s a fine lass.”

“Aye,” Donald said. “That she is.” And taking Ellen’s hand, he led her onto the floor as we watched.

“You’re enjoying yourself tonight, my love,” I said, looking up into Alex’s face. He squeezed me to him and nodded.

“Aye, lass, for the whole of it, it was verra good.” He looked across the hall and then back to me.

“But: did ye notice who’s not here?” His mouth was smiling, but now I saw the sadness in his eyes.

Malcolm , I thought with a pang. I had not even thought of Malcolm.

And Alex had written to him to remind him to attend tonight.

I had put it out of my mind, preferring to ignore that Malcolm would soon be among us again.

But he had not come, nor had he sent word that he would not be here.

And the whole clan had seen that he had not attended.

“Oh,” I said, watching his face. “What now?”

“Well, now, Mary Rose, now I dance and let my anger fade,” Alex said, raising his eyebrows and looking at me. “And then tomorrow, when I have not had too much whisky, I’ll think on it. And I’ll come up with the perfect remedy. As I always do.”

I laughed, and he grinned at me. But he had no time to think of a remedy, for the letter from his cousin in France arrived three days later.

I never got to read the letter from his cousin in Paris.

Angus did, of course, for the letter was to him.

I was in the laundry with Berta, trying to find even more hanging space for the washing that took so very long to dry, when the letter arrived.

We were considering whether lines could be strung above the armory and what the men would say about that when I heard Angus bellowing for Alex.

Angus never shouted, he never lost his temper, he never even showed much emotion, so for Angus to be raving through the castle yelling at the top of his lungs was enough for everyone within hearing distance to stop and stare.

Berta and I stood like ninnies with the other women and watched Angus race through the corridors.

“Where’s Alex?” he shouted. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, Angus,” I said, and watched as he stormed past, going up the stairs three at a time. Matthew stood at the foot of the stairs with his mouth open. “What is going on?” I asked him.

Matthew stared at me blankly for a moment. “I dinna ken, Mary,” he said at last. “My da opened a letter from his cousin Ewan—the one who’s in Paris, ye ken—and he started shouting.”

“Does he usually do this when Ewan writes?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Jamie skidded to a stop next to us, his expression anxious. “Da is with Thomas in the orchard. Shall I get him?”

“Yes, love,” I said brushing his untidy hair back from his face.

“Tell him Angus is very upset.” We could hear Angus roaring Alex’s name through the upstairs hall and I decided I should tell him where Alex was, but as I put my foot on the first step, Angus barreled down past me.

“He’s in the orchard,” I said to his back.

Angus made an indistinguishable noise and disappeared into the corridor.

I followed. Whatever had enraged Angus had to do with France. And that’s where the Stewarts were.

I found them together, framed in the garden gate, the opening arched over their heads with the last drooping leaves.

Alex was reading the letter while next to him Angus boiled, talking in a low voice and hitting one clenched hand against the palm of the other.

He waved a finger in Alex’s pale face, and I stood where I was.

Whatever the news was, it was not good and I.

didn’t want to know it. I watched as Alex read and then reread the letter, turning it in his hand to look at the address and then handing it to Angus, and I watched his anger grow.

Dear God , I wondered, what is it? Alex raked his hands through his hair, but he paid no attention to it as it fell about his face.

He listened and nodded, then looked over at me, his expression changing as he saw me.

He said something to Angus and walked toward me with slow steps, his face bleak.

The rain, which had been threatening all day, started falling in a light drizzle, but Alex did not seem to notice.

I did not speak as he took my hand, leading me through the corridors, past the curious men in the hall.

He gave his sons only a cursory glance as they pounced on him.

The dogs had better sense, keeping their distance, for once motionless as we crossed the hall.

Ian stopped in front of his father. “Da, what is it?”

Alex’s tone was grim. “Ian, go back to yer lessons.” He did not look back to see the boys staring after their father.

He led me through the courtyard and the outer gate.

The rain was falling harder now, but I did not complain as he walked to the loch and stared over the water at the three brigs moored offshore.

I do not think he saw them. The Mary Rose had arrived today from London, bringing letters from Louisa and Will and, apparently, from his cousin.

The ships rocked in the surge as the tide moved in and we stood there, getting wetter by the minute.

He dropped my hand and crossed his arms across his chest and I watched him, wondering if I should speak. At last I did.

“It’s getting very damp, my love,” I said. He turned to me as if from a great distance, his eyes hard and his jaw tight, but he nodded, wrapping an arm around me. I turned back to the castle.