Tempting the Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  Rowena let go a long sigh of relief. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The rivalry between the Schellden border farms and the McHenrys has been going on for years, but it never gets too bad.”

  Cyric grimaced and shook his head before resuming his strides back and forth in front of the large stone hearth. “I know all about clan border skirmishes of that sort. Ian McHenry was not here to discuss the pinching of animal stock.”

  Rowena opened her hands, palms up and gave a shrug. “But with Ian McHenry it is always about the theft of his sheep.”

  “Not today it wasn’t.”

  “How could you know?” Rowena pressed defensively. “You don’t know him. Ian McHenry always looks like he’s upset about something.”

  Cyric paused and crossed his arms before looking directly into her puzzled brown eyes. “Highlanders aren’t the only ones who deal with raids, Rowena. I know men and I know when they are angry over a few stolen animals and this was not one of those times. This was personal.”

  Rowena stood up and walked over to place a hand lightly on his forearm. “You make it sound like McHenry is going to do something awful.”

  “He is.”

  Rowena stared up at him incredulously. Skepticism was etched in her wrinkled forehead.

  “Rowena, I admit that I tried to prove myself with expertise that I didn’t have, but that does not mean I am completely without some skills. My grandfather had me sit with him while he handled clan affairs since I was ten. In that time I learned many things, including what a man looked like before he was about to attack. And Ian McHenry intends to be heard—one way or another.”

  Rowena recoiled. “Attack? He wouldn’t! While pockets of McHenrys are littered throughout the Highlands, the majority of their clan is located far to the west. I’ve heard they are fierce fighters, but Ian McHenry is without an army. Going against our laird’s men would mean his and his family’s death.”

  “By the time my uncle attacks, it will be too late.”

  Rowena took another step back as the gravity of what Cyric meant registered on her face. “Too late for what?”

  Cyric took a deep breath. Rowena’s face had paled considerably, indicating she believed him. That fact alone was reassuring. Unfortunately, it did not change anything. “Rowena, I don’t know what Ian McHenry is planning, but he came here in an effort to avoid bloodshed. Only you can convince my uncle to ride out and meet with him.”

  Rowena’s already large eyes grew even wider. “Me?”

  “Reason with my uncle. Plead. Do whatever you have to. You two are close. Don’t deny it.”

  “Aye, we are family, and he has been like a father to me since mine passed, but I cannot talk to the laird about clan affairs. Nobody could now that he’s made a decision.” Rowena took a deep breath and crossed her arms to think for a moment. Then with a small shake of her head, she said, “If you truly believe that you are right, then you are going to have to find a way to stop things.”

  “I would, but McHenry knows I don’t speak as the Schellden chieftain.”

  Rowena grimaced for it did seem impossible. “You once claimed that you were better than anyone at finding peaceful solutions.”

  “Only if both parties are willing to—”

  Rowena’s lips thinned at the excuse. “Then you are not what you claimed,” she retorted in cold sarcasm.

  Cyric’s deep golden eyes took on a black layered look and he crossed his arms, causing his already large muscles to appear even bigger. Once again, he transformed from a mere man to a fearsome Highlander.

  Rowena stretched out and put her hand on his arm as she had before. The feel of the heat coming from the sinewy tissue made her stomach tingle and she had to let go. “How often do two disputing clans come willingly to discussions?”

  Cyric blinked as the undeniable truth of what she was hinting washed over him.

  Biting her bottom lip, Rowena waited for Cyric to say something, to agree, to disagree, but he said nothing. “You worry so much about what this clan thinks. You need to find the confidence I believe you have when not among those who, I admit, are constantly judging you. If you are genuinely good at resolving clan troubles, then you need to apply those skills now. Prove what you can do. Sometimes in the Highlands, you have to seize what you want. And no matter what anyone says or how the laird treats you, you are a Highlander.”

  Cyric felt his whole body tighten and his heart begin to pound. He had been listening, but when Rowena touched his arm, he had quivered with desire. As she spoke, he watched her lips, soft and pink, and he wanted so badly to kiss her he couldn’t think straight. For days now he had wanted her more than he had ever thought it possible to desire any woman. But he refused to allow himself to chase after her. He didn’t want to charm her or seduce her. He wanted her to see him and like him as he truly was. Until now, he did not realize what that was.

  In the Lowlands, his size and coloring caused him to stand out. His use of weaponry and the diversity of his abilities also were uncommon. And it wasn’t unusual for him to use his height and muscular bulk to intimidate those who thought to cross him. But as a Scotsman in the Highlands, he felt even more out of place . . . until now. Rowena was the first to recognize who he was. He was a Highlander by blood and had the chance to be one in action.

  Rowena believed in him.

  The realization hit Cyric full force and suddenly his need for her was all-consuming. A great shudder wracked him and he became intensely aware of the sensual hunger in his guts. Luminous auburn pools studied him and Cyric reminded himself to refrain from starting something he couldn’t finish. And yet, all he could think about was kissing her.

  Rowena stared into the golden eyes that were boring holes into her soul. There was no mistaking their dark look. Never had she been the reason behind such blatant desire in a man and her every nerve ending immediately responded to his unspoken message. Her mind urged her to step back and maintain a respectable distance, but her body would not obey.

  Unable to deny himself any longer, Cyric bent his head and brushed his mouth lightly across Rowena’s startled lips. He had intended to end the embrace with just that simple kiss, but the velvet warmth of her skin invited him to have one more. This time she leaned in and welcomed him.

  Her hands slowly moved up his chest until her arms stole around his neck. Encouraged, Cyric kissed Rowena slowly, with a deep, tender possessiveness. The moment her lips parted, he swept his tongue inside, delighting in the taste of her before he expected her to pull away. But she didn’t.

  As soon as their tongues made contact, the connection between them ran like a bolt of lightning through his body, awakening every nerve. And based on her response, Rowena had experienced the same. Cyric had kissed women before. Many women, many times. But not like this. Never like this. With a groan, he drew her closer to him until he could feel the softness of her breasts and her body pressing against his own desperate yearning.

  Rowena was not inexperienced when it came to kissing men. Encouraged by Meriel, she had experimented and discovered it to be an engaging pastime, but nothing more. Cyric’s kiss, however, was like nothing of previous encounters.

  His lips had only touched hers like a whisper, but she had been completely unprepared for the flood of sensations the simple contact would create. Her mind instantly blocked out everything except him. All she knew was she wanted to be closer to him and in fear that he might prematurely end the embrace, her hands curved around his neck and moved in closer. When his tongue claimed her mouth, she clung to him kissing him back, relishing his warmth, wondering how she was unquestionably drawn to his embrace, and why it felt so right.

  Desire coiled tightly inside her body, causing her to moan softly and her head to spin. A second later, Cyric finally ended the long kiss and Rowena did not ask why. She knew. Thankfully, Cyric had maintained his power of self-control. She certainly had not felt any inclination to stop it herself.

  Cyric reached out and swept a dark strand of hair away
from her temple, touching her as he would a rare and precious flower. His body could still feel her all soft and vulnerable pressed up against him and he wanted more than anything to lose himself within her. But not yet. The next time he held Rowena in his arms, he would be worthy of doing so. She would know her belief in him had not been unwise.

  “Would you do me a favor, beautiful?” he whispered tenderly, and waited for her to nod. “Wait for an hour, then go tell my uncle that you saw me leave to go after McHenry.”

  “But he—”

  Unable to resist, Cyric tipped her chin up with his fingertips and lightly kissed her again. “One hour,” he repeated. Then he walked over to where he had tossed his sword and departed the Great Hall.

  Rowena stood transfixed for what felt like a long time. Her mind was reeling and her emotions were swirling like a powerful whirlpool. What had just happened? Cyric had appealed to her compassionate side. He was nice and misunderstood, but not someone she was interested in romantically. Until now.

  Cyric Schellden was a rarity among men and she had fallen into the trap of believing him to be weak because he cared about what others thought of him. That because he desired respect he couldn’t command it. That a man needed to be unemotional to be a man. She had been wrong. Cyric was much more. And he thought she was pretty.

  No, he had called her beautiful. Did he mean it? she asked herself. Her heart began to pound at the thought that he had not. Good Lord, had she fallen in love with the one Schellden every one of her clansmen wished would leave? Even as she asked herself the question, she knew its answer. She had. Rapidly and hard.

  Rae Schellden spied the campfire and the two silhouetted figures sitting on either side. He could not make out either of their features, but he knew who they were and urged his horse to close the distance. He had been seething since leaving Caireoch and was not even close to becoming calm. Never before had anyone so openly defied his wishes and in a few moments he would know why.

  Stopping his mount almost directly in front of the two squatters, Rae slid off his horse, glaring at Ian McHenry. He then shifted his gaze to his nephew. Cyric’s arms were stretched out toward the fire, trying to get warm. He was shivering and it wasn’t even cold. Bloody scratches were all along his legs as a result of riding through prickly thistle bushes instead of around them. Cyric’s riding skills were not in question. He could handle a horse, but did Lowlanders never ride at night?

  Rae stepped out of the shadows and into the circle of light cast by the campfire. As if that was his cue, Cyric rose to his feet and sent him a beaming smile. “See, McHenry? Laird Schellden has come, as I promised.”

  Rae clenched his jaw and said nothing.

  Cyric was unfazed at the cool reception and walked over to his side. “I was explaining, Uncle, how you recognized that McHenry’s visit was not just about border raids, but something far more personal. Therefore, you wanted to handle it privately.”

  Rae fixed his hazel eyes on Cyric’s golden ones, his expression unreadable. No one had ever dared to speak for him. And he would not be trapped into accepting a decision that he most clearly did not make. And yet his nephew continued to hold his gaze, unwavering. Cyric knew such actions were not just inexcusable but potentially deadly. But he refused to succumb to Rae’s intimidating glare. Cyric was making it clear that he had no regrets.

  Breaking the gaze, Rae glanced at the man still sitting by the fire. The old man should have been entertained by the clash of wills. Conor McTiernay would have been on the ground laughing at the fact Rae’s nephew had dared to intercede in a clan decision. But Ian McHenry just stared into the fire.

  “Speak your mind, McHenry.”

  Black eyes swiveled to meet Rae’s. They were empty, angry, and in pain. Missing sheep were not behind this man’s suffering. Cyric had been right. Whatever trouble plagued Ian McHenry was personal in nature. Rae walked over and sat down. He would address Cyric’s methods later, but now was not the time. His focus turned solely on McHenry.

  The old man, seeing that Schellden was finally ready to listen, wasted no time. “Your man Farlon has a son.”

  Rae nodded once. “Tevus.”

  Ian’s face became wooden with contempt. “Aye, Tevus,” he repeated coldly. “He got my daughter with child but Farlon refuses to let the boy do what he must.”

  Damn. Tevus was barely fifteen and nothing close to a man. Not the choice a father would have for his daughter and certainly not one McHenry would have welcomed.

  Rae leaned on his elbows and raked his hands through his hair. Cyric had been right to force this meeting. Being turned away as he had been, Ian McHenry would have resorted to violence to remedy his daughter’s honor. If what he claimed was true.

  Rae looked up. “How do you know a Schellden is to blame for your daughter’s condition?”

  The air became instantly still. “Are you calling my daughter a liar?” The tone of the simple question, though barely audible, held an ominous quality.

  Rae didn’t flinch. “I’m asking if it is true.”

  “Both she and Tevus claim it is his.”

  Rae took in a deep breath. McHenry clearly hated the situation and did not consider a connection with a larger and powerful clan as advantageous. The man was fiercely independent. Farlon, if anything, was worse.

  A farmer most of the time, Farlon was also a good fighter and one Rae depended upon when going into battle. For years, Farlon had despised Ian McHenry for pinching his cattle. Moreover, he had plans for Tevus to begin training this coming winter after the boy had finished helping prepare the land for winter barley.

  Rae glanced to his left. Cyric was still shivering and most likely thirsty. No water bag was beside him or hanging off his horse just a few feet away. Rae suspected food and provisions to sleep outside had also been thoughtlessly left behind. Rae shook his head. “It’s hard to believe you’re a Highlander,” he muttered.

  The harsh assessment got a reaction from McHenry, whose head shot up with surprise. The action clearly made it clear that Ian had been thinking the same thing.

  Tired of being judged for not falling into a stereotypical description of what a Highlander was supposed to behave like and pretend to enjoy enduring, Cyric opened his mouth to defend himself.

  Rae cut him off. “But at least you act on your convictions. When you rode out here and committed me into following you, it was to prove you understood the situation better than I. Let’s see if you can be as persuasive with Farlon. Tomorrow you get to finish what you started.”

  Rae waited for Cyric to back out or make excuses as to why he had to return to the comforts of Caireoch, but no such pleas came.

  “Don’t look discouraged, Uncle,” Cyric instead answered, with a hint of anticipation. “I just might surprise you.”

  Three days later while journeying back to Caireoch Castle, Rae Schellden was more than surprised. He was still in a state of shock. Farlon had let Tevus marry Ian McHenry’s daughter and even gave the new couple the old cottage he had first built for him and his wife. Plus he and Ian had finally reached an agreement about stopping the raids upon one another’s stock. The solution was unconventional, but both parties benefited and it meant an end to the bickering.

  And it was all because of Cyric.

  When it came to negotiating, the man commanded authority. He was fair, courteous, and digested the complaints of both sides so that he understood the real reasons behind their pain. And when he did speak, people listened. Including him.

  Cyric might have been far more capable than Rae had believed him to be. Maybe it was time to see how Cyric responded to some more difficult leadership situations. He said he was a master with a sword. Could he train men who already considered themselves skilled?

  Chapter 15

  After two days of being forced to remain in bed, Raelynd was eager to be released from confinement to do anything. So when Laurel mentioned that she would be gone for a few days and would require her and Meriel’s help, Raelynd leaped a
t the opportunity.

  “Hurry, Meriel. Lady McTiernay is waiting for us,” Raelynd said impatiently as she watched her sister hunt for her missing shoe. “I thought being messy was supposed to help you find things faster.”

  “Ah-ha!” Meriel called out as she unearthed the wayward item. “It does. Just imagine how long it would have taken me in a room like yours. I would have had to search everywhere versus just the floor.”

  Raelynd shook her head, knowing this battle was unwinnable. “You would only have to look where it belonged.”

  Meriel quickly slipped on the shoe and followed Raelynd down the stairwell and out of the tower. As they both walked the short distance to the Great Hall, Meriel noticed her sister’s gait was surprisingly fast for someone seriously injured just two days prior. “Doesn’t your leg hurt when you walk?”

  “Just a little, but I don’t want Lady McTiernay to think I am incapable of helping. Besides, it is actually better when I move. It keeps it from becoming stiff.”

  Meriel took a deep breath and let it out. “You seem very sure about what we are going to do.”

  “Of course I’m sure. You are going to join the weavers and I am going to assist the steward in overseeing the castle. What else do we know how to do?”

  Meriel shrugged, acknowledging the point. If they were to actually be of help, it would be in an area of their expertise. Still . . .

  Meriel stopped just before tugging on the Hall’s door handle. “Have you noticed how every time we make assumptions with Lady McTiernay, we turn out to be wrong?”

  Raelynd bit her bottom lip. Her sister had a good point, but it was too late now. “Well, whatever it is, it has to be better than lying in bed.”

  Meriel opened the door and both women entered the large open room. Usually, it gave those who entered a warm feeling of welcome. Similar to Caireoch, the high ceiling was decorated with stone vault ribs. The room, which could be divided into smaller areas, each with its own hearth, was currently organized as a single meeting space. The spacious setting for only a few people made Raelynd uncomfortable. As if she was being led into a trap.