Beloved Ruins, Book 1 Page 19

  “Aye, he does,” Laird Conall MacKintosh agreed.

  “Will he fight to protect her?”

  “Possibly. Many a MacGreagor has upheld the edict in the past, and I expect Michael to be no different. Yet, what better way to serve our king than to take her to her father.”

  “And share the reward?”

  Laird MacKintosh chuckled. “Aye, and perhaps do away with Laird Dalldon somehow?”

  “You hate him still?”

  “You do not? I hear he cut off the ear of a maid simply because she dinna hear him correctly. Why the king favors him befuddles my mind. Dalldon had wronged us all, even Michael MacGreagor.”

  “True,” Laird Kennedy agreed. He watched a flock of birds fly overhead and then kept his eyes on a small ship sailing into the Water of Leith. “You think to kill Dalldon? Many have tried, but none have succeeded in drawin’ him out without a hundred man guard.”

  “‘He would come out quickly enough if we had his daughter.”

  A slow grin appeared on Laird Kennedy’s face. “Where might Osgar Allardice be these days?”

  “I have heard nothin’ of him lately, but if anyone can draw Dalldon out, ‘tis Osgar.”

  “If Osgar is willin’,” said Kennedy.

  “For the right price, Osgar is always willin’.”

  “What do you suggest we do?”

  “I suggest we pay a little visit to Michael,” said MacKintosh.

  “And if he has her and will not give her up?”

  Laird MacKintosh answered, “The MacGreagors are fierce fighters and we would need many men to take her by force, but it can be done.”

  “I pray it dinna come to that.”

  “As do I.”

  “What about the king? Will he object to our fightin’ the MacGreagors?”

  “The king wants her married to the Frenchman. He will not object so long as we are successful,” MacKintosh said.

  When their guards arrived bringing their horses with them, both lairds mounted and started down the road to the bottom of the hill.

  STANDING NOT FAR AWAY, Laird Ferguson listened to their plot. There was a time when the Fergusons and the MacGreagors were at odds with one another, but after William Wallace’s War, it was the MacGreagors who nursed three Ferguson warriors back to health. It was a kindness the Ferguson lairds had not forgotten, and as soon as the other two lairds left the king’s courtyard, Laird Ferguson set out to warn Michael.

  IN THE MACGREAGOR GLEN, Michael’s foot hurt more than normal, which usually meant they could expect another storm. In the Great Hall, he had just added another log to the fire in his hearth hoping to alleviate the ache when Diarmad knocked, waited to be asked in, and then opened the door. Even though he would rather sit near the hearth and rest his foot, out of respect for the elder, Michael stood up.

  “I am happy to see you,” said Michael.

  Diarmad frowned. “You’ve a might lot of trouble, the way I see it.”

  “More than you know,” Michael answered. “Will you not sit with me?”

  “Nay, I have come to show you somethin’.”

  “What?”

  “Follow me, lad.” The elder man walked slower than most, and would soon need a walking stick, but on that day Michael was grateful for the less demanding pace. In obedience, he followed instead of walking beside the elder, which made more than a few members of the clan turn to watch – especially Kester. Even a laird could get himself in trouble, and when an elder took his laird far away from the curious clan, it usually meant the laird was in for a good scolding.

  What Michael hoped for was a short stroll, but that was not to be. Diarmad walked to the end of the cottages, across the place where the men practiced their warrior skills and then kept going. It was not until he reached the far end of the graveyard that he stopped and waited for Michael to catch up.

  Before him stood the tallest of all the headstones in the MacGreagor graveyard and even after the passing of so many generations, Michael was still able to read the one simple Gaelic name on the stone – Neil. “Why do you bring me here?”

  “Because you need remindin’,” Diarmad answered. “‘Twas Laird Neil MacGreagor who fought his own brother to save the clan.”

  “Aye, he did.”

  “Furthermore, he risked losin’ them all when he brought them out of harm’s way into this very glen.”

  “‘Tis my favorite story, but I see not your point.”

  “Michael, do you not have his same blood?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then you must do as he did and save your people no matter the cost to you.”

  “Save them from what, precisely?”

  “Grizel Allardice. She came for protection but time has passed and no lad comes to claim her back. Send her away afore ‘tis too late.”

  Michael studied Diarmad’s serious eyes for a long moment. “‘Tis far more complicated than you know.”

  “Aye, ‘tis complicated. The lasses are ready to rebel, the lads nearly went to swords, and Lindsey is dead. You dinna grant the Red sanctuary to begin with.”

  Michael bowed his head “Does everyone know I gave no permission?”

  “We know more than that. Do you not have Kester livin’ in the castle?”

  Michael could not help but crack a smile, “What else do they know?”

  “They know they want the Red gone, and so do I.”

  “I cannae just send her away.”

  “Nay, you cannae, but Neil knew there was more than one way to save a clan, and you know it too.” Abruptly, Diarmad turned and started back.

  Michael watched the old man take his time walking to the village, noticed a few people still watching him, and turned back to look again at Neil’s headstone. Diarmad thought there was a lesson to be learned from Neil, but just now, Michael had no idea what it was. To relieve his aching foot, he sat down in the tall grass in front of the graveyard. The clan wanted Grizel gone and so did he, but how was he to rid them of her without breaking his oath to uphold the edict. Even if he could send her away, he could not send a MacGreagor child into the world unprotected.

  What would Laird Neil MacGreagor do?

  KENTIGERN MANOR, 1911

  McKenna closed the book and looked at her husband. “I do not envy Michael.”

  “Nor do I,” said Nicholas.

  “What would you do?” Sarah asked.

  “I know what I would do,” said cook Jessie. “I would do what Kester said – hang her and solve all their problems at once.”

  “Not if she is with child,” McKenna said.

  Jessie lightly bit her lower lip. “Very well, we shall wait until after the child is born and then hang her.”

  Alistair laughed. “I have come to believe Kester is one of your ancestors.”

  “And proud of it I would be if she was,” said Jessie.

  “I have been thinking,” said Nicholas.

  McKenna could not resist teasing her husband, “Oh no, not again.”

  Nicholas rolled his eyes. “I have given considerable thought to the printing of the books. I fear a careless printer might ruin them, and whereas I have not enough to do these days, suppose I make a copy by hand.”

  “And give that copy to the printer?” McKenna asked. “What a splendid idea.”

  “‘Tis right dead brilliant,” said Alistair. “I could do some of the writin’ too.”

  Sarah yawned and then got up. “I agree, but for now I am off to bed. Shall we not go see Lindsey’s bridge tomorrow?”

  “This time, I wish to go with you,” said Jessie.

  “Very well, but we have only four seats,” Nicholas reminded them. Since no one volunteered, he suspected he would have to stay home. He smiled, watched them climb the stairs, and when the last of the family went out of sight, he turned off the lights.

  PART 2

  (The Lost MacGreagor Stories)

  CHAPTER 12

  GLENARTAIR CASTLE, 1911

  There was a full moon the night
Ally MacGreagor walked his horse along the edge of trees that bordered the long MacGreagor Glen. Ally was not his real name. In fact, his little sister dubbed him that before she could say much at all, and he liked it far better than that awful name his parents gave him. Only thing was, not many called him Ally anymore. Oh well, it did not matter much what they called him, for few had a reason to speak to him other than when he was working, or at the Saturday night poker games. The rest of the time, he lived in his own private little world where no one cared enough to hurt or insult him – that was just the way he liked it.

  The grave marker he left a few days before, with McKenna MacGreagor’s name and the date of her death on it, had not scared the workers away. Nor had the note he left on Charles’ work table, so he was back with yet another warning. Hopefully, this one would work. In case he was spotted, he dressed in dark clothing, wore a woman’s black scarf over his head, and doubted anyone would recognize him before he managed to get away.

  He had not walked his horse far when he spotted a guard posted near the entry to the road that led to the castle ruins. To get a better look, he gently pulled on the reins until his mare stopped. On a blanket spread out over the grass, the guard was so sound asleep, Ally could hear him snoring. Therefore, he was not likely to wake up no matter what Ally did. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, but it did not sound very close, so he remembered to breathe and urged his horse forward.

  At the edge of the graveyard, he again halted. A MacGreagor by birth, his parents were buried there, and he was well aware neither of them would approve of what he was doing. In fact, he could picture the scowls on both their faces even now. They never approved of anything he did anyway. “Nothin’ ye are now – and nothin’ ye shall ever be,” he could still hear his father say. Afraid his father could somehow reach out from the grave and swat him a good one, Ally headed deeper into the forest to give the burial grounds a wide berth.

  It was just as he emerged from the forest, that he spotted a second guard standing near the missing double doors at the front of the castle ruins. This one was not asleep. “I should have guessed,” he whispered as he again halted his horse. The ruins had no guards at all when he pounded the wooden grave marker into the ground. And there was only one guard, the one that now lay sleeping, when he drove a dagger through the paper note into the wooden work table in front of the castle.

  It took a long time to write that note so no one could recognize his handwriting, and he was proud of how well it turned out. The note threatened to burn the castle down again, if they dared build it back, and he fully intended to do it!

  Funny thing though. No one in the village mentioned a second guard had been hired, but then, he did not always hear everything. Ally paused for a minute more to watch. So far, the second guard had not moved and maybe, just maybe, there was no guard and he was seeing things. It would be just like Charles MacGreagor to try to trick him the way he did at poker. Sometimes, however, Ally managed to win a hand or two and he loved that more than anything else in the world.

  Ally did not hate Charles. It was just that Charles was everything he was not. Charles was smart, had a beautiful wife, three MacGreagor children, a nice home, and a constant smile on his face. For years, Ally tried to emulate Charles, but in the end, it was useless. No wife would have him, no children carried his blood, and his home was a rundown cottage left to him by his parents.

  It was not as though he hated McKenna MacGreagor either, although he did not like her. They went to school together, and McKenna was the competitive sort, always trying to have the answers sooner than he did. Most of the time, he managed to beat her, but not without a lot of study at home. No, she was just too smart for him. Not only that, she and her friend Charlotte were always mocking him. Therefore, he was not at all sad to see both of them move away.

  Unfortunately, McKenna was back, and it was not her fault, he supposed.

  The decision to rebuild the castle lay with either of her brothers, Hannish and Cameron. Hannish was the clan’s laird and had the money, but Cameron was the Duke of Glenartair, and what was the point of being a duke without a castle to live in? No matter whose idea it was, Ally was determined to keep them from constructing a new castle – if it was the last thing he ever did. Indeed, he did not hate McKenna for coming back and would not truly harm her. McKenna and her husband just happened to be the ones sent to Scotland to oversee the reconstruction.

  Tired of watching a guard that had yet to move, and still thinking it was an illusion, Ally looked up at the thousands of twinkling stars in the sky, and then slowly looked back. It was not a trick – there truly was a second guard. As the rising moon shone down on it, the guard lifted a tin flask to his lips and took a long drink. Now Ally knew exactly who it was. Old Tom MacGreagor never went anywhere without his tin flask. Unfortunately, scarf or no scarf, Tom could easily recognize Ally if he got a good enough look at him.

  That changed everything.

  Abruptly, the ringing of a telephone disturbed the stillness in the peaceful glen.

  Ally watched as Tom struggled to put the lid back on his flask, shove it in his pocket, walk to an upright wooden box on the work table, and then open the door. As Tom answered the telephone, Ally spotted the wire, and with his eyes, followed it to a nearby tree. Softly, he whispered, “Well, I’ll be.”

  “Aye,” he heard Tom answer. “All is well here... Aye, I surely will.” At length, Tom hung up the telephone and then closed the box door. The guard glanced around, decided no one was watching, and then pulled his flask back out of his pocket.

  Drinking the way he did, it wouldn’t be long before Tom was asleep too, but Ally never had been a patient man. Instead, he eyed the telephone line to the next tree, and then the next until he could no longer see it. Happily, he set aside his original plan and opted for a new one.

  KENTIGERN MANOR, 1911

  “Where do you suppose Nicholas and Alistair have gone off to this mornin’?” Cook Jessie asked. She stood in front of the hall mirror, put on her white hat, and then carefully inserted two long hat pins through the hat and into her hair bun, to hold the hat in place. A longtime friend of the family, Jessie cooked for the MacGreagors in Colorado’s Marblestone Mansion, and before that, she prepared many a meal in Glenartair Castle. Today, she would see for herself what remained of the Castle after it burned in 1903.

  “‘Tis a surprise, or so my husband said,” McKenna answered. Jessie, Sarah, and McKenna had been dressed for the better part of an hour and still the men had not come back.

  “I believe ‘twill be another warm day,” said Jessie. “We best take our parasols.”

  Sarah nodded. “I agree and are we not happy that today’s fashions are not so constrictin’ as they once were? Still, I have yet to own a brassiere that fits properly.”

  Dressed in a lightweight blue dress, with layered skirts, McKenna’s outfit included a matching short jacket. Excess material in the top made her bosom look larger, the skirt was straight, and the bottom was hemmed to just above the top of her black, button-up, high-top shoes. “I have decided to leave my jacket off. ‘Tis just too hot.”

  “I agree,” Jessie muttered, “I must be gettin’ old. I dinna recall a time when Scotland was this hot.” She laid her jacket over the back of a chair and sat down.

  Now that Jessie was finished, Sarah stood up and went to the mirror to see if her hat was still in place. “McKenna, did you happen to bring your high-waisted clothing for when you begin to show?”

  McKenna sighed. “I did not, and am in need of findin’ a seamstress if there still is one in Glenartair.”

  “Is there one, Norma?” Jessie asked the housekeeper.

  Norma had a secret and was enjoying it immensely. She was actually an old friend, or rather, the little sister of McKenna’s old friend, and McKenna had yet to recognize her. “Aye, and there are always hand-me-down clothin’ for babies. Shall I ask around?”

  “Would you?” McKenna asked. “I would be ever so grat
eful.”

  “A pleasure, Miss,” Norma answered. “Come to think of it, my sister has a sewing machine and does quite nicely with it. She could use the pay as well.”

  “How delightful,” said McKenna. “Have her come around to see me sometime next week.”

  “She shall be at the church bake sale Sunday afternoon. I shall introduce you then.” The housekeeper smiled, finished dusting the last table, and left the room.

  “Have you seen the new sewing machines?” Sarah asked. “I wouldn’t mind learning myself. My sons are always tearing something.”

  “Mine too,” McKenna said. “I...” Her sentence was interrupted by the blast of not one, but two automobile horns. She was pretty sure she knew, but followed Sarah and Jessie out the front door to see anyway. “You dinna,” she said with her hands on her hips, as her husband climbed out of a blue Benz identical to the red one they already owned.

  Nicholas playfully grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. “My love, I was forced, you see. Ours only has room for four and we are five. I feared if I did not buy another, I should be the one always left behind.”

  “Aye,” McKenna asked, “but can we afford it now that you lost all we own in that not so friendly little poker game.”

  Nicholas brought his index finger up to his temple as though deep in thought. “I’ve got it! I shall play poker again this Saturday and win all my money back.”

  McKenna rolled her eyes, and shoved his hands away. “Get in ladies, I shall settle this matter with my husband later.” While McKenna got in the back seat of the new blue automobile, Jessie and Sarah made themselves comfortable in the red one behind their driver, Butler Alistair.

  They waved goodbye to the nanny, the housekeeper, and the children, as the automobiles completed the circle drive and headed down the lane. At the road, they turned toward the village, and when they came to the sharp curve, both men slowed considerably for the sake of the women.