Kilty Secrets (Clash of the Tartans Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Sacrificial Lamb

  No Choice

  Andrew

  Searching for Solutions

  Disheartening

  Accident

  Kiliwhimin

  First Meeting

  He Thinks I’m Ye

  New Plans

  We’ve Been Tricked

  Caught in the Act

  Secrets and Lies

  Complications

  Mischief Afoot

  Makings of a Good Laird

  Wild Deer Chase

  The Hairpin

  Simpleton

  Stricken Warrior

  Playing the Buffoon

  Plot Thwarted

  Bitter Truths

  Secret Feelings

  Pledging Vengeance

  Search

  Clues

  Something Rotten

  Trial

  The Tunnel

  Superfluous

  Important Matters

  Responsibilities

  Marking Time

  Ups and Downs

  Off His Head

  Are Ye Deaf?

  The Corpse

  The Pack

  Two Weddings

  Ninth Inch

  Rapture

  Cocoon

  Under Attack

  Kith and Kin

  Who is This Man?

  Kilty Secrets

  Clash of the Tartans

  Book One

  by

  Anna Markland

  Copyright © 2017 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.

  Dedicated to my grandfather, Richard Gaskell,

  aka Richard Wilson, aka Dick Lowe

  ~a man with secrets of his own.

  “Life is under no obligation to give us what we expect.”

  ~Margaret Mitchell

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Knights of Honor Series by Alexa Aston

  Word of Honor

  Marked By Honor

  Code of Honor

  Journey to Honor

  Heart of Honor

  Legends of Love Series by Avril Borthiry

  The Wishing Well

  Isolated Hearts

  Sentinel

  The Lost Lords Series by Chasity Bowlin

  The Lost Lord of Castle Black

  Heart of the Corsairs Series by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Captive of the Corsairs

  Also From Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Dark Heart

  Knight Everlasting Series by Cassidy Cayman

  Endearing

  Midnight Meetings Series by Gina Conkle

  Meet a Rogue at Midnight, book 4

  Second Chance Series by Jessica Jefferson

  Second Chance Marquess

  Imperial Season Series by Mary Lancaster

  Vienna Waltz

  Vienna Woods

  Vienna Dawn

  Blackhaven Brides Series by Mary Lancaster

  The Wicked Baron

  The Wicked Lady

  Clash of the Tartans Series by Anna Markland

  Kilty Secrets

  Queen of Thieves Series by Andy Peloquin

  Child of the Night Guild

  Thief of the Night Guild

  Dark Gardens Series by Meara Platt

  Garden of Shadows

  Garden of Light

  Garden of Dragons

  Garden of Destiny

  Rulers of the Sky Series by Paula Quinn

  Scorched

  Ember

  Viking’s Fury Series by Violetta Rand

  Love’s Fury

  Desire’s Fury

  Passion’s Fury

  Also from Violetta Rand

  Viking Hearts

  The Sons of Scotland Series by Victoria Vane

  Virtue

  Dry Bayou Brides Series by Lynn Winchester

  The Shepherd’s Daughter

  The Seamstress

  The Widow

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Sacrificial Lamb

  No Choice

  Andrew

  Searching for Solutions

  Disheartening

  Accident

  Kiliwhimin

  First Meeting

  He Thinks I’m Ye

  New Plans

  We’ve Been Tricked

  Caught in the Act

  Secrets and Lies

  Complications

  Mischief Afoot

  Makings of a Good Laird

  Wild Deer Chase

  The Hairpin

  Simpleton

  Stricken Warrior

  Playing the Buffoon

  Plot Thwarted

  Bitter Truths

  Secret Feelings

  Pledging Vengeance

  Search

  Clues

  Something Rotten

  Trial

  The Tunnel

  Superfluous

  Important Matters

  Responsibilities

  Marking Time

  Ups and Downs

  Off His Head

  Are Ye Deaf?

  The Corpse

  The Pack

  Two Weddings

  Ninth Inch

  Rapture

  Cocoon

  Under Attack

  Kith and Kin

  Who is This Man?

  Historical Footnotes

  About Anna

  More Anna Markland

  Excerpt from Virtue by Victoria Vane

  Sacrificial Lamb

  Roigh Hall, Inverness, Scotland, 1666 AD

  Glad he’d received no invitation to sit, Ewan Mackinloch folded his arms and scowled at his cantankerous father presiding regally at the head of the Council. “After all the blood spilled o’er the last three hundred years between our clan and the MacCarrons, ye expect me to marry a wench from that cursed tribe?”

  The elders gathered around the narrow table in the Chart Room flinched when Laird Duncan Mackinloch leaned forward and brought a gnarled fist down heavily on the scarred wood. “Such an alliance will seal the bargain struck last year at Clunes,” he growled. “How else are we to hold the MacCarrons to the deal and make sure they pay the rest of the seventy-two thousand merks they promised for Loch Alkayg? For hundreds of years we’ve proven time and again that land came to Angus Mackinloch in the year of our lord thirteen hundred and twenty-one, when he married Eva, daughter of…”

  Ewan had lived and breathed the history of the feud’s origins his entire life and could recite the story in his sleep. He studied the rafters while his father droned on about Angus Mackinloch fleeing the wrath of the Lord of the Isles, the occupation of the lands by the MacCarrons, the Battle of Drumlui, the confirmation of Mackinloch rights by no less a personage than King David himself.

  He clenched his jaw, reluctant to breathe the fetid air that reeked of too many nervous men, and did the unthinkable. He interrupted his father’s monologue. “If ’tis such a good idea, why are ye nay scheming to betroth my brother to the lass?”

  “Come now, laddie,” his spluttering father replied
, “ye ken only too weel we canna allow a MacCarron to be the wife o’ the laird o’ Clan Mackinloch.”

  It was the inevitable answer he’d expected, yet it left a bitter taste. “I’m to be the sacrificial lamb, then?”

  His Uncle Jamie spoke up. “It might not be so bad. They say the MacCarron women are bonnie.”

  Despite his affection for his soft-spoken uncle, Ewan snorted. “Whereas the several friendly clans of our own Chattan federation boast few comely lasses.”

  “No need for sarcasm,” his red-faced father retorted. “The MacCarrons are in agreement.”

  Ewan narrowed his eyes. “And how did ye convince them?”

  A chill settled on his nape when Duncan averted his eyes and mumbled—something he never did.

  Frustrated, Ewan threw his hands in the air and looked to his uncle for an explanation.

  “We agreed ye’ll bide a wee in Creag Castle after the hand-fasting,” Jamie told him, “until yer bride is comfortable wi’ traveling to Roigh.”

  Ewan rolled his eyes. “Bide a wee? What the fyke does that mean? Ye’re talking hand-fasting now?”

  “A twelvemonth,” his father spat. “As is usual.”

  A glimmer of hope flickered. After a year and a day he’d be free to abandon his unwanted bride and return home. In the meantime, however, he’d be a hostage in enemy territory. The MacCarrons might not let him leave—alive. He’d have to take a fair-sized contingent of clan warriors. “And I’m to go alone?”

  “Nay,” Jamie replied. “The MacCarrons will allow some o’ yer men.” He peeled muck out of his fingernails. “Two to be precise.”

  Two!

  Ewan bit back a blasphemous retort. “And when does my banishment begin?”

  His father looked him in the eye. “Ye’ll leave on the morrow. We must show the MacCarrons we expect them to keep their promise to pay the compensation within two years. Three installments. I myself shared a wee dram and exchanged swords with their chief—dead shortly after, God rest his soul. We must hold his successor to the agreement.”

  Evidently, the coin was more important to Duncan Mackinloch than his son’s life. Too angry to speak, Ewan turned on his heel and strode out, resentful he’d gone to the bother of donning his best plaid for the meeting. Arguing further would be a waste of time. He’d less than a day to find bodyguards willing to accompany him into the lion’s den—and one night to bid a fond farewell to his sweet Kathleen.

  No Choice

  Creag Castle, Highlands, Scotland

  Shona stalked to the door of her uncle’s solar, then turned, fisted her hands on her waist, filled her lungs and shouted, “I willna marry a Mackinloch and ye canna make me. Ye’re nay my father.”

  Seated in his favorite chair by the hearth, Kendric MacCarron sighed wearily. “I told ye, lass, I had to agree to a hand-fasting. And I am yer laird.”

  Blood pulsed in her ears. She knew Kendric grieved the recent death of his older brother, but it was a bitter reminder that he had inherited the lairdship. She lost the last vestige of control and gave her anger full rein. “My father must be turning in his newly-dug grave. What worthy mon will want me after I’ve warmed the bed of a cursed Mackinloch for a twelvemonth?”

  She hurried out before he had a chance to reply, slamming the heavy door hard. Panting with the effort, she kept the tears at bay until she reached the privacy of her own apartments a few paces along the narrow hallway.

  She shoved open the door and from somewhere found the strength to slam it behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her auntie’s wide-eyed surprise. Jeannie struggled to extricate herself from the deep upholstered chair by the window as Shona flung herself onto the bed and wept into the bolster.

  Her aunt hurried over to perch on the edge of the mattress. “Whatever ails ye, lass?” she asked, stroking her hair. “What has my foolish brother said to upset ye so?”

  Shona found comfort in the familiar scent of rosemary. She rolled over and accepted the offer of a kerchief. Sitting up, she blew her nose, which helped clear her ears but seemed to make the hiccups worse. “He’s betrothed me,” she said hoarsely.

  “Weel, ye’re of marrying age. Yer dear father would have done the same.”

  Shona slid off the rumpled bed and readjusted her disheveled clothing. “Da would ne’er have betrothed me to a Mackinloch.”

  Jeannie gasped. “A Mackinloch?”

  Shona paced, the kerchief clutched tight in her fist. “Aye, and not even the laird’s eldest son. Some second or mayhap third in line. I didna catch his name. A nobody.”

  Jeannie shook her head. “Kendric cares for ye. He must have a good reason for doing this. Yer father took part in the talks at Clunes. Perhaps…”

  Shona appreciated the difficulty of her aunt’s position. She owed loyalty to her brothers—one dead and one now laird. But Jeannie was the babe of that family, a bairn born to a woman thought past her childbearing years. She was closer in age to Shona, more a sister than an auntie, especially since both their mothers had died bringing them into the world.

  She chose to ignore the possibility her father had gone along with the plan to wed her to a Mackinloch. “Kendric claims he had nay choice. The agreement with the Chattan federation has to be sealed. But he agreed only to a hand-fasting.”

  Jeannie brightened. “Weel—”

  “’Tis worse than marriage,” Shona wailed. “I’ll be soiled goods when yon Mackinloch abandons me after a year and a day.”

  “Aye,” Jeannie whispered.

  Shona was instantly contrite. Her aunt’s husband had supposedly abandoned her after a hand-fasting, citing fears his bairns might inherit the lazy eye that marred Jeannie’s otherwise beautiful face. It was a false excuse put forth by a coward. The bitter truth was he’d been banished from MacCarron lands by Shona’s father as punishment for his brutality.

  “Forgive me,” she murmured as she sat down next to her auntie and took her hand. “I’m thoughtless. My mouth runs away with me.”

  Jeannie forced a smile, the afflicted eye wandering more than usual. “Dinna fash. I’m nay sorry Ailig is gone. He was a cruel mon.”

  It was the closest Jeannie had ever come to speaking of what she’d endured at Ailig’s hands, and Shona feared it might be an omen. Her heart sank. “Surely my uncle wouldna betroth me to a brute,” she whispered.

  Andrew

  Striding through Roigh’s dusty bailey, Ewan espied wee Andrew coming in the opposite direction. They fought an ongoing mock battle whenever their paths crossed. He loved the canny lad and it was of some consolation that at least his sister’s son would be sad to see him go.

  His grinning seven-year-old nephew drew a wooden sword and challenged him. “Halt, scurvy knave.”

  Ewan slowed his pace, but didn’t stop. “Sorry,” he replied, “no time to play this day.”

  The smile had disappeared from the boy’s face by the time he caught up. “What’s amiss, Uncle?”

  How to explain to a bairn that his life had fallen apart? He paused and hunkered down. “I’m to undertake a long and difficult journey, and I must gather companions to accompany me.”

  “I’ll go with ye,” Andrew replied without hesitation.

  “I wish it could be so,” Ewan said with a wry smile, “but I’m bound for MacCarron lands.”

  Andrew braced his legs and brandished his toy sword. “I’ll help ye fight that evil clan.”

  Ewan touched a finger to the wooden point. “I’d be proud to have ye fight at my side, but I’m going there to be wed, not to make war.”

  Andrew frowned. “Wed? To a MacCarron?”

  “Aye.”

  The boy slashed the air with his weapon. “Who sends ye to such a fate? I’ll slay him.”

  “The Mackinloch. Yer laird.”

  The boy studied his feet as he put up his blade. “Oh.”

  Ewan tussled the mop of red curls. “Dinna fash. ’Tis only for a year and a day, then I’ll return.”

  “Wit
h yer bride?”

  Ewan bristled as he stood. “I hae ma doots about that.”

  Andrew hurried to keep pace with him as he set off again. “Who will ye choose as yer escort? I’ll warrant my da will go with ye.”

  Ewan shook his head. “I’ll nay expect men with wives and bairns to bide a year with our enemies.”

  Out of breath now, Andrew panted, “And I suppose men with sweethearts willna wish to go either.”

  For the first time, the complexity of the task he faced struck Ewan—a problem a bairn had foreseen. Most young Mackinloch warriors boasted of a lady-love.

  “I always thought ye’d marry Kathleen,” Andrew remarked.

  Ewan looked askance at his red-faced nephew. He was fond of the sweet Kathleen, but marriage had never entered his head. Mayhap if they were to wed quickly, there’d be no question of hand-fasting a MacCarron.

  It was a way out of his dilemma, and would surely infuriate his father. However, truth be told, he knew in his heart he didn’t fancy being married to a biddable woman. He wanted passion.

  He stopped at the door to the barracks. “I think I prefer a feisty lass with a sense of humor,” he said.

  Andrew eyed him as if he’d lost his wits.

  Searching for Solutions

  “We’ll be late to the hall for supper,” Jeannie cajoled, smoothing her skirts as she exited the boudoir. “Hurry and get ready.”

  Shona paced the chamber, shaking her head. “I’ll nay sup with my uncle until we’ve thought of a solution.”

  “The solution is that there’s no escape,” her auntie replied, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. “I’m hungry and, besides, yon Mackinloch will be smitten as soon as he sets eyes on yer golden hair.”

  Shona stopped abruptly, hands fisted on her hips. “We could stay locked in this chamber until the fellow gives up and returns home.”

  Jeannie rolled her eyes—well, at least the one she could control. “Aye. If we dinna starve to death, we can then wait until the Mackinlochs descend on us with an army to avenge the insult.”

  Shona chewed her bottom lip, reluctant to admit Jeannie was right. “I could pretend to be ill…afflicted with some noxious disease…the pox. Who’d want to wed a poxy woman?”