MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy Read online

  “You mean you are still killing each other?” Rosanna asked.

  “Oh, no, thankfully we have put that aside.” Duff thought of the recent fight he had with Donald, Roderick, and Alexander Somerled, and he chuckled. “But we do still have our moments,” he added.

  “Do you know the history of any of your other ancestors?” Andrew asked.

  “Oh, yes. We have kept an oral history as part of our lives, so much so that I feel I actually know ancestors whom I never met. Duncan MacCallister is an interesting ancestor, but I’m afraid my great-great-grandfather, Duncan, fought against your great-great-grandfather Seamus in your revolutionary war. He was with General Cornwallis at York-town. As a result, he was part of an ignoble surrender. I am proud to say, however, that he fared much better at Waterloo, where Napoleon was defeated. Duncan was a sharpshooter with the 95th Rifles, part of the Duke of Wellington’s army.

  “My grandfather, Alair MacCallister was a brigadier with Sir Harry Smith in India when Ranjodh Singh was defeated. My father was a captain with General Simpson during the Crimean War, at the Battle of Sevastopol.”

  “And you?” Andrew said.

  “Ah, yes, my uniform. I am a captain in the reserves.”

  “You may be in the reserves now, but I know for a fact that you are not wearing the uniform of the Black Watch merely for show,” Andrew said. “You took part in the battle of Tel-el-Kebir in Egypt. That is where you received the Victoria Cross you are wearing.”

  Duff smiled self-consciously. “You have done your homework, haven’t you, Andrew?”

  “I wanted to find out as much as I could about our Scottish cousin,” Andrew said. “And while, admittedly, the bloodlines that connect us have grown thin with succeeding generations, I believe that the spark of kinship can quite easily be fanned into a flame of genuine friendship.”

  “For anyone else, the blood might be too thin at this point to claim kinship,” Duff said. “But not for the MacCallisters. Sure and we are as kin as if ye were my brother.” He glanced over at Rosanna. “And a more beautiful and talented sister I could scarcely envision.”

  Rosanna extended her hand across the table and, once more, Duff raised it to his lips for a kiss.

  After they enjoyed their dinner, Duff took them to the White Horse Pub. Duff was greeted warmly by nearly every customer in the pub. Ian was behind the counter, and he smiled broadly as he saw Duff arrive with Andrew and Rosanna.

  “Ian, my friend, may I introduce to you my kith and kin from New York?” Duff said.

  Ian, who had been drying glasses, put the towel over his shoulder and extended his hand toward Andrew. “Sure and ’tis a pleasure to meet the American cousins of my dear friend, and soon to be son-in-law, Duff MacCallister,” he said. He looked toward Rosanna. “And what a beautiful woman you be,” he said. “’Tis no wonder you are so successful in the theater.”

  “Are all Scots so gallant?” Rosanna said.

  Ian laughed. “’Tis our way,” he said.

  “Where is Skye?” Rosanna asked. “I must meet my cousin’s fiancée.”

  “She is there waiting on yon table,” Duff said, pointing her out.

  “Oh, my,” Rosanna said. “What a beautiful young woman she is. Duff, I can see why you are so smitten with her.”

  “As can I,” Andrew said. “What I can’t see is why she should be smitten with you.”

  Andrew’s jibe drew a laugh as Ian put mugs of ale on the bar in front of each of them.

  Andrew reached into his pocket for money, but Ian held up his hand. “This is on the house,” he said. “Surely I can furnish a beer to m’ own cousins now, can’t I?”

  “Cousins?” Andrew said. He looked at Duff. “Did I not go far enough in my genealogy research?”

  “We aren’t cousins yet,” Ian said. “But when my Skye marries Duff, ’tis cousins-in-law we shall be.”

  Andrew chuckled. “I suppose that is true, isn’t it?”

  Skye returned to the bar then and was introduced to Andrew and Rosanna.

  “’Tis most pleased I am to meet such famous theater people,” Skye said with a little curtsey as she greeted the pair.

  “It is true that we strut and fret our brief hour upon the stage,” Andrew said. “But thus far, fame has eluded us.”

  “He is being modest, Skye,” Duff said. “You should have seen the high esteem in which they were held by the people of Glasgow when I visited there to see their show.”

  “The people of Glasgow were uncommonly kind,” Rosanna said. “Certainly they treated us with more deference than we deserve.”

  “I think not,” Skye said. “I read of you in our newspaper. I have the article here.” Skye reached under the bar, then pulled out a newspaper that was carefully folded to display the article that held her interest.

  She began to read:

  Campbell’s Musical Saloon has occasioned many theatricals and musicales of note, but rarely have the boards been so crowned as to be trod by that magnificent pair of thespians, Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister. Brother and sister they, the MacCallisters, have long been the object of attention and admiration in New York. Should one be fortunate enough to attend a performance in which these two appear, they will indeed regard the evening of entertainment as time well spent.

  She put the paper down. “If the paper writes that of you, then you are truly famous.”

  “You read very well, young lady,” Andrew said. “You would make a fine thespian yourself.”

  Skye blushed at the flattery.

  At that moment Sheriff Angus Somerled came into the tavern and much of the laughter and conversation grew quiet as he stood just inside the door, perusing the place with dark and brooding eyes.

  “Skye, lass, see if we can be of service to the sheriff,” Ian said quietly.

  Skye approached the sheriff, then curtseyed. “Sheriff, may we serve you?” she asked.

  Sheriff Somerled looked over at Duff, then pointed at him.

  “Is it true that, last week, you fought with my sons for no reason?” he asked.

  “That is not true,” Duff replied.

  “How can you say it is not true when with my own eyes I saw the bruises you inflicted upon them?”

  “I am not saying that I didn’t fight with them,” Duff said. “What I dispute is that I fought with them for no reason. I fought with them because they attacked me.”

  “There are three of them and but one of you, yet they are the injured ones. Would you be tellin’ me, Duff MacCallister, that they attacked you first, and yet you bested the three of them? Because that I am not believing.”

  “You should believe it, Sheriff, for Duff is speaking only the truth,” Ian said. “All who were here that night will bear witness to the fact that your sons attacked MacCallister.”

  “Aye, Sheriff, ’tis true enough,” one of the other patrons said. “Your sons started the fight.”

  The sheriff said nothing in direct reply, but a blood vessel in his temple began to throb, a visual display of his anger. He looked at Andrew and Rosanna.

  “Are you the theater people I have heard about?” he asked.

  “I don’t know if, or what you might have heard of us. But it is true that we are theater people,” Rosanna replied.

  “Why dishonor yourselves by standing with one who is known to be a brigand?” Angus Somerled asked.

  “Duff MacCallister is my cousin,” Andrew replied. “Were he at the gates of hell, I would stand by him.”

  “You make claim that he is your cousin?”

  “Aye, of the self-same blood as Falcon MacCallister, he who defeated your ancestor at Glen Fruin,” Andrew said, perfectly adopting the Scottish brogue.

  “Ochh. It is worthless you are, the lot of ye,” Sheriff Somerled said as, spinning on his heel, he left the tavern.

  “And it is good riddance to ye, Angus Somerled!” Ian McGregor called out after the sheriff left. It wasn’t loud enough for the sheriff to hear, but it was loud enough for all in the
pub to hear, and they laughed out loud.

  Two days later, Duff came to Glasgow to tell his cousins good-bye.

  “We have had a wonderful visit,” Rosanna said. “Especially so since we met you and were able to reconnect our family after all these years. And how wonderful it was to meet Skye. She is such a delightful young lady. I am sure the two of you will be very happy.”

  “Thank you, I am sure we will be as well. And I enjoyed meeting both of you,” Duff said. “It was an interesting experience, finding out what happened to those of my family who went to America.”

  “You should come to America as well,” Andrew said. “Yes, come to America after you have married, and bring your bride with you.”

  “Perhaps I will,” Duff said. “I would like to see America, and I would like Skye to see it with me.”

  “But if you come, you should come to live, not just to visit,” Andrew said. “You would love it in America, and Americans would welcome you. We are that kind of people.”

  “I have land here,” Duff said. “If I were to come to America, how would I live? I have no land there.”

  “Land is easily acquired,” Andrew said. “We have so much land in America that we give it away. It is called homesteading. All you have to do is move onto a piece of unoccupied property, work it, and file a claim. Then it becomes yours.”

  “Aye, that is an interesting proposition, but Skye still has her family here. I think it might be difficult to persuade her to undertake such an adventure.”

  “Perhaps not as difficult as you may think,” Rosanna said. “Skye strikes me as a young woman with an adventurous spirit. She may want to come. But, whether you come to visit or to live, you must spend some time with us.”

  Chapter Four

  White Horse Pub

  A large banner stretched across the top of the mirror behind the bar. The banner was festooned with flowers and bore the words:

  CONGRATULATIONS TO

  CAPTAIN DUFF TAVISH MACCALLISTER

  AND SKYE MCGREGOR

  Ever since he arrived at the pub earlier this evening, customers had been coming up to him, congratulating him on the fact that tomorrow he and Skye were to be married.

  “’Tis the surprise to me that after twenty days of posting banns, not one person came up with a reason why a scallywag such as yourself is nae fit to marry with the lovely and sainted Skye McGregor,” one of the customers said.

  “Here, here,” another called and all laughed.

  “’Tis teasin’ you I am, Duff, for sure’n I can think of no one better to be the groom of our fair Skye. Lads, charge your glasses,” he called, holding his mug aloft.

  The others rushed to have their own mugs and glasses refilled.

  “To Captain Duff Tavish MacCallister, long may he live and many a fine son may he sire!”

  “MacCallister!” the others in the pub shouted.

  Skye wasn’t here. In fact, as of one week ago, she no longer officially worked in the pub, but because her father owned it, and she had made many friends among his customers, she still came around.

  “She is at home with her mother,” Ian explained. “Evidently there was some last-minute emergency with the wedding dress. And if ye dinnae realize it yet, m’lad, you will soon enough—women can find more last-minute emergencies than you can ever imagine. You’ll just have to put up with it and continue to love ’em.”

  “That I can do,” Duff said.

  “Tell me, m’lad, have you heard anything from your cousins since they returned to America?” Ian asked.

  “I got a nice letter from them a few days ago, wanting me to thank everyone for the hospitality they were shown while they were here,” Duff said.

  “You got the letter a few days ago and you are only now getting around to thanking us? Pray tell, lad, what has kept you so long?”

  Ian was teasing Duff because for the last three days Duff had been busy preparing for the wedding by renovating his house to make it more habitable for Skye.

  “I meant to, but I got so . . .” Duff started to say, then when he saw the wide grin on Ian’s face he knew he was being teased. “I just didn’t get around to it.”

  “Well, it was easy to be hospitable to the likes of them,” Ian said. “You must be proud of them, being as they are kin, and all.”

  “The truth to tell, Ian, is that we are not that much kin. I had never even heard of them until Andrew sent me the letter. But they are good people, and ’tis proud I am to claim kinship with them. I very much enjoyed the time I got to spend with them while they were here.”

  Ian glanced up at the clock, something he had done several times over the last few minutes.

  “Are you that anxious to close for the night that you have to check the clock every few minutes?” Duff teased.

  “You’ve noticed, have you?”

  “You have looked at the clock so many times ’tis a wonder you haven’t looked the hands right off the face.”

  “’Tis wondering, I am, what might be keepin’ Skye,” Ian said.

  “I thought you said she had gone home because of some emergency.”

  “Aye, but she said she was coming back to help me close. ’Tis ten-thirty already. I’ll be closing at eleven.”

  “No doubt she and her mother found even more emergencies to work on,” Duff suggested.

  “Knowing m’ wife and m’ daughter as I do, I’m sure you are right,” Ian said. “And I think I would rather her be at home than out all by herself, in the dark o’ night.”

  Duff finished his ale and put the mug down. “I tell you what—I will walk the path from here to your house. If she is home, I will tell her to stay there. If I see her, I will walk with her back to the pub.”

  “Thank you, lad. ’Tis a good son-in-law you’ll be makin’ for thinkin’ of my worry like that. I must confess it would be a comfort to me to see her come through that door now.”

  “I’ll find her,” Duff promised, and he acknowledged the good-byes of the others as he left the pub.

  It was quite pleasant outside. The night air was soft and warm, but not overly so, and redolent with a faint smell of the sea, as well as the perfume of aromatic flora. From somewhere close Duff could hear an owl, and in the woods, the song of crickets.

  A loud burst of laughter rolled out from the pub he had just left.

  Down the street a baby began to cry.

  A two-wheeled cart, pulled by a single horse, passed by. The horse’s hooves echoed loudly, the wheels whispering softly on the dirt road.

  “No, please, leave me be!”

  It was Skye’s voice, and it came from across the road from beyond the shrubbery.

  “Hold your hand over her mouth,” a man’s voice said. It was low and gruff.

  Duff thought he could hear Skye’s voice again, but this time all she could do was squeak.

  Duff dashed across the road, then through the line of shrubbery. Though it was dark, in the light of the full moon he could see Skye struggling with Donald and Roderick Somerled. The top of Skye’s dress had been pulled down and both her breasts were exposed, the creamy white flesh gleaming in the moonlight. Donald was holding her and Roderick, with a leering grin on his face, was unbuttoning his pants.

  “Let her go!” Duff shouted angrily.

  Startled by Duff’s shout, Donald let Skye go. Then the two men turned toward him. Recognizing him, both smiled, and both pulled daggers from their belts.

  “Well now, if it isn’t Duff MacCallister come like an avenging angel to rescue his woman,” Roderick said.

  “Aye, and himself without a barstool,” Donald added.

  “Or a knife,” Roderick added. “We’ll be settlin’ our scores permanent.”

  “Run to your father, Skye,” Duff said.

  “Duff, they both have knives,” Skye said. She was busy pulling her dress back up to cover her partial nakedness.

  “I’ll deal with them,” Duff said easily. “You get yourself somewhere safe now.”

 
; “Aye,” Skye said, running quickly through the dark toward the pub.

  Roderick made the first move, coming toward Duff with his hand extended, the knife held low. Duff leaped adroitly to one side. Then, with the side of his fist, he clubbed Roderick on the back of his head as he slipped by him. Roderick went down and Duff reached down to pick up his knife. Now, armed, he turned to face Donald.

  Donald made a swipe at him, jumped back, then made a second swipe. On his second attempt, Duff countered, driving the blade of Roderick’s knife in between Donald’s ribs. Donald let out a whoosh as if he had been hit in the solar plexus, then backed up with the knife still in his side. He reached down and pulled the knife out, then covered the wound with his hand as the blood spilled out between his fingers.

  “You . . . you have killed me,” he said, his words strained.

  “You left me no choice, Donald Somerled.”

  Donald took a few steps toward Duff, then he fell to his knees, where he remained but a moment before falling across the prostate form of his brother.

  Roderick, who was just regaining consciousness, groaned in protest.

  When Duff returned to the White Horse Pub to check on Skye, he met Ian just coming out of the bar, holding a club, his face twisted in anger.

  “Duff, Skye said you were in trouble,” Ian said. “I was coming to lend a hand.”

  “Thank you. How is Skye?”

  “She is inside,” Ian said. “The lass is terrified. She said two of the Somerled brothers attacked you with knives. She’ll be glad to see you are well.” Turning, he went back inside with Duff.

  Duff saw Skye sitting at the far end of the bar, with modesty restored, if not composure. She was wiping away her tears.

  “Are you all right, Skye?” Duff asked.

  “Oh, I was so frightened for you!” Skye said.

  “Don’t be frightened for me. ’Tis you I’m worried about. Are you all right?” Duff asked again.

  “They were—they tried to . . .” Skye was unable to finish the sentence. “If you hadn’t come along when you did, I might have been . . .”