The Highland Chieftain

En route to Urqhart Castle, midsummer 1711

Bless it, you look worse than a rheumy-eyed ragamuffin.” Mairi’s father folded his gazette and slapped it on the bench beside him. “I’ve had enough of your moping. ’Tis time to sit straight and wipe away those confounding tears. There will be many influential men at the gathering, and I expect you to show the aristocracy of Scotland that the House of Cromartie is undaunted by your recent misfortune.”

Her insides hollow and drained, Lady Mairi MacKenzie wiped a hand across her face, her gaze shifting to her father. They’d been riding in the coach for hours upon hours, yet the Earl of Cromartie looked as crisp as when they’d set out at dawn. His long, curled periwig framed the hard angles of his face, his lace neckerchief tied perfectly beneath his chin. Da expected her to be thus composed regardless of if she was disgraced, ruined, and too mortified to ever again be seen in society.

How can I possibly face everyone and pretend nothing is amiss?

She’d pleaded with her father to allow her to remain home at Castle Leod, but nay, Mairi was given no choice but to hold her chin high and behave as if all was well. In the past, she’d enjoyed attending Highland fetes—the food, the dancing, meeting old friends, especially those of the male variety. But today, she was merely doing her duty. She didn’t want to laugh or dance or be sociable. She wanted to hide in her bedchamber with the shutters closed.

She could envision it now. As soon as she alighted from the coach, everyone would stare and the ladies would whisper behind their fans about her woeful state of affairs. Mairi could hear the gossip as well: Redheads are the devil’s spawn…Poor Cromartie, he’ll be lumbered with a spinster for the rest of his days.

All too soon, the coach rolled to a stop outside the crumbling gates of Urquhart Castle. Mairi closed the shutter, sat back, and crossed her arms.

Da reached over and tucked a curl under her bonnet. “Come, lass, ’tis time to put the past behind you. Square your shoulders, and hold your chin high.”

Mairi gulped. She’d rather be facing a smithy with a pair of tongs and submit to a tooth extraction than show her face. “Must I? If the coach turned around right now, we’d arrive home by—”

“Absolutely out of the question.” Da opened the door, climbed down the ladder, then thrust his hand inside. “Come, dearest, show the vultures you have a backbone of iron.”

She stared at the outstretched palm and drew a stuttering breath. Now she knew how a caged lion must feel, wanting to pounce but powerless to do so. Indeed, creating a scene would double her humiliation. With no other choice, Mairi took Da’s hand and climbed outside into the blinding sunlight. She swiftly opened her parasol, blinking rapidly.

Keeping her gaze downcast, she started for the drawbridge.

“Take heed!” a rider bellowed, reining a horse to a skidding stop as dirt and stones flew. The enormous black horse snorted and grunted, sidestepping. Mairi leaped out of the way while her parasol caught the wind, ripped from her hand, and flew to the ground.

“M’lady?” boomed the rider in a deep brogue—a familiar, rumbling voice that sent a shiver across the back of her neck.

Before she could stop herself, Mairi looked up. A tempest of butterflies swarmed in her stomach. Gooseflesh rose across her skin, making those tingles skitter down her spine. As far back as she remembered, Dunn MacRae had an unnerving effect on Mairi’s insides. The laird was braw and rugged, his midnight-blue eyes arresting and haunting. When standing, he towered over everyone with shoulders as wide as a horse’s hindquarter. He rarely smiled, and his shoulder-length hair was coarse and dark—just like the man. This day, he’d clubbed it back with a ribbon, but an errant strand hung to the side of his face, making him look dangerous and menacing.

But those eyes grew narrow and filled with bitterness. He bowed his head. “Are you well, m’lady?” he asked, his tone gruff.

“What were you thinking, MacRae?” demanded her father, collecting the parasol. “Did you not see the coach?”

“Forgive me, m’lord. My mind was elsewhere.” He tipped his hat to Mairi. “Good day.”

Mairi nodded, watching the backside of Laird MacRae’s stallion disappear, tail swishing while horse and rider crossed the old drawbridge. Sighing, she took the parasol from Da and reassembled the shreds of her pride.

“Lady Mairi!” A happier voice came from the crowd. As she turned, Janet Cameron grasped her by the elbow. “’Tis so good to see you. I was afraid you mightn’t come.” A close friend, Janet had charming blue eyes and a delicate face framed with blonde curls.

Wishing she were still home in her bedchamber safely concealed from society, Mairi gave the lass a look of exasperation. Everyone kens I’ve been cast aside and disgraced.

Da stepped in and clasped Janet’s hands. “It is good to see you as well, Miss Cameron. My daughter is in sore need of companionship. I trust you can impart some of your bountiful cheer.”

“Oh my.” Janet’s eyes grew wide. “’Tis usually Her Ladyship who keeps me up all hours laughing.”

Mairi forced a smile. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my ability to make merry for the rest of my days.”

“Rubbish. If I ken your nature, m’lady, you’ll be dancing reels afore the gathering’s end.” Janet pulled her away and toward the drawbridge. “They’ll be serving the evening meal soon. Clan Grant have outdone themselves. Even my father was astonished.”

Grateful for something new to talk about, Mairi arched her eyebrows. “Is he not still feuding with the Grants? I’m surprised you are here.”

“Me as well, but Da pushed aside his differences for the gathering.” Janet leaned closer while she lowered her voice. “The cause, ye ken.”

Mairi nodded. Presently she couldn’t give a fig about the Jacobite cause or plans for the succession.

Janet didn’t seem to notice as the lass stepped up the pace. “You absolutely must see the great hall. They’ve made it look so medieval, ’tis like traveling back in time two hundred years at least.”

Twirling her parasol, Mairi rolled her eyes. “Do not tell me there are knights wearing full suits of armor.”

Janet winked. “I haven’t seen one as of yet, but there’s still hope.”

Mairi tried not to laugh, but stifled a snort before it blew through her nose.

“Is this the latest fashion?” asked Janet, flicking the scalloped brim of the parasol. “’Tis bonny.”

“Aye, Da brought it from France—said all the ladies of the gentry are using them on the Continent.”

“Your father dotes on you. I’m lucky if mine remembers my saint’s day.”

Mairi shook her head. Janet didn’t know the half of it. “Mine is a little too overbearing, I’m afraid.”

Once inside the curtain walls, noise came from the enormous hall on the shore of Loch Ness. Mairi had only been to Urquhart once, and Janet was right. It was a relic from ages past and it bore many a battle scar. The sound of boisterous laughter made her stop short and grasp her friend’s arm. A hollow emptiness swelled in her chest. “I cannot go in there.” Dear Lord, she might swoon.

“Oh my, you are melancholy, are you not?”

Blinking back sudden tears, Mairi drew her hand to her forehead. “Ever so much.”

“Come, you must tell me everything afore the evening meal. I ken just the spot.”

Janet pulled Mairi through the grounds to the abandoned dovecote. Inside it was cool and the light dim. After folding the parasol, Mairi sat on a stone shelf while Janet joined her. Exhausted by the journey preceded by days of crying, Mairi allowed her shoulders to droop. Quite possibly, Janet was the only soul at the fete to whom she could pour out her woes. “I’m ruined,” she whispered as her throat constricted.

“Oh, my dearest, I hate seeing you so miserable.” Janet patted Mairi’s hand. “Please tell me what happened. Gossip is rife that the Earl of Seaforth married his ward.”

“Ayeeee,” Mairi cried, hiding her face in her hands, trying to keep her tears at bay. “I still cannot believe it.”

“Good riddance, I say.” Janet waved her hand through the air as if breaking an engagement was but a trifle.

“Good riddance?” Unable to believe her ears, Mairi’s spine shot to rigid. “He’s an earl, the man my family expected me to marry. Our fathers agreed to the betrothal when I was still in the cradle—a pact sealed by two great men.”

“Over a dram of whisky, rumor has it.”

“Curses to those scandalmongers!”

“I am truly sorry you have been hurt. It pains me to see you so melancholy.”

“Thank you. Your concern means a great deal to me.”

Taking Her Ladyship’s hand, Janet rubbed the back of it soothingly. “As I recall, you once complained to me that the earl was never overly cordial toward you. Certainly, he was well mannered, but no more so toward you than anyone else.”

Forcing herself to swallow against her urge to sob, Mairi dabbed her eyes. “I have no idea what I did wrong.”

“The fault does not lie with you. Not in the slightest.” Janet huffed. “Remember what you said last summer? You were worried about marrying Seaforth because you felt him distant. He was forever away and you scarcely had a chance to speak with him.”

Shaking her head, Mairi refused to listen. “But Da always said the earl was acting like a typical bachelor—said he’d face his responsibility once he was ready to wed.”

“Mm-hmm.” Janet looked away.

Mairi’s breath caught. Da’s reasoning had always been so convincing, and she’d just blindly accepted it. Had Seaforth meant to rescind the agreement all along? Good Lord, she’d made a fool of herself time and again. “What must everyone think of me?”

“’Tis not you the clans are gossiping about. ’Tis Seaforth who must atone for his behavior. Everyone kens ye are a witty, bonny, and vivacious young woman who has limitless potential.” Janet clapped her hands. “And I hear you’ve already shunned one suitor—a most braw Highlander at that.”

“Duncan MacRae?” Mairi asked, using his given name rather than the moniker of Dunn, which everyone knew him by. “Och, the man offered for my hand hours after Seaforth took his nuptials—’twas merely an act of charity. My father avowed he only offered out of loyalty to the earl.”

“I think not. He’s a chieftain—one who can wield a mighty sword, with lands and riches of his own. MacRae has earned the respect of Clan Cameron for certain.”

“Aye.” Mairi heaved a sigh, her heart heavy. No matter how tempting MacRae’s offer may have been, Da had already imparted her refusal, and there was no use harboring regrets. “The Highlander has always been rather imposing.”

“Imposing? I’d say he looks like a gladiator—almost as handsome as Robert Grant.”

“Almost?” Mairi might be melancholy, but she wasn’t blind. Dunn MacRae was as handsome as he was braw—far more fetching than Grant.

“Mm-hmm.” Janet’s eyelashes fluttered.

Forming an O with her lips, Mairi gasped. “Are you smitten?”

“Never.” The lass blushed clear up to her blonde tresses. “The Grants and the Camerons are always feuding about something. My admiration for Mr. Grant is simply a distant appreciation of a braw Highlander—his character is a different matter, however.”

Mairi almost chuckled. Janet was smitten, whether she believed herself to be or nay. “What is your father feuding about now?”

“Another spat over lands.”

“Aye, just like it has always been between men for the past two thousand years.” Mairi stuffed her kerchief back into her sleeve. “Da says the feudal ways of the Highlands are doomed.”

“That mightn’t be such a bad thing.” Janet sighed. “But it will not happen today. Come, why not cast aside your woes and bat your eyelashes at Mr. MacRae?”

She groaned, giving her friend a look of exasperation. “Because I have rejected him, that’s why. Besides, Da insists he will not approve of my marriage to anyone less than a baron.”

“Earls can be inordinately difficult.”

“Tell me something I do not already ken. I’ve lived with an earl my entire life, and it hasn’t been easy.”

“You make living at Castle Leod sound like a great burden.”

“And what about you? Achnacarry has opulence all its own.”

“Aye, but my da leaves me be. He has my brothers to occupy his time.”

“I see. So you do not believe he’s scheming to arrange your marriage this very minute?”

Janet cringed. “He wouldn’t dare—n-not without speaking to me about it first.”

Mairi heaved a sigh and looked to the rounded ceiling of the dovecote. “Fathers. ’Tis a miracle they are not the death of us.”

In the distance a bell sounded, announcing the evening meal. Janet grasped Mairi’s hand. “We’d best not be late. Besides, I wouldn’t miss tonight’s meal for a dozen golden guineas.”

“Just so you can ogle the lads?”

Janet gave a wink. “The men, mind you.”

Mairi took in a deep breath and allowed her friend to pull her toward the rising voices of the crowd. Most often Mairi would be the flirty one eager to join the throng and Janet would be aghast. How circumstances had changed in a mere fortnight.

However, the trip to Urquhart was not a complete debacle. Thanks to her friend, the despair clawing at Mairi’s heart had eased a bit…until they strode inside the hall.