The Lion (Clan Ross of the Hebrides Book 1) Read online

  The Lion

  Clan Ross of the Hebrides

  Pink Door Publishing

  Editor: Dark Dreams Editing

  © Hildie McQueen 2021

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  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

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Hildie McQueen

  About the Book

  A Few Notes

  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

  About the Author

  Also By Hildie McQueen

  Clan Ross of the Hebrides

  The Lion: Darach

  The Beast: Duncan

  The Hunter: Evander

  The Eagle: Stuart

  The Fox: Caelan

  Clan Ross

  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

  About the Book

  Preferring to spend time outdoors sketching and not worrying overmuch about her appearance, Isobel Macdonald is shocked when a handsome laird chooses her to marry. However, as one who treasures loyalty above all, she is mortified to learn his lover lives at the family keep as well. After being publicly humiliated by her new husband, Isobel must ensure two things: to keep her heart protected, and to remain a wife in name only.

  After his late father’s time as laird, where he ruled by fear, Darach Ross inherits a clan of people who do not trust in him, or his leadership. With the threat of insurrection and possible attack by another clan, every move he makes must be measured. When he is captured by an enemy clan and forced to face the possibility of leaving no legacy, he makes a mistake that could rob him of happiness forever.

  Laird Calum Ross was dead. His eldest son, thirty-four-year-old, Darach Finlay Ross has inherited the lairdship and control over the vast lands on the Isle of Uist.

  In the months that follow, Darach learns of the atrocities his father committed against the clan and must work hard to regain their trust. However, when he discovers that someone within the clan is plotting against him, he is faced with his biggest challenge yet: An execution.

  Each of the seven Ross siblings must come to terms with their new roles as leaders responsible for hundreds of families.

  One by one, they will find their calling, their place, and hopefully a love for all time.

  A Few Notes

  Dear Reader,

  This fictional story takes place at the beginning of the 17th century in the Scottish Hebrides, isles off the Isle of Skye’s western coast.

  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. 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 be laird over South Uist.

  Clan Ross of the Hebrides Map

  Chapter One

  Dún Láidir, Keep Ross

  Summer 1601

  The loud argument between the men that stood before him did not deter others in the great hall from trying to be heard above their shouts. Another group of people stood in a circle to the side yelling insults. Behind the group, a pair of men were tied at the wrists with guards standing watch, as the binds did not keep them from kicking at each other.

  A fire had been lit in the hearth that morning, while it was still cold in the room and now the combination of the heat and stench of unwashed bodies crammed into the space made it overwhelmingly difficult to concentrate.

  Darach Ross, pushed back a lock of blond hair that fell over his brow and leaned forward in an attempt to hear what the supplicants before him were arguing about, but he was barely able to decipher their issues since both yelled at each other more than trying to explain their complaints to him.

  When he could not get the men to settle, he looked to his brother Stuart who was leaning forward staring at the men as if attempting to read their lips. His brother’s hazel gaze moved from one man to the other, while he fiddled with an arrow in his hands.

  “I cannot hear what is being said. Is it possible to remove some of the people to another space?” Darach asked Cairn McKinney, a member of his council, who sat to his right.

  The older man looked from one side of the room to the other, and Darach did the same, taking in the desperate expressions of those present. Every person in the room was looking to him to somehow fix their situation. Most were dirty and much too thin, with the pale hollow eyes of someone with no hope.

  Hunger he could help with; disillusionment and distrust were another story.

  Upon realizing Darach was distracted, the men in front of him became furious and began screaming at him directly.

  “Do ye even hear me, Laird?” one yelled.

  “Ye do not care, do ye?” the other screamed.

  “Enough!” Darach roared and stood to his full height, towering over the men from the high board. “I am yer laird and will not tolerate insolence.”

  At Darach’s exclamation, the room quieted. The silence was short-lived because just then on the far side of the crowded room a fight broke out. The pair who’d been bound had somehow gotten loose and were now brawling. When they fell onto a table, the people there just cheered and shoved them away.

  The guardsmen in the room pushed their way through the crowd to the fighters, pulled the men apart, and dragged them out to the courtyard. People jeered loudly at the end of their entertainment.

  Darach motioned for one of his personal guards to come closer.

  “I want twenty warriors to come at once. Enough of this unruliness. Take those in the back half of the room outside. Except for the women and children. They can remain.”

  In short order, the warriors entered the room. Groups of people were herded out, some peacefully,
while others had to be beaten over the head with flat swords or prodded forward with shields.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, a group of women rushed up and tugged at Darach’s tunic to get his attention. One woman spoke for the group, tears streaming down her face. She trembled when he looked at her. “My laird, we’ve come to beg for food. Our bairns are hungry, our elderly are dying, and yer reply is to have the guardsmen beat and drag us away.”

  Darach groaned but kept from raising his voice. Already the women shrunk back each time he looked from one to the other. He had given specific instructions that no women be taken out, and no child pushed away. But of course, that would not be the story they told once they returned to their villages.

  Even bundled up with cloaks and with blankets around their bodies, it was evident the women were too thin, their faces gaunt, their eyes dull. One held a child against her chest that clung to its mother while crying softly.

  “I will not send ye away hungry. Gather all the bairns, women, and any elderly who are here, and go to the dining hall. Food will be brought,” Darach said and motioned for his youngest brother Gideon, part of the warrior force, to come forward. “Ensure that Mother and Ella are aware that these people need to be fed.”

  At eight and twenty, Gideon had turned from a lanky lad into a well-toned, muscled man. With dark wavy hair and the same hazel-colored eyes as him, no one would question his lineage. His brother nodded and raced to find their mother and sister.

  “There may be too many to feed on such short notice,” Cairn, the councilman, neared and declared. At Darach’s glare, he held both hands up. “I only say what I see.”

  “Go and eat,” Darach urged the women who remained in place, looking between him and Cairn. They hurried toward the dining hall, telling others as they walked by to follow them to get a meal.

  Most of the women and elderly in the great hall shuffled out, urged by the prospect of a good meal. The few that remained were either quarreling or standing behind their husbands or fathers, who were busy complaining—loudly—about the injustices done against them by Darach’s late father.

  The argumentative men, who had waited impatiently for him to return, were each given a stipend and sent to see the stablemaster to get a sack of oats each for their livestock.

  Another group comprised of four farmers approached and demanded answers on how they were to defend their land. Unfulfilled promises by Darach’s late father were repeated.

  One man’s ragged face contorted with rage. “Laird, we come to ye to ask for help, which has been sorely lacking. For months now, we’ve struggled to feed our wives and children. Ye must understand, Laird, our land is no longer fertile. Yer late father kept us from rotating the fields, demanding that we plant on all of them at once.

  During the last harvest, our farms produced meager crops. After taxes, there was nothing left to take care of our own families.”

  At a loss as to what should be done for the people who looked to him for answers, Darach scanned the great hall. Too many still remained. Those that had been escorted out by the guards, would return and bring with them more demands for compensation or help.

  “Inventory will be done of the grain reserves, ye must give us time,” Stuart interjected. “For now, each family will receive two sacks of grain, a pair of sheep, and four chickens.”

  “There is much to be done. I ask that ye give me time,” Darach said meeting each man’s gaze. “I am not my father. I wish to work with ye and hear what ye have to say.”

  The men exchanged questioning looks. One finally spoke. “We will return in a month’s time.”

  “Nay. I will ride out to yer land. For now, prepare the portion of land that ye think will produce the most. Taxes will not be collected until after yer second harvest.”

  The farmer’s faces brightened. “Thank ye, Laird,” they said and hurried out to collect their allotments.

  Darach leaned toward his scribe. “Mark a reminder to meet with the farmers.”

  Just then the men who’d been brawling, were dragged up to the front by guardsmen. One was bleeding from his nose and held his head back. The other had a split lip and cut above his eye, blood dripping down the side of his face.

  “Laird,” one of the guardsmen said. “These men are fighting about poaching.” He recognized them. They’d stolen cattle back and forth from each other for years.

  Darach studied the men, the one with the bleeding nose was very plump, fat really. A woman, just as plump, stood with him. The other man was healthy and heavy as well. He turned to Stuart. “Where are their lands?”

  “Near the river. They share the lands just north of the farmers that were just speaking to ye.”

  Facing the bleeding men, he studied one and then the other. The room quieted as people became curious to see what happened. “Where do ye get yer grain?”

  Confused the men looked at one another. Finally, one replied. “From the miller in the village, like everyone else.”

  “Ye both have plenty of butter because ye have milk from cows. I presume ye have chickens and sheep as well.”

  Both nodded.

  “Why is everyone around ye hungry?”

  His nose had stopped bleeding, so the man looked Darach in the eyes. “I am the provider of meat and milk for the laird. It is I that has had the honor to ensure yer family is well-fed, my laird.” The man made a show of bowing.

  “What about ye?” Darach asked the other man. “Ye have the same privileges, I presume.”

  “I do not, my laird,” the man replied. “Unlike him.” He glared at the other man. “I am an honest man. I am not called to serve my laird, except to provide a yearly tax. I ensure that I feed the families of those that work for me.”

  Darach looked about the room. “How many here raise livestock?”

  A smattering of hands rose and Darach motioned for them to approach. Once the men were lined up, he noted that unlike the two who’d been fighting, the rest of the men were not as plump.

  “Every month a different man will provide for the keep and will be paid for it.” The men exchanged excited looks. “As far as schedule, ye will meet with my brother Gideon to be assigned a time.” Darach hesitated for a beat. “Those in dire need will go first.”

  The man with the cut above his eye waved his arms. “My laird, if I may be so bold. There are fourteen of us. That means two of us cannot serve ye.”

  “Neither of ye will serve me for a year,” he told the two well-fed men.

  The men stared at him with identical gaping wide mouths and eyes, and the wife of one of them swooned.

  It was late in the day before the crowd in the room had finally thinned enough for last meal to be served.

  People had been sent home with enough food and grain to last them for a few weeks. Herders were instructed to gift each family with a goat, sheep, or cow so that they could have milk. Chickens were also distributed.

  The council would be discussing how to ensure the clan’s homes would be fortified enough for the upcoming cold weather of winter.

  Darach stood and stretched. “I need to go for a walk before last meal.” Without waiting for anyone to remind him there were still matters that needed to be heard and things which needed to be discussed, he stalked across the room and out the front door.

  In the courtyard, people climbed on wagons, and horseback riders mounted. Other clans people walked to and from a makeshift table where his scribe noted who had been provided with what.

  Down the side of the house, there were steps that led to a lower area. Darach descended the slope and continued down until reaching the shoreline of a loch. At the water’s edge, hidden from sight, he lowered to his knees and bent forward covering his face with both hands.

  It wasn’t as much to pray, but an effort to seek the fortitude to continue. At becoming laird, he’d not been aware of the magnitude of the issues he would face.

  Upon his father’s death, the truth had come to light of how horrible a leader his
father had been. People hadn’t come to seek help or guidance for fear of repercussions. Those who had not been in his father’s favor now openly complained; the grievances ringing of truth and injustice.

  How had he been so blind? Somehow his father had been so controlling of the people that they’d forced smiles and never showed any kind of discord. Now he learned that they were under threat of death for any misdeed his father considered treasonous.

  How had it come to be that to ask for food or help was viewed as treason, and therefore, people were on the verge of starvation and death? Those that had livestock and those who grew crops were not allowed to share in case the laird had need of it.

  While food rotted in the keep’s storehouses, people outside the gates starved.

  Fury filled him to the point that screams caught in his throat. Even the soft lapping of the water did little to soothe him.

  Senses overwhelmed; all he could do was to take deep breaths and expel them. When his hound caught up with him and lowered to its hunches, Darach reached over and scratched its head. Seeming reassured all was well, the animal rose and began running along the shoreline, picking up a stick and playing.

  He watched the dog, jealous over its lack of concern. He’d originally named the black hound Abyss, but in truth, the name did no justice as the animal had a friendly jovial nature. So now he called him Albie.

  The cold air swept across the surface of the water bringing with it the smell of the nearby sea. Realizing it had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to just be, he took a deep breath of the salty air.

  Stuart, who was the closest to him out of his six siblings, called to him, “Darach, what are ye doing?”

  By the way Stuart neared and then followed his line of sight to the loch, his brother needed no explanation.

  “Why was Father so cruel to his people?” Darach asked.

  “Perhaps he didn’t see it as cruelty, but as a way to manage everyone.”