Wicked Passions (Highland Menage # 2) - Nicola Davidson Page 0,2
than no hope at all.
Glennoe Castle, on the shores of Loch Etive
Western Highlands
Failure.
As he stared out the second-floor window of the small stone castle he called home, the word pounded Callum MacIntyre’s head like a battering ram at the gates. In the past, when the cares of being a young laird threatened to overwhelm him, he’d been comforted by this view: the cold, deep waters of the sea loch, and the craggy, imposing presence of Ben Cruachan, the mountainous guardian of the glen.
Not anymore.
The coffers were nearly empty; the weaving house—source of most of the clan’s income—razed to the ground in a brutal raid; and the mighty neighboring clan, the devil-spawned Campbells, continued to circle and swoop like a golden eagle toying with a plump field mouse.
Since his reckless father’s death six months ago, Callum had tried his best to heal the breaches, to make peace and expand trade. But he was an oddity in the Highlands: a nondescript laird of twenty-five summers, average height and lean build, fair hair and gray eyes, the reserved scholar who preferred negotiation to swords. His rule had always been precarious. Now it seemed the whispers were growing even louder to get rid of him: our laird should be a true Highlander. Not a cursed halfling, spawn of an Englishwoman who calls herself healer but is really a witch…
“Callum. Are ye listening? Now is not the time for daydreaming!”
Stifling a growl at the disrespect, he turned to gaze upon Rory ‘Red’ MacDonald. Red was pure Highland stock; a tall, strapping, battle-hardened bull with flaming auburn hair. As he was also laird of his clan branch, the son of Callum’s aunt, and ten years older, many viewed him as the true leader of the MacIntyre clan.
Callum tried not to hate anyone. But his cousin made it difficult.
“I heard you, Red,” he replied evenly. “Once again insisting I wed a MacDonald lass and bring my clan under your protection.”
“’Tis the only way! Unless you wish further Campbell evil?”
“It is not the only way. Just a plan to ensure my name ceases to exist. And I won’t have that, not when we fought so long to be recognized by the king and council and admitted to the Clan Chattan Confederation.”
“What a proud fool ye are,” said Red, his lips twisting with scorn. “And who will pay for that? Your people. Any more bloodshed will be on your hands.”
The sound of pewter goblet slammed onto wooden table made them both jump.
Callum’s mother, Maude, glared at her nephew, her violet eyes flashing. It was said a glance from the Lady of Glennoe could welcome a soul into paradise or purgatory; at this moment his cousin would be travelling directly to a much warmer place.
“Pray remember you are on MacIntyre land and speak to its laird.”
Red bowed mockingly. “Aye, madam. As neither of you will listen to reason about an alliance, I’ll take my leave. Just remember, Glennoe, you can only hold the wolves at bay for so long.”
“If an alliance is needed so badly by the MacDonalds,” said Maude, her gaze icy, “perhaps you should find a wife.”
“I’ll be wed soon enough,” said Red with a shrug. “I have my eye on a great prize in Stirling, and travel tomorrow to win it. Farewell.”
When his cousin’s heavy footsteps were no more than a faint tap on the stairs below, Callum sighed and slumped into a chair beside the library fireplace. “Do not say a word, Mother.”
“Who, me?” she replied archly, adding a piece of wood to the fire before stepping back and smoothing her cream velvet gown. With her pale skin and long fair hair, those violet eyes were even more startling. His father had seen her at an English tourney and been so captivated by her ethereal beauty he’d brought her home. Callum arrived nine months later, but no other children followed. Knowing how miserable the marriage had been, he could easily understand why she didn’t seek another husband. In time perhaps she might seek a lover, and he would support her happiness wholeheartedly.
“Yes, you.”
“I only speak up because Rory grows in confidence and supporters. Be wary, my son. Why would he travel to Stirling?”
Callum frowned. “I don’t know. It is a long distance for someone who always picks the lowest hanging fruit. And if he had an audience with the king, he would brag of it.”
“Exactly. Let us hope dear Alastair brings news when he returns from the market.”
He looked away, so his mother might not see