Death of a Chief by Douglas Watt sampler

douglas watt was born in Edinburgh and brought up there and in
Aberdeen. He was educated at the University of Edinburgh, where
he gained an ma and phd in Scottish History. Douglas is the author
of a series of historical crime novels set in late 17th century Scotland
featuring investigative advocate John MacKenzie and his sidekick
Davie Scougall. He is also the author of The Price of Scotland, a prizewinning
history of Scotland’s Darien Disaster. He lives in Midlothian
with his wife Julie.
by the same author
historical crime fiction:
Death of a Chief
Testament of a Witch
Pilgrim of Slaughter
The Unnatural Death of a Jacobite
history:
The Price of Scotland
Watt conjures up a pungent atmosphere of darkness and period detail.
the herald
A whodunnit satisfyingly rich in unfamiliar period detail.
morning star
Historical crime doesn’t come much better. Walking the streets of 17th
century Edinburgh has never been so vivid.
liam rudden
Paints the period vividly in a gripping read.
edinburgh evening news
Think Rebus for the 17th century, in a tense mystery.
scottish field
Watt really sinks his teeth into the drama unfolding at the time… Watt is
an intelligent writer. The strength and quality of his writing is maintained
throughout the book, ensuring it remains an intriguing read.
the courier & advertiser
Move over Rebus. There’s a new – or should that be old – detective in
town.
i-on edinburgh on Death of a Chief

This is Ian Rankin meets Sir Walter Scott (but without the academic
monologues): dastardly deeds, men and women with twisted motives,
dynastic struggles, bitter religious factionalism, all leavened with some
hints of romance, but the essence of the tale remains the mystery of
MacLean’s death and its unravelling… a rollicking good read.
lothian life on Death of a Chief
Very evocative and atmospheric.
crimesquad on Death of a Chief
Conjures up an Edinburgh which is strangely familiar but also somewhat
different to the present-day city.
edinburgh evening news on Death of a Chief
Conjures up a convincingly dark atmosphere at this cusp of the age of
reason.
the herald on Testament of a Witch
A thoroughly well told and entertaining historical crime drama…
Historical fiction needs to be well researched, but from a reader’s point
of view the results of the research need to be woven into a narrative in
a way that appears effortless. Douglas Watt has succeeded admirably in
immersing the reader in a Scotland very alien to the one we see around
us today. The historical settings and characters feel just right, and the
result is a book which both entertains and informs.
undiscovered scotland on Testament of a Witch
The book is well written, well plotted and the main characters engage
our sympathies from the outset. The murder and detection elements
are woven well into the historical aspects of the book. The descriptions
of how witches were identified and dealt with are both fascinating and
horrifying.
fictionfan on Testament of a Witch
Edinburgh is one of the book’s main characters, and Douglas Watt
has caught the rhythms of the great city – it’s pulsating politics, its
strict religious codes tempered by bawdiness, and its grasping love of
commerce and money.
crimesquad on Pilgrim of Slaughter
Watt skilfully reconstructs the political events of the period and weaves a
convincing mystery around them.
lothian life on Pilgrim of Slaughter

The identity of the murderer will keep you guessing until the very
end and the idea a murderer is on the loose during the turmoil of
the revolution keeps the pages turning. A must-read if either murder
mysteries or history are your thing.
nicky cooper brown on Pilgrim of Slaughter

Death of a Chief
DOUGLAS WATT

First published 2009
Reprinted 2009, 2010
New edition 2021
isbn: 978-1-913025-27-4
The author’s right to be identified as author of this book
under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 has been asserted.
The publisher acknowledges the support of
towards the publication of this volume.
The paper used in this book is recyclable.
It is made from low chlorine pulps
produced in a low energy, low emissions manner
from renewable forests.
Printed and bound
by iPrint Global, Ely
Typeset in 11 point Sabon
by Main Point Books, Edinburgh
© Douglas Watt 2009

To Julie

Trust flattering life no more, redeem time past
And live each day as if it were thy last.
William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585–1649)

death of a chief
prelude
The Battlefield of Inverkeithing
sir lachlan’s eyes rose from the coarsely carved skull on
the gravestone to the grey firth, and then to the black outline
of the city on the horizon. It was over thirty years since he last
stood on this hillside; over thirty years since he stood dripping
with the blood of other men. Memories of the carnage flashed
through his mind – a slaughter beyond all comprehension.
On that day he had witnessed the annihilation of his clan and
the death of his chief. As always the images coalesced into
the cleaved head of his 14-year-old brother. Sir Lachlan had
lost two other brothers that day, but it was always Ruaridh
he remembered – taken before his time. The memory was
agonising despite the passage of so many years.
His thoughts returned to the night before the battle in
1651. The memories of those hours were less painful. For Sir
Lachlan they remained a time of great significance: the last
moments with his brothers; the end of his youth; the beginning
of a dreary labyrinth of survival.
He remembered resting on the ground, surrounded by his
clan. They had travelled all day and the army, a motley host
of different kindreds, sprawled over the fields above the small
burgh of Inverkeithing. The MacLeans ate a light meal, drank
some whisky and listened to their bards recite poems: long,
elegiac panegyrics about their chief and his ancestors, vivid
descriptions of past battles and incitements to fight bravely in
11

douglas watt
the one to come, which would secure the kingdom for King
Charles and bestow honour on the MacLeans of Duart. The
haunting words still held their place in Sir Lachlan’s memory.
Visions of that night came back to him as he stared across
the waters of the firth: the scarred face of the old bard; his
brothers calmly talking to each other; and then the long silent
wait until dawn. Hours later MacLean of Duart and hundreds
of his clansmen lay dead on the hillside above the town, their
bodies hacked to pieces by Cromwell’s army. Sir Lachlan had
fought hard, slashing limbs, cleaving bodies – killing, killing,
killing.
The emotions of the night before returned: fear that had
gripped his stomach like a vice, but also a strange sense of
belonging and an intense joy which had made life for those
few hours before the battle seem soaked in meaning. Nothing
since had come close to those sleepless hours in the pitchblack
Fife night.
He was lost in his memories until the cry of a sea bird
pulled him back to the present and his eyes focused again on
the outline of the city across the firth; a panorama punctuated
by high tenements and kirk spires. His heart sank as he
remembered the reason for his journey. Edinburgh was a bleak
city of lawyers. It represented all that was wrong with his
life. He hated the place and the long journeys there from the
Highlands. He despised the self-righteous advocates, the dour
merchants, the hypocritical ministers in their cold churches
and the foul reek of the streets. How different it had been in
his youth, the days of action when he had fought for his king
against the regicidal monster Cromwell.
He made his way down from the small graveyard on the
hill to join the party waiting for him beside their horses. He
was a tall man of around sixty years with a worn, weathered
face and a periwig on his head, dressed in black cloak and
breeches, a basket sword swinging from his belt. As he
12

death of a chief
climbed onto his horse it was plain that he retained some of
the strength of his youth that had made him such a ruthless
swordsman. The other three men also mounted their horses
and followed Sir Lachlan down the mud track towards the
burgh of Inverkeithing.
Two of them – hair blowing in the wind, dark complexions,
dressed in tartan plaids – barked at each other in Gaelic. The
third, a slimmer version of Sir Lachlan, was, like him, dressed
in black and wearing a periwig.
13

death of a chief
chapter 1
The Apothecary’s Shop
the apothecary sat on a tall stool with his back to the
door of the shop. He carefully measured a small quantity of
liquid in a phial and poured it into a large stone mortar lying
before him on a wooden bench at the back wall. Above the
bench were shelves lined with bottles of different shapes and
sizes, whose multicoloured contents reflected the light from
the two candles which lit the room, casting a rainbow over
the old man’s hands.
As he lifted his head he was just able to determine the
names scrawled on the labels of the bottles, flasks, glasses
and boxes: castoreum, antimonium, Peruvian bark, stribrum,
orange peel, opium, almond oil, helleboris albus, elaterium,
mercury sublimate, arsenic.
His swollen hands reached up to the second shelf and
removed a bottle labelled vitriolum romanum. He poured
a small amount into the mortar and began to grind slowly.
He had repeated this procedure on countless occasions – the
sound of the pestle on the mortar had accompanied his adult
life and he found the process reassuring.
Easing himself slowly off his stool, he made his way
painfully to the shelves where he stored an assortment of
books and ledgers. He screwed up his eyes as he read the
spines. A number of years had passed since he had last made
this concoction and it took a while before he found what
he was looking for. He removed a dusty tome and returned
15

douglas watt
with it to the bench. Having consulted one of the recipes, he
continued his preparation, grinding the mixture down and
inhaling the pungent odour deeply until he judged it just right.
As he did so, a knock on the door startled him. He turned his
head and screwed up his eyes again, trying to make out who
it was through the small glass panes in the door. He would
be closing in a few minutes – he shut his shop at five and few
customers called at this late hour. But he could not make out
who the dark figure was behind the door. Forced to leave his
stool again, he moved slowly across to the front of the shop
until the person could be identified through the thick glass.
He took a long key from his belt and opened the door,
which he usually kept locked – he had in store many valuable
ingredients and these were dangerous times – although not
as bad as some; 1648 had been the worst – plague, war; the
death of his wife and two children. He recalled the appalling
stench of putrescent buboes. Isabel Leitch from his village,
strangled and burned at the stake for witchcraft on the Castle
Hill – the poor misguided creature.
The stranger wore a hooded cloak which obscured the
face almost to the bottom of the nose. He entered the shop
quickly from the vennel outside.
‘How can I help you?’ asked the apothecary.
16

committed to publishing well written books worth reading
luath press takes its name from Robert Burns, whose little collie Luath
(Gael., swift or nimble) tripped up Jean Armour at a wedding and gave
him the chance to speak to the woman who was to be his wife and the
abiding love of his life. Burns called one of the ‘Twa Dogs’
Luath after Cuchullin’s hunting dog in Ossian’s Fingal.
Luath Press was established in 1981 in the heart of
Burns country, and is now based a few steps up
the road from Burns’ first lodgings on
Edinburgh’s Royal Mile. Luath offers you
distinctive writing with a hint of
unexpected pleasures.
Most bookshops in the uk, the us, Canada,
Australia, New Zealand and parts of Europe,
either carry our books in stock or can order them
for you. To order direct from us, please send a £sterling
cheque, postal order, international money order or your
credit card details (number, address of cardholder and
expiry date) to us at the address below. Please add post
and packing as follows: uk – £1.00 per delivery address;
overseas surface mail – £2.50 per delivery address; overseas airmail – £3.50
for the first book to each delivery address, plus £1.00 for each additional
book by airmail to the same address. If your order is a gift, we will happily
enclose your card or message at no extra charge.
543/2 Castlehill
The Royal Mile
Edinburgh EH1 2ND
Scotland
Telephone: +44 (0)131 225 4326 (24 hours)
Email: sales@luath.co.uk
Website: www.luath.co.uk