A Gentle Feuding Read online

  She might indeed be a beggar, he thought, bathing before she stopped at Tower Esk for a handout. The country swarmed with them, especially in the Low­lands where kirks were more numerous and the peo­ple more pious and charitable. But such a beautiful beggar? Possible, but doubtful. Who was she, then? Would he ever know?

  The urge to go back to the glen and find out was strong, but his men were within sight, and now that the mist had cleared, Tower Esk could be seen in the far distance atop its fortified hill. Numerous crofts were visible, scattered over the moor. The time had come.

  But Jamie was not as hell‑bent on devastation as he had been earlier. The lovely girl had eased his an­ger, as had thoughts of his aunt and what warring would do to her. A wrong for a wrong would be exacted, but Jamie would be merciful. When he reached his men, he explained his change of heart. His word was law, so those who felt he was being too lenient could be damned.

  Three crofts were destroyed that morning, the crops trampled, and all the stock lifted. But no women or children were killed. They were made to stand by and watch as their homes burned. The crofters who wanted to fight did—and died. Those who didn’t fight were spared.

  Jamie tarried at the scene of his vengeance, wait­ing for Dugald Fergusson to come if he dared. He burned crofts that could be seen from the tower bat­tlements, but his band of men was large, and he knew Dugald couldn’t afford to respond. It was really a challenge for vengeance, meant to humiliate his enemy. Once his men were satisfied with victory, he withdrew.

  The feud was on again. Jamie was not pleased by it. He had enough troubles at home without both­ering with the faraway Fergussons. The Fergussons had wanted this, and so it was.

  But on the long ride home that day, Jamie was not planning future raids. He was thinking of a beauti­ful girl in a secluded glen, a mystical maiden with skin like pearl and hair of darkest flame.

  Chapter 3

  June 1541, Angusshire, Scotland

  SHEENA Fergusson stared out over the battlements of Tower Esk, gazing at the peaceful moor, her thoughts anything but peaceful. An early riser by nature, she watched the dawn sky brighten and challenge the pink heather below, and chafed because she was forbidden to leave the tower house, not even for a short brisk ride, not even with a dozen retainers riding beside her.

  It wasn’t fair. But nothing was going right these days, and all because The MacKinnion had decided, last month, to break the truce that had existed for two years. For two peaceful, carefree years Sheena had been allowed the freedom she had known as a child. The first of four daughters and Dugald Fergusson’s favorite, she was always treated with the care of a treasured heir until the long­hoped‑for heir finally arrived. After Niall was born, she was still the favorite daughter‑but just a daughter.

  Strange, but she had never resented Niall. She had loved her little brother from the day of his birth. Six years old, a true hoyden, and spoiled terribly, she had been fascinated by the boy baby after the uneventful births of three sisters.

  Their love surprised everyone. By rights, Niall should have been closest to his sister Fiona, for they were only a year apart. Yet it was Sheena he tagged after, Sheena he looked to for amusement, Sheena who gave him the love he needed as he grew from a wee bairn to a young lad. They were inseparable even now. Sheena was nineteen, long past a marriageable age, and Niall was only thirteen and still quite childlike most of the time.

  During a moment of great maturity, Niall had agreed with their father that Sheena should stay within the tower walls. It was no longer safe in the countryside during the day. That was the most galling: the MacKinnions were the only clan to raid by day. All others, including their own, rode under cover of night. But the MacKinnions, ever bold, struck during daylight.

  The fear that had prevailed this last month was disgusting, bringing all kinds of changes into Sheena’s life‑the loss of freedom, the threat of marriage, too many arguments. The fights with her sisters were nothing new, but the fights with her father were tearing her apart. And why must they fight? Was she wrong to want to marry a man she loved? Was it her fault she had yet to fall in love?

  Oh, there had been talk, when she was a child, of a marriage that would create a powerful alliance, but that had stopped two years before, and she had assumed she would be allowed to have a love match. Her father had even said as much. He had taken her side every time her sisters pleaded with him to force her to marry so that they, in turn, could marry. Every one of them had her husband picked out already and was eager for marriage, even fourteenyear‑old Fiona. They had had no problems finding love matches that were also powerful unions. Sheena had not had their luck.

  But Dugald Fergus son had refused to rush Sheena. Nor would he allow any of his younger daughters to marry before she did, which would shame her. Now all that was suddenly changed. Now it was imperative that she choose a man from a powerful clan. And she must do it within the month, or her father would do it for her. Sheena was stunned. How could her father do that to her? He loved her. She was his pet, the jewel of Tower Esk, as he fondly called her.

  But, deep down, she knew why. And although she d hated it, she couldn’t fault him, not really. He was protecting his clan, insuring their defense with powerful alliances. There would be a triple wedding. Sir Gilbert MacGuire had long ago asked for Margaret, after Sheens. turned him down. Margaret, just turned seventeen, had been waiting a year and a half to marry Gilbert. And arrangements were also being made for sixteen­year‑old Elspeth’s choice, Gilleonan Sibbald, of whom Dugald heartily approved. It remained only for Sheena to make her choice. But there was no one she cared to spend the rest of her life with.

  “‘I should have known I’d be finding you here, now that you canna ride off to chase the morning mist.”

  Sheena looked around, saw her mother’s cousin, and dismissed him. Turning back to face the dawn, she said, “I dinna like your dogging me, Willie.”

  “I’ve asked you no’ to call me Willie.”

  “William then.” She shrugged. She was beginning to thoroughly dislike him, cousin or not. “What difference does it make? I’d rather no’ be talking to you at all.”

  “Och, Sheena, you’re a hard lass, and no mistake. And here I’m only looking after your best interests.’;

  “‘Was it my best interests that made you tell my father I should be marrying now?” she asked sharply, her dark blue eyes piercing William with a look of pure venom. “I dinna think so, cousin. I think you had your interests at heart. But ‘twill gain you naught, for I’ll no’ be marrying you!”

  “I wouldna be so sure of that, Sheena,” William replied coldly.

  She laughed. The sound was altogether humorless. “You’ve done naught but defeat your own purpose, Willie. You’ve convinced my father well. He’ll no’ be letting me marry a MacAfee. We’re already aligned with them, and he wants new blood in the family‑thanks to you.”

  William ignored her bitterness, as he ignored all things not to his liking. “Dugald will agree to our marriage. I guarantee it.”

  “And how is that?” she sneered. “You have the means to end the feud?”

  “Nay, but Fiona’s marriage can be moved up. She has her heart set on The Ogilvie’s brother himself.

  Think of it, Sheena. An alliance with The Ogilvie is worth three with any other clans. It might even make the MacKinnions back down.”

  “Now you grasp at straws, cousin.” Sheena’s contempt was growing. “Nothing would make The Mac­Kinnion run scared, and you know it as well as I. He’s a savage Highlander. He lives to. kill, as do all his clan.”

  William went on smoothly, “But your father would rest easy with an Ogilvie in‑law, so he would have no objections to your marrying me.”

  “You always seem to forget I dinna want you,” Sheena replied levelly. “Why is that, cousin? I’ve told you enough times. I told you earlier this year, I told you last year and the year ‘afore that, but you never listen. I’m telling you again now, and I pray ‘tis the la
st time. I dinner love you, and I dinna want a man nigh as old as my father for a husband. I dinna mean to hurt you, cousin, but your persistence makes me want to scream.”

  “Would you rather be marrying The MacKinnion then?” William shouted angrily.

  The color drained from Sheena’s face. “Are you daft?” she gasped.

  “Nay, quite serious,” William said, smug now that he saw her fear. “To marry The MacKinnion himself would end the feud, wouldn’t it? Dugald would pounce on the idea if I encouraged it, for it has al­ready crossed his mind.”

  “You lie!”

  “Nay, Sheena. Ask him. Such a marriage would end the bloodshed and the lifting and even make the Fergussons prosperous, for once.”

  Sheena’s stomach knotted, for his reasoning was sound, awful though it seemed. And Dugald listened to William’s advice much too often. But to marry The MacKinnion himself, a man so terrible that his first wife killed herself on her wedding night because of his brutal treatment! That was how the story went. Marrying such a man! She couldn’t bear the idea.

  “He wouldna have me,” she said in a desperate whisper, shaking her head.

  “He would.”

  “I’m his enemy, a Fergusson. He hates us all. He proved that by starting the feud again.”

  “The man would have you,” William said firmly. “Any man with eyes would want you. The MacKinnion would no’ just accept the offer of you, either. With his bold arrogance, he would demand you be given to him.”

  “You would do that to me, William?” she asked quietly.

  William scanned her face, pleased that he had shaken her so deeply. “I want you for myself, Sheena. But if I canna have you, then aye, I would see you go to him to end this feud, for it kills MacAfees as well as Fergussons. Think about that, Sheena. And you think well, for soon again I’ll be asking you to wed. I’ll be expecting a different answer next time I ask.”

  Sheena watched his tall form walk away. She began to tremble. Of course she would choose her cousin over a savage Highlander, even though she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying William. God, would her father really do that to her? Make her marry their terrible enemy? No, he wouldn’t, not even to end the feud. Dugald loved her. He knew as well as they all did that The MacKinnion was an uncivilized brute. He had himself told her stories about James MacKinnion, terrible stories. The man had been raiding and killing since he was a child. His own wife had preferred death to his touch. William couldn’t convince her father to condemn her to a life of beatings and cruelty.

  Sheena left the battlements and went in search of Niall. He would give her courage. But . . . her prob­lem still wouldn’t be solved. She still had to marry someone—and soon.

  Chapter 4

  August 1541, Angusshire, Scotland.

  SHEENA woke in the quiet hour just before dawn, and in only a few minutes she had braided her thick, long hair and donned the tunic and plaid that disguised her as a young lad. With a candle in one hand and a small bundle clasped in the other, she slipped from the tiny room that had been hers ever since she became estranged from her sisters and could no longer bear to share their much larger, more comfortable chamber.

  Down a narrow corridor were five steps that led to Niall’s bedchamber on another, higher level. There were several levels in Tower Esk, many small rooms and cubbyholes. There were only a few large cham­bers besides the hall on the second level, and the storage and dungeon below that.

  Sheena’s home was one of the newer tower houses that, more and more, across the Lowlands, were re­placing large castles. Only a century old, Tower Esk was a family stronghold rather than a feudal for­tress. Just a small fortified hall, really, it was designed simply and plain in appearance, although it did have little runs of crenellation on the parapets and balustrated galleries. Six stories high and taller than it was square, it was not as impregnable as a castle. But it would be no easy task to overtake it, either.

  Sheena had grown up on the ever‑disputed border between the Lowlands and the Highlands. The borderline was in dispute because, while the differences between the two areas were distinct differences in culture and language, the Fergussons were a mix of the two. The Highlanders were an uncivilized lot, a Gaelic‑speaking people with perhaps one kirk per parish, sometimes not even that. They were hardly pious or God‑fearing. And they thrived on war like no other people did.

  The Lowlanders were more civilized because of their closer association with the English, their numerous royal burghs and grand abbeys. They were more pious, as well, with an abundance of kirks. Though, truth to tell, many of their Catholic priests and monks were not as devout as might be expected, their positions being mostly hereditary.

  The Fergussons, in the middle, tried to maintain a balance. They spoke English because they were considered Lowlanders, but they knew Gaelic because they had come from the Highlands centuries before. And they had fewer dealings with the English or with royalty, and were less likely to forget the old tongue. They wore English fashions, true, and Sheena even had an aunt in Aberdeen who was a nun, but they were not pious, going to kirk perhaps once a month.

  It was not pleasant being in the middle and being a small clan, ever troubled by the bigger clans and currently at war with a powerful Highlander. Low landers farther south lived in comparative peace. Not so the Fergussons. Sheena could certainly understand her father’s hope for alliances and his need to use his daughters toward that end.

  Opening the door to her brother’s room, Sheena found him still fast asleep. But a quick shake altered that, and when Niall’s eyes opened and saw the way Sheena was dressed, he groaned and ducked his head under the covers. She wouldn’t have been dressed so if she hadn’t meant to leave the tower.

  “Come on now, Niall.” Sheena shook him again.

  “Nay.”

  “We’ll be back ‘afore the sun rises,” she persisted, yanking his covers away. “You wouldna have me go alone, would you?”

  Niall knew that determined tone well enough and could only grumble, “You’ll be getting us both a skelping.”

  “Nonsense. No one’s to know.”

  “I dinna like this, Sheena. No’ for me, but for you. ‘Tis dangerous to leave the tower these days. What if PP

  “Dinna say his name!” Sheena snapped. “I’m sick to death of hearing that cursed name.”

  “That doesna change the facts, Sheena. He’s raided five times in the last three months since he broke the truce. He rides our land as if it were his own. How could I protect you if he came upon us on the moor?”

  “That’ll no’ be happening, Niall, and you know it well. He doesna raid this early. He waits for the bright light of day for his dirty deeds, so there’ll be no mistaking him for another.”

  “And what if he were to change his tactics?”

  “He’s too bold to resort to surprises,” she scoffed. “Now dress yourself and be quick about it. Old Willie’s the gatekeeper today, and he’s blind as a bat, so there will be no trouble slipping past him.”

  A short while later., two small figures ran across the moorland. Horses would have saved time, but they would never have got out of the tower with horses. As it was, they had been delayed by the departure of an unexpected patrol. The five men would be able to do very little against a band of MacKinnions, but a party of scouts was better than no warning at all. That warning was becoming increasingly important, for Dugald feared more and more that the tower itself would be attacked, not just the crofts.

  The sky was turning pink already, but Sheena would not let her spirits sink, even though her time in the glen would be cut short. Today was bathing day, and she planned to take impish pleasure in shocking her sisters by not bathing with them, for they would never guess she had already done so. It was just one of the little pranks she played on her sisters to get even for their constant nagging. Margaret was usually the first to call her wild and irresponsible, and to complain to their father that no man would have Sheena because she was slovenly, disrespectfu
l, and much too bold.

  Her father knew better. She wasn’t really wild, and certainly not slovenly. He knew her love for swimming and riding, which was why he had forbidden her to leave the tower. She was a touch disrespectful, but only when her temper was riled did she dare argue with her father.

  Sheena sighed. There had been a lot of that lately, especially the month before when he gave up expecting her to name a husband. He had done so for her. The only good thing about it was that it had put William out of the running.

  “Will you join me this time, laddie?” Sheena asked as they reached the high bank that looked down on the little pool. “The water should be warm enough. Oh, it does look inviting!”

  “And who’d watch over you, eh?” Niall shook his head and plopped down on his favorite rock. From there he could view the whole of the moor on this side of the glen.

  “But you haven’t swum once this summer, and I know you love it as much as I. In the spring you said the water was too cold, and then the trouble began.”

  “We shouldna have come here, Sheena,” he said.

  Sheena grinned at his stern look. “You worry too much, m’dear. Where’s your sense of adventure gone? You havena once asked me to go fishing with you this summer, nor grouse hunting.”

  “ ‘Tis no’ that I havena wanted to.”

  “I know—the trouble.” She sighed and stepped behind him to shed her clothes. “The MacKinnion’s ruined all our fun this year. Soon ‘twill be too cold to come here. I’ve only enjoyed my pool four times in these months, instead of twice weekly. Soon I’ll be married, and then where’ll I be swimming?”