“What’s the matter?” Raelynd asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Nothing,” Crevan lied.
Ignoring the fib, Raelynd furrowed her brow in puzzlement. “Well, something is bothering you. You have that same look you have during Father’s parties, as if you are building some kind of wall between yourself and those around you.”
Crevan bristled. That she could read him so easily rankled and caused him to respond both harshly and defensively. “You are a spoiled young girl and know nothing of men, and certainly nothing of me.”
The insult struck hard and Raelynd lashed out, aiming to hurt him as he had hurt her. “I may be just a girl to you, but most men see me as a woman. And while your fellow soldiers may consider you a worthy Highlander, you are far from what a woman desires in a man.”
His knuckles whitened and a bolt of triumph flashed through her. Then she caught his darkening blue gaze for just a brief second and in that moment witnessed a flicker of pain. She had hit her mark, but the satisfaction from doing so had vanished. She had been countering his reference to her young age, but Crevan had interpreted her words differently.
Raelynd tightened her reins and her horse slowed, causing her to fall behind. She wished she could take the insult back, rephrase it, and make it clear that his halted speech had been the farthest thing from her mind. But saying anything now would only come off as pity.
How could she declare that he was more of a man than any other she had ever met and make him believe it? Especially when she had just claimed no woman could even desire him?
Chapter 5
Cyric gnawed on the leg of an animal someone had hunted down and cooked for the evening meal. It was the same fare they had been eating since they had left Perth and he looked forward to the decent meal waiting for him at his uncle’s.
The men beside him were chatting in Gaelic and their conversation was all about home—a nearby clan he remembered hearing his father mentioning with respect. They were impatient to arrive and see their loved ones, but mostly they were eager to relieve themselves of their duty toward protecting him. Hearing such scorn, a violent coughing attack overtook him, almost causing him to reveal his understanding of Gaelic. But he quickly got it under control and was able to keep quiet that he had heard every word. Still, it galled him to know that they believed themselves as not just guides, but guardians. Defending himself was one area in which Cyric felt supremely confident. But that was not something his traveling companions needed to know. Rule one in negotiation—keep as much information as you can to yourself.
Still, their conversation about home did make him ponder on Caireoch Castle, the heart of the Schellden clan and what was to become his new home.
In his youth, he asked any Highlander who came to visit about Caireoch Castle, but no one had ever been there. Some though had heard of it and relayed that it was a castle to make Scotland proud or that it was fitting for a Highlander. When Cyric had asked his father about the place where he grew up, his father just snorted and glared at him as if he was asking for greedy purposes. The one time his father had actually answered the question, Cyric received only a short, terse “Caireoch is not for those who want to be coddled.” His uncle had offered even less of a description, issuing Cyric only a challenge to ride north and see for himself.
For years, Cyric had envisioned the Schellden lands as rich green farmland that stretched over rolling hills with a grand fortress at its heart. Scotland did not possess the large number of castles of England or Wales, but over the past century, many of the wealthier clans had erected strongholds, and Cyric understood his clan to be among the largest and wealthiest clans of the Highlands.
Desperate for conversation, Cyric decided to once again reach out to his temporary comrades. “The meat is delicious. What is it?” he asked in Scot, the language of the Lowlanders and those who lived in the northern parts of England.
“Cum do theanga ablaich gun fheum.”
Cyric blinked at the insult and fought his rising rage. The few times he had tried to engage either soldier, they had replied honestly—just in Gaelic. Tonight, however, answering his question in what they believed to be an unintelligible tongue no longer satisfied their dislike. He was now an idiot ordered to be silent.
Cyric glanced at his horse grazing on the other side of the camp, spying the silver glint reflecting the small fire’s glow. It would be easy to go, pull the sword out of the scabbard, and teach both men a lesson, but he refrained. Physical confrontation should never be a first reaction to a situation, whether it be a man or clan. Such response was that of emotion, not logic, and therefore doomed to eventual failure. Fighting should not be avoided, when necessary, but only used when peaceful solutions were not possible. It was a basic tenet of his father’s and why he was one of the king’s most trusted advisors.
And Cyric knew his father would not consider ignorance—such as these two men’s belief in his limited knowledge of their language—as justification to fight. If anything, his father would call it cowardly.
Swallowing his pride, Cyric took another large bite of meat and reminded himself of his plan. Assured victory might not include respect from his two companions, but it would of the bigger prize—the Schellden clan. He would apply the same diplomatic skills that served him so well in the Lowlands with his new clansmen. And in return, they would accept him—if not admire him—as their next leader.
First, he would secure a position of authority through marriage to one of his cousins. Based on experience, this would be the easiest to execute. Women had always fawned over him, expressing their attraction to one of his many masculine features. Like his father, he inherited the Schellden black hair, size, and etched facial structure, but his golden eyes came from his mother. Of course, his grandfather’s wealth and position helped, but he was losing neither taking over for his uncle.
Cyric threw the meatless bone into the fire and pondered how he would choose between his two cousins, if both wanted to be his wife equally. He knew them to be identical so appearance would not be the deciding factor. This left only personality and he intended to choose the one most accommodating to his needs. Too many times he had witnessed the combative nature of a woman with her husband and he had no desire to be constantly embroiled in one battle or another with his wife.
On the other hand, Cyric hoped his cousins would not be entirely submissive either. In truth, what he desired most was to find someone he enjoyed being with and who felt the same about him. He would care for her and she would see him as her hero. He had yet to play such a role for anyone, but hoped he would be such a man to his wife.
The second step in his plan centered on securing respect from his clansmen. This he intended to quickly achieve by assuming the responsibilities of commanding his uncle’s elite guard. Such a position would enable him to demonstrate his aptitude for leadership as well as his skills with various weapons. By this time, he would have if not all, at least the majority of the clan’s respect, enabling him to execute the final step of his ingenious plan—working with his uncle in making clan decisions and eventually assuming them altogether.
Within three months—maybe even two, his father would have to acknowledge him as a man and finally look at him as a son he respected and not as a disappointment.
How hard could it be?
Chapter 6
Conor dropped his rolled plaid onto the log farthest from the fire, wondering how his brothers could endure the oppressive heat. The campsite was a familiar one often used by Schellden’s clansmen or his own when traveling between lands. The open space nestled between the trees was important when needing protection from the oftentimes bitter Highland winds, but tonight’s breeze was light and did nothing to counter the unusually warm, humid air.
He glanced at the divided group. Craig and Meriel had not stopped chatting since they had begun earlier that afternoon. Conor could not recall his younger gregarious brother ever acting so relaxed in the company of a woman. Craig chased women.
He enjoyed them and was vigilant in avoiding anything more. Nothing that might be misconstrued as a relationship, or even worse, a commitment. Meriel appeared to be the exception.
Conor sat down with a definitive thump, disrupting the garrulous couple as the action caused the log they were using as a seat to shift unexpectedly. Realizing she and Craig were the only two conversing, Meriel reluctantly moved to sit by Crevan and joined the silence.
Conor grunted. The sudden quiet became uncomfortable even to him and he contemplated escaping to the bluff with Hamish, Loman, and the horses. The air would be foul, but a good deal cooler. And while Schellden had not outright asked for him to play the role of chaperone, Conor knew the man had hoped he would. But with these four it was completely unnecessary. Besides, the situation was not one of his making and certainly not his responsibility. More than that—it was doomed.
Both couples were behaving more like strangers with their intendeds than anticipated lovers and if they did not figure out how to better act the part, word would quickly spread doubting the veracity of their engagements. His wife was certainly going to challenge their claims of sudden love. And if they kept the truth silent as Schellden wished, Laurel was not going to be easy to live with for the next month.
Just thinking about what her reaction would be caused Conor to have second thoughts. He had firmly refused to help Schellden with his scheme, but somehow the crafty old man had used Conor’s inaction to his advantage. By not getting involved, Conor had remained silent when Schellden slyly transferred the problem of the women to the McTiernay home. When his brothers had looked to him for advice, he had remained mum. And now, for the next month, he—not Schellden—was going to be running interference between the lie and the truth.
And yet, Conor could not fault his friend.
One only had to sit in the two couples’ presence for a few minutes to know Schellden had been right to remove his daughters as quickly as possible from the discerning eyes of their clan. Crevan sat beside Meriel; opposite them were Craig and Raelynd. And the silence among the four was deafening.
People think Laurel and I are loud, he thought. Admittedly their fights would catch the attention of those nearby, and sometimes one only had to be in the vicinity of the castle to hear them, but he would not change a thing. Not only was every argument thoroughly worth it by the time they finished making up, giving voice to their frustrations was far better than this quiet angst building between his brothers and their supposed future brides.
While Conor loathed to admit it and hated even more the turmoil it was likely to bring, the four of them had only one hope—Laurel. The sudden realization made Conor nearly double over with laughter. Oh, Schellden, you are the cunning one, he said to himself, wiping away the tears that had started to form. Just as Schellden had known Conor would refuse to meddle in the lives of his brothers, the old man was relying on Laurel’s inability to sit back and not interfere.
By sending his daughters to McTiernay Castle, Schellden had issued a silent, but clear challenge. Not to Conor, but to his wife. And the one thing Laurel never did was back down from a challenge. Conor just hoped Schellden fully appreciated what could happen in the next month. Laurel was a natural schemer who tended to plot on her terms—no one else’s. Life was about to get very interesting.
Conor caught the scathing look Crevan was sending his way, but it only served for further amusement. His younger brother rarely revealed his emotional reaction to what was going on around him, acting more like a chunk of ice than a man with feelings. It was good to see Crevan experience something so deeply that he could not hide it within. It was just too bad that it was anger, and not something more fulfilling.
Crevan finally gave up his silent beams of frustrations and stood up abruptly. “Keep your w-w-wits, Craig, f-for our brother here is no longer in control of himself.”
Conor took a deep breath and smiled. “Going somewhere?”
“Aye, to the bluff, and you’re not invited.”
Conor shrugged in mock resignation. “Since I had already intended to go there and keep Hamish company, you are going to need to find another way to cool off.”
Anger spewed from Crevan’s eyes, but he said nothing before pivoting and heading toward the river, the opposite direction of the bluff.
Before Crevan totally disappeared into the dark shadows of the trees, Raelynd sprang to her feet. “I . . . I . . . I need to . . . well, you know,” she said, uncaring that she was obviously lying as she hurried to follow Crevan.
Conor sat there staring into the darkness for several seconds before turning to look at Craig and Meriel, who were also stunned, with mouths gaping open. “Wasn’t that your betrothed following her betrothed?” Conor asked.
Craig raised an eyebrow, clearly mystified by the question as the answer was obvious. “Aye.”
Conor looked back to where both figures had disappeared and then returned his gaze to Meriel. “I . . . I thought Crevan and Raelynd did not like each other.”
Meriel’s green eyes were large and hesitant. “They don’t,” she at last affirmed, before biting her bottom lip.
Conor grabbed his bedroll and rose to his feet. “The four of you are giving me a headache. I’m going to the bluff where it is cool and, hopefully, dull.”
Meriel blinked. “But you can’t leave us alone—”
Before she could finish, Conor stomped off toward the bluff, ignoring her. Based on what he had seen, there was no safer place for the virtues of Schellden’s daughters than with his twin brothers.
Besides, the four of them knew what was in their immediate future if they did not behave—a real wedding.
Crevan trudged through the foliage toward the sound of the rushing river, hoping the cool waters would calm the inner turmoil that had been twisting inside him since that afternoon. It was rare for him to allow his emotions to circle out of control, and that he had only heightened his frustration.
Breaking free of the line of trees, he continued across the rocky shore that became a riverbed during the spring floods, as the mountain snows melted. After a fairly dry summer, the shoreline had receded but the river remained wide and deep enough for a swim. Crevan was just about to free his leather belt and drop his plaid when he heard the crunching of footsteps behind him. He did not need to turn around to know who it was. Raelynd.
Crevan knew her probing eyes were on him, just like they had been all night—green-and-gold-flecked pools, unapologetic, but also ashamed. Neither sentiment gave him any peace. If anything, they just vexed him even more. And the fact that she continued to be able to trouble his thoughts only compounded the tension running unrestrained throughout his body.
His whole life people had made snide comments about him, whether it be his stilted speech or his calm, somewhat aloof demeanor. To some, these flaws made him less of a McTiernay than his brothers. But he had always been able to dismiss their comments. So why would a simple retaliatory statement from a self-indulgent girl wearing a woman’s body needle him so?
Raelynd had always been an enigma, and today was not the first time they had engaged in verbal combat. But never before had what she said or did affected him. He had known her for years and not once in all that time had she given him pause. Raelynd had grown to be quite beautiful, but she was often self-indulgent and therefore, quite easy to ignore.
Until today.
First in her bedchambers when he asked her to trust him and then again later that afternoon. When she had looked at him, she had not just quickly glanced his way, but truly had taken the time to see what others had not, discerning the truth behind his indifferent demeanor. In that instant, his mind had been consumed. No one had ever looked at him like that. It was not with lust or even sexual desire, but her eyes had held something different and far more powerful.
She had peered beyond the surface, deep to the elements of him that he intentionally kept well hidden, allowing no one to see. But somehow she had perceived the truth of him, and what Raelynd saw,
she did not like. No matter how hard he tried to dismiss her comments—her assessment of him as a man bothered him. A lot.
Dreading being the object of her sympathy, Crevan finally said just loud enough for her to hear, “Leave, Raelynd. I cannot ease your guilt.” Then he prepared himself for a weak denial or even an apology. But neither came.
After several seconds, a soft, but anger-filled insult hit him full force. “Tolla-thon. I feel neither compassion nor remorse. I knew we were both still upset and I thought . . .” Her voice trailed off. Seconds of silence followed and he could hear her turn around, but just before she left to return to the campsite, she said, “Never mind. I should have known it would be useless.”
Crevan stood motionless, looking out at the ripples in the moonlit water as he heard her departing footsteps. He knew he should finish stripping and dive into the water, but clearing his thoughts and regaining his composure was no longer a priority. The woman was not going to have the last word, not when it was he who had been wronged!
Retying his belt, he turned from the riverbed, squared his jaw and headed back to camp, plotting their next encounter. First, he intended to rebuke her attitude in general with Conor, Craig, and her sister as witnesses and then take issue with the shallowness of her judgments. Whenever she would attempt a defense, he would cut her off, ending her desire to ever confront him again.
Inwardly applauding his scheme, Crevan emerged into the clearing and came to a sudden halt. With the exception of Raelynd, who was hastily grabbing the plaid Craig had laid out for her, no one was in sight.
Spying his befuddled expression, Raelynd scoffed and then walked as far as she could from the slowly dying fire before dropping her things back onto the ground. “I am beginning to think the famed McTiernay ability to handle and respond to any situation highly overrated.”
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