A Merry MacNaughton Mishap: An Historical Romance Novella (MacNaughton Castle Romance) Page 2

  “Feelings matter little when it comes to clan disputes. The fact is, most disputes we’ve had in the past fifty years have been started by yer side.” Calum eyed him suspiciously. “Yet here we are, talking peace. Why now?”

  “The Craigg Clan has lost so many families since the noblemen began clearing the farmland for livestock. When the old English earl was given our lands by the Crown, he was fair for a Sassenach. He left things as they were and allowed the barter system to continue.” Malachi shook his head. “But his son, as ye ken, had progressive ideas. He turned the entire estate into grazing pastures and demanded cash for rent and the privilege of milking the livestock. Most families couldna afford to stay and resettled on the coast, others left for Edinburgh or sailed for America.”

  “Aye, and I’m sorry for it. Ye’re no’ the only Scots booted from their land.” He did not add the MacNaughtons owned enough property to avoid being dictated to by the English. “I heard Lord Fulton offered yer family the role of estate manager but the Craigg refused.”

  “The Craigg is a proud man with a long memory. Lord Fulton looked down his nose at Da, and got his hackles up. He spoke to Da as if he were a servant rather than the Chieftain of the Craiggs. He refused to work for the bloody welp, as he still calls him, and vowed that any clan member who did would be dead to him.”

  “Pride willna fill a man’s belly in the winter.”

  “Agreed. Our clan holds no vast amount of property as yer family does, and our resources are growing sparse. In another year, we willna be able to support more than our immediate kin. My oldest brother, Archibald, believes ye could help us.”

  “I’ll agree the MacNaughtons are luckier than most. My younger brothers are in Virginia, trying their luck with tobacco. It’s been verra lucrative and allowed us to buy more looms and put our tenants to work spinning yarn and weaving cloth.” From wool yer English earl sends us. Calum rubbed his jaw, thinking how his da had cackled at turning a profit from the Craiggs’ misfortune. “So what were yer brothers thinking?”

  “Our keep is crumbling around us, and those who settled on the coast have written they want to come home. We were no’ born fishermen. We must find a way to survive and help those clan members who are depending on us. The constant fighting between us benefits no one.” He held out a hand to indicate their surroundings. “If ye could put us to work here. It may be the only way to survive these times.”

  Calum snorted. “I’m sure that advice was as welcome as the ice water bath I pulled ye from.”

  “Da turned a deaf ear.” He studied Calum for a long moment. “So we thought a marriage between the clans might work instead. If we are joined by blood…”

  “Marriage? A Craigg lass wed to a MacNaughton?”

  He nodded. “These are desperate times. I admit I had my doubts, but yer actions at the loch have convinced me it’s possible.”

  “So that was the reason ye were on our land? To see if ye could arrange a marriage between our families?” Calum guffawed. “The Craigg and my da would both be vying for yer hide. It might be the one thing they’d agree upon.”

  “I was only to find out if ye were open to the possibility.” Malachi gave a sheepish grin. “Do ye wish ye let me drown now?”

  “Och, no, mon. Anything that ends this ancient feud would be worth the trouble.”

  “The Craigg’s health is declining.” Malachi sighed. “So Archie is looking to the future as it will be his responsibility soon enough, we fear. He would swear fealty once he was chieftain.”

  Calum gripped the man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “When that day comes, I will be happy to discuss a union between the clans. I believe Da could be persuaded to see reason under those circumstances. If we can live with Sassenach, we should be able to make peace with our own neighbors.”

  “I will look forward to that day.” He ran a hand through his brown waves, locks sticking up here and there. “And I swear I will find a way to repay ye before this year is out.”

  “Black Angus saved the day. And he’s much easier to please.”

  “Thank ye, Calum. I’ll be taking my leave tomorrow. My daughter will be worried sick.”

  “What about yer wife?”

  “She was taken by fever seven years back. My daughter has been taking care of her brothers and me since she was thirteen.” He grinned. “It’s made her a bit overbearing, but no one makes a black pudding or sweet meat like my Peigi. She can charm the crankiest of men if they only sit down to our table.”

  The next day, Calum shook hands with his newfound friend. “Safe travels and Godspeed.”

  “I promise I will find a way to settle this debt. Ye havena seen the last of me.”

  He watched Malachi ride out behind the stable. With a satisfied smile, he gave a final wave. A good deed with a good outcome and no harm done.

  Tomorrow night there was a ceilidh in the village. Food and whisky flowing freely, bonnie lasses flushed with drink and dancing. He rubbed his hands in anticipation and turned back toward the castle, intending to put Malachi and the Craiggs from his mind.

  A large hand gripped his shoulder. Calum winced at the strength emanating from the grip.

  “And just who in the bloody hell was that?” The harsh voice of his father bellowed in his ear.

  Saints and sinners, he’d been so close.

  Chapter Two

  A Preposterous Proposal

  Mid-December 1777

  Castle Craigg

  “Have ye completely lost yer wits, or do ye think I’m ready for Bedlam myself?” Peigi stood with her hands on her hips, challenging the men in front her. “I willna be yer sacrificial lamb.”

  Her uncle and father exchanged looks, one of anger and the other regret. Oh, she knew the next chapters to this book. First cajoling, wheedling, attempt at guilt, and then the anger and commands. With a deep breath, she crossed her arms and stood firm.

  Uncle Archibald, the clan’s new chieftain, stepped forward with his arms open and a placating smile on his face. “Now, Peigi, my sweet lass, just hear us out.”

  “I heard ye just fine. The earl is willing to hire the lot of ye on—if I agree to be his mistress.”

  “Nay, he agreed to a handfasting,” he added. “It would all be fine and proper.”

  “But no’ legal. Our bairns would be considered bastards in England and unable to inherit.” She turned to her father, heat rising in her face as she clenched her fists. “And ye agreed to this?”

  Malachi shook his head. “Och, no, Daughter. No’ unless ye were willing. But the mince pies ye baked softened him to our cause, and we are desperate…”

  Lord Fulton, the English earl who owned most of the surrounding property, had wanted the Craiggs to oversee his estate. Since he didn’t wish to spend much time at his newly inherited property, Fulton preferred to employ the chieftain as steward. But Archibald Craigg had eliminated that possibility after his first tirade directed at the younger nobleman. It seemed the son didn’t like being compared to his father. Her uncle had tried unsuccessfully to placate both men. But Fulton’s pride had been hurt, and the older Craigg would not see reason. Instead, the earl had employed the MacNaughtons and had no desire to cancel the arrangement just because the elder Craigg was dead.

  “It was more than the pies, lass. He thinks ye’re quite bonnie and—”

  “Do ye hear yerself, Uncle? My poor mother is scratching yer name on her list.” She looked up at her mother’s portrait that so resembled her. The auburn-haired beauty looked down on them with smiling green eyes. “Ma, do ye hear what they want yer only daughter to do?”

  “Ye wouldna be the first lass to have an arranged marriage for the sake of the clan. And if ye were a Sassenach, there would be no argument when yer father told ye what to do.” Uncle Enoch’s wide chin stuck out from his broad, ruddy face. He’d always thought her father had indulged her. Archibald then said, “As the chieftain of this clan, I demand ye marry the man.”

  “This is no’ an arranged m
arriage. Ye’re asking me to be a whore, and I willna do it.” She stomped her foot, catching her heel on a stray thread from the worn and faded rug. She kicked it off, frustrated. “Now, I have work to do in the kitchen.”

  With that, she picked up her skirts and stomped from the room. At twenty, she was well aware it was time to find a husband. But by the saints, she would be a wife not a kept woman.

  “Peigi, wait.” Her father’s pleading voice stopped her halfway down the hall. “I am so verra sorry.”

  She turned, blinked back the tears, and rubbed her arms against the chill. Her skin warmed but her heart remained cold. “Ye betrayed me in there, Da. How could ye do it?”

  “I told them ye wouldna agree to the bargain, but they wanted ye to make up yer own mind. They love ye, Peigi, but our situation is desolate, and they are grasping at any sign of hope.”

  “But to be so reckless with yer own kin.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The worry in his eyes softened her anger. “So ye are no’ asking me to do this?”

  “Of course no’. I promised yer mother I wouldna make ye marry—or otherwise—against yer will. But they had to present the earl’s offer.” He paused. “What if it had been a genuine offer of marriage? Would that have made a difference?”

  She paused and gave his question due thought. Lord Fulton was not an ugly man. He had that pale refined English look, medium height, and too thin for her taste. She could be stuck with much worse or much older, and he had been attentive. “Perhaps, is all I can say. No’ that it matters, for it isna what he offered.” Peigi would do anything to help her family and her clan. But giving herself up, her virginity, her self-esteem, nay. It was not fair to ask this of her.

  “No’ to worry, my sweet. I have another idea that might work just as well.” He patted her cheek, gave her a wink, and walked away.

  Peigi slid the dough into one of the baking ovens on the side of the kitchen fireplace. A rich brown gravy bubbled in a cast iron pot hung over glowing embers. She rubbed her sweaty cheek against her shoulder then wiped the remaining flour from her hands onto her apron. Grabbing the brush from the bucket, she set to work scrubbing the table. Thoughts turned to the coming holiday—Hogmanay and the new year’s celebration.

  It had been her mother’s favorite time of year. Guests dropping in, special sweet treats prepared, and music and dancing. It had always been a hectic time, preparing the food and decorating the hall. But Ma had rarely spent time in the kitchen except to give instructions. The Craiggs had been prosperous then.

  “Mistress Peigi, give me that brush. I leave for barely quarter of an hour and look at ye! Yer hands will redden from the soap and the bristles.” Mairi clucked her disapproval then gave her a sad smile, showing a front gap in her teeth. “It’s a sorrowful day when the old Craigg’s granddaughter must work in the kitchen.” She began to scrub the faded and scarred ashwood, her cheeks quivering with the brisk motion.

  Peigi turned back to the kettle and inhaled the civet of hare that she stewed with rosemary and garlic filling her nostrils as she gave it a stir. She and the cook had danced a little jig when her father caught the animal. Hares were a red meat, unlike rabbits, and red meat was rare in the winter for the Craiggs. She reached for a ladle from a hook next to the hearth and stirred the onions, kale, turnips, and potatoes that had sunk to the bottom.

  The menfolk had been in the study all afternoon. According to Mairi, there had been shouts and curses coming from the room earlier. A familiar scene since her grandfather’s death last month. Guilt niggled at her as she thought of how she’d thwarted her father and uncle’s attempt to make peace with the Earl of Fulton. From the constant squabbling between them, they had not found another alternative.

  “Miss Peigi, here are more turnips and tatties from the root cellar.” A small boy entered the room. His freckled face was pink from running. “And yer father wants to speak with ye.”

  “Thank ye, Charles.” She collected the vegetables in her apron. “Tell Da I’ll come as soon as I’ve finished. Mairi, could ye add these to the stew?”

  Satisfied, she picked up her skirts and headed up the stone stairs. Peigi didn’t mind hard work. It filled her days and gave her purpose. Da and her uncles had a heavy burden, and she wanted to do her share. Why pay someone to do tasks she could easily assume? Her mother had insisted Peigi be accomplished in reading, writing, and needlework. Those skills were useful to a degree but did little to put a meal on the table or herbs in the apothecary. So she’d educated herself in more practical skills with the help of Mairi. The woman was a library of knowledge on anything that had roots, leaves, or berries.

  After changing into a deep brown skirt and matching bodice, she checked her reflection, tucked a few stray locks under her cap, and headed for the study. As she approached the door, angry voices penetrated the thick wood.

  “Are ye sure there is no other way?”

  Och, she was tired of the arguments between them. Why couldn’t men discuss things calmly like the women? She gave a hard rap on the door and pushed it open.

  “Weel, here we are again. My apologies, my lovely niece, for the last meeting. Ye ken how much we care about ye. I swear ye are the image of my dear departed sister.” He held out his arms. “Can ye forgive a cantankerous old man?”

  She smiled but walked into his embrace with narrowed eyes. Uncle Enoch rarely apologized for anything, let alone to a woman who had refused to do his bidding. This stunk of trickery. “Of course, Uncle. So what new plan have ye come up with?”

  “It seems yer father thinks peace with the MacNaughtons is possible.” He nodded in Malachi’s direction. “He recounted his time with that clan last spring and feels strongly they would agree to end the feud.”

  “Just like that?” She snapped her fingers, knowing it would take more than a few words to bring the two clans together. “And this concerns me in what way?”

  “We’d have to pledge fealty to the MacNaughtons. In return, they would put our clan to work, tending the sheep, shearing, and spinning wool,” Malachi explained. “This would allow our people to profit from the shearing and the MacNaughtons would increase their weaving production.”

  “That still doesna explain why ye need me. ’Tis a man’s work, to be sure, and I have enough to do here. Surely, the three of ye are better for this task than a mere woman.” She said this last bit, looking up at her uncle. Something was amiss, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “I would appreciate yer company when I journey to Dunderave to meet with them.” Her father took both her hands in his. “It seems the MacNaughton has great respect for his wife’s opinion. We hoped if ye made a good impression on her, it would help our cause. If they provided an income for our families, think of the peace of mind it would give us for the next winter.”

  This news surprised her, but it made sense. It was a way to help without sacrificing her body and reputation for the clan.

  “If ye think I can help, I am obliged to go.” Trepidation still skirted her thoughts, but Da wouldn’t deceive his own daughter. “When were ye thinking to take yer leave?”

  “As soon as possible.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I knew ye’d be willing to help.”

  “It’s not quite so simple. Lord Fulton gave us until his Twelfth Night celebration to give him an answer. If this doesna work out with the MacNaughtons, we are back to the original offer.” Uncle Enoch stood before her now, towering above her with an intimidating scowl. “I’m warning ye lass, niece or no, we will do what is necessary to preserve this clan. If ye dinna cooperate, every family will ken why they are starving next winter.”

  Heat covered her cheeks as she glared at his retreating back. How she’d love to throttle the arrogant old goat. How dare he put the fate of the Craiggs on her shoulders alone. She did not insult the previous earl or cause this situation. A hand squeezed her shoulder.

  “He’s frightened for all of us, Peigi. The Craiggs have been here for centuries, and we dinna want
to leave our homeland. But no one will force ye into anything.” Her father shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. “Now begin yer preparations. I ken ye will be wanting to leave endless instructions, and I dinna ken how long we will be gone.”

  Peigi spent the next week organizing and leaving instructions for Mairi. The woman was as efficient as a clerk, and knowing she left her home in good hands gave Peigi some comfort.

  “Dinna forget to—”

  “The castle willna crumble around us while ye are gone. We will survive a week or so without ye, though I’ll miss ye something fierce.” The older woman wrapped Peigi in a tight hug. “We’ll be waiting to celebrate Hogmanay and drink to a new year when ye return.”

  “Or lament our losses. We canna even afford the spices to make the Scottish buns for the First-footing.” She clung to the woman who had taken her mother’s place in so many ways. Peigi’s mother had always loved the Hogmanay tradition of neighbors visiting each other just after midnight, bearing gifts. Peigi had accompanied her mother many times bearing Scottish buns, a cake of currants, raisins, citrus peel, and spices. The sweet treat symbolized good food and a promise that the family would not go hungry over the next year. Another punch to their dwindling hope. Collecting herself, she thought aloud, “Perhaps I should reconsider the earl’s offer.”

  “Yer mother will reach down from the heavens and give ye a good skelping if it crosses yer mind again.” Mairi gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Now get some sleep and remember how much we all love ye, lass.”

  Peigi slowly made her way up the winding stone stairs. Her inherent optimism was failing her. Her last trip into the village tugged at her conscience. One of the remaining crofters was caring for a sick child and husband. The woman had looked so weary and thin, as had the fevered child. After giving them bread and broth and administering a tea for the fever and a compress for the cough, her heart still ached at their plight and the others. Food was scarce with so little good soil left for planting. Cloth, spices, and salt were expensive.