Tempting the Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  She had always liked the Schellden twins. Both were incredibly beautiful and usually very sweet natured. Unfortunately for them, they also had an overly doting father who had cocooned them away for most of their lives. As a result, their bodies had matured, but not their understanding of people.

  After sequestering his daughters for so many years, marriage was about the only reason Laird Schellden could plausibly give for letting them go somewhere else and for such an extended period of time. So Crevan and Craig were helping Schellden protect his daughters. But from what? Or was it from whom? Laurel could ask them, but she suspected neither Crevan nor Craig knew the full scope of their circumstances. Asking Conor would be pointless, but then . . . he had to have known she would see through the situation. In a way, he was practically begging for her to meddle, because if it was a real wedding, Conor would have forbidden her from interfering. It was a leap in logic, but based on years of living with the devious, lovable man, it was a pretty solid one.

  A grin crossed Laurel’s face. Thank you, Conor . . . I accept, she said to herself, hoping Raelynd’s and Meriel’s resolve was strong enough to see their plan through to the end. Because they were on McTiernay lands now and no one was going to believe Craig and Crevan were actually marrying the two women sitting in front of her.

  Conor was right. They did need her help. And she was probably the only one who could provide it.

  Laurel opened the door to Craig’s bedchambers and waved her hand at the mess, sighing with genuine exasperation. “This will be your room, Raelynd. I would apologize for the mess, but I am sure you were expecting it, knowing Craig as well as you do.”

  Raelynd gulped and looked inside, her eyes wide with horror. Items were strewn everywhere. Forcing herself to enter, she nudged aside several straps of leather to clear a place for her to stand.

  Meriel, now able to see inside, yelped with elation when she spotted the large window showering the room in sunlight. With the grace of someone who had significant amount of practice living in chaos, Meriel quickly stepped around the odds and ends to sit on the bench and look down at the courtyard below. “You are so lucky!” she giggled with excitement. “To have this bench here with all this light.”

  Raelynd shuddered. Her sister would overlook all the disorder and see only how the room could be used for sewing and weaving. The bed was not made, nor from the way the blankets were lying atop the lumpy mattress, did it look like it had ever been made. Clothes—men’s clothes—were strewn about, and several types of weapons were lying haphazardly on the floor. Most of the candles had burned down to their nubs with wax pools around them. A few had fallen to the floor or on the settee where they had been snuffed out. The mess could have been Meriel’s if Raelynd had ever let their room get that bad.

  “I had someone start a fire in both rooms and I will have someone come in and change the bedding and remove the armaments,” Laurel said, “though Craig really does not like people to touch his things. But I am sure you know that. I hope you are prepared to constantly clean up after the mess yourself, though with Craig, you most likely had better just get used to it.”

  Watching Raelynd’s repulsion as she studied the exceptionally cluttered room, Laurel felt a small pang of guilt. Deciding to give her a temporary reprieve, she corralled both women back into the hall. Raelynd impulsively headed to the other room sharing that floor.

  Not stopping her, Laurel opened the door, letting them both peek inside the wall-to-wall filled room. “This used to be Cole’s bedchambers,” she said, referring to the third McTiernay brother, who had married and was now laird of a nomadic clan up north. “In a few years, I’ll have the servants clean it out and give it to my son, Braeden, when he is older. But for now it is used only for storage.”

  After closing the door, she went back to the tower staircase and up a single flight. Similar to the second floor, the third held two rooms. “Those bedchambers belong to Clyde,” she said, pointing to the locked door. “He has gone south to train with his elder brother Colin. Here is Crevan’s room—which will be yours, Meriel.”

  Meriel eagerly peered inside and immediately felt her heart sink. Instead of a large window facing the courtyard with enormous amounts of sunlight, the room had only one small window and several narrow arrow slits facing the ravine and hills outside the castle walls. Seeing her things on the bed’s very smooth coverlet, she felt her pulse start to thump wildly. Working on her tapestries would not be possible in the dim light.

  Ignoring her sister, Raelynd strolled into the wellarranged room with a smile. The dimmer firelight produced a warm feeling she far preferred over the glaring afternoon light and everything seemed to have a place. Raelynd moved to the bed and caught herself just in time before she sat down. It had felt natural, like something she would have done in her own room.

  Raelynd wondered if Crevan had similar instincts when he came in after a long day. What if she were already there? There was only one chair—would they both sit on the bed?

  A soft sob interrupted her stream of thoughts and Raelynd realized Meriel was crying. Pulling her sister into her arms, she explained to Laurel, “I don’t think my sister wants to be alone. Maybe we should share a room.”

  Meriel immediately nodded and pulled away. “If it’s not a problem,” she sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “We have always slept together.”

  In many ways, Laurel felt for both sisters, but she also knew that continuing to treat them as their father had would not be fair to them or their future spouses. Letting go a critical chuckle, she asked, “Are you going to sleep with your sister on your wedding night as well?”

  The comment had been directed at Meriel, but Raelynd felt its full impact. Not wanting Laurel to tell Crevan about the request, lest he think her incapable of acting like an adult, Raelynd clasped her hands together and said to her sister, “Meriel, this is how a room should look.” Then to Laurel, she asserted, “For years I have been trying to get my sister to put things where they belong. A room should have order and be organized, which is how I run my father’s castle.”

  Laurel listened as Raelynd rattled off all the things she oversaw. The self-aggrandizing list surprised Laurel, for it proved that Raelynd did know an enormous amount about running a castle. Unfortunately, she had never actually experienced all the work she supervised—only directed it.

  “Before I leave you to get ready for tonight, there is one more place and someone I would like to introduce you to.”

  Raelynd followed Laurel and then Meriel up one more flight of stairs to the top floor. There were seven McTiernay brothers, and even in her sheltered existence, Raelynd had heard about all of them. Conor, Laurel’s husband, had assumed the weighty responsibility of becoming laird of the McTiernay clan upon his father’s death. The second eldest had married into a Lowland clan and the third in line had accomplished what many had thought impossible—uniting the northern nomadic tribes. And since she and her sister were engaged to the twins, that left only the two younger brothers. One was gone and the other one was supposed to be awful.

  Just before they arrived at the door, Raelynd licked her lips apprehensively. “Who is it we are going to meet?”

  Laurel stopped in midstride. “Conan, of course,” she said, and seeing the blood drain out of Raelynd’s face, bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “Remember, he is about to become your brother as well.”

  Laurel gave the door a firm knock and upon hearing a deep grunt from the other side, opened the door and entered. “Hello, Conan. We have guests.”

  Across the cluttered, scroll- and paper-filled room was a man who was propping his forehead on his palm while he studied something on the table. “Tell her to go away. I am not in the mood. If she is lucky, I’ll say hello tonight at dinner.”

  Ignoring his condescending remarks, Laurel prompted, “And how do you know it is a she?”

  Without looking up, Conan jotted something down on the map he was staring at and asked patronizing
ly, “When have you ever tried to introduce me to someone who was not a woman?”

  “This time you are wrong. I have not come to introduce you to a woman.” That got Conan’s attention. He looked up and immediately grimaced as he realized his mistake. “I would like to introduce you to Raelynd and Meriel Schellden.”

  “I know them.”

  “Did you also know they are engaged to your brothers, Crevan and Craig?”

  Conan tossed the quill pen on the table. “I don’t believe you.” He shifted his gaze from Laurel to Raelynd and then Meriel before coming back to his sister-in-law. “They’re more attractive than when I last saw them, but still not pretty enough to entice anyone into marriage.”

  “Well, then it is a good thing you aren’t the one marrying one of us,” Raelynd snapped. The rejoinder should have gained her an apology or he should have at least shown some type of remorse, but the man just raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

  When Conan McTiernay had trained with her father as all the McTiernay brothers did at one point or another, he had avoided Caireoch Castle, much like Craig had done these past several months. Nonetheless, Raelynd had heard about Conan and how he belittled women. She had assumed he was like her father’s more rough-mannered men, but never, never had anyone talked that way about her. And certainly not when she was standing right in front of them. After all, she was not just anyone; she was Laird Schellden’s daughter!

  Laurel saw Raelynd visibly bristle and was sure Conan had caught the reaction as well. Raelynd didn’t realize that chastising him would not convince Conan to cease his ridicule, it would only encourage him. The second-toyoungest brother was undoubtedly the most brilliant of the McTiernay clan, and as a result, he had little patience for anyone not as smart as he was.

  Since few women had the unusual opportunity to learn at an abbey as Laurel had, Conan truly believed females were good for only pleasure and creating families. As far as Laurel knew, he had only made two exceptions to that belief—her and her good friend Ellenor, who studied with her at the abbey. It was unfortunate that neither Raelynd nor Meriel would be able to put him in his place like Ellenor had.

  Still, encounters with Conan would be an excellent way for them to learn how to handle difficult people. Raelynd would not be able to order him to behave and Meriel’s female wiles would do her little good. Both would have to devise other means to control his conduct toward them. Laurel also knew that unless provoked, he would successfully avoid them.

  “Well, we will leave you alone, but we are having a small welcoming celebration in the Lower Hall and you will stop whatever you are doing and attend.”

  With a showy wave of his hand, he nodded in agreement.

  “And I suggest you spend the afternoon packing, for the next month Raelynd and Meriel will be living on the second and third floors and you are to stay out of this tower.”

  Conan’s jaw went immediately slack and his shoulders slightly slumped. “For them?!” he argued. “My brothers are not marrying the Schellden twins. I can promise you that. McTiernays only marry women who possess some degree of intelligence as well as a modicum of nerve.” He paused briefly to point at Meriel. “You, if memory serves, like to sew, and you,” he said, shifting his attention to Raelynd, “like to order people around and pretend you are all grown up. No way in hell a brother of mine is going to marry either one of you!”

  Fury enveloped Raelynd. She opened her mouth to say something, anything to get him to retract his words, but nothing came out. Meriel, however, was not so easily silenced. “Well, at least I’m not an ass.”

  The unusually harsh words of her sweet-natured sister had no effect, but it occurred to Raelynd just what might with such an impossible personality. The same tactics Laurel had used on her. “Oh, but we are marrying your brothers,” she cooed. “Ask anyone. Ask Conor and he will tell you that in one little month, I will be your sister. Other than Laurel, we will be your closest female relatives and no doubt we will be seeing each other often.”

  Raelynd smiled as she saw the blood drain out of Conan’s face.

  Laurel, deciding that enough groundwork had been laid, suggested, “I think it is time for you to return to your rooms and prepare for the night.” Just after she closed the door to Conan’s study, she added, “I will send someone up shortly with a bath for you both to share and to remove Craig’s weapons. I will try to come back and see you again before dinner, but Conor and I have some unfinished business to discuss, so it may be the evening meal when we meet again. Which reminds me, dinner will begin promptly at sundown in the Lower Hall. Do not be late.”

  Laurel then turned and vanished as she went down the winding staircase, leaving both Raelynd and Meriel standing there alone.

  Meriel let go a long sigh. “I guess we have to return to our rooms and unpack,” she said miserably.

  Raelynd reached out and grabbed Meriel’s arm. “We might not be able to share a room, but remember how we used to switch places when mother tried to teach me how to weave?” Meriel nodded. “I think you should stay in Craig’s room with all the light, and I should take Crevan’s.”

  Meriel’s head began to bob excitedly up and down. “We are identical,” she whispered.

  Relieved, Laurel softly let go a long breath she had been holding and continued down the staircase to exit the tower. She had no idea whose brilliant idea it was to pair up Meriel with Crevan and Raelynd with Craig, but their coupling had been based on obvious personality traits, not on the person beneath.

  Thank the Lord, there was not going to be a real wedding. Otherwise, the situation would be a colossal mess.

  Chapter 8

  Though the castle was not yet in sight, Cyric knew that at any moment Caireoch would come into view. Both his guides had noticeably perked up, unable to hide their joy at the thought of ending their escort duty. Cyric was well aware that both of them blamed him for the journey taking so long, but he did not care. Such extended and arduous travel was new to him. Delays should have been expected.

  “Do you intend to stay for any length of time after we arrive?” Cyric asked.

  “None,” came the short reply.

  Cyric was relieved. Both men belonged to a neighboring clan and since neither had intentions of staying, they would not be poisoning any Schellden clansmen against him. This left him the ability to start anew, gaining respect and assuming the role of chieftain.

  Cyric had started outlining ideas for achieving both goals when a large stone castle appeared in the distance. Soon he would be inside Caireoch’s walls, being warmly welcomed by all who met him. Myriad questions began to swirl in Cyric’s mind. Should he stay on his horse and ride in? Or should he get down and meet everyone face to face? Would Laird Schellden want to give him responsibilities immediately? If so, which ones should he assume first?

  Cyric was almost giddy with excitement. His dreams and aspirations were finally coming to fruition. Too long had he yearned for a way to prove his worth to his father. Finally, he was going to have his chance.

  As they rode closer, the size and makeup of the castle became clearer. Rather than a square shape with multiple towers, Caireoch had only two, both enormous. The gatehouse was also sizable, defended with a portcullis, a heavy gate, and most likely several murder holes. Together, the structures formed the shape of a triangular shield. Only the keep, which was attached to the gatehouse, was visible over the unusually tall curtain wall that connected the three anchors.

  Predictably, the majority of the servants lived in cottages just outside the castle walls and not within. The small community was inhabited, but far from lively. Of the few people who were outside working, only a handful paused for a moment to look at him and his guides. Most of the clansmen and women were busy doing whatever had to be done before the end of the day.

  Cyric had heard Highland women dressed differently, but he had not expected such a divergence between Lowland and Highland culture. In Ayr, Scottish women dressed like those of northern England,
wearing bliauts, kirtles, or some kind of long, flowing gown. But from what he could see in the village, the women of his clan wore something far different. Their chemise served as a leine and gathered at the waist was the Schellden plaid. The bold material reached from the neck to the ankles, fastened with a leather belt and secured above the breast by a large brooch to form a loose shawl. By the various pockets created, the warm-looking garment looked serviceable, but bulky.

  By the time they were at the gatehouse, Cyric had come to the conclusion that most everyone had to be inside, lined up, and waiting for his arrival. He was about to ask his guides to enter and announce him when, without a single farewell, they turned their horses and urged them into a gallop. Cyric would have to introduce himself.

  Taking a deep breath, he sat for several seconds on his horse, alone in front of the massive gatehouse feeling more and more nervous. Once he went through that opening, his life would change. His uncle along with the steward, the top commanders, and whoever else was important would be there to welcome him, looking to him for guidance and approval.

  Taking a deep breath, Cyric reminded himself that he had eaten and mingled with the top nobles in their kingdom, including Robert I, and urged his mount forward.

  To Cyric’s surprise, the activity inside the castle walls and the people’s reaction to his appearance were no different than that of the village. The courtyard was larger than he had expected given the castle’s triangular shape. As he assumed, the keep on his left was adjacent to the gatehouse and along that same wall were several smaller buildings, one of which he could see from the smoke, was the kitchen. On his right were more storage buildings and the Great Hall, which he was glad to see was impressive in size. The chapel was nestled between the Hall, one of the towers anchoring the far curtain wall, which held the stables, and the smithies.

  He stared for several minutes, sitting and waiting, but not a single person stopped to greet him or even asked who he was. Incredulously, it was almost as if they had been told of his arrival, and to ignore him! Coupled with the fact that his uncle had not appeared, Cyric was even more disconcerted. For days he had been visualizing just how his future father-in-law was going to receive him—with appreciation and admiration. Whatever the reason behind the hollow welcome, Cyric decided to at least get off his horse.