The Chieftain's Feud
The Chieftain’s Feud
Frances Housden
www.escapepublishing.com.au
The Chieftain’s Feud
Frances Housden
From the internationally bestselling, award-winning Chieftain series comes a Romeo and Juliet style Christmas novella with a Scottish twist. A bad boy highlander is about to meet his match…
He may be young, but Jamie Ruthven has earned a name as a skirt-lifter and seducer, though to his credit he never touches an innocent. Then Evangeline Buchan comes to the Scottish court with her gentle heart and beautiful eyes, and sets his world askew.
The feud between the Ruthvens and Buchans started long before Jamie’s birth — though neither he nor Evangeline know the reasons. Can their love reveal the secrets and heal the pain of the past, or will the feud prove too strong for even true love?
About the Author
Frances Housden resides in New Zealand, but originates from Scotland. She began her career as a published writer after winning Romance Writers of New Zealand’s prestigious Clendon Award. She has written six contemporary romantic suspense novels for Silhouette Books and two other ‘Chieftain’ books for Harlequin Escape. Now, she is in the process of rediscovering her Scottish roots and enjoys delving into the world of historical romance to take her readers on an exciting trip into the lives of memorable characters.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to acknowledge my late grandfather, John Gibb for his introduction to the historic sites around Dunfermline that have coloured my memories of the town where I was born. It wasn’t until lately that I realised what good use I could put them to in my writing. This novella is the third story in my ‘Chieftain’ series.
I’d like to dedicate this story to the men in my life: my husband Keith, my sons John and Owen, and my grandsons Tyler and Riley and Max.
Not wishing to appear sexist, I’d like to include my daughter–in-law Angela and my granddaughter Georgia.
This is for all of them, with love.
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Glossary
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Glossary
Aye – yes
Burn – a stream
Brae – sloping ground
Cateran – outlaw
Coney fur – rabbit fur
Happed up – warmly clothed
Lochan – a small loch (lake)
Quaich – small drinking bowl
Skean dhu – dagger or dirk
Sauncy – attractive or sexy
Sleekit – crafty, deceitful
Sweered – reluctant
Syne – since
Slàint – good health
Uisge beatha – whisky, the water of life
Prologue
Years later, Jamie would swear that he had felt the pale summer dawn spread its awakening out behind them through the pores of his skin, felt its touch stretch up over the brae where the Lynn tumbled in a mist of white spray into the Ferm burn, the very place they had spent the night, he and Evangeline.
The self-same approaching sun’s rays cast grey ghosts of their shadows afore them throwing their flat images straight through the opening to Malcolm’s Tower to land at the feet of Evangeline’s father, as if in tribute.
Accompanied by Hadron, his pockmarked brother, the clan Buchan Chieftain stood four square in the lower doorway of the tower the King had built just below Dunfermline Palace and, instinctively, Jamie Ruthven wrapped one strong arm around Evangeline. Twirling her around in a flowing curve of pale green skirts and long red hair, he made certain her slight body was sheltered behind his bulk.
Tall, broad in the chest and wide in the shoulder, every bit a Ruthven, Jamie’s dark brows drew together in a frown as he made good use of his size to protect his lover from her father’s wrath. All too aware he had been hoist by his own prodigious confidence, he scoffed now at his certainty that not one living soul had seen them slip out into the night— a presumption that had unfortunately proved to be false. It was not the first time he had whisked Evangeline away, under everyone’s noses, so to speak, into the parklands lying below Dunfermline Palace—a notion that had brought a grin to his face last night as he and Eve disappeared into the soft pools of gloaming that floated amongst the trees.
A swift glance o’er his shoulder disclosed the route they had travelled from the glen, clear evidence of their journey from the Lynn writ in the darker footprints they had left behind in the pale beads of dew.
He sucked in a breath in preparation for the inevitable moment of fury facing him, and in that long breath, Eve’s scent reached out and entwined him the way it always did. It made nae difference that he had spent the whole night wrapped in her arms; every instant felt new, fresh—like being born again. Who could tell what makes one heart cleave to another? Jamie had nae inkling.
In truth, his first involvement with that life-changing event hadn’t persuaded him to try it again, to dive once more into that heady whirlpool of emotions that dragged him down and left him unable to breathe. Aye, afore he met Eve, experience had convinced him that love—to love, to be loved—wasnae for him.
Yet here he was, likely again to soon feel that swift loss of breath—although not this time because he had been deceived. Aye, the sword in Buchan’s hand looked more than capable of robbing him of breath without any help from his own blatant stupidity.
“Evangeline, come here to me,” Buchan bellowed, bull-like, as if steam would pour frae his nostrils, proof of the red anger rising through him.
Jamie felt Evangeline tremble against his back, but she didn’t move away; instead he felt her nails mark him, piercing both shirt and jerkin as she attempted to clamp herself onto his spine. Raising his free arm a wee bit higher, Jamie grasped the hilt of his sword, but didnae yet draw it from the scabbard.
The first signs he had of Eve moving was her hair tickling the crook of his elbow, her warm breath on his skin, then its absence as he heard her draw in a shocked gasp. For an instant he considered cautioning her against doing aught rash—for his lass was inclined to leap into life—aught that meant breaking her recent promise to him. He needn’t have worried.
“Nae! Nae I won’t let you spoil things for me,” she roared at her father.
“Spoil, ye say … spoil? This frae a lass who’s been spoiled rotten her entire life. I told yer mother it as a mistake to give ye sich a fancy French name, and now look at ye. Sneaking off in the night with a man who, to put it civilly, is nae better than he should be. Nae, why should I be polite? Blind me, Jamie Ruthven is naught more than a reprobate, a skirt-lifter. If he were a woman I’d be naming him a whore.”
The hair rose on the back of Jamie’s neck and a growl burred low in his throat, but he didn’t try to deny it. He was what life—aye, and love—had made him. “If any man other than Eve’s father had said that to me I’d have run him through.”
“Ach that will ne’er happen. For sure it’s me who’ll slice ye first. Ruthven men … yer all the bluidy same, believing ye only have to reach out and help yerself to aught ye fancy, with nary a care o’er who it belongs to.”
Jamie hadnae the least notion to what Buchan referred, but nae doubt whatever the reason, it lay at the root of the feud betwixt Buchan and his father. Their dispute had been in existence long before Jamie was born, but he hadnae the slightest notion wh
y. On the odd occasion, he had sought answers frae his father—unfortunately, to no avail. Each time, he had faced a father who simply stiffened, his demeanour unyielding, refusing to say aught.
And, aye, in the past he had been guilty of Buchan’s accusations. He felt no shame. Those he’d taken and given pleasure with weren’t the innocents at court—until Eve.
Words, excuses jammed up in his throat, but if anybody deserved them, it was the lass by his side, not Buchan, who glared at him, sword hissing like a viper as it slid from its scabbard. A sound that whispered of death and worse when Hadron’s blade echoed the sound, matching Buchan inch for inch of cold steel.
As he had already discovered, Eve wasnae a lass to place caution first. Suddenly she flung herself against his chest. “If you want Jamie, ye will have to kill me first.”
Up on the tips of her toes, she reached for and grabbed the neck of his shirt—did she but know it, effectively blocking his sword arm while she yelled, “I love Jamie Ruthven. I won’t let ye pull us apart.”
Only at that instant did it occurred to him just how truly young she was and, though he loved her with all that he was, for the first time he wondered…
Freeing his sword arm, he pulled her tight against his ribs on his opposite side and, contrary to the small shiver of doubt that had earlier forced him to hesitate, went on, saying, “I want to marry, Evangeline.” He uttered the words boldly and with more confidence than was due to a man facing two others holding swords, one of them an angry father who had hated his family frae long afore Jamie’s arrival in the world.
“Let me kill him,” snapped Hadron, shifting surprisingly lightly on his large feet, as if ready to spring.
Buchan waved him back with a large, meaty hand. “Nae, however much I’d like to, I have nae the time to be bothered with him,” he said, the words of regret falling wetly from his mouth. “Evie, lass, ye have to come home with me. I’ve had word frae the north and it’s bad. Yer brother John is near death’s door and Callum little better. A tree came down atop them both as they rode back home in a storm. I can bide here nae longer.”
Eve’s folded hand went to her mouth. Jamie heard her gulp, try to hold back a sob with little success. She looked up at him, green eyes awash with tears as moist as the dew they had walked through. “I do love ye, Jamie, but they’re my brothers. I have to go with my father. Much as ye mean to me, I cannae abandon him at this time.”
Her fingers slowly trailed down his chest, reluctant.
Yet the lass slid away then threw herself into her father’s arms, leaving Jamie standing alone, watching the rising sun turn her hair to flames, reminding him of a long-ago occasion—the last time he heard his mother promise to return in a few days. The only difference was that his mother had laughed, a tinkling sound that always reminded his young self of the tales of fairies and elves she loved to fill his ears with. Despite her promise, he ne’er saw her again.
His sword slid back to its place by his side without a sound. Unwrapping his fingers frae its hilt, Jamie’s arm dropped to his side as he watched—aching, silent. The only loud noise came from inside him, the thud of his heart against his breastbone, beating inside his ears. He glanced down, almost surprised as his hands formed fists, bunched tightly the way one did against pain … or to compress into a hard kernel the frightening notion that it might be better this way.
Mayhap her father had the right of it. Jamie Ruthven wasnae good enough for such a bonnie bright lass, didnae deserve such a gift.
Hadron hurried Eve away, hand on her elbow urging haste, their backs to him. Only Buchan spared him another glance, leaving him with the taunting memory of the expression in her father’s eyes that said, ‘I’m no’ finished with ye, Jamie Ruthven.’
Chapter 1
Jamie was never going to come for her, come here and fetch her away. As usual her heart sank, for why would he when it had been naught but lies? Her father had tricked Jamie Ruthven, aye and her along with him.
Evangeline Buchan struggled into an auld sheepskin jerkin belonging to one of her brothers; it covered her frae neck to knee, to the top of the boots another brother had worn as a boy. Under it she wore silk next to her skin and worsted o’er it for warmth, and had added a fur-lined short coat her father had broken out and provided so that that she might wear it at court—all for show. Providentially, this was one of the times her father’s meanness worked to Eve’s advantage. Buchan had always been sweered to part with anything, a born miser except when it came to the king and using his wealth to gain advancement.
Now his ambition was like to kill her.
She tugged a dark knitted bonnet down o’er her ears and tucked her hair under its edges to make sure the moonlight didn’t shine on its brightness, giving her away as she made her escape.
Softly, she opened a small door that led to the upper Bailey, her hand filling the gap betwixt the handle and the door, hitching it higher to make sure the bottom corner didn’t scrape on the flagstones, since no one had seen fit to mend the hinge that made its weight sag.
A quick peep and she was off, running for her life and holding up the plaid o’er her arm to make sure it didnae trip her up. The cobbles were dangerous enough since a frost lay o’er all, making them slippery. The stables were warm in comparison to the night air. A temptation to linger there swamped her, nae matter that there was a strong scent of their steeds and the inevitable puddles of horse piss and piles of droppings—a temptation that could be excused since it was freezing outside, icy; but it wasnae like she had any choice in the matter even if her stomach churned at her boldness.
It wasnae only her life at stake this night.
Three lives counted on her flight. Aye three, if she counted Jamie Ruthven.
Her father’s and brothers’ mounts were given the best stalls, the best feed; however, she had snuck out earlier and given her palfrey, Mirabelle, a bucket of oats without anyone being any the wiser of her visit to the wee stall at the far end of the stables. She had thought long and hard about ways of hindering her brothers and father but had abandoned them, even though the three of them had conspired to rip her away frae Jamie with falsehoods. On the morning her father and Hadron took her away frae Dunfermline, they had made her fear for her brothers’ lives, and all the while John and Callum had sat snug at home in her father’s Keep, unaware that they too had been used.
She hadnae believed the Buchan quarrel with Ruthven ran so deep, hatred ingrained. It was indeed more than a quarrel; it was a feud that had parted her and her lover, her man.
Mirabelle’s restlessness came as nae surprise, unaccustomed as she was to being saddled up at midnight, or to being ridden at all of late. Her father hadn’t been backward about informing her he didnae trust her not to run away. If only he knew… It was now or never.
It was the knowing that she could nae longer disguise her growing belly beneath the folds of her plaid that had made her situation imperative. Every time she sat at the board in her father’s company, she ate large amounts to explain her extra weight. It had been little bother to share a fair portion of her food with the dog that lay at her feet, but the time had come when she could nae longer be sure of fooling him, of fooling her maid—though Gillian at least made a pretence of ignoring the expansion of the waist under her kirtle. Leaving her flight o’er late would bring her father’s wrath down on the only friend left to her in this cold loveless Keep.
It had been different when her mother was alive, though she had heard tales of her father storming out of the Keep when he couldnae get his own way. And the brothers that she had left Jamie for were of nae use, both lads being proud to follow in their father’s footsteps with hardly a thought for her feelings, though she had rushed to their sides when believing them to be at death’s door.
Wrapping her plaid around her frae nose to hip, she mounted Mirabelle, speaking softly to the nervous beast, all the while wishing she had Jamie’s way with horses. Seated in the saddle at last, she aimed Mirabelle’s nose at
the side gate and headed out through a site used as a midden for the Keep’s rubbish, including frae the stables. Gillian was already there waiting to let her through and close the gate behind her.
She could hear the lass crying, snuffling into her plaid to hide her sobs. “Whist now,” Eve whispered. “Go back to yer bed in the kitchen and quit yer crying. It will give us away. Come spring I’ll find a way to bring ye to me, my word on that, Gillian. This is my only chance and I have to take it. Now shut the gate after me and sneak back inside while they are still all the worse for drink frae celebrating the fetching of the Yule log into the hall.”
“I’m afaird for ye Mistress, so I am.”
“Well I cannae afford to be afraid. I must be on my way to Cragenlaw, for I heard my uncle laughing about all the McArthur allies meeting there, and Jamie’s sister Iseabel is married to Graeme McArthur. I’m certain he’ll be with them.”
She brought round Mirabelle’s head, kicking her heels into the palfrey’s flanks, for she couldnae afford to hang around the gate. However, Gillian wasnae done, “I heard it might snow,” she warned.
“I’m not worried. Look up. Did ye ever see such a bonnie starlit night. I’ll be well away and nearing Cragenlaw by morning,” she told her, filling her words with a confidence she didnae truly feel. But what alternative did she have?
There was nae way her father would allow a Ruthven bairn to live in his Keep.
Chapter 2
Jamie felt it strange to be back at Cragenlaw again, staying within the wall of the castle where most of his boyhood had been spent. It was here as a lad he had learned the necessary skills of a warrior, those that would eventually shape his measure as Chieftain. It was to be hoped those skills helped him live up to his father, as well as his friend Rob’s father, the McArthur.
Aye, Euan McArthur had taught him well, but it was the other skills a man should ken that had got him into trouble, and all that strife could be laid at his deceiving lover Brodwyn’s door. God’s blood, he could hardly bear to think her name. It was as if the mere thought of it would pull down a curse on his head.