Page 71 of Kilgannon #1

A LEX AND THE MACDONALD FACED EACH OTHER ACROSS the table.

Angus, Thomas, and the other men each sat on the same side as his chief.

No one noticed me, I thought, as I crossed the room behind Alex and sat next to the chest, away from the table.

The light from the window behind me lit Alex’s hair and cast shadows behind him, while the MacDonald’s age showed clearly in the brilliant beams. And showed something more in his manner as well.

Weariness? Hostility? I could not be sure. I put my hands in my lap.

Alex’s tone was unruffled. “Ye are welcome to Kilgannon, Sir Donald, but I fear ye have a message that is not.”

“It should be, Kilgannon,” the MacDonald said. “I ask no more of ye than ye should be offering freely. To join with us.”

“In?”

“Ye ken what in, Alex,” Sir Donald snarled.

“Say it,” Alex said, his voice as fierce as the older man’s.

“In restoring our rightful king to his throne, in putting a Stewart at the head of Scotland again.”

Alex leaned back in his seat and put his hands on the edge of the table.

“No.” Although he spoke softly, the word resonated through the room.

The MacDonald looked through narrowed eyes at Alex as he sat back in his chair.

The other men exchanged glances and I met Angus’s steely blue gaze.

Alex watched the MacDonald. “Say it again, Kilgannon,” said the older man.

“No,” Alex said. “No, I willna join in a fight that puts my family and my clan in jeopardy for a man I dinna respect.”

Sir Donald’s tone was flat. “Ye do not respect James Stewart.”

“I do not.” Alex crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

The girls from the kitchen entered then and served whisky, placing platters of food on the table while we sat in silence.

The liquor was gratefully accepted; the food went untouched.

Sir Donald sipped his whisky and looked at Alex over the brim of his cup.

When he spoke again, the MacDonald’s tone was mild.

“Ye’ll have heard about Mar raising the standard at Braemar. ”

Alex nodded. “Aye, I did.”

“And ye’ll have heard that many of the clans are rising.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“MacKinnon came to see ye.”

“He did.”

“And me,” Sir Donald said.

Alex nodded again. “That I heard as well.”

“Murdoch Maclean has come. And told ye he’s joining us.”

“He did.”

“And yer own brother sends ye this,” said MacDonald, pulling a letter from his plaid and slapping it on the table between them. Alex did not look at it. “Yer brother is a vassal of Mar’s, ye ken.”

“Aye,” Alex said.

“And Mar has ordered all his vassals to rise with him.” Alex was silent.

“Will one MacGannon join us in restoring Scotland while the other sits home with his English wife?” One of the MacDonalds snorted with laughter but stopped at a harsh glance from Sir Donald.

Alex slammed the table with his fist, and the other MacGannons muttered and started to rise, but Angus gestured for them to sit.

Alex sat back in his chair, his expression stern.

If I did not know him as well as I did, I would have thought him, despite his pounding the table, very calm.

I wondered how well Sir Donald knew him.

“Ye’ll know I’m leaving my family to join the rising? ” asked the MacDonald.

“I have assumed that.”

“Ye ken my family means much to me, and I listen to my wife, Kilgannon, as ye do yers, no doubt, but I make the decisions. Do ye ken what they’re saying about Alexander MacGannon these days?”

Alex rubbed his chin. “No, Sir Donald,” he said. “Tell me.”

The older man sipped his whisky and his eyes flickered toward me before returning to Alex.

“They’re saying that when Kilgannon was married to a MacDonald he was allied with the MacDonalds, and now that he’s married to an Englishwoman …

” He let the words hang in the air. Angus looked at Alex, his anger visible for a second before he carefully blanked his expression again.

Alex leaned back, then laughed, shrugging.

“Aye,” Alex said lightly. “I’ve always been known for how easily I am led. That one willna work on me, Donald. Try again.”

The MacDonald’s mouth twisted as if he would smile, but he sipped his whisky again. “Ye’ll ken that Marischal is with us.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“And the Emorys. And the Frasers.”

“Some.”

“They’re yer kin. What will they think if ye don’t join?”

“I care not what they think, Donald.”

“And Drummond and Lindsay, MacKinnon, MacLachlan, MacEwen, Maclean, MacKenzie. … Do ye not care what any of them think?”

“No.”

“Ye’ll be a lonely man here in Kilgannon, Alex.” Sir Donald scratched his chin and then sipped his whisky. His tone was light as he continued. “Do ye ken how I got here today?”

“By sea.”

“Aye, but, Alex, think of the route.” The MacDonald shifted in his chair and traced a route on the table, ignoring the letter.

“This is Kilgannon.” He pointed to a spot.

“And this is yer normal route out of Loch Gannon.” He drew a line on the table.

“If ye leave Kilgannon and go south, ye go by Mull and the other islands. If ye go north, ye go past Skye. Do ye understand my drift?”

Alex leaned forward, his voice mild but his eyes gleaming. “No, explain it to me further.”

MacDonald spoke as though his words were of no consequence. “Well, Alex, ye’ll be surrounded in yer sea routes by those who joined the rising. What will they think of ye for not joining?”

“I care not what they think.”

“And by land, let’s think on it. Clanranald to the north and east, MacDonalds to the north and south and west. And MacDonnells beyond them. It seems to me yer travels would be very restricted.”

“At Braemar,” said Alex, “the clans were ready to go home when the top of the standard fell. Some think it an omen.”

“I ken yer not superstitious, lad.” The MacDonald leaned back, then shifted his weight and slapped the arm of his chair, his anger evident as his voice rose. “Why will ye no’ join us?” he shouted. “Speak to me, Alex. I’m too old for these games.”

“As I am,” Alex answered grimly. They stared at each other as if they were alone in the room.

Alex sipped his whisky and watched the older man, then leaned forward, his voice for the first time his usual tone.

“When the Stewarts gained the throne, the first James turned his back on us. He went to London, and Scotland suffered because of his indifference. He could have ensured us equal treatment in England, but he dinna, and no Stewart since has lifted a finger to help us. All the Stewarts have meant for Scotland is trouble and more trouble. We’d have been better if Queen Mary had been barren. ”

The MacDonald narrowed his eyes. “Those are strong words.”

“Aye, but think on it, Donald. How have the Stewarts aided their own? From the first James to Anne, they’ve not made Scotland’s lot any better.

Why should I risk all I have for a man whose family has never thought of Scotland, or the Highlands, or the MacGannons, except for how we can assist them?

” He put his hands on the table. “In ’ 88, my father rose.

What was his gain?” He waved his hand sharply.

“James Stewart canna manage a rising. Ye remember the battle of Killiecrankie.”

“Aye, I remember it,” Sir Donald said grimly. “Ye were three, lad. Dinna tell me ye remember it.”

“I do not, but I was raised on the stories. We had Scots on both sides of the battle. What has changed?”

“That was then. This is now.”

“Do ye remember Glencoe?”

The MacDonald’s voice was grim. “Ye use the massacre as yer reason to join the English?”

“No,” growled Alex. “I use the massacre to remind ye of what happens if ye do not win.”

Sir Donald’s voice rose. “Ye think we willna win?”

“Are the Campbells with ye?” Alex asked heatedly. “And the Camerons? And all the Frasers and Munros and MacLeods?”

“No.”

“Exactly my point, MacDonald. It’s the same as ever. Did James Stewart win in ’ 08? No.” Alex spat out the words. “The man got the measles and dinna even land.”

“Ye blame the man for getting the measles?”

“No.” Alex shook his head in scorn. “I blame the man for his usual lack of planning. I could get my household to China before he could get himself to Scotland. By the time he got here the English were ready. He’s no soldier, Donald, and he’s no leader.

Ye’ve met him. The man whines about his comforts.

He doesna win my respect.” Alex paused, and continued in a calmer tone.

“He has ignored the Highlands except now when he wishes us to shed our blood for him. He ignored us and it was an insult. And now, when he chooses, we’re to leave our homes and families and risk all for a man who, seven years ago, could not even remember that we existed? ”

“Yer King Geordie insulted us as well, Alex, when he would not open the chiefs’ letter. He wouldna even open it.”

“He’s no’ my Geordie, man, and ye prove my point. Why should I risk me and mine for a king who canna rule? And neither can.”

Sir Donald stroked his chin and watched as Alex, his color high, poured them both more whisky. “Buchanan is with us,” Sir Donald said mildly. “And Farquharson and Carnegie and Forbes and Maxwell and MacDougall.” He paused. “Alex, will ye no’ join us?”

Alex put his hands flat on the table. “No.”

“It’s no’ like ye to be afraid of a fight.”

Alex smiled. “I’m no’ afraid of a fight.”

“But ye willna join with us.”

“We willna join with ye.”

“Ye will join the English.”

“No, we will remain aloof.”

“That may be difficult to explain to yer neighbors. Some of Clanranald may be difficult to control.”

“What do ye mean, MacDonald? Say it.”

“They’ll burn ye out.”

Alex smiled coldly. “They may try.”

“They’ll attack ye at sea.”

“Ye mean ye will. MacDonalds rule the straits here.”

“I may not be able to control all of my men, Alex.”