Duty of the Chieftain - a Highland 'Lord's Right of the First Night' novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #3) Read online

  Duty of the Chieftain

  ~ a Highland 'Lord's Right of the First Night' story ~

  by

  JONNET CARMICHAEL

  Novella #3

  in the erotica series

  'Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions'

  ~~~

  The 'Lord's Right of the First Night' goes terribly wrong for Ranald MacKrannan when he mistakes a virgin bride's passion for experience. The clan already have plenty strange and secret Traditions, so they reinvent this ancient duty of lairds into 'THE BRIDE'S RIGHT' to get their chieftain out of trouble.

  Ranald and his own bride Elinor are still strangers during the test phase of this new Tradition, but Elinor's need to impress turns into ordering everyone around. A life lesson is needed. Ranald must perform a special Duty of the Chieftain. Elinor must be taught never to act superior with a MacKrannan man, and then she'll find life the more enjoyable…

  ~~~

  FOR MATURE READERS ONLY

  Approx. 39,000 words

  Highland erotica with GSOH!

  Copyright 2013 © Jonnet Carmichael

  The characters, places and events depicted in this book are fictional or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Email [email protected]

  Blog http://jonnetcarmichael.wordpress.com/

  NOTE TO READERS

  The medieval Lord's Right of the First Night – also known in Latin as jus primae noctus and in French as droit de siegneur – was the right of a feudal lord to take the virginity of his serf's daughter on her wedding night. What had begun in history as a spiritual duty by tribal leaders later became a coveted perk for the toffs.

  Academic researchers debate the truth of it happening. Ordinary folks who grew up in 20th century Scotland under the superior attitudes of their local nobility might think it extremely probable that it once happened all the time…

  Ranald MacKrannan heard the creak of a ballista being cocked, its missile pointing with deadly accuracy at the boat’s hull across the swell of the peninsula bay. Only two men were with him on the galley, bait to draw the Cambels' attention while the bulk of the MacKrannan clansmen silently moved into position on the hill above. Ranald saw their signal and cried "NOW!"

  All three jumped from the far side as the missile hit.

  It was a rout. Not one MacKrannan life had been lost in the attack from the rear, and the king would replace the galley now sunk, but the quelling of the Cambel uprising had taken near a whole moon till this final skirmish. The politics had then to be dealt with, as arduous a task as any swordfight, so that Ranald was exhausted by the time his four remaining galleys were home safe and berthed at the castle's harbor. A man could only go so long without sleep.

  "Come here to me, man!" a booming voice called as he stepped ashore.

  "Sir Thommas, you do look well on it... whatever it is," Ranald grinned.

  "A week at court, a win at dice and yer mother her usual self, is what. And the news coming there of yer victory. The king is fair delighted, and the name of Ranald MacKrannan mentioned much. Ye did well, son."

  From every cottage in the village poured forth women who stopped briefly to dip curtsies in the passing, children running at their sides and babes in arms. Ranald gave leave to his soldiers to disembark and reunite with their families as the sky reddened for the sunset.

  News from the royal court was never wholly good, and Sir Thommas kept the details until they had reached the castle's solar. "Yer mother and I are but a day back. There's trouble in the Borders again, and the truce with England in doubt."

  Ranald relaxed into an oaken chair by the fireside, fighting the need to drift off to sleep. This unwelcome news from the court was just enough to keep him awake. "Father, tell me I am no' sent there till I see my own bed for a night…"

  "Nay, nay," said Sir Thommas, "it is the Earl of Maxton leading the king's army, and two of yer brothers with him. The king is strengthening the Borders. Tidying up the landholdings anywhere near it. But hear this... an English delegation came to court. Negotiations did no' go well."

  Lady Agatha heard the latter of her husband's words as she rushed into the solar. "Ranald, my fine chieftain lad, ye are home!" she called, her eyes misted with joy. "Yer father speaks true. Mercy, if you could have but seen the English in all their finery! Oh aye, they mean to have the upper hand in the business."

  She passed her riding cloak to the ladymaid scurrying behind her. "Away with ye, Ginny, standing there with yer lugs flapping! See that the lassies have the fire kindled in Ranald's room and fresh linens to his bed... and Ginny! Tell them to take an extra cloth to his window – he must have a clear view to the ocean, still. Thank ye, lass… and Ginny! Extra hot water, for Ranald to shave."

  Ranald rose out the chair, exchanging a look with his father at the womanly fussing, and allowing his mother her customary swipe at his forehead to smooth back his flopping black hair before offering his cheek for her greeting.

  Agatha continued with the court news of women's interest. "And the king has bade the Earl of Maxton to marry the Lady Elinor Keirston."

  "Maxton? His betrothed will have lands, no doubt," said Ranald, cynically.

  "Indeed she has, in the heart of the Borders – and a hunting forest and lochs and two decent sized towers and all. She's the widow of Sir Alain Douglas of Fordnethan."

  Ranald's blood chilled at the name. Sir Alain Douglas had been alongside him at the Siege of Drumallager and the death earned little lament. Ranald had been hard-pressed to say anything beyond the plain fact when writing to the man's wife, for the details of it were not for a woman's ears and nor was his opinion of the dead man.

  "Hell mend that weasel. Six clansmen buried and he damned near got every one of us killed!" he spat, gripping the high mantel of the fireplace as his mother took his chair.

  "Quiet, my son…" Thommas spoke low. "Elinor is here in the castle. The command to wed Maxton was a shock to her, and yer mother thought the sea air would lift her spirits. Have pity on the girl. Maxton is more than twice her age."

  Ranald felt more of the pity for Maxton having a widow foisted upon him, although the gift of an earldom from the king of Scots tended to come with many such penalty clauses. Maxton would be paying for his title for many years yet. He was glad to be a MacKrannan, expected to marry a virgin for love and naught else when the day came, and none to announce the name of his wife in advance.

  "She's a nice lass," said Agatha. "The queen is particularly fond of her."

  "Should she no' still be in mourning?" Ranald asked his parents. "What was she doing at court?"

  "The king summoned her," his father answered. "Her dowry lands at Keirston Tower are in far too strategic a position in the Borders to let a widow keep it, and Fordnethan Tower no' far behind it in importance. That is why she has been put onto the Earl of Maxton."

  Ranald knew how crucial those landholdings were, but it was hearing the name of Sir Alain Douglas had riled him, and his temper already shortened with tiredness.

  Sir Thommas thought it time to impart better news.

  "Ye may calm yerself in a pleasant manner, Ranald. A wedding took place this morn and I saved the bride Meredith for ye when yer galleys were espied. She’ll warm yer bones, man."

  "I'm thinking she'd need to waken me first," said the homecoming warrior.

  "Ach, wait till ye see her! She's a fine lass to look upon. Well
worth dunking yer head in a cold water tub for. Away, if you please, Agatha, and have Ginny take her to Ranald's room."

  As his wife's footsteps tripped excitedly down the stairs, Sir Thommas turned again to his son.

  "It is some time since ye performed the Lord's Right as chieftain of the clan, and with Ginny's wedding to your steward coming close, I'm thinking the practise will be of use. You’ll remember how it is done, then?"

  Ranald grimaced. It was no' his favourite duty, and best left to his father the Chief.

  "I remember. They lay there and do nothing, I get all the work of it, they say 'Thank ye kindly, milord' and go on home to their husbands. Do ye no' want to take care of it yerself?"

  "Take my word on this one, Ranald, she will be a treat for ye. She's Ginny's cousin who has wed Archie the Swordmaker. Ye'll be easy on her, son. She is two-and-twenty now and far from home. Try no' to upset her, aye?"

  Head birling with trying to keep up with marriages planned and marriages done deeds, Ranald could only think of the Swordmaker. Archie would choose his woman well.

  "I'll do it, then, and I thank ye for the privilege, father. All the better that she has some years on her. She'll be fine with me."

  "Good man!" said Sir Thommas. "Away while you can still manage the stairs, and dispense with yer fire afore ye meet the Lady Elinor. Ye have time for yer duty and a maybe even a bit of sleep afore Hall."

  As he strode along the corridors, Ranald paused briefly to receive welcomes from servants and gratitude for the safe return of their menfolk. But his thoughts were far off at a castle siege where Sir Alain Douglas had left him for dead. Only his clansmen had saved him, having already lost six of their own men.

  Sir Alain's treachery had bitten him on the arse, for he was killed later in the siege when none of the clan soldiers would attempt his rescue.

  He'd best keep his words in check at supper with Douglas's widow. None of it was her fault.

  First he must welcome a bride come into his clan – and cool his temper if he were to do it properly.

  He recalled the many times he'd had a lass under the Lord's Right of the First Night, and went through the rules in his mind. As ever, when he thought of the duty, he recalled Sir Thommas's schooling on the subject. It had sounded more like a lesson in military tactics as he walked up and down his line of sons, well away from eavesdroppers on a grassy part of the seashore.

  The brothers laughed for days at their father's lecture on the finer points.

  "First ye must check for the pox if she's no' from MacKrannan lands, as ye would check for the plague in yer prisoners. We're wanting none of that here.

  "If she's clean... well, then, ye're out for surrender, lads! See now, the simplest way to besiege a castle is just bribing the guards, and ye'll get right in with no blood spilled till ye're inside. The castles we speak of here are helpless, for well they know they must surrender sometime, but I tell ye, lads, there will be NO FORCE USED by any MacKrannan, ye hear? This is to show them the way of tupping, no' to put them off it."

  Ranald and his three brothers had to swear oath to that.

  "Even when they say 'Aye, come in', there is a portcullis that is stuck shut, and ye must use yer battering ram to break through it as gentle as ye can manage. And then the castle is yours and only a wee bit of bloodshed near the opening. And if ye keep working yer battering ram the right way beyond the gate, the castle will be begging for ye to stay as long as ye wish."

  The brothers had no experience with virgins, but come the time they needed it, their father's advice proved useful.

  "Give her a good ride and show her the work of it all. And bring her to bliss if ye can, for it sends them home contented to their husbands. And ye need no' spend in her unless ye so choose, but if ye do, make sure and tell the Bard to take note. That way we'll ken her first bairn may be one of our own, and the obligation met for its upkeep."

  There was seldom any doubt about a child born from the Lord's Right, for the men of the MacKrannan bloodline were all black-haired and dark-eyed and towered above the clansfolk. The Bard kept strict genealogical records. Different arrangements were made for any bride descended from a Lord's Right child, for it would not do to turn the clan savage with interbreeding.

  Sir Thommas did no' lack confidence in his own abilities.

  "Ye'll be civilized about it. This is a Duty, no' just a way to get an easy tup. It's sweet words and kisses ye'll be using to open a lassie's gates. Keep your cock up yer kilt till the candle burns low, and if she's no' whimpering and fetching it out for herself by then, shout me in for further instruction."

  Ranald had little inclination for it. All brides were of other men's choosing, served up free as meat on a dish and with none of the fun in hunting it down. Fair as most were, others were not so.

  He'd just caught a fisherman's ruddy-faced wife sighing at him at the harbor, her with two bairns at her feet and another in her belly, and she was far from being the only local lass who remembered what he'd rather forget.

  The Lord's Right was a duty to be done, and little more. Sir Thommas had perfected his ancestors' art. It was enough for Ranald to perform it in the prescribed manner. When his time came as Chief, he might take more interest yet it was no' always as enjoyable as some might believe. He was mightily careful of which lassies he spent in, lest he be tied to them by the bairn the rest of his life.

  He thumped the wall with a closed fist, then turned to rehang the candle sconce that his massive shoulder had dislodged in his ill-tempered passing. He'd no' had a woman in well over a month, was too tired to be bothered with a timid virgin now, and was sorely tempted just to take quick ease with this Meredith and send her straight home.

  Ach, but she'd tell the story of it, and where would that get him?

  The lass Ranald found sitting in his chair was bare-footed in a chemise. Handsome aplenty she was, though, with her hair loose and shining in the fireglow, the color of his favorite brood mare. There she sat, looking small and lost among his collection of armoury that her new husband Archie had made long before knowing her.

  He espied her robe already discarded onto the bed atop the turned-down covers. Always a safe sign of willingness, that. He could hurry matters along.

  She arose to curtsy as proudly as her scant attire would permit. His array of swords, axes, dirks and sgean dhus, all mounted behind shields the worse for battle, suddenly looked out of place on the wall behind her.

  "Archie's done well for himself," he remarked distantly, more to himself than to the lass. "Long life and good fortune to ye both, Meredith," he said, making the effort to smile at her.

  She cast her eyes down, nibbling her lower lip appealingly. A silent one, thought Ranald, glad of it this day, for he remembered some needing their chatter stilled so he could on with the job.

  It was as well to get the first sight of him over with early. He quickly stripped himself of his boots, shirt and great-kilt, glad he'd at least had a swim off the boat's side this morn – more to keep himself awake for one more day than for any notion of cleanliness. But he'd had no chance to shave. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, wondering if he should take the time.

  The hell with it. The growth was a month's worth and past the bristles stage that would maul this lassie's fair skin.

  He caught her wide-eyed look at his body. There were some old injuries to be seen on it, same as on all who survived the battles he'd fought. She'd have no need to worry about that with her husband Archie, for the swordmaker only used his weapons when testing them out.

  To turn her mind back to herself he lifted the chemise over her head in a swift flurry of linen, loosing her hair to fall down her back well past the slim curve of her buttocks.

  His well-used softener of "My, ye are so bonnie!" had lost none of its effect, for as well as the typical modest blush at his words, Meredith looked him boldly in the eye and parted her lips.

  A kiss she seeks. With practised fingers, he moved her lips around to check her teeth firs
t. All there, pretty, and verra clean. He gathered her into his chest.

  Always he had to let them get used to his height first, the breadth of his shoulders, the part of a man they'd seen only on infants, if at all – that part which now pulsed in the midst of them, enticed into a comforting fullness by the scent of the meadow in her hair.

  Feeling her shiver, he cradled her head in his hands and stroked her face, bending his head down to murmur, "Ye’ve been told what we're about, lass, have ye?"

  "Mmmm..." she murmured, so softly he would have been unsure but for her nodding.

  "And that ye must tell me if there's anything ye do no' like, and we can do it different?"

  Another nod. Ranald went straight in, anxious to get to the bit where he could lie down on his bed, yet surprised to find how enjoyable the kissing was.

  No chore, this! Archie is the lucky one, for his bride is sweet and willing.

  He moved a hand under her hair and began stroking her back, feeling her taut muscles relax under his long fingers. Within minutes a moan came against his lips, and he felt her fingers tremble on his shoulders.

  Another surprise came for him by the urgency looming in his groin, and he moved his work round to her tits to hurry things along. Exhaustion made him fumble a bit, though she seemed to like it fine, and his cock was far from ready to let him sleep.

  He picked her up and deposited her on his bed, reaching again for her tit and taking one rosy nub into his mouth and suckling harder. Her breathing turned fiercely needful and her hands all over him, clutching and petting just as his own.

  This one's maidenhead is long gone. She'll be wanting it all.

  Brides past the age of twenty were often desperate to have his intrusion quick, lest their new husbands find out they did not arrive virgin. None seemed to realise that the findings were recorded anyway, that books in the castle's Vault held the secrets of every maidenhead in the Lord's Right, whether they be present or absent.