Donnan's Rose, page 1
Donnan's Rose
JR Salisbury
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, JR Salisbury, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Preview: The Sins of Rory MacLeod
Chapter 1
Also by JR Salisbury
About the Author
To My Tribe: Thanks for all you do! Anya Kelleye Designs, book cover and formatting, Lauralyn Elliott, editing/proofing.
My love is like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June: My love is like the melody That's sweetly played in tune. How fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I; And I will love thee still, my dear, Till all the seas gang dry. Till all the seas gang dry my dear, And the rocks melt with the sun; I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands of life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only love. And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my love, Though it were ten thousand mile.
Robert Burns
Chapter 1
Somewhere off the eastern coast of Scotland…
Standing at the rail, Donnan MacLeod watched as the rugged coastline of northern Scotland came into view. The fog gave it an eerie appeal to his senses. It also made approaching all the more dangerous as it was low tide, which along with the fog, made the cove they needed to anchor the Tigress in all the more treacherous to navigate. Until the fog lifted, they were at the mercy of mother nature.
This had once again proven to be an empty voyage. Chasing smugglers was never easy. This band, however, was far more cagey than any other he'd pursued. That was fine by him; he liked a good chase.
The smugglers he was after were unlike any other he'd encountered. These men only stole from wealthy English aristocracy and moved the goods off the island and to the continent. They also stole from rich Europeans, importing the stolen property into Britain to be sold to the highest bidder. It didn't matter where they stole from or who.
He'd first been assigned to keep their ships from reaching the continent, something the British fleet had been unable to do. The goods were returned to their rightful owners. Then they got resourceful and began stealing from the Europeans, making his work more invaluable.
With the dawn of new ships outfitted with steam engines, Donnan was afraid his foe had made a switch to the new way of sailing. None of his sources had found evidence leading to this conclusion. The smugglers, it seemed, preferred the ways of the past as did he. At least for now.
There was something to be said about a sailing vessel a steamer could not match. For one, the engines were noisy, making their presence known before they were seen. A sailing vessel, however, could still be stealthy through the water.
Donnan MacLeod was not one to give up. His men had discovered the possibility the smugglers were attempting to throw the Tigress off by going north. Unloading their cargo in a lesser used port to the north on the continent would not raise an eyebrow.
His biggest frustration was that no one knew who was behind this ring of thieves. The ships belonged to a ghost. No one knew exactly who the individuals were, but they had enough money behind them to weave a complicated trail of paperwork. Nothing he couldn't untangle in time.
"How much longer before we can sail in?" he asked no one in particular. His eyes were still on the nearing coast. The smell of the salt water in the air always reminded him of home. The Isle of Skye. He couldn't imagine not being able to inhale the power of the sea in his lungs.
"Should be safe to enter in another hour, sir," James replied.
James also served as his valet in his real life. The one of the fourth MacLeod son. Donnan, though a shrewd businessman and investor, was also known as a rake and a scoundrel. Not that he cared much for what others thought. If it kept people at arm's length and out of his affairs, the better.
"Very well."
The valet hesitated. "Were you wanting to go to the manor first, my lord?"
"Yes. I'll bathe and change there. We'll go to Edinburgh later in the afternoon. That way when my brother shows up to go to the isle, he'll be none the wiser."
"I understand your conflict. You want to continue pursuing these smugglers."
"Yet I cannot disappoint my mother. Her birthday comes but once a year, and it's the only time she requests I make an appearance. It's the least I can do."
"They will be out there when you return."
"That they will. Bloody bastards."
Chapter 2
With the exception of a sliver of a moon peaking from behind the clouds, the night was dark as the devil himself. The carriage careened through the inky darkness, the team flying down the road at break neck speed.
Inside, two men sat across from each other, one by all appearances asleep, the other gazing out the window of the carriage into the night.
"You need to tell your man to slow it down, brother."
"No. Any slower, and we'll never make it in time," Donnan said, never opening his eyes.
"I didn't know you were in such a damn hurry to get back home."
"I'm not. If it were not for the fact our mother demands our presence, I wouldn't be coming back. Besides, the horses need a good run. Diablo in particular."
"You could have ridden him back yourself, Donnan. No need to put us all at risk. It's Mother's birthday we're here for; we need to arrive unscathed."
"Aye, as you and everyone have reminded me a thousand times, Kent." Donnan MacLeod ran his hands through his thick, wavy dark hair without opening his eyes. "Now, if you would kindly quit your whining, I should like to sleep."
"You're going to hell, you know that?" Kentgem MacLeod replied as he glared at his younger brother. He sat up, trying to maintain his balance in the fast moving carriage, while his brother sat across from him. Legs sprawled out, his hands in his pocket like he had not a care in the world. How was it possible they were even related?
"Aye."
The carriage hit a hole in the road, becoming airborne for a second as the driver never slowed the team. Still Donnan sat there, unruffled.
Then, without warning, there were shouts outside, the pounding of hooves and curses from above. Shots rang out, and the carriage came to a halt. Outside, there was a good deal of commotion.
"Good God, Donnan, we're being robbed." Gasping, Kent stared as the carriage door was flung open, and a masked face holding a pistol appeared.
"Hand over your money. Now, gents!"
Donnan didn't move. He appeared to be asleep in spite of everything going on around them. His kilt fluttering slightly in the breeze from the open door was the only movement to be seen. That is, until the muzzle of a gun flashed. The figure at the door fell to the ground. A startled shout and trampling horse hooves were next.
Donnan MacLeod withdrew his right hand out of his pocket. In his hand, there was an elegant silver ladies’ pistol, still smoking. He laid it on the seat beside him and crushed the smoldering portion of his greatcoat with his elegant, long fingers.
Kent stared at his brother in disbelief, too shocked to say a word about what he'd just seen.
James, Donnan's valet, was at the door, lantern in hand. "Highwaymen. There were four of them, my lord. Now there are three. The rest scampered off."
"You killed him, Donnan," Kent blurted out.
"Aye, so it seems."
"What do you want to do with him, my lord?"
"Leave him; drive on, of course."
"Donnan, you can't. You just killed a man."
"A highwayman, intent on robbing us, perhaps killing all of us, brother. An English one by the sound of his voice. He's dead. James, tell the carriage man to continue on. I suspect we should arrive at the coast in about two hours."
"Yes, my lord."
Kent continued stare at Donnan in disbelief. Sitting back in his seat, he did not speak again until they reached their destination.
Arriving at the coast, Kent nudged his brother's foot sharply with his. Getting no reaction, he sat up in his seat and yawned quite loudly.
"We made it, finally, no thanks to you."
"You're not dead are you?" Donnan inquired, opening his eyes. He dug around in the inside of his greatcoat and produced a flask. He took a long swallow off the contents before offering it to Kent.
Kent shook his head of ginger colored curls before stepping outside the carriage and into the night. The men were shouting orders, and at the water's edge, the barge was readied for their departure to Skye and home.
He turned around and watched as his brother stepped languidly down from the carriage, not a care in the world. Coldhearted, that's what he was. There was not a sign of any emotion on Donnan's face as he strode toward him, his kilt swinging in the night breeze. Though he wore his kilt when he was at home on Skye, Kent saw no reason to wear it in London. Donnan, on the other hand, wore his all the time, as did their eldest brother Rory.
Donnan walked to the team and began softly speaking to the black hunter that snorted and pawed his hoof at the front of the four, quieting the animal. As the men began herding the animals onto the barge, he walked with his mount, holding onto the reins, all the time talking to the beast.
As the barge began its trek across the water to the Isle of Skye, Donnan MacLeod remained with his horse. Sometimes a beast was better company than one's own family. He stroked the animal's massive, thick, muscular neck until they reached land on the other side of the channel.
Assisting the men leading the team and carriage off the barge, he remained with Diablo until they were readying to continue on to Castle MacLeod, the family home for some five hundred years. Or so it'd been told. Thank God their grandfather had seen fit to build a road leading to the stone monstrosity, or they'd be taking yet another barge ride.
* * *
Donnan strode into the drawing room, heading directly to the decanters of amber liquid. Ignoring the commotion going on around him, he picked up a glass and poured a glass full of the family whiskey. He drained the contents in one long swallow before turning to face the intruders behind him.
"He shot and killed the man and left him on the side of the road," Kent was saying to their eldest brother, Rory.
Still he didn't turn around. He didn't have to hear Rory's voice to know he was in the room. Not only did he feel his brother's presence, he heard his footfalls as the two men neared.
"Is that correct, Donnan? You killed a man?"
Donnan quietly poured himself another glass of whiskey and turned to face the pair.
"Would you rather I brought the man home for supper?" he drawled. "Aye, it's true. All of it. He was a highwayman, an Englishman. He would have killed us if I hadn't taken his life." He lifted the glass to his lips and downed its contents again.
"No, of course not, and you're probably right. The bandits would have probably shot and killed all of you if not for your quick thinking, Donnan."
Rory MacLeod studied his younger sibling for a moment. He knew it did no good to get into a war of wits and words with Donnan. His brother did as he pleased, always had. Though Kent may not approve of his methods, Rory had to admit it was smart thinking on Donnan's part to carry such a tiny pistol.
Donnan MacLeod was known by his reputation first. He'd always been daring as a child, but now, as an adult, he feared no man. Rory wondered when his brother had the time to attend to his business affairs, as his brother preferred whiskey, cigars, and women to the more serious matters in life.
"So you see, I saved us all." Donnan was back at the decanter, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. "On to other subjects. I'm here, I drug myself out of Edinburgh, so Mother's party can proceed."
"No one spends the summer in London or Edinburgh, Donnan. So there was no reason for you to be there other than your vices," a female voice said from the doorway.
Looking up, the men found themselves greeted by their mother, Lady Edana MacLeod. Her long, dark blonde hair was now streaked with gray. She glided into the room, as graceful as she always had been. As though she owned the castle, a true laird's wife, or in this case, widow. That, and she was a duke's widow.
"Mother," Donnan said, kissing her cheek.
"Guests have begun arriving, Donnan, and I will not have any of my sons embarrassing me. Do I make myself quite clear?"
"Yes, perfectly," Donnan replied, stepping away to finish his whiskey.
"That means you will not overindulge in what you seem to prefer in life. I have invited several young women, along with their parents. I intend to have one or more of my sons either married by the end of summer or at least betrothed. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly," Kent said as he eyed his younger brother with contempt.
"Donnan, did you hear me? You will not embarrass me. You need to settle down and make something of your life."
"Perhaps, Mother, I should just leave in the morning, if I'm such an embarrassment. I will not be forced into a marriage. So save your lectures of the finer points of matrimony for my brothers, for I shall not listen to such dribble."
Having said that, Donnan poured one last glass of the family whiskey, and downing it in one swallow, slammed the glass down, turned, and stormed out of the room. Mother or no mother, she was not going to dictate his life, nor choose his mate. Her tactics might work on Rory and Kent, but he was having no part of it.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he ascended the grand staircase. He ignored the portraits of MacLeods who lived before him, knowing none of them would have allowed a woman to speak in the manner in which their mother spoke to him.
Donnan headed toward his suite of rooms in the wing opposite Rory's. He stormed down the hall, a man on a mission. Except the only mission he had at the moment was to get away from his aggravating family.
He flung open the door, startling James, who was busy putting things in their place like Donnan preferred.
"May I get you anything, my lord?"
"Yes," Donnan growled, tearing his cravat from his neck and flinging it on to a chair as he opened the neck of his shirt. "Bring me a bottle of whiskey. Make sure one is kept in here. If I must suffer through this, I'll not do it sober."
"Is that all, my lord? I could bring a plate from the kitchens."
"Fine. Something simple as I've lost my appetite. Also see to getting me some hot water for a bath, James."
"Your brother had hot and cold water added to the bathing chambers since you were last here, my lord. All that has to be done has been simplified, my lord."
"Really? My brother is modernizing the castle? Running water taps? In my bathing chamber?"
"Yes, my lord," James replied, producing a bottle of whiskey and setting it down on the table Donnan preferred near the hearth.
"Then draw a bath, and afterwards, please see to some meat, cheese, and perhaps some bread. That should suffice until morning."
Donnan marched over to the bottle and poured himself a glass. He stared into the fire as he vaguely heard James moving about, leaving the room and heading into the dressing area and bathing room. This day had been long and exhausting. Made even more so by the mere fact he had to deal with his family now. In the morning, he would have Diablo saddled, and they would go on a long ride through the moors, away from the castle and his relatives.
Turning from the fire, he raised the glass to his lips and began to drink. The whiskey did little more than drown out the demons, make them tolerable. That was good enough for tonight.
He walked across the room and into his dressing area, to the bathing room. Inside, he found James running the water for him, placing what items he needed.
"That's good, James. See to finding me some food, and then you can be off for the night 'til morning. We've had a long day of it."
"Yes, my lord."
Donnan set his glass next to the tub and pulled off his boots and socks. His shirt was long gone by now, and his kilt all that remained. He found the pin and released the fabric, letting the plaid fall to the floor before stepping into the hot water.
* * *
