Desired by a Savage Scot - Bonus Prologue

Desired by a Savage Scot – Bonus Prologue

1692, The Western Isles, Scottish Highlands

One month earlier…

Laird Varrick MacLean pushed himself upright from the prow of his war galley and said in his deep, gruff voice, “I reckon we’re about midway between Mull and Campbell’s border now.” He looked at the large, fearsome-looking man with wild dark hair standing next to him. “’Tis close enough. Blaise, give the order.”

“Aye.” Blaise, war-leader of Clan MacLean and Varrick’s close friend, nodded. Turning to the crew, he bellowed, “Lower the sails, drop anchor, and ship oars, lads. We wait here.”

The command was quickly carried out. Within minutes the galley was bobbing, becalmed, the choppy, mingled waters of Firth of Lorne and Loch Linne lapping at its timbers.

Set within his stern, saturnine features, Varrick’s dark eyes scanned the waters ahead, tracing the familiar outline of the mainland. He spotted what he was looking for and immediately straightened.

“Here they come,” he muttered, jaw clenched, not taking his eyes from the ship approaching from the mainland shore. It relieved his tension just a little to see it struggling to make headway against the stiff westerly breeze, exactly as he had known it would. It was petty, he knew, but anything that inconvenienced his sworn enemy, Laird Roland Campbell, was gratifying, however small.

“Well, ’tis only one ship as agreed. Nay fear of Campbell springin’ any nasty surprises on us out here. T’was a brilliant idea of mine tae hold the meet on the water,” Laurence MacLean, Blaise’s cousin and Varrick’s right hand, observed drily.

Varrick glanced over at him. “I think ye’ll find it was me idea. But at any rate, why be so modest about it?” he said, mildly sarcastic. “Blow yer own trumpet, why nae?”

Laurence smirked, bright blue eyes dancing in his tanned face. “If I dinnae blow it mesel’, then nae other bugger will.”

Blaise nudged him hard in his ribs with an elbow. “Ye dae enough boastin’ fer yersel’, Cousin. Ye have nae need of anyone else tae do it for ye,” he said, not without affection.

Varrick trusted the pair with his life. Today, perhaps more than ever.

“I still dinnae trust the bastard,” he said. “He’s a sly as a fox and as slippery as an eel.”

“And as greedy as a bloody gannet,” Blaise agreed, his eyes also on the approaching Campbell vessel.

“There he is, the old dog himsel’,” Laurence observed as the ship advanced on them and details of those aboard became clearer in the slight afternoon haze. “Looks like he’s stickin’ tae our terms though. He’s come with only a crew and a handful of guards from what I can tell.”

Varrick’s frown deepened as he stared at Campbell, who was looking back at him from the prow of his ship. His mind turned on his enemy’s odd behavior.

His clan and the Campbells had been enemies forever, and he had been feuding with Roland Campbell for as long as he could remember, a bitter, bloody hostility that went back to his grandfather Laird Donal’s time, when Campbell’s own grandfather had betrayed him over a trade treaty.

Much blood had been spilled in that war and Clan MacLean was almost destroyed. Varrick’s father as well as he himself had sweated more blood to rebuild it.

Relations with Roland Campbell were limited to battling against his continued attempts to take over Clan Maclean by force of arms.

That was why the arrival of a letter from Campbell at Varrick’s stronghold on the Isle of Mull, Duart Castle, a few days earlier, had caused an uproar. That the man should write to him at all was extraordinary in itself. But to civilly request a meeting, saying he had a proposal to put to Varrick, was unprecedented.

Though he never showed it, the request worried Varrick deeply, certain it was a trap.

He let out a long exhale and said, “I have tae admit, I’m surprised. I never expected him tae stick tae his word. But I’m still nae convinced he daesnae have some trick up his sleeve. We should be ready whatever.”

“Aye, ye cannae trust him nae tae try somethin’. But maybe it’ll be different this time. He’s nae a spring chicken. Maybe he’s as sick of this feud as we are and really daes want peace,” Blaise suggested.

Varrick’s skeptical glance at his friend was underlined by Laurence’s cynical laugh.

“If ye believe in fairy tales, aye,” Laurence told his cousin, who shrugged, used to his skeptical ways.

Varrick looked back at Campbell, a cold snake of suspicion curling in his belly. “There’s more than one way of skinnin’ a cat,” he murmured.

Blaise shot him an inquiring glance, dark brows quirking.

“I mean, there’s other ways than by the sword, tae get what ye want,” Varrick explained. “Seein’ Roland’s keepin’ tae the terms I set for the meetin’ is makin’ me wonder even more what this “proposal” is he’s talkin’ about.”

“Whatever it is, I doubt it’s good,” Laurence replied.

“Aye. I have a bad feeling about it,” the laird admitted. “Campbell’s a born schemer, always meddlin’ in politics, findin’ ways tae expand his power. It’ll take a lot tae convince me he’s given up tryin’ tae kill me and take over me clan.”

The trio fell silent, watching as Cambell’s ship finally reached them and dropped anchor about ten feet away.

Dressed in his customary fine plaid, a silver brooch bearing his clan crest pinned to his breast, Campbell stood looking at them from the prow. Tall and imposing, dark hair streaked with grey, with a thick beard, and shrewd dark eyes, he exuded authority and menace.

Two fearsome-looking aides flanked him.

Campbell grinned at Varrick. “MacLean,” he called over in his commanding, resonant voice.

“He looks mighty pleased with himsel’,” Blaise murmured.

Varrick thought so too. “Campbell,” he responded, awaiting the usual stream of insults. When none came, his hackles rose further.

Campbell laughed derisively, looking around at the surrounding sea. “Ye feel safe out here on the water, eh?”

“Aye, I dae. I dinnae trust ye an inch, Campbell. I want ye where I can see ye’re nae hidin’ any nasty surprises.”

Campbell laughed again, clearly amused. “Like mesel’, ye’re nae a trustin’ man, MacLean. I admire that,” his enemy replied, uncharacteristically jovial. It did not suit him, and Varrick’s suspicions flared.

“I dinnae care fer yer sort of admiration. Now, ye got yer meetin’, so state yer business. I havenae got all day.”

“All right, now. Straight tae business it is. I told ye in me letter that I have a proposal fer ye,” Campbell said.

“I’m waitin’.”

“Our two clans have been at war for a long time.”

“Have ye come tae reminisce? If ye have, I’ll be goin’.” Varrick started to turn away.

“Nay, man, hold yer horses,” Campbell called hastily.

Varrick stopped.

“What I’m sayin’ is, too much blood has been shed on both sides. ’Tis time fer peace, d’ye nae agree?”

“The blood that’s been shed is on yer hands, Campbell. Ye’re the one who’s been after stealin’ me clan fer years, forcin’ us tae fight.” Varrick folded his arms, jaw set, inwardly seething as he stared down his foe.

Campbell shrugged, choosing to ignore the truthful comment. “I’m gettin’ old, man, too old tae keep fightin’. Peace is what I’m after now. I want tae leave a legacy fer me grandchildren, so they can say their grandaddy brought peace tae our lands where others failed.”

I dinnae believe a word.

“How touchin’, although the thought of a devil like ye producin’ spawn makes me want tae throw up.”

“Funny ye should mention me spawn because that’s exactly what I want tae talk tae ye about.”

Varrick was genuinely perplexed, exchanging puzzled looks with Blaise and Laurence before responding, “I’m losin’ me patience, Campbell. What are ye drivin’ at man, spit it out.”

“Ye ken I have a daughter, Skye?”

Varrick nodded once. “Aye, I’ve heard of her.”

“Well, she’s a bonny lass, still unwed, of marriageable age.”

“Nice fer her. I wish her well with findin’ a husband, though I cannae see any decent man wantin’ ye as a father-in-law,” Varrick replied, an icy finger starting to trail up his spine.

Campbell chuckled. “Now, now, it’ll behoove ye tae keep a civil tongue in yer head, lad. Look, MacLean, I want peace between us. I want an alliance.”

Varrick spat out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “I’d be safer with a rabid wolf as me ally. Ye’re wastin’ me time.”

“Hear me out. I want an alliance, and I’m prepared tae pay a high price tae get it. That’s why, in good faith, I’m offerin’ ye me daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Varrick’s blood turned to ice. He had to check he had heard aright. “Ye what?”

“I’m offerin’ ye me daughter’s hand in a marriage alliance. It’ll unite the Campbells and MacLeans fer good and bring a lastin’ peace.”

Varrick bit back the retort that sprang to the tip of his tongue.

I’d rather die than wed a filthy Campbell!

He turned to his friends to confer. “D’ye believe this?” he muttered to Blaise and Laurence, who looked as appalled as he felt. “This “proposal” is nay more than a backdoor ruse tae get his hands on the clan, the devious bastard!”

Before they could discuss it, Campbell called over again. “I’ll give ye some time tae think about it. But here’s a wee inducement for ye, tae help ye make the right decision, MacLean. If ye refuse me offer, I’ll crush ye and yer clan out of existence. Ye’re already weak. I have the strength tae dae it. I’ll make sure the name MacLean is naething but dust.”

“I kent he was up tae sometin’,” Laurence hissed. “Stall him. Tell him ye have tae put it tae the Council.”

Cold with dread, mind racing, Varrick did as he suggested. “I’ll consider yer offer. I’ll put it tae me Council and let ye ken me answer,” he told Campbell.

“Grand. But dinnae take too long. Or ye might find me and me army knockin’ at yer gates,” Campbell threatened, dropping his jovial façade.

Varrick saw no need to linger and gave orders for them to return to Mull.

As the two ships moved further apart, he realized Campbell had cleverly caught him between a rock and a hard place. If he wed Skye, then it would be as good as signing over his clan to her father as well as his own death warrant. If he did not, her father would kill him anyway and obliterate his people.

Jaysus Christ, what the hell am I gonnae dae?