During the Covenanter Wars, Cromwell's troops garrisoned the
castle. The Marquis of Argyll captured the castle in 1644 but it was returned
to the MacDougalls in 1661. During the 1700s, the Jacobites brought an end to
Dunollie Castle as the clan's main residence. The castle was forfeit to the
crown and fell into ruin. In 1745, a new house was built nearby, using stones
from the castle, its buildings and courtyard. The house was completed in 1753.
Since then, the castle has been repaired many times. The 12
century core is difficult to see because of later additions. Dunollie is
architecturally and historically important and has features more common to
Irish castles. The main tower is dated to 1450 and was restored in the late 16
century by Dougall and his son, Duncan. They were considered to be ruthless and
ambitious chiefs. They also built Gylen Castle on Kerrera. The ruin has been
repaired at various times, such as during the 1920s and again in 1976. There
has also been a recent repair program.
A sign on the site reads: "In medieval times, there
were no roads on land and travel was hard. Argyll was a great sea kingdom, and
Dunollie commanded or observed the fleets of galleys which brought invaders and
trade, brides and dowries, funeral processions out to Iona."
The castle had an East and West Range outside the keep for such things as a
great hall, kitchens, service quarters, guest rooms, etc.
A staircase set into the thickness of the wall leads from the ground floor to the first floor which would have been the Lord's Hall or living quarters. Originally, the main access to the first floor was probably an external wooden stairway or ladder which could've been pulled up or destroyed in times of danger or siege. The hall is now open to the sky but there originally there was a floor above this one for bedchambers for the chief and his family. When viewing the two levels of windows, you can visualize where the floor would've been.
A sign on the site reads: A glimpse of the life and hospitality of medieval Dunollie appears in an old story. "MacDougall of Lorn… kept a dining table that was called a public table where anyone might sit and take their meals. Anyone could go every day and eat their fill at the public table of MacDougall throughout the year, without being asked who they were, or what their name was."
The castle overlooks a narrow straight between the mainland
and the island of Kerrera, which is also owned by the MacDougall Estate. From here, the inhabitants kept an eye on the galleys and ships entering Oban Bay. There
is also a small grassy island called Maiden Island.
Thank you for taking a tour of Dunollie Castle with me! Next time, we'll visit the 1745 House.
Though
Calla delays as long as possible, she finally meets Rebbie again. Up to this
point, they've had no opportunity to talk about the past or the night they
shared. Rebbie is determined to change that.
The céilidh was underway and Calla sat at
the high table while most of the others danced to the sprightly music.
Angelique was dancing with Lachlan, although not as boisterously as some of the
others. Their dance more resembled a moving embrace. Very romantic. She marveled
at the love-match they shared.
"'Tis a lively céilidh, is it not?" Rebbie asked,
seating himself in the chair beside her.
Heavens!
Calla's
whole body heated. "Aye," she responded, surprised she got the word
out. Wondering where Elena was, she glanced back over the great hall and found
her dancing with one of the young Drummagan clansmen.
"A lovely lady
such as yourself… why are you not dancing?" Rebbie's deep brown eyes
sparkled. "Surely a dozen men have asked you already."
She shook her head.
"Nay." Was that all she could utter? One word responses? "I
haven't danced in… ages."
"Ha. Don't expect
me to believe that, but 'haps you would honor me with a dance?"
She swallowed hard, her
heart pounding. "Oh." How could she get out of this without him
thinking she was daft? "I'm certain Elena would be jealous if I took you
up on that generous offer."
"I don't see why.
She's danced with every male in the room. Besides—" He cleared his throat.
Calla peered at him,
wondering if he was going to finish the sentence. But he looked annoyed and
glared at the young lady in question. "You are her cousin?" he asked,
his gaze turning friendlier when it met hers.
"Aye, and her
chaperone."
"I see." He
glanced around the room again, then faced her and said in a low voice. "I
need to speak to you in private."
Panic rampaged through
Calla and she could scarce breathe as she assessed Rebbie's obsidian gaze.
Then, unable to withstand the force of it, she glanced away. How could this be
happening to her? She should have known… any dishonesty on her part was bound
to come back to nip at her heels.
"Please."
Rebbie's voice was barely audible above the loud music.
She darted a quick
glance at him to try to discern his thoughts, but his eyes were near impossible
to read. He did not appear angry. Merely… interested? And intense.
"Very well,"
she said.
"Do you ken where
the solar is?"
She nodded.
He stood and bowed,
then headed toward the stairs.
Good heavens! What did
he wish to talk about? That night they'd shared? She inhaled deeply, trying to
dispel the jitters that had suddenly overtaken her entire body. Even her knees
shook as she rose from her seat.
All
will be well. He is not a cruel man. And he doesn't know…
At least, she hoped he
wasn't cruel and vindictive like her late husband. Would Rebbie keep their
secret if she asked him to?
After watching the
dancers for a few moments to make certain Elena didn't notice her following
Rebbie, she sedately strolled toward the stairs. Hopefully, they would think
she was merely retiring for the night.
Her heart pounding, she
ascended the steps and started down the dim corridor, lit here and there by a
candle sconce. Walking as slowly as she could, she tried to calm herself as she
approached the solar. The door was open and, inside, several candles burned
along with a low fire in the hearth. A dark form in his black clothing, Rebbie
stood before it, gazing into the flames, his hand propped on the mantel.
She stepped across the
threshold and halted, knowing not what to say.
He turned. "Lady
Stanbury, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Please, come in." His
businesslike tone helped her relax marginally. Maybe he wouldn't get too
personal after all. Moving toward her, he motioned to the hearth, then bypassed
her and closed the door. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Nay." Saints! Her heart-rate doubled. Was it
fear or excitement? Maybe a little of both.
"Come. Have a
seat." He took her hand and drew her to the chairs near the hearth. He
wore no gloves, and she perversely wished she didn't either. From somewhere
deep in her soul, she craved the warm touch of his skin—something she hadn't
felt in a very long time.
Once they were seated,
she thought he would speak, but he didn't. Instead, he picked up the poker and
stirred the fire's coals, then added two pieces of wood. The fire popped and
crackled, burning a bit brighter.
Her stomach ached with
frayed nerves.
He set the metal poker
aside and glanced at her briefly. "I remember that night," he said in
a low, deep voice.
Her breath stopped and
heat rushed over her. "Pray pardon, I—"
"Nay." He
held up a hand. "Why on earth would you apologize? 'Twas me who was a
rogue and a scoundrel."
"Nay, you were
not." She knew he'd said that because he was a charming gentleman, for she
was the one who'd approached him.
She'd told him she was
a widow back then. A lie. She squeezed her eyes shut. He could easily learn her
husband died a mere five months ago.
"Anyway. 'Tis our
secret," he murmured.
She glanced at him. A
hint of a sincere smile softened his sensual mouth. Was it too much to hope
for… that he would keep their secret? With fathomless eyes, he studied her,
waiting for her response. He could've easily taken advantage of her, forcing
her to warm his bed in exchange for his silence, but thankfully he didn't
appear to be that sort of man.
"I thank
you," she said. "I never imagined… that I would see you again."
"You hoped you
wouldn't, aye?" He lifted a brow, looking none too pleased about that.
It wasn't that she
didn't want to see him again, for she certainly did, dreamed of it every night,
but…. She shrugged. "Under the circumstances—"
"And what were the
circumstances?"
She bit her lip. Could
she tell him the truth, that she had been married at the time? And that she was
an adulteress? Although, not by her own choice. Shame consumed her.
"You don't wish to
say." His voice gentled. "I understand. 'Tis far different for a
woman than for a man."
"Indeed."
"So, 'twas not
something you did often?"
Calla's shocked gaze
flew to Rebbie. "Nay. Of course not."
"I meant no
offense." He could easily tell by her words and actions she was not very
experienced at seducing men, then or now. She blushed almost as much as a
virgin, for heaven's sake. If she were a practiced seductress, she would be all
over him now, wouldn't she? Instead, she would rarely meet his gaze. 'Twas
obvious she was mortified that he remembered the night they'd spent together.
He almost wished she
would do something. Smile at him, touch his arm. Anything. He wanted to see a
glimpse of the lass he'd shared a pleasurable night of unbridled passion with.
He remembered the joy in her eyes and her smile.
Memories from that
night had taunted him all day and now they flooded his mind. He recalled that
her actions had told him she wasn't very experienced. Of course, she hadn't
been a virgin. No widows were, unless their elderly husbands had been unable to
perform. But 'twas obvious to him Calla had never experienced a bedding like
the one he gave her. She had not truly even known how to kiss before he'd shown
her.
He'd been in his early
twenties at the time and bedsport had been one of his favorite pastimes. There
was no way in hades he would've refused such a beautiful lady. Aye, he'd known
she was a lady, but a countess? He hadn't imagined.
"I know what you
must think of me," she whispered, refusing to look at him. "But, nay,
I had not done that before." She shook her head. "You have no idea
how embarrassed I am right now."
"There's no need
to be. I won't be telling anyone." Of course, he'd already told Lachlan,
but he wouldn't breathe a word about it. "I would never think badly of
you. 'Twas just one of those things that happens when two lonely people get
together." Or in his case, sotted on whisky. He was rarely lonely, but
mayhap she had been. And if so, he was glad he'd been there for her. "I
don't regret it. And I hope you don't."
She studied him for a
longer moment. "Nay."
"Good." He
observed her, unsure what was going through her mind, but feeling somehow that
maybe she was starting to trust him a wee bit. "I hope you don't feel I
took advantage of you in a… fragile state."
"Nay. Of course
not. I blame myself."
"There is no
blame. 'Twas a memorable night and I have to admit, I think of it
sometimes."
The color of her face
deepened in the firelight and she again refused to look at him.
"Do you?"
