Tempting the Highlander Page 4
“We could have been there today,” answered the taller and darker haired of the two guides.
Glimpsing the man’s accompanying sneer, Cyric once again wished the escorts traveling with him belonged to the Schellden clan. Then they would be forced to respect him. And it was attaining that very elusive quality that had compelled Cyric to agree to travel north. It certainly was not the desire to be a laird, even if the Schellden clan was as large and powerful as it was purported to be. He had spent enough time in the company of his maternal grandfather to know just how burdensome the position was with petty decisions. But when Robert I’s message came with the possibility of becoming chieftain of his very own family line, Cyric had quickly agreed. It might be the one way—the only way—to get his father to acknowledge him as a man.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Cyric finally countered.
The younger of the two men was about to unleash an insulting Gaelic retort when his comrade kicked him in the shin with a warning. Then with the same dead expression the leader had maintained during the length of their trip, he turned to Cyric and said, “Tomorrow. By midafternoon if you are able to wake up and leave early.” He nudged his horse’s hind flanks and was soon out of speaking distance. To Cyric’s relief, his friend immediately followed.
Cyric didn’t even know their names. He had asked once and the response he received had been less than friendly. What neither man realized was that while Cyric rarely spoke in Gaelic, he did understand it. His mother was the daughter of a laird from a wealthy clan and as her only son, he had access to the best instruction his grandfather could offer, which included languages. And since his father was a Highlander, Gaelic was one of those he had been forced to endure learning.
Cyric had planned to apply his education in other ways. His father’s unique relationship with Robert I as well as Cyric’s close proximity to the king had provided Cyric with many opportunities to mingle and interact with nobles and leaders and listen to their problems. The intricacies of diplomacy and the politics around such decisions fascinated him. Nothing was more exciting than mediating between warring parties, whether they be neighbors, clans, or even family. But the moment he agreed to ride north all dreams of pursuing such a career had come to an abrupt end.
A half hour after the sun had set, the leader of their three-person group pointed at a small clearing, indicating where they were stopping for the night. Cyric grimaced. Another cold night on the ground. In the past hour, he had seen at least three cottages. He suspected any one of them could have housed them for an evening, but neither Highlander had indicated any interest in imposing on someone for even a hot meal.
Knowing better than to argue, Cyric slid off his horse, bent over to stretch his hamstrings and then stood back up, rubbing his lower back. His only comfort was knowing that this would be the last night he would have to spend outside and with men who held him with little regard. By tomorrow evening, he would be in a position of power and his father would finally have to acknowledge him as a man.
While his father had never actually disclaimed him, Cyric knew, even when he was young, that he was a disappointment. For years, he had pretended otherwise, telling himself that while his father was away, he spoke with pride about his son to his friends. And as soon as his mother had let him, Cyric had trained and practiced with the sword, studying with some of the Lowland’s finest personal trainers. As a result, he took great satisfaction in being considered a master by his peers. Unfortunately, they did not include his father.
At nineteen, Cyric learned that Robert I had journeyed back to Ayr to recapture his childhood home. Turnberry Castle had been the very place where Cyric’s parents met and where his father had become lifelong friends with the Earl of Carrick and the future king of Scotland. Hearing of the battle being waged, Cyric had left, against his mother’s wishes, to join the fight. But he had arrived too late. Robert I had achieved success and had driven the English away once again.
The look his father had given him when he galloped in, sword drawn, onto the celebratory scene was one Cyric would never forget. A look of deep shame—as if he had arrived late on purpose. As if he was a coward coming to reap the rewards of someone else’s bravery. Never again did Cyric attempt to join a fight or a battle. And yet the one thing he desired above all others was the opportunity to replace that searing memory. The next time his father stared at him it would be with pride.
Two weeks ago, that opportunity had finally arrived and even though it meant traveling in cold weather, being uncomfortable, and marrying some god-awful Highland girl, Cyric vowed to himself that he would be the next Schellden laird. He would oversee one of the most powerful clans in the western Highlands.
And in doing so, he would at long last gain the admiration of his father.
Chapter 3
Crevan followed his brother outside so they could talk privately in the courtyard. Normally the bailey teemed with activity, but today only a few people were mulling about handling responsibilities that could not be dismissed or delayed to watch the games.
Craig shielded his eyes and looked up at the sky to see where the sun was. “What now?”
“W-we f-find the w-women and prepare to leave.”
“That’s what I was afraid you were going to say. I’m still not too sure why we agreed to this,” Craig growled, not expecting a response. Then seeing a squat, rotund woman exiting the kitchens, he called out, “You! Can you point me in the direction where I might find Ladies Meriel and Raelynd Schellden?”
A slight brow raised and her red chubby cheeks plumped up with a mischievous smile. “Aye, I expects you do. I suppose I can tell ye both since I hears ye are to be married.” Then with a chubby finger, she pointed at the keep adjacent to the gatehouse. “Third floor,” she added before waddling off, but just before she was out of earshot, she began to laugh. No malice was in its tone, but it sent the same sense of foreboding Crevan had been feeling since he saw Schellden standing over him in the stables less than an hour ago.
“How did she know?” Craig whispered in disbelief. “How could she know? We just agreed.”
Crevan gestured at the kitchens from which the woman had come. It and the buttery were adjacent to the Great Hall. “Schellden is w-wasting no time.”
“Mo Chreach!” Craig muttered, and started to march toward the entrance to the keep the woman had indicated. “Nothing is worth this.”
Crevan took the lead climbing up the staircase. They had encountered no one in the keep, but based on the wellused mat outside the door to the third floor bedchambers, that fact was far from typical.
After giving the thick wooden door a single knock, he realized he had no idea how he was going to impart their father’s news to either female. Rae Schellden should be the one delivering such tidings, not them. Bolstering himself, Crevan knocked again, this time much stronger.
“Come in, Ula!” Meriel sang out from the other side.
Craig banged the door with his foot and it swung open. A spacious room occupying at least half of the keep’s third floor came into view. Crevan stepped around Craig and immediately understood what shocked his brother into stillness. The shared bedchamber proved that both women might be identical in appearance, but possessed very different personalities. How they could live amicably sharing the same space was inconceivable.
On one side, the room was tidy, well managed, and while not sparse, not overly decorated. The other side was a disaster, with material strewn everywhere and multiple chests all wide open with a mixture of gowns and undergarments tumbling out. Contraptions of varying size and shape blocked the few potential paths winding through the chaos.
Sitting on the floor in the middle of the mess was a surprised Meriel. “So, did you explain everything then?” Her and Raelynd’s eyes flew to Craig as he usually was the vocal one during social gatherings.
Craig crossed his arms and tucked his hands into his armpits. “Well . . . we, um, we . . . did meet with your father. . . .”
Crevan observed Craig gulp and for a brief moment he felt for his twin brother. The most outgoing of the entire McTiernay family, Craig was quite comfortable being the center of attention, but that was in times of merriment. Like the rest of his brothers, Craig preferred using a sword to handle confrontations. Under the pressure of two pairs of hazel eyes, Craig took a deep breath and blurted, “We four are engaged. At least for the next month. And since Crevan and I are going home today, you both are coming with us. So ready yourselves to leave within two hours.” Craig glanced over his shoulder. “Did I forget anything?”
Crevan shrugged his shoulders. The explanation was brief and would be poorly received, but it did impart the basic message. He hooked his thumb on his belt as he studied the horror Meriel had made of her room. “Pack only o-o-one bag.”
Stunned by the news, Meriel sat unmoving. Raelynd, however, was only temporarily robbed of her voice. “Forget anything?” she yelled at Craig. “How about ‘no’ ! Because that is my answer. Absolutely not! And since that is something obviously neither of you men could manage to say, I will deliver the news to my father myself !”
Crevan’s arm snuck out just in time to catch Raelynd from leaving the room. As usual, he had stood by quietly, letting Craig take the lead with the situation, but his brother had only spent a fraction of the time in the Great Hall Crevan had and therefore knew little about Raelynd’s fiery temper. Her willful moods were well known throughout the castle along with their eventual success. She managed the responsibilities of the Lady of the Castle not through leadership, but through petulance. For most everyone, it had become easier to just agree. Someone who was familiar with Raelynd’s outbursts had to intercede and make clear what was and what was not going to happen over the next month.
Though Raelynd was Craig’s supposed intended, Crevan had no problem intervening if necessary. For the next month, Lady Raelynd was going to live at the McTiernay Castle with him and his family, and he was not about to endure—let alone make others suffer—any of her childish tirades.
“No, you will not,” he gritted out.
Raelynd tugged her arm to try and gain her freedom, but Crevan just squeezed harder until she looked at him and realized he had no intentions of letting her leave. “F-for the next month, you w-will abstain f-from tantrums and you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Meriel with his grip still on Raelynd’s arm, “w-w-will learn how to put things w-where they belong. F-for the f-first time, your f-father is asking you both to put the clan’s interests ahead of your own.”
Meriel’s jaw went slack. Between Crevan’s cutting remarks and his ability to halt Raelynd’s outburst—something no one had ever been able to do or dared enough to try—she was in a full state of shock. Raelynd, on the other hand, was far from stunned. She had heard every word and issued Crevan a withering glance that had no effect. “The clan?” she bellowed. “The clan isn’t getting married. Why us?”
Assured that she knew the futility of trying to leave and find her father, Crevan let her arm go. “A far from surprising question coming from you,” he accused, ignoring the others in the room. As it always did when he was speaking to just Raelynd, his stuttering disappeared, though he had yet to realize it. “I tell you that your clan is in trouble and needs your support and you act like a little girl and think only of yourself. And as to why you, that we have pledged not to say, mostly because your father does not trust how you would react.”
The room became instantly silent. Raelynd stood rigid as if Crevan had physically slapped her. Meriel, feeling the need to rally to her sister’s aid, jumped to her feet and appealed to Craig. “How can you let him say that to her? How do you expect us to act when you come into our bedchambers and tell us that we are to be wed in a month to men who clearly look on the idea of marriage to us with disdain?”
The sincere entreaty compelled Craig to speak. “But we aren’t to be married, just engaged,” he said softly. “Just for the next month, all are to think the four of us are pursuing marital bliss. Then, when your father has handled a situation he has here, we can tell everyone that we have decided not to go through with the plans and part as friends. So you see? There is nothing to be upset about.”
Meriel refused to be so easily persuaded. She looked down at all of her precious materials, tools, and threads. She did not think it possible to live without them for such a long period of time. “But why can we not stay here?”
“At McTiernay Castle my sister-in-law Laurel will be able to help you prepare for the wedding.”
“But why?” Meriel pressed. “If there is not going to be a wedding, then why do we have to prepare for one?”
Craig rolled his eyes in frustration. Crevan was once again forced to answer. He calmly leaned against the door frame, which belied his turbulent emotional state, and said, “If you do not, then no o-o-one will believe that w-we are to be married. And you cannot prepare here,” he quickly added before she could ask, “because too many here on your f-father’s land know you and w-w-would guess the truth.”
Meriel stared at Crevan with disgust. “You better find a way to end this marriage because in a month’s time you are the last person I will ever wed.” A few hours ago both had thought the other to be attractive enough to kiss. Now, each wondered how they were going to muster up the will to pretend to feel something for the other.
Craig, in an effort to decrease the growing tension, laughed and said, “Believe me, Meriel, Crevan and I are even less interested in the idea. Not to you, necessarily,” he said, quickly adding, “but to anyone. In a month, if all goes to plan, all four of us will still be wonderfully, delightfully unwed.”
Raelynd continued to stare at Crevan, who matched her cold look with one of his own. She arched a brow and argued, “If Father just needs us to be away without causing any questions, why not just say we are going with you for a visit . . . why marriage?”
Crevan threw his hands up in the air. “She’s your f-f-future bride. You handle her,” he mumbled.
Craig, flummoxed as to how to answer Raelynd’s simple question, spurted, “You don’t need to understand. All you need to do is pack and be ready to leave in two hours.”
Crevan knew Raelynd was about to erupt once again. Rather than enduring multiple waves of anger, he decided to give her the rest of the bad news immediately so she could expel all her rage at one time. “Call your maid to help you pack, but know this—she w-w-will not be coming w-with you.”
Both women gasped. “But traveling without Father or a chaperone would be highly improper!” Meriel squealed.
“Aye, but the decision stands,” Crevan affirmed, and turned to leave. Before he reached the door, he locked eyes with Raelynd. She glanced at her normally unflappable sister, who was becoming increasingly more tense and knew it was in part because of her. Shifting her eyes back to Crevan, she took a step closer and touched his arm.
Crevan stared down into her troubled hazel pools, pleading with him to find another way, to end the farce and her sister’s anxiety. It was a selfless act he had not expected. “Trust me,” he whispered. “What we four have been asked to do is important, not to just your future, but that of your clan and the Highlanders around you. Your father has an unusual situation that he must take care of and to do so, both of you need to be away for a month. A wedding is the only way he can explain your departure when he has never allowed it before.”
Raelynd held his gaze, and after a moment, nodded, but Crevan knew it was not capitulation he received. It was a promise. Raelynd was no doubt silently vowing to get a full explanation of what was behind her father’s sudden situation. She wanted to know what was serious enough to convince both McTiernay brothers to agree to the insane idea of marriage.
Craig walked to the door and pulled it back open. “One month,” Raelynd said aloud, gaining his attention but still staring at Crevan. “That is all the time you have to end this farce, because if you think I am being difficult now, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Crevan began to follow his brother out the door. Just before he left, he turned and gave Raelynd a wink, completely disarming her in a way for which she was not prepared.
“I cannot believe the laird—your father—is doing this,” Rowena said, sinking down onto Raelynd’s bed. With thick reddish brown hair and matching brown eyes, the only thing that kept her from being a true beauty like her twin distant cousins was the smattering of freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. Still, she was undeniably attractive and was the recipient of a constant stream of suitors. Without Meriel and Raelynd nearby to provide interference and constant emotional support, she did not know what she was going to do.
Raelynd went to her chest but before she bent down to open it, she pointed at her friend and said, “You promise to say nothing? No one can know that we are really not to be married.”
“I already promised you I wouldn’t. I just don’t understand why.”
Across the room, Meriel sank down onto her favorite chest of odds and ends and said miserably, “Neither do we.”
Grabbing a green bliaut, Raelynd placed it beside the rose one on her bed and dithered on if she could bring both with her. She had already selected three other gowns, including the blue one she had put on for travel. One was a deep purple everyday gown and the other was a more elaborate gold one, but the third selection was proving to be more difficult.