Read Online Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: Book #3 by Kelly Jameson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kelly Jameson
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things when it comes to a clan’s survival. And lest ye question the Douglas loyalty to the crown let me enlighten ye. Many a brave Douglas man and woman has defended Scotland against the Sassenach when it was right to do so! We fought against King Henry the Fourth at the Battle of Shrewsbury. The Fourth Earl commanded ten thousand Scots sent to the aid of Charles the Seventh of France against the English. Yea, the Douglas clan hasna always seen eye to eye with the King of Scotland, ‘tis true. I will e’en declare I dunna like kings . But dunna be so quick to judge to me or my clan for it.
“When King James the Second was only ten summers, his advisors beheaded two Douglas brothers, mere boys, without provocation. He was distraught, for they were his new friends. But when he grew to be a man, James the Second grew to hate and fear the Black Douglases. He killed the Eighth Earl of Douglas, cousin to Murry Douglas, head of this clan, while he was under the promise of safe conduct no less, stabbing him and callously throwing his body from a tower window. At the battle of Arkinholm, where the king himself fought, the Lady Douglas lost her father and two auldest brothers.”
Nathair rose from his chair. “Careful lass. Some would say yer words border on treason to the Lion Rampant of Scotland.”
“I dunna speak treason, Nathair. I speak fact.”
“Yer maid is quite outspoken,” Malcolm said, arching a dark brow.
“One should ne’er forget one’s history ,” she said. “Whether a lowly maid like myself, lady, or laird. One should ne’er forget those who ha’e been lost.”
“Indeed, a truth well spoken,” Malcolm said. “But I would ha’e thought the words to come from the Lady Douglas?”
Lady Douglas, at that particular moment, looked aghast.
Malcolm took a sip of whisky. “Nathair, sit yer arse down. ‘Tis nae time for disagreements. We will ha’e a peaceful gathering this day.”
Frowning, Nathair sat.
Malcolm turned to Lady Douglas and took her small hand in his. “I am vera sorry for yer losses. In these turbulent times we ha’e all lost people we held dear, regardless of the reasons we fought or for whom.”
The crowd relaxed, and just in time, for some would’ve drawn swords at Nathair’s accusation.
Nessa’s eyes beseeched Sorcha to keep her mouth shut. She smiled weakly, withdrew her hand from the Highlander’s, and took a robust gulp of whisky. “I’m afraid my maid doesna ken when to curb her tongue. She is vera honest and loyal to this clan.”
“Loyalty is surely a trait to be admired,” Malcolm said, studying Sorcha with curiosity. “As much as honesty. Do ye ken just before I entered this keep she challenged me to a contest with her bow and arrow? She claims to be a better shot than any man. I wonder if she is being honest about that?”
“She…what?”
“The challenge still stands, Highlander. I began shooting arrows when I was four summers, and after years of practice, I got vera, vera good at it.”
“It isna difficult to hit a fat stag with a hunting bow,” Nathair said. “But there is a vast difference between a hunting bow and a bow made for war. A man’s strength is necessary to bend a great yew stave, which is twice as stiff as a hunting bow. I wonder if ye e’en ken how to use the bow ye held in the tree or if it was just for show. Do ye ha’e a brother, and is it yer brother’s bow?”
Sorcha felt a stab of pain thinking about the brothers she’d lost. She pinned Nathair with her heated, proud gaze. “It is my bow. I can hit a hare, or a Highlander’s fat arse, at seventy paces. And there are ways to compensate for lack of strength.”
The Douglas men laughed and raised their cups.
“Enough!” Lady Douglas barked. “Let us talk no more of politics,
“When King James the Second was only ten summers, his advisors beheaded two Douglas brothers, mere boys, without provocation. He was distraught, for they were his new friends. But when he grew to be a man, James the Second grew to hate and fear the Black Douglases. He killed the Eighth Earl of Douglas, cousin to Murry Douglas, head of this clan, while he was under the promise of safe conduct no less, stabbing him and callously throwing his body from a tower window. At the battle of Arkinholm, where the king himself fought, the Lady Douglas lost her father and two auldest brothers.”
Nathair rose from his chair. “Careful lass. Some would say yer words border on treason to the Lion Rampant of Scotland.”
“I dunna speak treason, Nathair. I speak fact.”
“Yer maid is quite outspoken,” Malcolm said, arching a dark brow.
“One should ne’er forget one’s history ,” she said. “Whether a lowly maid like myself, lady, or laird. One should ne’er forget those who ha’e been lost.”
“Indeed, a truth well spoken,” Malcolm said. “But I would ha’e thought the words to come from the Lady Douglas?”
Lady Douglas, at that particular moment, looked aghast.
Malcolm took a sip of whisky. “Nathair, sit yer arse down. ‘Tis nae time for disagreements. We will ha’e a peaceful gathering this day.”
Frowning, Nathair sat.
Malcolm turned to Lady Douglas and took her small hand in his. “I am vera sorry for yer losses. In these turbulent times we ha’e all lost people we held dear, regardless of the reasons we fought or for whom.”
The crowd relaxed, and just in time, for some would’ve drawn swords at Nathair’s accusation.
Nessa’s eyes beseeched Sorcha to keep her mouth shut. She smiled weakly, withdrew her hand from the Highlander’s, and took a robust gulp of whisky. “I’m afraid my maid doesna ken when to curb her tongue. She is vera honest and loyal to this clan.”
“Loyalty is surely a trait to be admired,” Malcolm said, studying Sorcha with curiosity. “As much as honesty. Do ye ken just before I entered this keep she challenged me to a contest with her bow and arrow? She claims to be a better shot than any man. I wonder if she is being honest about that?”
“She…what?”
“The challenge still stands, Highlander. I began shooting arrows when I was four summers, and after years of practice, I got vera, vera good at it.”
“It isna difficult to hit a fat stag with a hunting bow,” Nathair said. “But there is a vast difference between a hunting bow and a bow made for war. A man’s strength is necessary to bend a great yew stave, which is twice as stiff as a hunting bow. I wonder if ye e’en ken how to use the bow ye held in the tree or if it was just for show. Do ye ha’e a brother, and is it yer brother’s bow?”
Sorcha felt a stab of pain thinking about the brothers she’d lost. She pinned Nathair with her heated, proud gaze. “It is my bow. I can hit a hare, or a Highlander’s fat arse, at seventy paces. And there are ways to compensate for lack of strength.”
The Douglas men laughed and raised their cups.
“Enough!” Lady Douglas barked. “Let us talk no more of politics,
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