Dunollie Castle perches on a 90 foot outcrop of rock about a
mile outside the beautiful town of Oban in Argyll, Scotland—one of my favorites.
A castle stood here many centuries before the town existed. Dunollie (from the
Gaelic
Dùn
Ollaigh) was the home of kings and chiefs and was a center
of politics and trade. The hilltop where the castle sits was occupied even in
prehistoric times. Excavations show that a fort sat on the site during the Bronze
Age. This was one of the capitals of the Kingdom of Dál Riata in the 7
th
and 8
th centuries. Kings of the Cenél Loairn tribe ruled over the
area of what is today called Lorn.
 |
| View of Dunollie from the ferry. |
We visited Dunollie in July 2013. First we took a tour of the 1745 House which is set up like a museum. I'll do a post on it later. After leaving the house, we walked up a trail behind the house to the hilltop where the castle sits. It's a really nice walk, though steep in places.
 |
| Trail leading from the 1745 House up to the castle. |
The Irish annals record that Dun Ollaigh was attacked or
burned down three times, in 686, 698 and 701. According to the records, it was
rebuilt in 714 by Selbach mac Ferchair who at the time was King of Dál Riata
and who had destroyed the site in 701. Experts say this early fortification was
abandoned sometime after 900.
 |
| Memorial to Alexander James MacDougall in the castle's courtyard. |
Dunollie is known as the primary seat of the
MacDougall Clan. The MacDougalls were a significant force in Scottish history
and at one point, are said to have owned a third of Scotland.
When Somerled, King of the Isles, died in 1164, Dunollie
passed to his eldest son, Dugall. It became the seat of the Clan MacDougall,
with the chiefs titled the Lords of Lorn. The MacDougall Clan, one of the most
ancient clans in Scotland was, at that time, the most powerful clan in the
Western Isles of Scotland. They were also appointed overlords of the Norse
territories of the Isles. Known as kings, Duncan and Ewan held much power from
Dunollie to the Outer Hebrides. They held most of Argyll and the islands of
Mull, Lismore, Jura, Tiree, Col and many others.
 |
| View from the courtyard of the road and shoreline below. |
 |
| Detail from a sign on the site. |
The first five MacDougall chiefs built eight castles around
the Argyll mainland and the islands. Alexander, the 3
rd chief, was
married to the sister of John Balliol, who became the King of Scotland from
1292 to 1296. This proved to be the MacDougalls' downfall when the Balliols
lost their supremacy to Robert the Bruce.
 |
| Click to enlarge. |
 |
| Detail from a sign on the site showing how the castle probably looked in its heyday. |
When the MacDougalls came into conflict with Robert the Bruce in 1308
at the Battle of the Pass of Brander, they lost their lands and power. Much of
it was given to the Campbells. Though the MacDougalls didn't recover all their
territory, they were still an important clan, involved in national politics and
various causes. The MacDougalls regained Dunollie and some other estates in the
late 14
th century.
 |
| This is me in the cellar or basement of the castle. It has a vaulted ceiling. |
The keep measures approximately 39 feet by 37 feet on the
outside. The walls are between 9 feet and 11 feet thick. This vaulted ground floor
room might have been used for storage. There are traces of two slit windows
looking into the courtyard.
 |
| The stairs leading to the upper floors. |
Thanks for visiting Dunollie with me! Next time, I'll show you more of the interior of Dunollie Castle and share more history. :)
Vonda
Known for his wicked wit, fierce loyalty, and skills in battle, Robert "Rebbie" MacInnis, the Earl of Rebbinglen, loves freedom and has no plans of marrying anytime soon. But when his father, a powerful Scottish marquess, signs a contract betrothing Rebbie to an earl's young daughter, he is furious. If he has to marry, he's determined to choose his own bride, though he has no inkling who he would wish to wed until fate intervenes to remind him of one fair-haired, nameless beauty and the passionate night they spent together years ago. A night forever etched in his memory.
Lady Calla Ferguson, a penniless widow with a young son, is forced to seek employment as her cousin's companion in order to pay her late husband's massive gambling debt. Having been ignored or mistreated most of her life, Calla has become a resourceful survivor who will stop at nothing to get what she wants—safety and security for her son and herself. Wealthy merchant, Claybourne cares little for the money the Earl of Stanbury owed him; he simply wants the earl's beautiful, voluptuous widow and he'll do whatever it takes to get his hands on her, even kidnapping and blackmail.
When Rebbie happens upon Claybourne abducting Calla, he rescues her and hides her in a secluded castle deep in the wild Scottish Highlands. Calla conceals her passionate spirit beneath reserve and duty, along with closely-guarded secrets which, if exposed, could ruin both her life and her son's. Years ago, she lost her heart to a dark-eyed stranger she never thought to see again, but now he's her protector. Rebbie craves another pleasurable night like the one they shared in the past, and she cannot resist the fiery passion that echoes deep in her heart and soul. Soft but strong, Calla sparks within Rebbie a desperate hunger and a need to protect her. But will her secrets tear them apart?
Wearing his belted
plaid kilt, Rebbie stepped out of the Breakstane Inn and approached his saddled
horse where the groom from the livery stable held him. He secured his clothing
behind his saddle. Dreading the trip to Draughon and the conversation to come
with Barclay, he hoisted himself into the saddle.
A scream sliced through
the air.
"What the
devil?" His gaze scanned the village.
Down the street, in
front of the livery, a man carried a kicking, screaming woman into the stables.
"Hold him,"
Rebbie said to the groom, then leapt off the horse and ran forward, determined
to help her, whoever she was. She wore a black cloak and cowl but a lock of
blond hair slipped free. Given her petite size, the woman looked like… Nay, it
couldn't be.
Calla?
He withdrew his sword
and charged into the stables.
"Release her, you
whoreson!" Halting, Rebbie squinted into the dimness, waiting for his eyes
to adjust.
"This is none of
your concern, Highlander." The man's voice grated from the shadows.
Rebbie now easily
discerned the man's gangly silhouette. He held Calla, his hand over her mouth
muffling her protests. Her eyes wide with terror, she kicked and elbowed her
captor, but he didn't loosen his hold.
"Release Lady
Stanbury or I will cut you down where you stand!"
Laughing, the man
shoved Calla into one of the stalls, latched the door, then drew his
basket-hilt broadsword.
"Rebbie!"
Calla rattled the door as if trying to open it. "Nay! Watch out!"
"Have no fear.
I'll get you out," he told her. "Once I kill this whoreson."
Claybourne charged and
thrust the blade, but Rebbie easily deflected his blow. The man was tall and
thin, dressed in well-tailored dark brown breeches and doublet with an expensive
collar at his neck. Obviously, some sort of laird. Rebbie struck out, his blade
nicking the man's arm through his fine doublet. Blood soaked the exposed white
linen of his shirt.
The man flicked a
glance down at his arm. "Bastard!"
Rebbie sent him a malicious
grin and sliced again but the man dodged back.
"Hastings!"
the knave yelled through the wide, open doorway toward the street.
Och.
So he needed backup, did he?
Rebbie pressed his
attack and the man fled the stables. Rebbie ran to the stall where Calla was
confined and opened the door. "Are you well?"
"Aye."
"What the devil is
going on?"
Tears glinting in her
eyes, she shook her head. "Is he gone?"
"He ran outside.
Come. I must get you back to Draughon." He offered his elbow and she slid
her hand around it. "What are you doing here alone?"
"I'm not alone.
The driver, maid, and guard are with the coach down the street," she said,
her voice shaky. "I came to pick up Lady Elena's dress."
He didn't have time to
ask what she was doing so far from the coach and the others in her party.
Wielding his bloody-tipped sword, Rebbie glanced this way and that as he led
her from the stables. On the muddy street, at twenty yards, the whoreson stood
talking to another man. Almost a half-dozen others stood behind him.
"Grab her!"
he yelled and charged forward with the rest of his men.
"What the
hell?" Rebbie muttered and rushed Calla to his horse. Why were these men
after her? He didn't have time to ask questions. After sheathing his sword, he
lifted her into his saddle and leapt on behind her. He headed the horse toward
Draughon, but when he rounded the bend at the edge of the village, several
armed men on horseback waited in the road, too many for him to best alone while
protecting Calla.
Rebbie drew his sword
and slashed at the first man to approach. The blade sliced his forearm and he
fell back, screaming. The other men on horseback formed a barricade across the
road leading to Draughon, swords drawn. With Calla on his horse, he couldn't
risk riding head-long through them. She could be grievously injured or killed.
His only other
alternative was a well-worn trail leading to the right. Mayhap he could circle
around to Draughon. He guided Devil in that direction.
"Stop them!"
the whoreson yelled behind them.
Holding Calla tightly
before him, Rebbie urged the stallion into a breakneck gallop across the moor.
The horse relished a good run anyway. Rebbie tried to figure out how to circle
back to Draughon Castle, but then he remembered that the River Tay lay in their
path. The bridge was further back. Damnation. Now what was he going to do? With
all the rain, the river was too deep and swollen to wade through.
He glanced back at the
dozen or more pursuers in the distance. "Hell," he growled through
clenched teeth. Why were they so determined to capture Calla?
As they crossed a
grassy field, Rebbie gave the horse his head. Devil leapt a stone dyke, then
galloped along another muddy road. He followed it northwest for a mile or two.
Moments later, he slowed Devil, not wanting to lather him, and glanced back.
The whoresons were nowhere in evidence, but Rebbie still had to keep ahead of
them.
Or mayhap he could
outsmart them.
A thick wood lay ahead.
The dark green leaves would provide good cover. He directed the horse into the
trees, hoping to hide while their pursuers rode by. Then, they could double
back and head south again toward Draughon.
Devil's breath whooshed
in and out. 'Twas the only sound within the quiet forest, but not loud enough
for anyone approaching to hear over their own horses' hoof-beats… if anyone
should appear.
Rebbie focused on the
road he could see through the branches, but the sweet floral scent of Calla's
unbound hair wafted up his nose, distracting him.
"Did he hurt
you?" he asked her.
"Nay. I thank you
for rescuing me." Her soft, feminine voice grabbed at something within
him, making him want to protect her with every last ounce of strength he
possessed.
"I'm glad I was
there to help." He couldn't imagine what the knave would've done to her if
he hadn't shown up. Raped her? Killed her?
None of the bastards
passed by on the road beyond the wood. He listened for hoof-beats in the
distance, but all was quiet.
"Where the devil
are they?" Rebbie grumbled. "No doubt lying in wait for us to return.
How would he know we need to get to Draughon Castle?"
When Calla didn't
respond, he frowned, growing more and more curious. "Who is that bastard?
He's a laird, is he not?"
Calla nodded and turned
toward him a bit. "A wealthy merchant. Edward Claybourne. But, aye, he
owns land."
"And why is he
trying to abduct you?"
Her back to him, she
faced forward again and dropped her head, as if she were staring down at her
hands.
"Come now, Calla.
Tell me," he said gently, eyeing her lush flaxen curls, wanting to bury
his hand in them and experience the softness of her.
He hadn't asked if he
could call her Calla, but given their past intimacy, he thought 'twas not out
of the question. And he certainly wanted her to call him Rebbie.
She turned her head,
her profile clear. "Claybourne and my late husband often gambled. Stanbury
lost everything he owned—which wasn't entailed—to him and grew deeply in debt
before he died. I've been repaying Claybourne, but 'tis not enough."
"'Slud!"
Rebbie shook his head, his heart sinking, just imagining the horrible situation
she was entangled in. "What a bastard." Both her husband and
Claybourne.
She nodded.
Hell. That had to mean
Calla was penniless, then. That was why she was working as a companion to
Elena. How could her husband leave her in such dire straits? Had he been daft?
This Claybourne was evidently a piece of work, trying to abduct her because
he'd won everything from her late husband. What an evil-hearted whoreson. He'd
best not touch Calla again or Rebbie would slice him limb from limb. He couldn't
risk riding back south with Calla. He couldn't fight Claybourne's garrison
singlehandedly and still protect her.
Her feminine scent, a
blend of roses and lavender, teased his nose. Damnation, but she was
bewitching. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair and breathe her in. She
would of a certainty think him mad. He would also love to smell the delicate
skin of her neck, then kiss her there. Taste her. Hell. He almost growled the word.
"We'll ride
northwest." Rebbie needed to distract himself from her allure and focus on
how best to keep her safe.
"Where will we
go?" she asked. Despite the dangerous situation, he found himself liking
the sound of we coming from her lips.
Was he daft? There was no we.
"I have a small
castle deeper in the Highlands," he said. "Tummel Castle, about forty
miles from here…"
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