“You are wrong,” Meriel said crisply. “And I intend to prove it by accepting Hamish’s offer.”
Craig shook his head at the foolish but expected announcement. The first and only time he had tried to teach Meriel how to ride a horse had been more than just a disaster. And it was not as if he were the only one to have been scathed by the experience. Craig remembered asking her father about her riding skills and Rae Schellden had let go a streak of swear words that ended with “never again” and “death.” Her sister, a superb horsewoman, had a similar reaction. Looking back, Craig should have put more stock in their experience. But he had not, thinking that he and Meriel had a unique bond that would enable him to do the impossible.
What resulted was their biggest and nastiest fight, and it had nearly destroyed their friendship. They had locked horns almost at the onset. He quickly learned that nothing could penetrate that stubborn will of hers when she was dead set against learning how to ride.
He thought she had been unwilling to listen and try; and she declared him to be a dictator, issuing not advice or help, but orders. After a week of not speaking to each other, her father had intervened, stating that he was not going to let two obstinate people and a pitiable horse ruin his clan’s army and chase off all his servants. Realizing that Rae Schellden was right and that his negative attitude was affecting how he was interacting with his men, Craig agreed to leave the incident in the past and never bring up the subject of teaching Meriel how to ride a horse again. And so had Meriel. Another fact she had conveniently forgotten.
Craig considered mentioning her oversight but decided against the idea. Nothing could penetrate that stubborn will of hers, which was something Hamish was soon going to discover if she actually followed through with her threat.
Craig began to search for another tactic that might dissuade her from accepting Hamish’s offer, which would result only in pain, when he mentally skidded to a halt. He could kick himself. Too quickly he had thought to interfere when he should have been eager to support such an idea. Aye, he had thought to keep Hamish and Meriel apart. But this was an exception.
Craig’s and Meriel’s friendship had lasted because time had been on their side. Hamish had such no advocate. So while the man might have the seeds of desire for Meriel right now, an hour into their first riding lesson, not even feelings of friendship would remain.
Craig caught the large grin forming on his face just in time. It was quickly replaced with a grimace. How could he suddenly change his position? The answer came to him, for he did not have to. He had already goaded her into considering accepting Hamish’s offer. Now, all he had to do was prick her pride just enough to ensure she actually went.
“I do not think you really will accept,” Craig announced confidently. “You are saying you will, just to get a rise out of me, but it won’t work. You and I both know that neither you nor Hamish will last an hour before you are yelling at each other. And an hour is being generous.”
Meriel stiffened. “Sometimes, Craig, you rival your brother Conan when it comes to being an ass.”
A chill hung on the edge of her words, and Craig realized his prick had been more like a stab. Even though he truly believed what he said, that a fight would ensue upon any attempt to instruct her on anything dealing with a horse, Craig had not meant to be so offensive. He was about to say as much and apologize, when Meriel once again surprised him.
“But I have to admit that I have given you—and mayhap one or two others in my family—reason to believe that I would be hostile to any attempt to teach me how to ride a horse. But I think this time it might be different. I’ve changed. I no longer shirk from learning new things and meeting new people. And Hamish knew just what to say to actually make me look forward to the challenge.”
Her head had fallen against the back of the chair, and her eyes were staring at the arched ceiling of the Great Hall. Meriel’s thoughts were obviously not with him, but somewhere else. Craig considered demanding to know just what Hamish had said to make her so willing, but long-developed survivor instinct made him bite his tongue. He was not going to encourage any ploy that she might be using to try to make him jealous.
Meriel lifted her head and smiled. “You got quiet.”
Craig furrowed his brow. Outwardly he was not saying much, but silently he was devising one very long lecture that he intended to give her sometime in the near future. “Sounds like you have made up your mind.”
“And you?”
“What about me?” Craig shot back.
Unfazed, Meriel answered, “We started talking about what our day would be like tomorrow. So far, all we have discussed are my plans. Do you have anything interesting scheduled? Fallon have some dastardly deed he is going to inflict upon you?”
Craig adjusted his position in his chair and tried to think about his own day tomorrow. If Fallon did need him, it had better be able to be accomplished in the morning, for in the afternoon he intended to watch the end of Hamish’s and Meriel’s growing friendship. But he was not about to admit that to her. “Nothing of any import,” he finally replied.
Meriel sighed and rose to her feet. She walked toward the door, stopping to give his shoulder a squeeze. “Good night.”
Craig instinctively lifted his hand to clasp hers, only becoming aware of what he was doing when she let go. With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to hide his sexual frustration. “Where are you going?” he demanded more abruptly than intended.
Meriel ignored the gruffness of his tone and gave him an affectionate smile he had often seen her give little Brenna. “To my room, of course.”
“Don’t you want to talk some more?”
“What about?”
He gave her a small shrug. He had no answer to her question. They had never had to think about what they discussed. In the past, they had more to say than time available, and he could recall many a night when she or he would reluctantly call their conversation to an end. But not tonight.
Meriel laughed gently and waved good-bye before making her way across the room. Craig could only stare. It was not as if he had nothing to say. He did. More than ever before. He just didn’t know how. Talking with Meriel had always been so effortless, but that was when he was not analyzing everything she and he did and did not say.
Craig was still dithering about whether or not he should call her back when Meriel stepped out of the room. Just before the doors closed, he could hear her say hello to someone. Her voice had been full of life and eagerness. And Craig could not deny what it was he was feeling—he was jealous.
He tried to convince himself that Meriel had been hailing Laurel or Maegan or one of myriad people around the castle, but despite his best efforts, an image of Hamish, smiling his obnoxiously large grin, came to mind. Craig could hear him chattering on about his day, and Meriel, who could find nothing to talk about a few minutes ago, easily conversing back.
Feeling possessive about a conversation was ridiculous, and yet Craig could not squelch the notion that her thoughts, frustrations, hopes—anything that she wanted to talk about—belonged first and foremost to him. He was her best friend, damn it. Or at least she had been. He was being replaced and he was just letting it happen.
Craig rose from his chair and left the Great Hall, fully intending to join whatever conversation Meriel was having, regardless of whom she was having it with.
But the courtyard was empty. And so were the North Tower, the kitchens, the stable, and everywhere he could think she might have gone at night before retiring.
Chapter 8
Craig awoke the next morning intending to recommence his search for Meriel but had not been able to take two steps into the courtyard before Fallon saw him and redirected him from the North Tower to the Lower Hall. In truth, he had had to handle very few crises since his brother had gone, especially for a clan the size of the McTiernays. But the few that did crop up always seemed to do so when Craig had plans to do things other than manage clan affairs.
>
Hoping it was a disgruntled farmer and not an irate housekeeper, upset that he had allowed too many castle servants leave from their duties, Craig was stunned to see a weeping Wyenda slumped over one of the trestle tables in the Lower Hall. Craig’s face twisted into a quizzical expression that conveyed his confusion about just what the steward expected.
Fallon, shorter than most Highlanders but with a forceful presence, crossed his arms and looked up so that he could stare Craig in the eye. “The men will be arriving soon and she, well, she just cannot be here!”
“I know that,” Craig hissed in frustration. He also knew that the soldiers were not due to arrive for the noon meal for several hours yet, so the urgency in Fallon’s tone was more from frustration than immediate concern. Still, the idea of a woman choosing the Lower Hall as a place to cry was unfathomable. “Why is she here?”
Fallon threw his hands up in the air. No one ever defied him—well, practically no one. Laird and Lady McTiernay had the right, so that could be overlooked, but a simple clanswoman? It was unheard of, and Fallon’s frustration at being unable to intimidate Wyenda into compliance was growing with each passing moment.
“I came in to conduct some business privately and found her as she is. This . . . this . . . gonag has since refused to move or respond to my inquiries!” Fallon huffed, and was only slightly mollified that his final insult had gotten a reaction. Wyenda raised her tear-streaked face and glared at the old man for calling her miserable before letting out a soft wail and dropping her head back into the crook of her arm to cry some more.
Craig raked his hand through his hair. Crying women! Worse, it had to be Wyenda. How was this his responsibility? He tried to imagine Conor dealing with such a situation and he knew immediately what his brother would do. He would quickly extricate himself from the affair and make his wife handle it. “Why didn’t you seek out Laurel’s assistance? She should have been told, not me.”
“Lady McTiernay left early this morning to deal with clan issues outside of the castle walls,” Fallon answered tersely, as if it should have been obvious why that option had not already been applied. Seeing Craig open his mouth to respond, the steward quickly added, “And Lady Meriel is currently engaged in her room and . . . well, she is very much unavailable.”
Craig stiffened upon hearing this news. The idea that private meetings between her and Hamish had not ceased, as he had thought, but were continuing in her bedchambers sent a shiver of alarm and anger rippling up his spine. The only thing that kept him from turning abruptly and marching up to the North Tower was the steward’s seeming unconcern that something improper might be taking place. Still, the words “very much unavailable” had been carefully chosen, and Craig’s new and immediate priority was to pay a visit to Meriel. But he had to deal with Wyenda first.
Craig toyed with the idea of tossing the meddlesome creature over his shoulder and physically forcing her from the room, but decided to save that as a last resort. Taking a deep breath, he stepped as close as he dared to the crying aigeantach. “Wyenda, stop this and tell me just why you are in here . . . and so upset.”
Her head snapped up. “Don’t pretend to care about my sorrows.”
“Mo creach!” Craig snapped, doing nothing to hide his exasperation. “You obviously want someone to care, otherwise you would have found a more private place to carry on.”
From the corner of his eye, he could see Fallon’s jaw drop in shock. Part of Craig wanted to shout at the old man that while he did not particularly enjoy playing the role of laird, he was not incapable of doing so. And when it came to Wyenda, he had learned the hard way that she did nothing—nothing—without a calculated reason. “So answer me. Why are you here, and just what do you want?”
Wyenda rose to her feet. “I want absolutely nothing from you McTiernays. I have never wanted anything. It was forced upon me as my only option, and every attempt I have ever made to remove myself from these circumstances and return to a life I deserve, is intentionally thwarted. So I ask you, if you all dislike me so much, why do you work so hard to keep me here?”
Craig had no idea what Wyenda was talking about. If she wanted to leave, he suspected more than one man—including himself—would be happy to help her depart. “Nice speech, Wyenda, but you forget that I know you. So answer my question—why are you here?”
Wyenda’s large blue eyes glared at Craig. Her voluminous hair fell in waves around her. She stood up straight and he could see the exquisite figure that had at one time caught his eye. Knowing the person the body housed, Craig wondered how he could ever have been attracted to such a creature. “As if you do not know that I have nowhere else to go,” she wailed. “My grandmother has evicted me from her home, and the one man I intended to marry has decided against me. Seems his friend, a Dougal Matheson, was invited to that awful dinner party and relayed a twisted version of what happened that night. I tried to explain to Iain that I had been tricked, but he made it quite clear that based on what he had heard from various McTiernays, no man of any consequence would ever seek my hand in marriage.”
Craig inhaled and crossed his arms. Wyenda had it wrong. He remembered Dougal Matheson being there that evening. Though Matheson lived just a few hours’ ride on the other side of the McTiernays’ northwest border, their clans were not close allies. Yet, they were friendly. Craig had spoken to Dougal only briefly before the dinner, and all of the conversation had centered on the tedious and lengthy visit of Dougal’s distant relative—Iain. So if Iain was the man Wyenda had been seeking to marry, she had no idea what kind of man he was. But those facts did not change her—and his—current situation. “So you are here for . . .”
Wyenda narrowed her gaze and said through tight lips, “I need a place to stay.”
Craig nearly choked. “Here? In the castle? I think not. We like our servants, and are not in the habit of making them endure self-absorbed women who enjoy hurting those around them.”
Wyenda’s head jerked and she was forced to take a step backward to regain her balance. She had overheard similar remarks but had attributed them to jealousy, as no one ever dared to say as much to her face. “Then where am I to go? You cannot refuse me!”
Craig shook his head. She truly did not see how she had brought the situation upon herself. How could she not see how her words and actions collectively had created her current situation? Was she truly unable to accept that her life had changed, that her continued pursuit of the past would only bring her unhappiness? Craig took a deep breath and it caught in his throat as a single thought came to his mind. The same could be said of you.
Craig flexed his hands, which had balled up into fists while folded across his chest. He could not find it in himself to forgive Wyenda for her treatment of people, especially Meriel, and yet he was not inclined to abandon the woman to the elements. “This situation is of your making, not mine, and therefore so shall the remedy be yours. While you may not like them, you do have choices. Return to your grandmother and grovel for forgiveness, pledging never to abuse her kindness again. And if by chance some fool is overtaken by your beauty and offers marriage, accept it and then make sure he never regrets the decision.”
Craig turned to leave when Wyenda shouted back, “That is only one option! I demand to have another!”
Craig reached the Lower Hall door and paused before he opened it. Looking over his shoulder at the befuddled steward, Craig ordered, “If she has not left within the next five minutes, then forcibly remove her.” Craig pushed open the heavy door and stopped once again to address the steward. “Oh, and Fallon, I do not mean depositing her outside the hall here in the bailey, but beyond the castle walls. Be sure to instruct the guards at the gatehouse as to my wishes.”
The door was swinging closed when he heard her shriek something about Conor and Laurel. Craig was unfazed. He suspected that in comparison to his brother and sister-in-law, he had been overly tolerant of her tantrum and fairly compassionate. And while Craig did not have high hopes that sh
e would ever realize the truth of her situation, he no longer was willfully ignorant of his.
The truth was that the relationship he and Meriel had was no more. Too many things had happened for it to remain unchanged. And there was Hamish.
Whether or not she had been playing a ruse at the beginning was becoming less and less relevant each time she and Hamish met. His friend liked Meriel, and his feelings for her were growing. Whether they would grow beyond his usual infatuation was hard to determine, but the man was acting disturbingly more serious and sincere. Had Meriel’s feelings also changed, or did she still see Hamish as a friend? Where did the truth begin and end?
Craig clenched his jaw. If Meriel wanted to talk, then they would. And right now.
Craig pivoted and marched toward the North Tower. Hope you are ready, Meriel, Craig mumbled to himself. You wanted a subject to discuss—well, I have several.
Craig entered the castle and could hear Meriel laughing, indicating that the door was open and that someone was with her. He bounded up the staircase preparing how he was going to interrupt the lively party and evict Hamish, and not just for now, but forever. By the time he reached her room, the tension in his body had neared its breaking point, causing him to erupt at the scene in front of him. “What exactly is going on in here!”
Laughter came to an abrupt halt and two pairs of shocked eyes were leveled on him. One was hazel and belonged to Meriel. The other was silver and had just become quite icy. Craig blinked and sent a prayer to the men in Brenna’s future. If at eight years of age she knew how to level a cold stare at a man, then whomever pledged himself to her for life had no hope of ever winning an argument, whether in the right or not. “Sorry, little Bren, I . . . uh . . . I thought you were someone else.”
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