The stag, p.1
The Stag, page 1
The Stag
Clan Ross of the Hebrides Novella
Pink Door Publishing
© Hildie McQueen 2021
EPUB Edition
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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.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Hildie McQueen
Clan Ross of the Hebrides
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
A Note to Readers
About the Author
Also By Hildie McQueen
Clan Ross of the Hebrides
The Lion: Darach
The Beast: Duncan
The Eagle: Stuart
The Fox: Caelan
The Stag: Artair
Clan Ross Series
A Heartless Laird
A Hardened Warrior
A Hellish Highlander
A Flawed Scotsman
A Fearless Rebel
A Fierce Archer
Moriag Series
Beauty and the Highlander
The Lass and the Laird
Lady and the Scot
The Laird’s Daughter
Clan Ross of the Hebrides
This fictional story takes place at the beginning of the 17th century in the Scottish Hebrides, isles off the Isle of Skye’s western coasts.
In the 1500s, lordship over the Hebrides collapsed and the power was given to clan chiefs. The MacNeil, in Barra; The Macdonald (Clanranald), in South Uist; The Uisdein, in North Uist; and The MacLeod, the isles of Harris and Lewis.
For this series, I have moved the clans around a bit to help the story work better. The clans’ locations in my books are as follows. The MacNeil will remain in Barra. The Macdonald (Clanranald) is moved to North Uist. The Uisdein resides in Benbecula. The MacLeod remains in the Isles of Harris and Lewis. My fictional clan, Clan Ross, will laird over South Uist.
Chapter One
Spring 1603
Artair Ross leaned forward, his elbows on the table as he listened to his father talk about what happened with the people in the surrounding lands. By contrast, across from him, his younger brother Bryce sat back with his arms crossed, a sullen expression of boredom.
Despite his recent ailments, their father was robust and full of energy as he spoke, his voice strong to ensure they listened.
“Both of ye will follow in my footsteps. We have farmland and families who depend on us.”
His hazel gaze moved from Artair to Bryce. “As of late, both of ye have barely been in the same room together. I need to know ye are going to be united once I am gone.”
At the last words, Bryce straightened. “Ye should stop speaking as if ye’re on yer deathbed Da. Ye are not.”
Their father’s right eyebrow hitched. “A month ago, I almost died. It made me realize there is much that needs to be done to ensure ye and yer brother can take over the family responsibilities.”
“Da,” Artair began, “ye have taught us all we need to know. We are well aware of what our duties are.”
“Is that so?” Angus Ross gave him a pointed look. “Tell me which farmer is having trouble with blight having overtaken his crops. Which family requires help with building a stronger stable because they have added more cows?”
“McConnell has the most livestock,” Bryce replied with a triumphant look in Artair’s direction. “I rode past Burton’s lands the other day. His plantings were brown.”
Angus shook his head and let out a sigh. “McConnell died two years ago. Burton is no longer farming. He and his wife went to Bara to live with their son.”
How had he missed so much? Artair glared at his brother.
Artair kept eye contact with Bryce. “Ye have been here the entire time. There is no excuse for ye not to know these things.”
Artair then spoke to his father. “I work for the laird, ye are aware my duties have taken me from here for the last twenty years. And though I may not be aware of what goes on, I have always made it a point to come here every fortnight or so to ensure ye are well.”
“I am not pointing fault at either of ye,” their father assured them. “What I wish to point out is that neither of ye are informed well of what happens around here. If I died tomorrow, yer mother and the families depending on us would need one, if not both of ye present and able to take charge.”
The brothers exchanged looks and immediately Artair knew his brother had no intention of taking responsibility. Bryce preferred a life of leisure, passing each day doing as little as possible. He rarely did anything more strenuous than lift a quill and spent his days with his nose in a piece of parchment writing.
For years Artair’s father and brother had fought over Bryce’s lack of interest in the obligations that would one day fall upon him, but despite any threats or demands made by their father, their mother always came to Bryce’s defense. Bryce was coddled and refused to change.
“I will ask Darach to reassign me to the southern post,” Artair said, referring to his cousin and laird, Darach Ross. “It will enable me to come home more often and spend time with ye. Living closer will also afford me the opportunity to fulfil both my duties.”
His father brightened. “That is a splendid idea.”
Both looked to Bryce, who’d resumed his previous position and expression of disinterest. He let out a long sigh. “I believe to have gotten Isla Quinn with child. I have to consider what to do.”
Artair couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter. “How did ye manage that much energy?”
Despite the stern look, he could see the humor in his father’s eyes. “Ye will do right by the lass and marry her.”
“Marry?” Bryce sat up straight as a rod. “Marry her?”
“That is what I said. Yer mother will invite the family for a meal to formally announce the engagement. I urge ye to go in search of the lass and inform her immediately.”
His father’s direct gaze left no room for argument. “Do not defy me on this. Ye will have to take responsibility for your actions and perhaps this will make ye grow up.”
“Of course, ye will use this as an opportunity to make me serve ye. There is absolutely nothing that interests me about farming . . . or goats.”
Tired of his brother’s laziness, Artair rounded the table and grabbed Bryce’s tunic, hauling him to his feet. “What do ye intend to do? Have a bastard-born bairn running about while ye spend yer life doing nothing more than picking flowers?”
Bryce shoved him back. “Ye know nothing.” He stormed from the room.
“What did he mean by that?” Artair asked.
“He claims to feel the need to write and do nothing else,” their father replied, looking in the direction his youngest son had gone. “Yer brother refuses to grow up. Perhaps ye should take him with ye on yer next guard duty. He needs to experience more than being a pampered idiot.”
By last meal, Bryce acted as if all was well. Their mother spoke at length about the spring festival in the village she was helping with. Along with her companion, Bettina, she spent most days riding back and forth to the village meeting with other women making plans for whatever event was on the horizon. It kept her occupied and, from her bright smile as she spoke, happy.
“I am so glad ye will be spending more time home. I worry about yer da. He needs to rest more.” His mother’s bright face was endearing, while at the same time, he wondered why she did not demand more from her other son.
Artair bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that Bryce lived there and should have been made to help. Instead, he slid a look to his brother, who ate with gusto, seeming to have forgotten the earlier discussion.
“Mother, I am going to be working at the southern post, which is less than half a day’s ride from here. I will let Darach know I will be dividing my time between my duties as guard and here. I am sure he will have no problem with allowing it.”
“Why are ye asking him for permission?” Bryce asked, a bitter edge to the words. “He is father’s nephew, therefore, anything to do with Da should be done without having to bow down to Darach.”
It took a great deal of strength to keep from yanking his brother acros s the table again. “Because I have declared my loyalty to his station as Laird of our clan, Bryce.”
Like a petulant lad, Bryce rolled his eyes.
“I am also asking that ye be allowed to join the guard for a while. Ye will come with me to help with protecting the southern shore. It will make it easier for me to leave and come here.”
Bryce choked on his food and coughed until his face turned a bright red. A tendril of satisfaction traveled through Artair.
“A guard?” their mother asked, then stopped speaking when her husband gave her a stern look.
“Aye Iona,” his father said. “I think it will be good for our son to see what it is like to protect one’s home.”
“What about the Quinns?” Bryce finally managed to sputter. “I thought we were to have them for a meal.”
“The Quinns?” their mother asked looking from the still red-faced Bryce to her husband. “What about the Quinns?”
Angus waved his hand dismissively. “Bryce thinks to have gotten Isla Quinn with child.”
The incredulous look on their mother’s face was what Artair figured his own had been like. “When did this happen?”
Bryce shrugged. “We have been meeting for a few months. She only discovered it recently.”
“We must speak to her parents immediately.” Their mother glared at Bryce. “It best not be true, or I will pull every hair out of yer head. Isla is a sweet girl. How could ye Bryce?”
When her eyes became shiny with unshed tears, Artair felt bad. Their mother had always been overly sensitive.
“There, there, Iona,” their father said in a gruff voice. He hated seeing his wife upset. “I am sure this will all work itself out.”
Two days later, both families sat at the same table in uncomfortable stilted silence. As his mother described, Isla was pretty and sweet—and obviously mortified. Her father was enraged. Her mother embarrassed.
To Artair’s shock, Bryce took full responsibility and barely flinched when her father threatened to kill him.
The wedding would be within a fortnight to ensure Isla’s extended family would not suspect the pregnancy.
After the meal, Bryce strolled into the study where Artair and his father looked over the ledgers.
“I suppose this means I must remain behind and ensure all is well with my bride.”
Their father stood. He rounded the table and shoved Bryce backward. He fell into a chair and looked up at their father, wide-eyed.
“Ye will go with yer brother. Ye will return for the wedding. Remain three days and then go back to yer duties at the southern post. This does not give ye any kind of reprieve, but instead makes it doubly important that ye do something to make yer wife and bairn proud.”
Artair groaned. The last thing he wanted along at the moment was his annoying and unskilled brother. The southern post was currently one of the most dangerous assignments.
His duties and life had just become much too complicated.
Chapter Two
The food at the southern post were flavorful. The cook, Alpena, took pride in feeding the men and took great care with each meal.
Men came and went, assured that upon arriving they would be fed well. Artair glanced from his food to the other end of the table where Bryce sat. His brother was telling an exaggerated story of fighting off a wolf, which made the men laugh. If nothing else, his brother knew how to entertain people.
A warrior walked through the doors and straight to where he sat.
“One of the guards, John, is dead. The other barely survived,” Struan McLean, a Clan Ross warrior, reported. The muscular man rolled his shoulders in frustration. “I do not know how the attackers got past us.”
Another pair of men hurried in with a man on a makeshift stretcher. Immediately he was seen to by one of the women who worked in the kitchen and had knowledge of healing.
The man was unconscious, which was good as his injuries would bring great pain upon his coming to.
“We must go at once,” Artair announced looking to the others. “Who wishes to go?
They rode from their quarters in Taernsby past the tiny fishing village, following nearly indistinguishable horse tracks. The men they sought were obviously experienced at hiding by their ability to not leave a consistent trail.
“They must be camped out in the forest.” Artair inhaled the salty air while scanning the surroundings. “We must find them and make them pay,” he said, his tone dripping with rage.
The guards had been attacked without provocation, according to the one who’d survived. It meant whoever did it was either mad or had a death wish. They had to be aware Clan Ross had a huge army and that they’d be tracked down and punished.
“I’ll go west, past the forest. Ye and ye come with me,” he said motioning to men and then looked to the four who awaited instructions. Among them Bryce, who looked to be in pain.
After the ride from his parent’s land, Bryce was not prepared for another full day on horseback. He met Artair’s attention with a bland look.
“Ye four go in that direction,” he said pointing to a hill. “Be with care as ye find a way to go up the hill. We do not know what we are up against.”
Looking to Bryce, he added. “Keep my brother alive.” His lips twitched. “If ye can.”
“I can always ride back to the guard post,” Bryce replied with a sneer. “This is an utter waste of time.”
The guards gave Artair a look saying they’d prefer if he’d do just that.
“Do not try me in this brother,” he snapped, and Bryce looked up at the sky.
In the shadows of the forest, the sun’s rays broke through the trees sporadically, offering only a small bit of warmth. To fight the chill in the air, Artair and his companions wrapped their tartans around their shoulders as they took their time climbing through the dense hilly area. They stopped often to study the surroundings to ensure they did not miss any signs of which way the men were headed. It was painstakingly slow progress, but experience taught him it was an effective way to track.
His horse, a black beauty named Hagar, trotted down the path with ease. Like him, the animal did not take kindly to remaining in one place for too long. Preferring instead to be led toward unfamiliar territory and unknown lands. The beast snorted and bobbed its head, a sign it heard something or sensed danger.
Holding up a hand, Artair signaled for the others to stop.
Taking in the surroundings, Artair realized how different the area was from the opposite shore. The area there was untamed and wild, patches of trees and vegetation which made for plenty of places for both men and beasts to hide.
“What do ye think?” he asked Struan, who studied the ground.
“New path there.” The man pointed to their left. “Old path there.” He motioned directly ahead.
Eric Larsen, a master tracker and someone Artair trusted without reservation, rode up and dismounted. The man walked to the new path, kneeled, and touched the ground. Then he looked up to the trees as he walked back to the waiting warriors. “A group of men on horseback rode through here. At least six horses.”
The Norseman had arrived several years earlier, asking for work. The late laird had eagerly accepted, claiming to need someone who spoke the language for whenever he decided to fight the Norse. No one had ever heard Erik speak Norse, so Artair doubted he did.
Despite having to fight to be accepted, after a few months, Erik became an integral part of the laird’s guard. He’d proven to be a brave warrior and extremely loyal to the clan.
“I think we need to return to the village and gather more men before continuing our search,” Struan said, his dark gaze narrowing.
“I agree,” Artair said while scanning the surroundings. “Hopefully, they will consider themselves safe and remain close by.” It would be dangerous to go farther without being aware of how many attackers there were.
Turning the horses around, they rode back in the direction they came. As they approached the outskirts of the village, Erik rode off toward the guardhouse to gather additional men, Artair and Struan headed to the village to see if they could find anything that might lead them to the men they were searching for.
