Page 1 of The Highlander Who Loved Me

Chapter One

Dunfermline Abbey, Summer, 1329

“I can scarcely believe he’s dead,” the young knight whispered, his voice low and respectful.

“Aye. ’Tis a sad day in the Highlands as well as the Lowlands to be burying such a great king,” Sir James McKenna answered as he pushed his way into the crowded church.

A burst of unease passed through James as he searched, and failed, to find an empty seat. All his life he had heard tales of his king, the heroic Robert the Bruce. Firsthand accounts from his father and uncle who had fought beside their king as Robert broke the iron fist of English rule and united the clans of Scotland.

The tragic defeat at Methven, the victory at Loudoun Hill, the triumph at the Battle of Bannockburn. All were fine examples of the king’s courage, cunning, and audacity. But today the warriors of Scotland were not here to celebrate the king’s victories or remorse over his defeats—today they were gathered to bury their leader.

James craned his neck, trying to get a better view of the solemn ceremony. As his eyes scanned the pews, he spied the back of his father’s head, and beside him, the dark-hued hair of his older brother, Malcolm. As befitting an important chieftain, Laird McKenna was seated in the front of the chapel, his eldest son and heir, Malcolm, beside him. And, as usual, James was left to fend for himself at the back of the church, with the lesser nobles and other second and third sons.

Still, his McKenna height gave James the advantage of a clear sight line in the abbey. He felt the wave of sorrow washing over those in attendance as the king was interred beneath the high altar, his remains placed beside his queen, Elizabeth. Then one by one, the warriors filed past, paying their final respects, bidding their final farewells.

The somber mood lifted as the mourners gathered in the courtyard, but the talk quickly turned to politics. Though the king had been ill for over a year, the clan chiefs were restless and uncertain of the succession. The king’s only son and heir, David, was a mere lad of five years old. The Earl of Moray had been appointed as the boy’s guardian and would rule until David was old enough to rule on his own.

Some were reassured by this decision; others were not. Scots were independent thinkers by nature and many clans had solid claims to the throne. All were wary now, wondering if anyone would make a bid for the crown and upset the hard-fought peace among them.

Never one to be overly interested in politics, James had mixed feelings on the matter. A war might give him the chance to better his position in life, mayhap even gain a keep of his own. That was if he fought for the winning side in the conflict—and somehow survived it. A risky business at best.

“I’m glad to see ye made it, James,” a deep male voice cried out. “It would have been a slight on my honor not to have my two oldest sons attending such an historic event.”

James pivoted around at the sound of that familiar voice and gave his father a rueful grin. “I’m certain that no one took notice of me cramped in the back of the chapel.”

“Ye stand a head taller than most of these warriors,” another male voice chimed in. “And the McKenna plaid is neigh impossible to miss.”

“Uncle Ewan!” James broke into a wide smile as he embraced his uncle-by-marriage. James had been fostered at Ewan’s castle as a young lad and had many fond memories of that time. He was also very aware that he owed a goodly portion of his prowess with a sword and his leadership skills to his uncle. “How do things fare at Tiree Keep?”

Ewan shrugged. “All is much the same as when ye were with us. Young Cameron begged to come along on this journey, but yer aunt wouldn’t hear of it.”

James smiled in understanding. His aunt Grace was fiercely protective of her children. James had always found her to be a reasonable, sweet-tempered woman, but she also possessed a stubborn, hardheaded determination that characterized those who carried McKenna blood.

“My sister coddles her sons,” Brian McKenna declared. “I cannae believe that ye allow it, Ewan.”

Unoffended by his brother-in-law’s remarks, Ewan merely shrugged. “I prefer peace in my home. Yer sister rarely disagrees with me, but when she does, I’ve learned ’tis to my advantage to do as she asks.”

Brian McKenna scoffed and James lowered his chin, hiding his smile. His father could bluster all he wanted, but he indulged his wife’s whims far more than most other husbands, for Aileen Sinclair McKenna would have it no other way. His mother was a formidable woman and over their years together, his father had developed the good sense to realize it.

The conversation ceased as a group of chieftains approached. James blended respectfully into the background, while his older brother, Malcolm, moved forward, placing himself at their father’s side. The pang of resentment stabbed sharply at James, then quickly faded. His brother was being groomed to one day lead the clan; ’twas fitting that he be a part of this discussion.

James recognized many, but not all, of the men who gathered together. Some were stoic, others looked unsettled, and a few were openly defiant. James could hear his father’s voice raised above the others as they spoke of the future of Scottish independence and the treachery of the English.

Brian McKenna seemed unfazed by the uneasy talk that swirled around him, but James knew his father was concealing his true feelings. He had been a loyal king’s man for too many years to simply stand idle while others questioned the boy king’s right to rule.

Sir James Douglas approached the group and joined in the discussion. He was a broad-shouldered man who carried himself with a distinct air of self-importance, yet he did not appear to have the same influence over the others as Brian McKenna. James noticed several of the men shifting on their feet while the Douglas spoke. Once he was finished, most walked away.

James angled his face toward the cloudy sky, then looked to his father, wondering if he wanted to start their journey home now or linger and try to ensure that some of the other clan chiefs would support the boy king.

“Malcolm rides with the Douglas clan,” Brian McKenna said as he came to stand beside his son. “I’d like ye to accompany the Armstrongs as they ride home to their lands, James, and stay as long as they have need of ye.”

James turned in surprise. “’Tis fitting that Malcolm rides with the Douglas clan, since his betrothed is a Douglas lass. But why must I to go with the Armstrong clan?”

“Ye’re always pestering me about the dull routine at McKenna Castle. Well, lad, here’s yer chance to have an adventure.”

His father gave him a tight, even smile, but James was not fooled by this sudden jovial manner. There was something more to this request than a simple show of friendship. James felt certain of it.

Brian McKenna was used to being obeyed without question, but the expression on his son’s face somehow prompted further explanation.

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