Kilts in the Wind Read online

  Kilts in the Wind

  Clash of the Tartans

  Book Five

  by

  Anna Markland

  Copyright © 2020 Anna Markland

  Text by Anna Markland

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  [email protected]

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Anna Markland

  Clash of the Tartans Series

  Kilty Secrets

  Kilted at the Altar

  Kilty Pleasures

  Kilty Party

  Kilts in the Wind

  The Viking’s Gift (A Novella)

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  Amazon

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Anna Markland

  Epigraph

  More Anna Markland

  The Garret

  Marsh Fever

  At the Will of the Wind

  Sharing the News

  Strained Atmosphere

  Boiled Eggs

  Kindred Souls

  Anticipation

  We Meet Again

  The Kiss

  Unwanted Companion

  Philandering Fool

  Refusing to Yield

  Grief

  Unwelcome Duties

  Why?

  Grave Concerns

  Solution

  Making Plans

  Inner Voice

  Who Goes There?

  Good Morning

  The Cottage

  There’s a Condition

  Alone At Last

  What’s to Become of Us?

  Enough on His Plate

  May I Introduce Myself?

  Lagan

  Borrowed Togs

  Good News

  The King is Dead

  Worse Than We Thought

  We Can Do It

  Off Kilter

  Rousing Speech

  Dangling a Carrot

  Dinna Desert Me Now

  Ye Havena Paid Attention

  Can Ye Forgive Me?

  Who Makes the Best Ale?

  Whitewash

  Treachery

  Something’s Afire

  Terra Firma

  Everybody Needs Love

  Of One Mind

  Worrying

  Arabella

  Dowry

  A Wedding

  Banquet

  Coming Home

  Euphoria

  Life Goes on

  The Only Survivor

  Epilogue

  About Anna

  Yes, ’n’ how many times can a man turn his head

  And pretend that he just doesn’t see?

  The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind

  The answer is blowin’ in the wind

  Yes, ’n’ how many times must a man look up

  Before he can see the sky?

  Yes, ’n’ how many ears must one man have

  Before he can hear people cry?

  Yes, ’n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows

  That too many people have died?

  The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind

  The answer is blowin’ in the wind

  ~Bob Dylan

  Blowin’ in the Wind lyrics

  © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Audiam, Inc,

  Universal Music Publishing Group

  More Anna Markland

  The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition (2018-2019)

  I Conquest—Ram & Mabelle, Rhodri & Rhonwen

  II Defiance—Hugh & Devona, Antoine & Sybilla

  III Redemption—Caedmon & Agneta

  IV Vengeance—Ronan & Rhoni

  V Birthright—Adam & Rosamunda, Denis & Paulina

  VI Star-Crossed—Robert & Dorianne, Baudoin & Carys

  VII Allegiance—Rhys & Annalise

  VIII Crescendo—Izzy & Farah

  IX Infidelity—Gallien & Peridotte

  X Jeopardy—Alexandre & Elayne

  XI Forbidden—Bronson & Grace; Rodrick & Swan

  XII Finale—Barr & Hollis

  The FitzRam Family Trilogy

  Carried Away—Blythe & Dieter

  Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan & Nolana

  Wild Viking Princess—Ragna & Reider

  The Viking ancestors of my Norman families

  The Rover Bold—Bryk & Cathryn

  The Rover Defiant—Torstein & Sonja

  The Rover Betrayed—Magnus & Judith

  Novellas

  Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram & Ruby

  Passion’s Fire—Matthew & Brigandine

  Banished—Sigmar & Audra

  Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise & Anne

  Unkissable Knight—Dervenn & Victorine

  The Marauder—Santiago & Valentina

  Knightly Dreams—Peter & Susie

  Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)(Time Travel)

  Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade & Margaret

  Book II Highland Tides—Braden & Charlotte

  Book III Highland Dawn—Keith & Aurora

  Book IV Roses Among the Heather—Blair & Susanna, Craig & Timothea

  The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)

  Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia & Brandt

  Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther & Francesca

  Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon & Zara

  Myth & Mystery

  The Taking of Ireland—Sibràn & Aislinn

  Clash of the Tartans

  Kilty Secrets—Ewan & Shona

  Kilted at the Altar—Darroch & Isabel

  Kilty Pleasures—Broderick & Kyla

  The House of Pendray

  Highland Betrayal—Morgan & Hannah (audiobook available)

  Kingslayer’s Daughter—Munro & Sarah

  Highland Jewel—Garnet & Jewel

  Highland Rising—Gray & Faith

  The Garret

  Clanyard Hall, Eastern Highlands, Scotland, 1701AD

  Hands on hips, Jane Lockie glared at the iron trunks stored in the garret. They had previously proven to be too frustratingly immovable to shove under the high window. It was a mystery how anyone had hefted them up the narrow, winding staircase. Their uselessness left her with no alternative but to stand on tiptoe and grasp the rusted bars protecting the narrow opening. She’d never understood the reason for installing bars at such a dizzying height, particularly since Clanyard wasn’t fortified. An interloper would need to be mounted on a mythical flying horse to reach the top of the tower.

  Arms braced against the sloping stone ledge, she heaved herself up and looked out across the valley.

  Toes scrabbling to find purchase on the rough stone wall, she exhaled, smiling at the sight of the distant windmill, barely visible on the horizon. The old mill hadn’t been used to grind grain for decades—not since the beginning of a feud between the neighboring clans who’d built it—her own and the treacherous McDools.

  However, weathered canvas clinging to the sails still welcomed the constant breeze sweeping down from the Highlands. She supposed the rusted machinery made a squeaky racket, if only she were close enough to hear.

  The attic at the top of Clanyard’s tower offered the only vantage point in her home from which the mil
l could be seen. Catching a glimpse of it was the one saving grace about being confined yet again by her hateful stepmother.

  The steady movement of the wind vanes calmed her troubled spirit. She watched as long as she could, ignoring the gnawing ache in her arms and the press of the rough stone against her breasts. Finally forced to let go, she crumpled in a heap on the floor when her numbed feet failed her.

  There was no telling how long Mona Lockie would nurse her fit of pique before giving the order for Jane to be freed. Two days was the longest she’d been imprisoned, her only sustenance stale bread and watered ale brought twice daily by Auld Moses.

  The half-blind guard was Keeper of the Keys. By the time he’d huffed and puffed his way up the steep staircase, most of the ale had spilled. He was always genuinely apologetic, muttering his opinion her confinement was a travesty, but Jane accepted he was as bound to follow Mona’s dictates as everyone else who dwelled in Clanyard Hall.

  They agreed her father’s infatuation with his new wife had addled his brain. He lavished more attention on his obnoxious stepson than on his daughter, apparently believing every untrue accusation of willful misbehavior Mona leveled against Jane.

  “This time,” she told him, “I purportedly added a noxious substance to cook’s stewpot and, as a result, half the population of Clanyard was obliged to rush to the garderobes.”

  “Me among ’em,” Moses chortled.

  “But ye ken ’twasna my doing,” she replied. “Even though a scullery lad with a blackened eye and bloodied nose confirmed he’d seen me tamper with the food.”

  “More likely Mona the Witch gave her son one of her potions to poison us all,” Moses mused. “I reckon the new mistress of Clanyard plots to have Ignis the Brat named as yer father’s heir.”

  Therein lay the most insidious threat of all. Jane’s mother had died giving birth too late in life to a wee son. Six-year-old Gavin was the long-awaited heir to Clanyard. Jane worried what ill might befall her precocious brother when she was confined and unable to protect him. So far, her father had made sure he was taken care of by a bevy of nursemaids and tutors but Jane feared Mona’s wiles would eventually succeed in turning him against his own son.

  Moses whispered his suspicions to Jane, but she knew he would never voice them in public, nor would any other member of Clan Lockie.

  “Ye’d think yer da would question why Mona and Ignis were among the few who didna fall ill, or wonder who beat the eyewitness?”

  Jane shrugged. “I’ve learned protesting my innocence is useless. Mona always manages to twist my words to make me sound guilty while Ignis sneers from the sidelines.”

  Her frowning father despaired of her alleged offenses. “Yer mother would be disappointed in ye, Jane,” he lamented. “Do ye nay think I’ve enough to worry about making our lands productive after years of failed crops and the coin we lost investing in the Darien scheme?”

  His censure broke her heart but, someday, he would come to recognize she was the one who truly loved and respected him.

  “I could die in this stinking cupboard before he recovers his wits and sees through Mona’s scheming,” she wailed, rubbing her scuffed knees. Resentment made breathing difficult, but she refused to cry.

  Chilled in body and soul, and feeling completely alone, she stood and reached up once more for the bars. It made little sense but, as long as the vanes kept turning, hope still flickered in her heart. The windmill had become a shrine, a symbol of her longing for things to be as they were before her mother’s untimely death.

  Perhaps, if she made a pilgrimage there…

  Dread knotted her innards. The distant mill straddled the border between Lockie lands and those of the hated McDools. Everyone acknowledged their laird was a murderous barbarian, like his father before him. Zachary McDool patrolled the border zealously after the feud began and put every Lockie who ventured near the mill to the sword. Jane’s grandfather retaliated and the mill soon became a no-man’s-land. Zachary was long gone, as was Grandpa Lockie, but the feud continued, though no one seemed to recall how it had started.

  It would be folly to ride there, and she’d be severely punished if Mona got wind of it.

  “All the more reason to go,” she whispered, filling her lungs before lifting herself up once more.

  Marsh Fever

  Lagan Castle, Eastern Highlands, Scotland

  With a heavy heart, Spenser McDool led the physician up the winding stone staircase. They’d made the climb too many times to count, and he wasn’t optimistic about what they’d find within the attic of Lagan Castle. It had become clear months ago his elder brother’s condition was deteriorating rapidly. Dr. Gough held out little hope Cathal would live for more than a few days.

  The necessity to confine his brother far from the curious eyes and ears of members of the clan lay like a lead weight in Spenser’s gut. The malady contracted in the steamy jungles of Panama had worsened to the point Cathal rambled incoherently, often screaming out his pain and confusion. Gough was the first to admit he knew little about the treatment of tropical diseases. Spenser sympathized with the doctor’s grim-faced frustration as Cathal’s sickness worsened.

  “I canna do much for him now that we’ve used the last of the cinchona bark,” Gough muttered as Spenser turned the key in the lock.

  Aware he’d contracted marsh fever, Cathal had brought the bark with him on the long and difficult voyage home. Its extract gave a measure of relief from the shaking chills and high fever, but there was no cure for the disease and the episodes had become more frequent. Belly aches and convulsions regularly racked Cathal’s ravaged body.

  News of the disastrous failure to establish a Scottish colony in Panama broke Zachary McDool’s spirit. With no word of Cathal for nigh on a year, the family came to believe he lay dead and buried in some faraway tropical ditch. The horror of the tales emerging from the few haggard survivors drove their father deeper into despair. He became withdrawn and unpredictable, but rallied upon learning his son had survived and was on his way home. Spenser was jubilant at the news.

  “People with marsh fever can live for years,” Cathal claimed upon his return to Scotland but, as soon as his ashen-faced brother stepped off the ship at Leith, Spenser knew death stalked him. It came as a punch to the gut and he barely listened to his brother’s harrowing tales of jungle hazards and Spanish treachery.

  When Spenser and the physician entered the chamber, Gough’s apprentice rose from the bedside chair, looking relieved to see them. Spenser understood. The stench of sickness and incontinence hung in the fetid air. He covered his nose and mouth with a kerchief and approached the bed, somewhat relieved to find his brother asleep.

  “Any change?” Gough asked gruffly.

  “Two convulsions earlier. He couldn’t keep the broth down, then seemed to lapse into a stupor,” Jackson whispered.

  “Nay long now, then,” Gough muttered.

  Spenser studied the gaunt face of the skeletal wretch lying in the bed. He could find no trace of the braw, confident Cathal McDool who’d gone off to Panama with high hopes, their father’s blessing and most of the family’s money.

  “I dinna ken what yer father was thinking, God rest his soul,” Gough said sadly, not for the first time. “Sending his son and heir off to Panama.”

  Spenser slumped into the chair vacated by Jackson. He’d had serious doubts about the Darien Scheme but he wasn’t about to decry his dead father in front of a virtual stranger. It would have been impossible to deter Cathal in any case. “He got caught up in the optimism sweeping through Scotland. We thought the colony would become a great trading center and enrich us all beyond anyone’s imagination.”

  Local folks declared the heir to the McDool chieftaincy a lucky man, one of the few to survive the horrors of the steaming jungles and make it back to Scotland.

  He didn’t look like a lucky man now.

  The coin was lost forever. Like many other noble Scottish families who’d invested heavily, the McDools were nigh on bankrupted by the scheme. Zachary McDool lost interest in just about everything. He went to bed one night and never woke up.

  “’Twill be a big responsibility for ye,” the physician mused. “Taking over the lairdship from yer brother at such a difficult time.”

  Growing up, Spenser had never considered he might one day become laird, but he’d been obliged to assume many of his father’s duties after his death, since Cathal had been incapable of handling them. “True,” he conceded, “but the disastrous crop failures of the last century are hopefully over.”