CHAPTER 25
Where in the bloody hell was Hector?
Rory scanned the hall again. Hector would not give up this easily. If he came and lost, Hector would have had to swear his allegiance and this fight would be over. He must have decided the risk was too great. Though he may have conceded the battle today, that did not mean Hector had given up the war. This would not be settled until Hector swore his allegiance to Rory—or one of them was dead.
But today belonged to Rory.
He stood on the dais, mindful of the legacy of the MacKenzie chieftains who had come before him, particularly his grandfather, Alexander the Upright, and his father, Brian of the Battle. Now more than ever, his people needed a man of strength and fortitude to lead them.
Rory must be that man, and he would be for them.
He raised his arms, and the noise in the hall died.
“I am Rory Ian Fraser MacKenzie,” he said in a loud voice. “I am the brother, son, and grandson of MacKenzie chieftains, and their rightful heir.”
Several men shouted their approval.
“I hereby claim, as my right and duty,” he said, letting the words that his father and grandfather had spoken before him ring out through the hall, “my place as chieftain of the great Clan MacKenzie!”
The hall burst into thunderous applause. The crowd shouted and clapped and stamped their feet until the floors and walls shook. Rory raised his hands for quiet again.
“As your new chieftain,” Rory shouted, “I demand, as is our custom from ancient times, that every man of our clan swear his oath of loyalty to me.”
Every head turned toward the back of the hall to see who Rory had chosen for the honor of being first to swear the oath. Malcolm, who had fought many a battle at his grandfather’s right hand, stood in the open doorway holding a claymore sword across the flat of his palms. With slow, measured steps, Malcolm crossed the hall.
When he reached the dais, he knelt and held out the blade with outstretched arms. Rory recognized it at once from the carved stag on the hilt that was worn smooth from use. He had not expected to see this sword again.
“This sword belonged to two great chieftains, your grandfather and your father,” Malcolm said, speaking in a booming voice that could be heard throughout the hall. “It rightfully belongs to you now.”
The sword had disappeared when his father fell in battle. The story was that it was stolen by the enemy that day, but Malcolm must have saved the sword and hidden it away.
Rory swallowed against a surge of emotion as he accepted the blade.
“Rory Ian Fraser MacKenzie, the 9th of Kintail,” Malcolm called out, giving him the MacKenzie chieftain’s title, “I swear before our Lord Jesus Christ and every member of my clan that I shall give you my fealty and loyalty. My sword and my life are yours to command, and may God strike me dead should I ever break my oath to you.”
One after another, the men knelt before him, kissed the blade, and pledged their loyalty. Rory felt the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders as he accepted each man’s pledge. The fate of these good men and their families depended upon his ability to lead.
Deep in his soul, he sensed that this was his destiny, the role he’d always been meant to play. He prayed to God that he would do honor to the memory of the chieftains that came before him and become the chieftain his clan needed him to be in the troubled times ahead.
***
Sybil’s heart swelled with pride on Rory’s behalf, and she joined in the noisemaking, raising her hands and shouting with the best of them.
Though she understood the dangers and difficulties he faced, she knew in her heart that he would make a great chieftain. He certainly looked the part, strong and commanding, as he looked out over his people from the dais.
When Rory raised his arms, signaling for silence yet again, she looked around, wondering what came next in the ceremony. She hoped there would not be a lot of long speeches.
“We will bear the challenges ahead and fight the battles we must,” Rory said, “but we will share our joys as well. As to the joys…”
Rory shed his solemn expression, and his eyes flashed with good humor. It was good to see him enjoying this momentous event.
“…I know you’re all wondering about the lovely lass I brought home with me,” Rory continued. “As my first act as your new chieftain, I invite you all to bear witness to our marriage vows on the morrow and celebrate with three days of feasting!”
Sybil was too stunned to move. When Rory held out his hand for her to join him, she gaped at him. What had he done? With Alex pushing her from behind, she stumbled forward. Rory clasped her hand, pulled her onto the dais, and held her against his side. She looked out at the sea of shocked faces. They could not be more surprised than she was herself.
Alex and a few others began clapping. After an uncomfortable delay, others joined in. Eventually, all the MacKenzies applauded, but with noticeably less enthusiasm than before. Beneath the cheers, she heard the low rumble of objection.
The new chieftain’s first act was unpopular, and Sybil feared it was also unwise. Questions whirled through her head at lightning speed. Why had Rory acted so precipitously?
And what, in heaven’s name, would she do now? Rory believed the ceremony was just a formality, but she knew it would be an end to the pretense, an end to their false marriage.
If she said those vows tomorrow, she would be good and truly wed.
***
Rory tucked Sybil’s hand in his elbow and began moving through the crowd of his clansmen.
“Ye should have forewarned me,” Sybil said beneath the noise of the hall.
“My clansmen must see you from the start as the chieftain’s wife, not my mistress, or they’ll never accord ye the proper respect.”
He’d been counseled against the match too many times already, and he decided to act before most of his clansmen had time to form an opinion. Now they would have no choice but to accept Sybil, and at the wedding celebration every last one of them would swear to protect her.
“This group gathered by the hearth are all well respected men in the clan,” he said as he guided her toward them. “Others will be guided by their opinion.”
“You’re Uilleam Mòr, are ye not?” she said with a winning smile before Rory could give her the first man’s name. “I remember your name from when ye took your oath.”
She gave each man a heavenly smile and flattered him by remembering his name, as if he were special, when in truth she apparently had memorized nearly every one.
“How do ye do it?” Rory whispered as they moved to another group.
“Douglas training,” she said, humor lighting her eyes.
“I can see that it was not just your beauty that made ye a success at court.”
“And I can see that your clansmen are verra pleased with their new chieftain,” she said.
“Not all of them are pleased,” he said. “None of the Gairloch MacKenzies came to swear their oath, and many others stayed home as well. They’re waiting to see what Hector will do.”
Whatever Hector’s next move was, Rory had to be ready.
***
Sybil was exhausted from the strain of greeting so many strangers, all of whom were suspicious of her and prepared to judge her harshly. She would not care so much about winning them over, except that if she fell short it would reflect poorly on Rory.
“My face hurts from smiling so much,” she whispered to Rory.
“You were wonderful,” Rory said.
Late that evening, while everyone else was still celebrating, Rory brought her with him to meet with Malcolm, Alex, and Lovat in the chieftain’s private room behind the hall, similar to the one at Frazer Castle.
“What news do ye have of Hector?” Rory asked as soon as they had settled around the small table.
“He arrived two days ago at Fairburn Castle,” Malcolm said, “in plenty of time to answer the call to the gathering, if he were so inclined.”
“Fairburn is Hector’s home here in Eastern Ross,” Rory explained to Sybil. “’Tis only a four-mile ride from here.”
“I’d say we should drag him out of Fairburn, but it would be a bloody fight,” Malcolm said. “He’s brought at least a couple hundred MacKenzie warriors with him from the west and northwest who are loyal to him.”
“Damn him,” Rory said. “By bringing those men here, he’s leaving us vulnerable to an attack by the MacDonalds.”
“That’s not all he’s doing,” Alex said. “He’s also spreading rumors about your birth.”
“Ach, those old tales about our parents’ irregular marriage will gain him nothing,” Rory said. “I have chieftain’s blood, and that’s what matters.”
“The lies are not about your legitimacy.” Alex cleared his throat. “Hector claims you’re not our father’s son at all.”
Rory slammed his fist on the table. “What exactly is he suggesting? That our mother was unfaithful?”
“He and his supporters are telling anyone who will listen that our mother was already pregnant by another man when she wed our father.”
“Hector goes too far this time,” Lovat said. “I’ll have his head for maligning my sister.”
“Our father openly claimed me,” Rory said. “He even had us legitimized through the church, or so I was told.”
“He always meant to,” Lovat said. “It was only in that last year when his health was failing that he finally did as I’d urged years before and sought a papal bull sanctioning his marriage to my sister Agnes and declaring the three of you as legitimate.”
“If the church did legitimize us,” Alex said, “no one could question whether Rory has chieftain’s blood without questioning the authority of the Holy Father in Rome.”
“I never saw the papal bull,” Lovat said, “but I believe it arrived in that chaotic time around your father’s death.”
“That could be what Duncan of the Axe was looking for at Killin,” Rory said. “If that’s where Mother kept it, it’s in cinders now.”
“It could take years to get a copy from Rome. Such an important document, however, which is signed by the pope himself, would have passed through our old bishop’s hands and been recorded,” Alex said. “I’ll look for a record of it at Fortrose Cathedral.”
“Do that,” Rory said with nod to his brother. “Has anyone seen or heard from Catriona?”
Sybil squeezed Rory’s hand under the table. She knew how much it distressed him to not know his sister’s whereabouts.
“I received a message yesterday,” Alex said.
“And ye waited until now to tell me?” Rory said. “Where in the hell is she?”
Alex hesitated before answering. “The message was from the new Munro chieftain.”
“Why would he send a message about Catriona?” Rory asked in a low, dangerous voice.
“Apparently he has her,” Alex said.
“The bastard has taken our sister!” Rory shouted.
“The tone of his missive was courteous,” Alex said, raising his hands in a gesture of caution. “He assures us that Catriona is safe and well in his care.”
“If the Munros have laid a hand on her, I will murder every last one of them,” Rory said. “There will not be one left to mourn their dead.”
Rory got to his feet and started toward the door. Sybil and Alex exchanged a look and jumped to their feet as well.
“What do ye intend to do?” Sybil asked, and clasped his arm.
“I’m going to gather the men and collect my sister.”
“This may not be what ye fear it is,” Alex said. “The Munro chief neither asked for a ransom nor made a threat.”
“He wants something,” Rory said. “Why else would he take her?”
“We should wait and find out what it is before starting a bloody war we can ill afford,” Malcolm said. “The Munros have a legitimate complaint against us. I suspect their chief merely wants assurance that the raids under Hector’s direction will halt.”
“No matter how just his complaints may be,” Rory said, “he made a grave mistake taking Catriona to get what he wants.”
Alex shot Sybil another look asking for help.
“From what Alex said, this Munro chief took pains to assure your family that your sister is safe,” Sybil said. “Have ye considered that launching an attack could put her in danger?”
“Damn it to hell,” Rory said under his breath, and clenched his jaw.
“Sybil is right. ’Tis safer for Catriona to wait for the Munro’s next move,” Alex said. “Besides that, the hall is filled with people expecting your wedding on the morrow.”
The wedding. Dear Lord, she had almost forgotten.
***
“They’re celebrating over at Castle Leod,” Big Duncan reported.
Hector poured more whisky and imagined the clamor filling the hall as Rory stood on the dais beneath the great stag head as the warriors took turns kneeling before him to take their oath. That should have been him.
That would be him one day soon.
The plan had been for Buchanan to deliver Brian to the crown for imprisonment, leaving Hector to continue ruling in his nephew’s name without the impediment of his nephew’s annoying presence. When Hector learned of Brian’s death, he realized he had been thinking too small. He was meant for a greater fate.
Wielding power through another had run its course. It was his time now. Time not just to rule with the authority of the MacKenzie, but to be the MacKenzie.
And Rory had snatched it right out of his hands.
If he’d known Buchanan was going to kill Brian, he would have been at Castle Leod and declared himself the new chieftain before most of the clan even knew Rory had returned from wherever he’d gone.
Somehow Rory had learned of Brian’s death first and outmaneuvered him. It would not happen again.
He rubbed the talisman around his neck and imagined adding Rory’s ear to it. His plans for his nephew’s downfall were already in motion.
“At least ye don’t have to worry about Rory’s sister telling tales.” Duncan leaned back and picked his teeth with the point of his dirk. “Whatever Brian brought her is burned.”
“Ye went too far,” Hector said. “That lass was valuable to me.”
Duncan was a useful weapon, but he could be hard to control. Sending him on an errand like that was like unleashing a dog that has developed a taste for killing sheep and expecting the lambs to be safe. When Catriona disappeared, Duncan did not just burn Killin to the ground. He returned every night until he saw candlelight in the upstairs window, and then he burned it.
“Any other news from Castle Leod?” Hector asked.
“Your nephew has got himself a bride,” Duncan said. “Getting married tomorrow.”
“Curse him!” What a clever move to gain another ally quickly. “What clan is she?”
Hector hoped the lass was not a Campbell or a Munro—and for God’s sake, not a Gordon. He should have forced Rory to wed an inconsequential lass from a weak clan years ago.
“He’s wedding a Lowlander,” Duncan said.
“A Lowlander?” That caught Hector by surprise. “Who is she?”
“A Douglas, I hear.”
“A Douglas?” Hector laughed so hard he choked on his whisky. “I thought Rory was brighter than that. Ach, I’ll crush him in no time. How in God’s name did he come to wed a Douglas?”
“’Tis a mystery,” the Axe said. “But they say she’s a rare beauty and that Rory has lost his heart to her.”
“He must have, for the lass is useless, with no clan alliance, no property, and no connections.” Finally some good news. “He’s like his father, losing all sense over a woman.”
And it would be the end of him.
“As the poor lass comes with nothing, I’ll send her a wedding surprise.”
Hector threw his head back and laughed again. He just wished he could be there to see it.