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    The King's Brother
    The King's Brother
    The King's Brother
    Ebook315 pages4 hours

    The King's Brother

    By W.Wm. Mee

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    About this ebook

    In 1715, beautiful, red headed Lady Catherine Graham of the English ‘Borderlands’ meets two very different Scottish lords. The first one, the king’s bastard brother, Angus MacDuff, she falls madly in love with; the second one, the rich and powerful Lord Alistair MacGregor, kidnaps her and sails off to his castle on the Isle of Mull --- leaving Angus to follow and rescue her --- if he can.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherW.Wm. Mee
    Release dateDec 4, 2015
    ISBN9781310203756
    The King's Brother
    Author

    W.Wm. Mee

    Wayne William Mee is a retired English teacher who enjoys hiking, sailing and walking his Beagle hound. He is also a 'living historian' or 'reenactor'. You can see Wayne's historical group on Facebook's 'McCaw's Privateers' 18th Century Naval Camp' page. Building & sailing wooden sailboats also takes up a chunk of Wayne's time, but along with his wife Maggie,son Jason and granddaughter Zoe, writing is his true love, the one he returns to let his imagination soar.Wayne would like you to 'look him up' on FACEBOOK and click the 'Friend' button or even zap him an e-mail.If you enjoyed any of his books, kindly leave a REVIEW here at Smashwords and/or say so on Facebook, Twitter, Tweeter or whatever other 'social network' you use.Thanks for stopping by ---and keep reading!!Drop him a line either there or at waynewmee@videotron.caHe'll be glad to hear from you!'Rest ye gentle --- sleep ye sound'

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      The King's Brother - W.Wm. Mee

      The King’s Brother

      by

      W.Wm.Mee

      A Romance of the Highlands

      Dedicated to my wife Maggie

      ‘That Silent Song sung in the ear;

      That Unseen Hand that drives the wind!’

      Copyright 2015 W.Wm.Mee

      Smashwords Edition

      Background of the Jacobite Uprisings

      In the Year of Our Lord, 1745, Charles Edward Stewart, better known as ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’, attempted to regain not only his grandfather’s Scottish Catholic throne, but to capture the English Protestant one as well! After a glorious start, the ‘bonnie prince’ failed miserably and, though he’s now become a romantic, Scottish legend, in reality he simply drifted off into drink, old age and obscurity.

      Thirty years earlier however, Charlie’s grandfather, James Francis Stewart, had also tried to ‘regain his lost throne’, but James was even less successful than his famous grandson.

      But what if, back in ‘The Rising of 1715’, things had gone somewhat differently?!

      ***

      Chapter 1: ‘Lady Catherine’

      Early Spring, 1715

      North-Western England

      The wild, rugged ‘Borderlands’

      leading up to the Scottish Highlands

      The young woman with the piercing green eyes and the flowing mane of reddish-gold hair gave a quick glance over her shoulder, saw that the man following her was gaining ground, and urged her mount on to even greater speed.

      On Zeus my lovely! Run like the gods themselves!

      Not a very Christian thing to say for a young, English noblewoman, especially in those war-torn times of religious strife, when Catholic hated Protestant, Protestant hated Catholic and both despised the French, the Scottish and the Jews.

      Glancing up the red headed vixen saw that she was fast approaching an ancient stone fence. With a saucy smile and an unlady like tightening of her thighs, she set her galloping beast to jump. Up Zeus! Fly my beauty!

      And fly the large stallion did! Up and over went the wild eyed, four year old beast --- along with it the smiling young woman of one and twenty! With another quick glance over her shoulder she saw that the man behind her had also attempted the jump --- and failed --- or at least his mount had.

      The following beast, less ‘godlike’ than Zeus, had apparently decided to stay earthbound, though its rider however had not. George Crump, the young woman’s ‘bodyguard’ and ‘so called protector’, had unwillingly attempted the flight on his own --- and landed in the brambles, tall grass and purple heather for his troubles.

      Lady Catherine Graham, the red headed woman with the flashing green eyes, waved an insolent goodbye to her now horseless bodyguard and continued on up the ever steepening path. The trail led into the foothills of the infamous Scottish Highlands.

      Technically, Lord Herbert Graham’s vast estate, including the ancient Craigmorrow castle, was not actually in the ‘Highlands’, or Scotland itself for that matter. It was in what the English called the Western Marches or the ‘Borderlands’ --- wild, rough and in many places, lawless lands; much disputed between the two countries both in court and on the battlefield.

      Aside from Catherine’s father, Lord Herbert, and a few other noble families like the Carleton’s, Hetherington’s, and Fenwick’s, the Borderlands themselves were mostly populated by flocks of wide, woolly sheep, herds of wild, shaggy ponies and clans of wild, shaggy men.

      The first two groups, the sheep and ponies, were relatively harmless, but it was the third group that caused all the trouble. Unlettered and ungovernable English and Scott alike! Hard headed, quick to anger and slow to forgive, age old feuds between the two groups had been going on for centuries, all the way back to Julius Caesar’s invasion in 44 BC against the tattooed Celts nearly two thousand years earlier!

      (*A ‘wee note’ for you, ‘Gentle Reader’:

      See the author’s book: BRITANNIA ‘The Druid’s Daughter’ for that tale.)

      But Lady Catherine had no time for ancient history, nor the silly squabbles her father and the other stuffy English and Scottish lords were always going on about. Catherine loved the ‘wild people of the hills’, be they English, Scott or, as in many cases, ‘mixed bloods’. It made no difference to her, for she met them all with an easy smile, a warm nature and a fearless love of life that drew them to her like iron to a loadstone!

      ‘Lady Cat’, as the Hill Folk called her, was well thought of on both sides of the Borderlands. She often went among them, speaking a mixture of the king’s English and Scotch Gaelic, she distributed food, spare clothing, medicine and now and then the odd English penny. This day however she was on her way to see one Hill Folk in particular --- a wise, old ‘wicca woman’ who, for a smile and several of those worn, English pennies, sold charms, various potions and told fortunes.

      Old Nell she called herself, known throughout the Borderlands and beyond for her soothsaying skills and other ‘mystical arts’, though such things were only whispered at, and never near the kirkyard or on a night with a full moon!

      ‘Lady Cat’ hadn’t been to see Old Nell since before her father died last year. The old crone had warned Catherine then of some ‘dark and foul deed soon to be done’, and had added the baffling phrase: ‘Beware your second father, for he has both a black heart and a false smile. The old woman had finished with a third cryptic warning. Beware as well the one eyed man from the north, for he lusts for what he should not!’

      Catherine had gone away concerned but not really worried, for she only halfway believed in the old woman’s ‘powers’ and her warnings of dark deeds, false smiles and one eyed men went unheeded, especially once back home at Craigmorrow with her hawks, horses and hounds.

      Then, a little over a month after her visit to the wicca woman, her father had suddenly sickened and died. It happened far too suddenly for any physician, mid-wife or old crone to come to his aid. ‘His heart just stopped’ they all said. Her father’s younger brother, Reginald Graham, had been visiting at the time and helped with the funeral arrangements --- and had stayed on after to ‘comfort the grieving widow’. Her mother’s tears however soon dried up and her grief was quickly replaced by emotions of another sort --- emotions that many, Catherine included, thought ‘unseemly’ at the time --- especially for a grieving widow. Life however, is for the living, and before her husband was three months in his grave, Catherine’s mother, Lady Margaret Graham, was led to the alter by her brother-in-law and willingly became the new Lord Graham’s blushing bride. Catherine’s seldom seen ‘Uncle Regie’ had suddenly become her newly minted step-father.

      I hope, dearest Catherine, her now second father had said to her after the short ceremony and before the bridal night festivities had gotten underway; "that you do not think too poorly of either your lady mother or myself. I admit freely that I have had ‘feelings’ for your mother for some years now, but thought it only proper to keep them hidden away in my lonely heart."

      Until they burst forth at my father’s funeral? Catherine had heard herself saying, surprised at the cold sarcasm in her voice, but unable to stop it from pouring forth. "How very gallant of you uncle --- or would you prefer that I call you father instead?"

      A flicker of anger had flashed though her uncle’s dark eyes, but was soon replaced by that insincere smile of his and his short, bark of a laugh. "Call me whatever you like, Catherine dear, but do try to remember that it is I that now rule Craigmorrow, not my somewhat ‘over lenient’ brother."

      You thought my father ‘over lenient’, uncle? In what way?

      That smileless smile came again, followed by the annoying laugh. "In all ways, dear child. In his running of the estate, his collecting of rents, his sympathy towards the rebellious Scott and, perhaps worst of all, his lack of control over his beautiful but rather wild and unwed daughter."

      Catherine was taken back by her step-father’s cutting words, especially that last bit, and was about to sputter out an angry response when ‘Uncle Daddy’ patted her hand as though she was a wayward child. But have no fear, Catherine, all that will soon be remedied. I’ve a fair number of suitors in mind for your hand and the invitations have already been sent. He’d suddenly reached out and touched her wild, tangled mane. "Though before they get here we really must do something about your hair."

      That had been over two months ago --- almost half a year since her father’s untimely death --- and ‘Uncle Regie’ had been true to his word. A number of ‘suitors’ had turned up at Craigmorrow castle, each one more eager than the last to claim the hand --- and the considerable dowry --- of the beautiful young red headed woman with the flashing green eyes. Yet it was her equally ‘flashing hot temper’ that had driven them away --- one aging old lecher with a stab wound in his hand when he had placed it on her thigh. All but one had been easily handled, quickly dismissed and soon forgotten --- except for Murdock MacGregor, the Lord of Mull --- the bearded giant with the one eye! MacGregor was not the sort of man that one soon forgets, especially if he doesn’t get what he wants --- and he made it quite clear that what he wanted was Lady Catherine Graham of Craigmorrow castle!

      Since MacGregor’s rather angry departure Catherine saw his bearded, angry face nightly in her dreams, his one good eye blazing as he leaned in right after she had rejected his gruff proposal. "Hear me and hear me well, girl, for I’ll not say this again! Want it or not, you will be mine! Your step-father and I have already come to a verbal agreement and your own ‘wishes’ are of no concern to either of us! Now, I must away to Ireland on business, but either myself or one of my ships will return in two months time to bring you north to Mull. See that you are ready --- for if not, it will go hard on you and yours!"

      MacGregor had departed after that, his armed men and servants scurrying after him as he strode like a king down to his three longships. The fierce, one eyed man had sailed westward. ‘Business in Ireland!’ he had rumbled, and Catherine had wondered what ‘business’ a one eyed pirate from the wild western isles would have with the bloody Irish?! ‘Smuggling most likely’ she had reasoned, and shuddered at the thought of his longships sailing back to ‘collect her’ like some prized heifer ripe for breeding! She was reliving this waking nightmare when her mother’s scolding voice cut into her troubled thoughts.

      "Really, Catherine! her mother had scolded. You haven’t heard a single thing I said! How do you expect to find a decent husband if you drive them all away with that sharp tongue of yours --- or at knifepoint?!"

      "I have no wish to ‘find a husband’ at all, mother, ‘decent’ or otherwise. Unlike you, I do not feel the need!"

      That last part had just slipped out and was instantly regretted --- not because it was untrue, but because of the pain it brought to her mother’s face.

      Do you hate me so very much, Cat, for wedding your father’s brother? her mother had quietly asked.

      Catherine moved to the older woman’s side. "I don’t hate you, mother. I could never hate you. I’m just disappointed. You and father seemed so happy together, and to replace him so quickly --- and with that man seems so --- "

      Shallow? her mother put in. Vain? Uncaring? Take your pick, Catherine, for I’ve heard them all. Both from the servants as well as from my so called ‘friends’!

      I was going to say ‘strange’. For mother, he is nothing at all like my father!

      Anger flashed in her mother at that --- a family trait passed down on the female side. "No, Catherine, he is not! Your father was kind, generous and loving --- but he was also a dreamer and a very poor businessman! Your new step-father is indeed much more reserved, business-like and calculating, but he is good to me in his own way --- and --- I do not have to spend my nights alone."

      Again the anger rose unbidden inside Catherine. "Are you that afraid of the dark, mother? Would not a candle or two have done instead?!"

      There’s little warmth and no softness in a candle, Catherine.

      A pair of my hounds then, mother?! One on each side will drive away the shivers! Catherine shook her head and bit back another cutting reply, yet the mother saw the look in her daughter’s green eyes.

      I’m not strong like you, Catherine. You are fearless, beautiful and brave --- and very young! She turned away. "It’s so easy to be brave when you’re young --- but the years slowly steal it all away. Day after day, night after lonely night, until there is nothing left but a frightened, lonely old woman!"

      Catherine reached out and touched her mother’s hand. "I don’t want you to be lonely, mother, it’s just that your new husband is so --- so cold and calculating! Now that he has you and Craigmorrow, he is trying to sell me off like some prize milk cow for breeding!"

      You wrong him, Catherine. Your step-father wants only what is best for you.

      Anger flashed again. "What’s best for him, you mean mother! Me married off to some lecherous old man or some one eyed giant would suit him well indeed! Aye! And you too by the sound of it!"

      A slap followed that --- and then tears, though neither came from Catherine. From her came more anger; the silent kind this time --- along with flashing eyes and a sudden urgent need to get away from Craigmorrow!

      George Crump, the man her step-father had set to ‘watch over’ his onetime wayward niece and now defiant step-daughter, had scrambled aboard a horse and attempted to follow, but had been defeated by a stone fence and a bed of thorns.

      And Lady Cat had escaped to the Highlands.

      ***

      Chapter 2: ‘Dark Deeds Revealed’

      In the afternoon shadows the cave looked more like the open maw of a hungry beast than the home of a mysterious old wicca woman --- but then that was just what Old Nell wanted.

      Fear is good for business, girlie the bent-backed hag had said to Catherine the first time she went to see her. It gets the juices flowing. The heart pumps and the hands sweat and the mind imagines all kinds of fanciful things! Easier for me to read a person that way, do ye ken? The old woman had leaned closer and did something that might have been a wink with her one good eye. Fear is what brought you her to me, is it not, girlie?

      Catherine had flushed at that, for it was not far off the mark. I’m not afraid of you, old mother! she had blustered. Or anything else for that matter!

      That one good eye winked again. "Are you not, girlie? Well, you are a rarity then! Most folks, be they highborn or low, are afraid of all sorts of things. Sickness, death, robbers; too much rain or not enough; too hot a summer or too cold a winter. The eye winked again as it washed over the red headed young woman. Too lonely a life with no-one to love."

      Catherine had flushed again at that, only redder than before, for this time the old crone had hit the mark dead on! At the ripe old age of twenty-one, Catherine had almost given up all hope of ever finding someone she could really love. Twice now she had ‘thought’ she had found someone, but it was not to be.

      The first time had been several years ago when a handsome young tinker had swept into her life for a week or so and then left her broken hearted and alone --- and fearing that she might be with child. Luckily, Fate proved just as fickle as the tinker and no child was forthcoming.

      The second one had been a neighbour’s son, Percy Hastings. Percy’s father was Lord George Hastings, the 17th Earl of Lancaster, one of the richest men in England. Lancaster had been Lord of the Northern Marches before her own father, Lord Herbert Graham, and the two men had been good friends for years. What could be more natural than their two children should marry? And for a while Catherine thought that she did indeed love the handsome young man --- until she caught him tupping a milkmaid in the barn.

      So, after twenty-one years and two broken hearts, Catherine had become desperate enough to seek out a wicca woman and perhaps catch a glimpse into the murky future. The glimpse she got however was far murkier than she had bargained for!

      The old crone’s words from her first visit still echoed in Catherine’s troubled dreams. ‘I see a dark and foul deed done to one close to your heart’; followed by the dire warning of: ‘Beware the one with the false smile!’

      A few weeks later her father had suddenly died. A few months later her mother had married her dead husband’s brother. A month after that Catherine found herself ‘put up for sale’ by her new step-father!

      So now she was back at Nell’s doorless door, desperate to see what future awaited her!

      Ahhhh, cackled the old woman. "So it is love that brought you back to me! No, don’t try to deny it, child, I can see it in you stance and the worried look in those pretty green eyes. But there’s fear there too, and not just the fear of living lonely." Old Nell shuffled closer with her candle, for though her ‘cave’ was surprisingly cosy, it was far from bright.

      But come in, girlie! Sit by the fire and warm yourself, for your hands are as cold as death --- and I can see that it’s ‘Death’ that you really came to ask me about.

      How do you know that?! Catherine demanded, instantly thinking of her father.

      Nell cackled again. "I’d be a poor ‘glimpser of tomorrows’ if I could not read a person’s ‘today’s’! Everything about you, child, shows saddness. Your stance, your frown, the way those green eyes of yours dart about, searching the shadows for answers to unasked questions. But come and sit by the fire. I’ll brew us a nice pot of tea and we’ll have a wee chat."

      The ‘wee chat’ lasted long into the night, and Catherine found not only many answers to those ‘unasked questions’, but a new friend as well. It helped that the ‘tea’ Old Nell brewed had dried slices of a certain mushroom that grew only on the rocky slopes of the western highlands, best harvested with a silver blade on the night of a full moon. Before long Catherine’s head was all aswirl with the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of all the things the wicca woman had told her.

      "How is it that I seem to feel ‘inside’ your tales, Nell? Catherine the Cat asked as she sat all curled up before the fire. Almost as though I was watching them acted out before me, with each person parading around in front of me like actors on a stage?"

      The old woman’s good eye winked again as she poured them both yet another cup of tea. "It’s all part of the wicca craft ye ken, taught to me by my mother when I was just a wee lass."

      Have the women in your family always followed the wicca trade? Catherine asked, taking another sip of tea and helping herself to one of Nell’s delicious cookies.

      Some have, lass, and some haven’t. Not everyone has ‘The Gift’. I’ve a sister who wears her knees out praying for my soul, for the poor thing is convinced I’m going straight to hell! ‘The Gift’ sometimes skips a generation or two, but in my family it’s been a direct line for hundreds of years. Catherine could see the inner pride of that fact showing forth in the old woman’s lined face and hear it in her raspy voice.

      My mother, Hecate McTavish o’ Skye, taught me, Old Nell continued. She in turn was taught by her granny, Brindle MacGregor o’ Mull and her from her granny, Deirdre of Islay. On and on it goes, back in time for hundreds o’ years. The old woman suddenly brightened and fixed Catherine with that one, seemingly all seeing eye.

      "Would ye like to hear the tale o’ Hawdwise o’ Chalis, the Witch o’ Cymru, the very first wicca woman of my line?"

      Catherine, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, took another sip of tea and nodded.

      Good! beamed Nell, tossing another log onto the glowing embers of the already bright fire. The stuffed owl that had been perched on the mantelpiece suddenly

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