The Lady of Clan MacKinlay

The Lady of Clan MacKinlay BETA COPY HIGHLAND LOVERS CECELIA MECCA Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Epilogue Also by Cecelia Mecca About the Author Chapter One Duncraig Castle, Scottish Highlands, 13th century “The Duncraig wishes to see you both.” Niall all but laughed in his clansman’s face. He and his brother Kieran had been training, as they did most days, when their father’s friend found them. Dougal and their father had been raised together, and though most thought the two cousins, they were, in fact, naught but clansmen. “Wishes?” Kieran asked the question Niall had been about to raise. When did their father ever wish for anything? Chief of Clan Duncraig for more than twenty years, he commanded. Demanded. But he never “wished” for aught to happen. Including summoning his sons. Dougal shrugged. “Seemed a kinder message than the one he gave.” Niall and Kieran exchanged a glance. “Go on then,” Niall said, sheathing his claymore as Kieran did the same. “Give us the message.” Poor Dougal looked uncomfortable now. But since Niall and Kieran loved nothing more than making Dougal squirm, for no other reason than he did so much too easily, neither man budged. Known as the “Rock of Duncraig” for his apparent lack of emotion, Niall would never reveal his inner thoughts. His brother, however, very well may burst into laughter at any moment. Niall gave him a look that said, Do not. Let this play out. Poor Dougal. He shifted from one foot to the other. How this man was the same one who saved their father’s life on the battlefield, who was as close to the chief of Clan Duncraig as any man, but was still half-afraid of him, almost made Niall smile. Almost. “He said to come to the keep,” Dougal said, turning as if to walk away from them. Niall shook his head as his brother began to follow. Kieran rolled his eyes. Niall may be a right bastard. A coldhearted warrior through and through. A “stubborn goat like your father,” according to their mother. But if he loved one thing besides his family and clan, it was a jest. And this one was too good to pass on. Making Dougal repeat their father’s foul-mouthed demand—since there was no doubt that was the reason Dougal hesitated—was nearly as much fun as having his brother yield to him. “Ah.” Dougal turned back to them. Framed by lush green mountains and the familiar silhouette of Castle Duncraig on the hill behind him, Dougal made a right sight. Niall struggled to keep a smile from his face. “You’ll make me say it?” “Aye,” his brother said, clearly impatient to be on his way. Unlike Niall, Kieran’s primary concern was always pleasing their father. Mayhap because Niall seemed to do it more naturally, he never actively attempted as much. If his father did not care for his temperament, or mannerisms, or decisions, the chief would let him know. And Niall may or may not change course. Kieran? He would do anything for their father’s approval. “You know I do nae cuss, lad.” “I know it well,” Niall said. ’Twas an oddity that could not be found among any other Duncraig clansman. “But ’tis the chief’s words, not your own.” “Aye,” his brother added. “If anything, the Duncraig is liable for giving you such a message knowing your dislike for such language.” Dougal gave them both such a look. The man loved them like sons too. As he had none of his own, they only did their duty to treat him as they would family. And in their family, none went a day without a gentle provoking. “Your father,” Dougal said, likely knowing the chief would not be pleased at the delay, “bid me to fetch ‘my two blethering neds’ from the training yard.” “Hmm,” Niall’s brother said, “’tis not so bad. I’d say he’s spot-on describing Niall. Sorry, brother, but you’re more of an instigator than any I know.” “Perhaps,” he said. “But if he meant either of us blethered, ’tis easily you. Though I will admit, you’ve done less of it today than usual.” As the two of them continued to trade barbs, Dougal shook his head, made an indistinguishable sound, and left them. Finally allowing himself to smile as his back was turned, he noticed Kieran did the same. The brothers began to follow Dougal continuing all the way up the hill, through the courtyard, and into the keep. It was only when they entered the mostly empty great hall and saw their father’s expression that the brothers quickly desisted from their antics. The Duncraig, as he was widely known, was not angry. He was furious. Their father did not get red in the face over a delay. This had naught to do with them, a fact he confirmed as both Kieran and Niall approached him. “When have you last seen him this angry?” Kieran whispered. Niall did not answer. Could not, as they were now within earshot of him. But the answer, had he given it, would have been, “Not in a long, long time.” “MacKinlay.” ’Twas just one word. But enough to understand at least part of his anger. They feuded with many clans, but none as fiercely as Clan MacKinlay. The king of Scotland himself had been forced to intervene some fifteen years ago. Back then, thirty of Duncraig’s men had fought thirty of MacKinlay’s, and though Duncraig saw losses, the fight had not ended until every one of MacKinley’s warriors, including their chief, lay dead, effectively ending a decades-long feud. Since the Battle of The Black Friars, the word “MacKinlay” was all but