Taming the Highlander

by May McGoldrick

  Innes turned away from the window. “That is utter foolishness. I come here to see you.”

  “Foolishness? Really? Well, he knows that you spend your mornings here with me watching, and he’s been pushing himself harder each day. He’s trying to impress you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Br . . . I have my ways of finding things out.”

  Innes rolled her eyes and joined Jinny. The woman finished her pinning and handed the seamstress the dress.

  Staying had been a terrible mistake, she thought.

  Innes drifted across the chamber to the window overlooking the bluffs. She looked down at the crashing waves.

  “You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding from relationships,” Ailein whispered in her ear.

  “Please,” she snapped. “Do not give me advice.”

  Ailein was not deterred. “Father’s only wish in this world is for you to find a husband worthy of you. A man who can be trusted.”

  Innes leaned out the window. She needed more air. The wind swept the hair back into her face.

  “This man is worthy of you, and it’s obvious he’s taken a fancy to you.”

  “Oh, Ailein! Go away.”

  “You’re in my room.”

  “Very well, then. I’ll go away.”

  She left her sister’s room in a huff. This was becoming their daily routine. Innes showing up so she could watch Conall from a distance, and her sister buzzing in her ear as if she were now expert in all matters of the heart. Actually, compared to Innes, Ailein was an expert.

  As always, the men had retired from the Outer Ward by the time Innes slid into the sunshine and directed her steps toward the East Tower.

  “Wait a moment.”

  The call came from behind her, and she knew to whom the voice belonged. Her heart pounded in her chest. She quickened her steps. Perhaps she could pretend she hadn’t heard him.

  “Do you wish to make a scene?” he shouted. “I will chase you, if you prefer. I’ll make you listen to me.”

  She slowly turned around.

  He was shirtless, a cloth draped over his shoulder. Her eyes were drawn to his muscular chest, his powerful arms. An ache deep in her belly moved even lower, setting her face on fire.

  “Tomorrow,” he said.

  She looked up at him. “What?”

  “Tomorrow you and I are going with Lachlan over to Wick harbor. A ship we were waiting for has arrived, and I need to help Bryce and the steward with a few things.”

  Innes guessed her sister was no longer a viable excuse. “Why do I need to come?”

  “Because I’m asking you to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you reneged on our wager.”

  “I did no such thing. I stayed, as we agreed.”

  “You’ve reneged on the spirit of the wager, and you know it.” He took her chin and lifted it until she was looking into his eyes. “Be ready tomorrow.”

  “What if I decide not to go?”

  “I’ll be at your room at dawn. If need be, I’ll break down your door. Carry you out to your waiting horse. Tie you to the saddle. And the three of us will ride to Wick together.” He whipped the cloth off his shoulder, and she looked at a chest about a mile wide. “You’ll have a memorable time. You can trust me on that.”

  Chapter 12

  “ . . . but before we reached Scotland, the crew heard us foolishly whispering about our powers and went to the ship’s master. When he forced the fragments from our grasp and joined the Wheel as one, the ship was torn twice asunder, and death claimed many lives. The four of us, each carrying our portion, knew what we must do. Not knowing if the sea or man would kill us, we set out to the four corners of Scotland to wait for our summons . . .”

  From the Chronicle of Lugh

  The trip to Wick was far better than Innes thought it would be. Choosing to ride in the cart with Lachlan, she could watch Conall riding ahead on his chestnut steed without feeling the pressure of being too close to him. She glanced back at the mare, tied to the back for her, in case she changed her mind.

  In the stables around dawn, Conall and Innes had exchanged nothing more than casual pleasantries. The farther they got from the castle, the more at ease she became. The steward loved to talk. Each patch of land they passed seemed to have a story, and Lachlan had to tell her about it.

  “Do merchant ships arrive at Wick often?” she asked.

  “Nay, m’lady. The harbor takes heavy swells from the bay when the wind blows from the east. Makes coming into the port dangerous.” She waited, already knowing the man would say more. “Wick has two harbors, which you’ll see shortly, but they both sand up bad after the fall and winter storms.”

  “So this is the best time for merchant ships to come in.”

  “Aye, and that’s when the fishing is at its best, too. Wick is a great herring port, don’t you know. We at the castle get our share, of course, but the lads take enough to supply fish all the way to Edinburgh.”

  Innes imagined riding back with a cartload of herring. She deserved to reek of fish after refusing to ride the beautiful mare trailing behind them.

  “Does the earl accompany you to Wick often?”

  “Only when it’s time for setting the prices.”

  “Setting the prices for what?”

  “Sinclair wool and even cloth, of late. Also, he helps to negotiate the price of herring for the fishermen,” the steward added. “What they decide on today will support many a family through the long winter months.”

  Innes’s gaze followed Lachlan’s as they both stared at the back of the man sitting so comfortably on the horse. She couldn’t look at him without the twist of attraction.

  “Many lairds rely solely on their tenant folk for income,” she said. “The Sinclairs are doing things differently.”

  “That was the way with Sinclairs, too, until this one stepped in. No disrespect to their father, but Conall and Bryce have their own way. The first thing Conall did was to put a stop to our people sending the wool south and getting practically nothing for it,” Lachlan explained. “He said the cottars needed to bring all of our wool in together and sell it as one. He said we buy what we need when the ships come in; it’s time we sold our own goods the same way.”

  “And the farmers went along?”

  “Oh, there were a boneheaded few. There always are. But Conall brought them in and convinced them.”

  “And it worked.”

  “Aye, mistress. It worked all right.”

  Innes’s eyes were again drawn to the earl. In a way, she realized she’d been disappointed this morning when he didn’t complain that she preferred the company of Lachlan to his own. She tore her gaze away, disgusted with herself. She was a whirlwind of contradictions, and that was not her way. He did this to her. She moved forward one step, then ran back five. She welcomed his attention, but as soon as he reached out, she scurried away and hid. She was surprised that he hadn’t already tired of this game.

  “The clan had a tough go of it when the earl was away,” said Lachlan.

  Innes studied the steward’s lined face. Everyone knew the Sinclairs to be tight-lipped about their affairs, and she already sensed the old man’s loyalty to Conall. For Lachlan even to utter such a thing, Innes knew that he must have accepted her on some level.

  “After Solway Moss, you mean,” she said gently.

  “Aye. Word came back he was among the dead. We lost so many brave men there. The news arrived from Falkland Palace along with word of King Jamie’s death. It wasn’t until months and months later that we learned Conall was rotting in an English dungeon and there was a chance we could get him back.”

  And none of his people had seen what she’d seen. How he’d suffered.

  “I’m not one for rumormongering, mistress, but they said he wouldn’t tell them who he was. They knew he was highborn and good for ransom, but he wouldn’t tell.”

  Innes shivered, once again remembering the pain of the
lash. Her heart ached with sadness imagining what other torments he was exposed to while in captivity. She stared at the black gloves encasing her hands. Her gaze drifted to the pouch at her waist containing the relic.

  Perhaps no one knowing of the scars on his soul allowed Conall to keep going. He was a proud man, and he bore his past alone. And here he was clearly pursuing her, not knowing how exposed he’d be.

  “There it is, m’lady,” Lachlan said as they came to the crest of a small rise. The village lay before them, and they descended into it.

  Three miles south of Girnigoe, Wick was a prosperous-looking village. Spreading back from the river and the harbor, the place consisted of rows of squat stone houses topped with thatch, a church, a square tower with a bell, and a market cross at the center that teemed with merchants and buyers. Two ships lay at anchor in the harbor, and another sat tied to a good-sized dock. Men were busily moving goods off her.

  Conall appeared beside the cart and helped Innes down.

  “You stay with Lachlan,” he told her. He nodded toward a large barnlike structure and a number of long, low stone buildings by the docks. “My business shouldn’t take me past noon. I’ll come and find you then.”

  The sun was well up in the sky, and the good weather and market day seemed to have brought the entire village out. Merchants and farmers looking to sell their goods to the castle accosted Lachlan before he was even out of the cart.

  Innes tugged at his sleeve. “I’ll just browse around for a while. Don’t worry about me. There’s nowhere I can go to get lost.”

  The steward sent a wary glance at the back of the earl disappearing through the crowd.

  “Trust me. I’ll be fine,” she said, striding off before the old man had a chance to object.

  Innes walked the streets, smiled at people, shook her head at the merchants eager to make a sale. She no longer did this when she was at home at Folais Castle. She no longer visited the Munro villages for she felt the disappointment of the clan elders. As the older daughter of the clan chief, she recognized that they expected her to marry. But she didn’t welcome suitors. And when she sat with her father at the clan gatherings, she knew many of the men did not receive that well. So, she gradually retreated from the world. And the more she retreated, the more difficult it became to change. The more she withdrew, the more she feared . . . and the less she trusted.

  Today, she didn’t have to worry about any of that. No one knew her here. She was a stranger, like so many others walking the streets of the bustling village. She was free.

  Innes lost track of time as she continued to explore. For a while she sat on the bluff to the south of the harbor, watching the fishing boats. All along the stony beach below, seabirds were in a constant frenzy over the buckets of herring being brought in. She wished she had her paper and charcoal.

  As the sun rose higher in the sky, she started walking again. At the bottom of a hill, she took another intersecting lane. She turned her steps toward the dock. As she reached the long, low buildings, a swarm of children surrounded her, running in every direction. A young lad barreled into her legs, and she caught him before he fell back.

  Innes was still smiling when she spotted Conall in conversation with a man who must be the master of one of the trading vessels moored in the harbor.

  As if he were expecting her, he turned and looked directly at her.

  The man continued to speak, but Conall heard nothing more. He stood gazing at Innes as time stood still. She looked so serene, so at ease in the midst of the chaos. She didn’t try to hide her smile.

  He’d been so relieved this morning to find her already in the stables when he came down the stairs. Perhaps she was just heeding his warning. Or perhaps she wanted to spend the day with him. He preferred to think it was the latter.

  He finished his instructions to the ship’s master and strode to her.

  “How do you like the village?” he asked.

  Another child ran around her, using her skirt to hide from a pursuing toddler. Innes laughed, and he had an almost overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, looking around. “Such activity. You don’t have to stop what you were doing, you know. I’m quite capable of amusing myself.”

  “Let me amuse you,” he said, taking her gloved hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm. “But first I need to look in at one of the warehouses.”

  Leading her toward a building near the wharf, he felt such a sense of well-being, of possibilities for the future. He loved this feeling, but knew he had to rein himself in.

  “Are you finished with your business dealings?”

  “I am. Lachlan told you what we’re doing?”

  “He’s quite proud of all you’ve accomplished. He feels that he’s a part of something quite special. I think it’s brilliant.” She squeezed his arm. “I know my father would love to speak to you about the wool exporting.”

  He guessed she knew the business herself. “What do the Munros do about it?”

  “The wool agents go from village to farm, paying the least they can.”

  “Agents, transporters, traders, merchants, other merchants selling to still more merchants, and eventually it gets to Edinburgh,” he said, shaking his head. “And the farmers haven’t much to show for it, do they?”

  “Just as it’s always been.”

  “I know. We were in the same place not too long ago. Now, we’re cutting out a number of those middlemen and garnering the profits ourselves.” He pressed his hand on hers, relishing the warmth of it, even through the thin leather glove. “I would be happy to speak with you and your father about it. It took some planning, and there were initial costs, but it’s achievable and worthwhile.”

  Moving past several rows of buildings, Conall led her inside one closest to the dock.

  “This is no warehouse,” she whispered in surprise. “You have looms. You’re using your own wool to produce cloth.”

  “Aye, and fine warm stuff, too, as you can see.”

  They walked by rolls of woolen cloth, stacked and ready for shipment. Workers bustled back and forth, some carrying large spools of spun wool, and others carrying rolls of finished material.

  “I need a few minutes’ time to discuss my morning’s meeting with the master weavers.”

  “No hurry. I’ll wait right here.” She withdrew her hand from his arm and walked away.

  The people that he needed to speak to gathered around him. Conall gave them the terms that had been agreed upon this morning, drawing comments of approval. Meanwhile, his gaze never strayed too far from Innes.

  As she moved along, she nodded to the workers, asking questions. By one of the drawlooms, she pulled off a glove and caressed the cloth. He stared at her delicate fingers, so pale against the vibrant colors of the wool. A worker stepped up and said something. Innes smiled and responded, pulling the gloves back on.

  She repeated the same thing at another loom. She tested the quality while speaking with the seated weaver and the drawboy. A few moments later, as she stepped away, Conall saw the glove being donned once again.

  When his business with the weavers was finished, he followed Innes to the next building. Here, in a room beyond the dyers, the spinners plied their trade, preparing the combed wool for the looms. Gesturing to the women not to give him away, he approached her from behind. Her naked fingers sank into the puffy shreds of wool. She picked up a piece and tested the softness against her skin, held it to her nose and breathed in its smell.

  Her slow, delicate movements and her smile bewitched him.

  The image of her fingers on his own skin pushed into Conall’s mind. He wanted her hands on his body. He imagined himself holding her, touching her. He looked at her mouth, wanting to ravish it.

  Her fingers sank into the pile again, and she didn’t know he was upon her until his hand dove in and joined hers. The skin was softer than silk. A surprise gasp escaped her lips as he entwined their fingers, holding h
er captive. She turned, her gaze flying to his face.

  He wanted to kiss her and explore every sweet recess of her mouth.

  She swayed and her lips parted. Her gloved hand flattened against his chest.

  He wanted to undo the buttons of that dress and press his mouth to her throat, down the neckline of the dress. He wanted to taste her flesh and run his tongue against places that would make her cry out with pleasure.

  The gray eyes darkened, and her gaze dropped to his lips.

  He wanted to run his hand over her naked body, cupping her breast, touching the folds of her sex.

  Innes gasped and leaned toward him.

  She had no idea the effect she had on him. An urgent need rushed into his loins. He wanted her, and he wanted her now. She was in danger of being ravished in the middle of a room filled with women at work at their spinning wheels.

  “We have to leave,” he muttered. “Now.”

  She nodded. Her face was bright red. She pulled her hand away, and Conall saw the fingers trembling as she hurriedly pulled the glove back on.

  Those few moments gave him every answer he’d been searching for. He’d seen the desire banked like hot coals in her eyes. He wouldn’t let her play that hiding game again. As long as she stayed at Castle Girnigoe, he would draw her out and pursue her.

  He led her out of the building. Neither said a word. He directed her up a small rise toward the place where she’d left Lachlan.

  They hadn’t gone ten paces when the sudden wail of a child yanked her to a stop. They both looked over at a toddler facedown in the dirt. She went over and helped him up.

  “There, there. This is not so bad.”

  The child’s cries only became shriller. A lump the size of a goose egg was quickly forming above the boy’s eyebrow. His chin was scratched, as well. His nose was running, and dirt mixed with his tears.

  Innes lifted the boy into her arms and rocked him as she checked his injuries.

  Conall looked around for a mother or for other children. No one showed any interest in the wailing boy who now called for his mama.

  “Where is she?” he asked. “Where is your mama?”