Kilty Party
Clash of the Tartans
Book Four
by
Anna Markland
Copyright © 2019 by Anna Markland
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art by Dar Albert
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Anna Markland
Clash of the Tartans Series
Kilty Secrets
Kilted at the Altar
Kilty Pleasures
Kilty Party
The Viking’s Gift (A Novella)
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Anna Markland
Epigraph
Dedication
More Anna Markland
Summons
The Favored One
Stirling
Dressed for the Occasion
The Chapel Royal
Angelic Chorus
Knots
Great Hall
Spectacle
Where There’s a Will
Homecomings
Cold Water
Conflicting Loyalties
Fruitless Search
The Green Lady
Newton
Dragoons
Hollow Victory
Negotiations
A Difficult Evening
Dawn
Back and Forth
No Sign
Fiona’s Lair
Powerless
Rescue
Ledgers
Too Much Alike
Neutral Ground
A Tall Order
I Ne’er Kent That
Caitlin’s Proposal
Hostage
Where is Rory?
Fine Dining
Tryst
I’m Cold
Is It Obvious?
Breakfast
What’s Going on?
Wizardry
The Library
Goodbyes
Tackling the Issue
I Need Ye More
The Road to Damascus
I Have a Dream
Stunned Silence
Arrangements
Welcome to Ardblair
Anticipation
A Double Wedding
Florentine Pie
Farewell Fiona
Carried to Heaven
Hogmanay
Epilogue
Historical Footnotes
About Anna
“Is anything worn under your kilt?
No, it’s all in perfect working order.”
~Spike Milligan
Dedicated to kilt wearers everywhere.
More Anna Markland
The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition (2018-2019)
I Conquest—Ram & Mabelle, Rhodri & Rhonwen
II Defiance—Hugh & Devona, Antoine & Sybilla
III Redemption—Caedmon & Agneta
IV Vengeance—Ronan & Rhoni
V Birthright—Adam & Rosamunda, Denis & Paulina
VI Star-Crossed—Robert & Dorianne, Baudoin & Carys
VII Allegiance—Rhys & Annalise
VIII Crescendo—Izzy & Farah
IX Infidelity—Gallien & Peridotte
X Jeopardy—Alexandre & Elayne
XI Forbidden—Bronson & Grace; Rodrick & Swan
XII Finale—Barr & Hollis
The FitzRam Family Trilogy
Carried Away—Blythe & Dieter
Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan & Nolana
Wild Viking Princess—Ragna & Reider
Series featuring the stories of the Viking ancestors of my Norman families
The Rover Bold—Bryk & Cathryn
The Rover Defiant—Torstein & Sonja
The Rover Betrayed—Magnus & Judith
Novellas
Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram & Ruby
Passion’s Fire—Matthew & Brigandine
Banished—Sigmar & Audra
Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise & Anne
Unkissable Knight—Dervenn & Victorine
The Marauder—Santiago & Valentina
Knightly Dreams—Peter & Susie
Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)
Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade & Margaret
Book II Highland Tides—Braden & Charlotte
Book III Highland Dawn—Keith & Aurora
Book IV Roses Among the Heather—Blair & Susanna, Craig & Timothea
The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)
Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia & Brandt
Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther & Francesca
Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon & Zara
Myth & Mystery
The Taking of Ireland—Sibràn & Aislinn
Clash of the Tartans
Kilty Secrets—Ewan & Shona
Kilted at the Altar—Darroch & Isabel
Kilty Pleasures—Broderick & Kyla
The House of Pendray
Highland Betrayal—Morgan & Hannah (audiobook available)
Kingslayer’s Daughter—Munro & Sarah
Highland Jewel—Garnet & Jewel
Highland Rising—Gray & Faith
Summons
Drummond Castle, Scotland, November 1699
Filled with a sense of impending doom, Shaw Drummond paced the battlements for hours, despite the gray chill of a November drizzle falling from leaden skies. According to a message he’d received, his father had left Edinburgh two days before but, so far, there was no sign of his return.
“I’m nay concerned he’s been attacked,” he explained to a red-nosed sentry he’d passed several times in his tour of the battlements. “Twenty armed Highlanders should be a sufficient escort to deter brigands.”
“Aye,” came the reply on foggy breath. “The Drummond lads will keep our laird safe.”
Still, worry gnawed at Shaw. “He went reluctantly, ye ken.”
His statement was undoubtably redundant. The lookout must be aware of his laird’s reluctance. Brodie Drummond had ranted and raved to anyone who would listen that he didn’t appreciate being summoned to Edinburgh by the likes of the Earl of Melville and had no intention of going.
The guard blew on his fingertips then rubbed his hands together. “But when the king’s mon in Scotland commands, what’s a laird to do? Even though the king’s a Sassenach.”
“Aye,” Shaw agreed. “Though King William is actually Dutch.”
“Of course, and his wee wife was a Scot.”
Shaw nodded. The late Queen Mary’s Stuart lineage was the thin thread on which hung the meager respect Scots had for the monarch who occupied the English throne. However, Shaw doubted Mary, dead these five years, had ever set foot in the land of her ancestors.
Speculation as to the reason Laird Drummond had been summoned to Edinburgh ran rampant in the castle for days on end. He’d probably been accused of a crime—high treason most likely, though folks discounted that theory when word came he was on his way back. Perhaps the king wished to bestow an honor on the clan’s chieftain, an earldom for example. Most dismissed the ludicrous idea with snide titters. Shaw had a gut feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever news his father brought back.
“They might
have stopped off at an inn,” the sentry suggested.
Given his father’s fondness for whisky, Shaw deemed it a distinct possibility. If the king’s wishes stuck in Brodie’s craw, he’d take the first opportunity to drown his resentment in liquor.
Shaw was on the point of giving up his vigil when he heard the pounding of hooves. Familiar horses soon galloped out of the lengthening shadows. The cry went up and the gates were thrown open. He hurried down the stone steps to the bailey, and grabbed the reins of his father’s horse as he dismounted. The thunder darkening his sire’s face didn’t bode well.
“We’re all anxious to hear the news,” Shaw said as his older sister came hurrying out of the keep.
Brodie took a swig of whisky from his flask. “Ye’re to wed,” he hissed.
“But he doesna wish to wed,” Fiona declared before Shaw had a chance to collect his wits. He’d considered every possibility except this.
“I dinna wish to wed,” he parroted, annoyed his bossy sister had butted in as usual.
“Wait until ye hear the rest of it,” his father spat. “Ye’re to wed a Blair.”
Fiona scoffed out loud. “That murderous clan. I canna sanction it.”
Shaw tightened his grip on the reins, his belly in knots. The Drummonds and Blairs had been embroiled in a feud for centuries. “What happens if I refuse?”
“Then His Glorious fyking Majesty will cast us out and claim this castle for the Crown.”
Thoughts tumbled in Shaw’s brain. His clan had resided at Drummond since time immemorial. “When will this come about? Perhaps we have time to petition…”
“Ye’ll be betrothed at Stirling Castle in a week.”
“A week!”
After his father and sister had gone inside the castle, Shaw stood beside the sweating horse for long minutes. Fiona was likely still haranguing their sire, but she hadn’t uttered a word of condolence to the brother whose happy bachelor life had come to an abrupt end.
The Favored One
Ardblair Castle, Scotland
Shivering in the windswept courtyard, Caitlin Blair clung to her older brother’s arm as they watched their scowling father dismount with some difficulty. “’Tis a relief to see him safely returned from Edinburgh,” she said. “But he doesna look very happy.”
“He never does these days,” Rory replied.
Caitlin was aware of friction between father and son. Indeed, Ian Blair had become quick to take offense against anybody after the death of his wife in childbirth. He rarely spoke to Nairn. Caitlin did her best to make up for the lack in her younger sister’s life. She loved her father but didn’t understand his apparent determination to make Nairn feel guilty for the death of her mother.
Rory was a mature and capable man who could have taken over many of his father’s duties in preparation for becoming laird, but Ian refused to allow him anything other than the most trivial of tasks.
All three of Ian’s children had reason to resent their father, but he was The Blair, their chieftain, and his word was law. If the summons to Edinburgh by the king’s high commissioner threatened the clan, they would stand by him, no matter that his behavior was becoming more erratic as he aged.
Rory proffered a hand. “Welcome home, Da. Did things go well?”
Caitlin admired her brother’s restraint. They were all anxious to learn the reason for the king’s command, yet Rory’s question held no hint of impatience or censure. She was thus unprepared for her father’s sullen response.
He ignored his son’s gesture and stalked into the keep. “My solar. Now,” he hissed without looking back.
It was no surprise he’d shunned Nairn, but Caitlin shivered. She’d always been the favored one, the daughter of his heart.
When Rory put a reassuring arm around the shoulders of both sisters, she leaned into him, acknowledging what she’d refused to admit for a long time. Her brother was the rock she and Nairn, and, indeed, the clan would have to rely on in the future. She thanked God she’d been blessed with a loving, intelligent brother.
“We’d better not keep him waiting,” Rory said.
They entered the keep and made their way to the solar, where they found their father slouched in a chair, already guzzling whisky from a tumbler.
Caitlin knelt beside him, worried by the fury burning in his bloodshot eyes. “What is it, Papa? Is the king angry?”
He kept his gaze fixed on the dregs of golden liquid. “Nay. Yon Nederlander’s regally content. He’s on a crusade to put an end to clan feuding.”
Caitlin glanced up at Rory’s frowning face. King William might as well attempt to fly to the moon. “How will he manage that?” she asked with a smile.
Ian drained the last of the whisky, then glared. “Ye’re to wed a fyking Drummond.”
Her emotions in turmoil, she searched her father’s eyes for any sign of sympathy for her feelings, but saw only self-pity and hatred. He’d been humiliated by the king, yet had no words of comfort for the daughter who didn’t wish to be wed—at least not yet, and certainly not to a mon she’d never met.
Nairn threw her arms around Caitlin’s neck and sobbed.
Rory growled.
Their father struggled out of his chair and left, slamming the door.
Caitlin eased her sister’s arms from around her neck and got off her knees. “Can I be forced to wed this stranger?” she asked Rory.
The bleakness in his eyes provided the unwelcome answer.
Stirling
Stirling Castle, Scotland
When the gray walls of Stirling loomed out of the mist, Shaw Drummond reined his faithful horse to a halt, sorely tempted to turn Doak and beat a hasty retreat. However, he’d never been one to shy away from a challenge, and the prospect of marrying a Blair was certainly that. He enjoyed his bachelor life and saw no reason to wed anyone, least of all a woman from a clan the Drummonds had feuded with for hundreds of years.
“I’ve ne’er even met the wench,” he complained to his father.
“So ye’ve said a thousand times,” Brodie Drummond replied. “I’m as angry about it as ye, but when a king commands…”
“An English king,” Fiona interrupted. “’Tis a travesty.”
“Aye,” their father replied with uncharacteristic resignation, “but at least William isna a papist, and his wee wife was a Stuart.”
Shaw was relieved when his sister pursed her lips and set her horse in motion up the steep hill; their sire had become even more unpredictable since his wife’s death two years before. One minute he was as docile as a lamb, the next he was raving like a lunatic about the feud that had consumed his life.
Laird Brodie led the Drummond entourage through Stirling’s arched gate. Shaw and Fiona followed, then Gordon and Logan. The escort of armed Drummond Highlanders was turned away to camp in the meadows far below.
Shaw inhaled the damp air, trying to absorb the historic events that had taken place in this very castle over the centuries. The silent stones had borne witness to turmoil and strife, victory and defeat. His own life was about to change drastically, so he supposed Stirling was a more fitting place than most.
“Dinna utter a word,” Fiona admonished. “Until such time as we reach the private chambers assigned to us. Sassenachs might be listening.”
The notion the iconic Scottish stronghold teemed with English spies was ludicrous, but the Drummond men would obey their bossy spinster sister. They’d learned over time it was easier than arguing. Shaw suspected Fiona thought she should be the next laird instead of him. He acknowledged inwardly she had the makings of a successful leader, but the clan would never sanction a female chieftain when a capable male heir was available to take over the job. That was just the way of things, and there was no point butting heads with his sister over it. She was intelligent enough to recognize and accept reality, and he was content to let her believe she held sway over her brothers.
It was a pity she’d never married.
A groom brought a stool and a
ssisted Fiona to dismount. Logan and Gordon didn’t attempt to hide their amusement. Their sister was doing her best to behave like a lady. At home, she’d have been off the horse faster than anyone. Shaw was astounded she’d persevered with riding sidesaddle the entire twenty miles from Drummond. She might decry the widowed monarch who ruled from London, but an invitation to a royal castle had clearly impressed her. Never mind they’d had no choice but to obey.
They were greeted with a polite bow by a steward whose red surcoat bore the royal devise of William and Mary with the motto Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense, but his brogue betrayed his roots. “Welcome, Laird and Lady Drummond,” he declared, offering an arm to Fiona. “Fraser Davidson at yer service. Yon grooms will take care of yer horses. If ye’ll follow me, I’ll show ye to yer chambers.”
Fiona smoothed down the skirt of her green woolen kirtle, lifted her chin and took Davidson’s arm. She flounced into Stirling Castle like the ill-fated Queen Mary herself.
Shaw chuckled. He wasn’t going to be the one to correct a case of mistaken identity.
*
“’Tis a magnificent structure,” Rory Blair declared, reining Gramm to a halt at the foot of the hill below Stirling Castle.
Caitlin took a deep breath and looked up at the historic keep. Her older brother spoke true, but Stirling was the place where the carefree life she loved was about to end. “More like a mausoleum,” she muttered.
Their father hacked up phlegm and spat it into the dirt. “We can turn around and go back,” he growled nonsensically. “We dinna have to obey the English king’s commands.”
“Nay,” Rory retorted. “Ye ken very well the wrath of the Drummonds and the king would come down on our heads.”
“I wish ’twas my betrothal ceremony we were coming to,” Nairn sighed.
Rory bestowed an indulgent smile on his twelve-year-old sister. “’Twill be many a year before ye need to worry about that.”
Caitlin often thought Rory had the makings of a good father, but he’d declared himself a confirmed bachelor, much to the annoyance of their sire who constantly harped on about the need for a future laird to provide heirs.