Just as Daniel passed under the portcullis, a short, stout man dressed in the English fashion hurried out of the tower keep. His hair was streaked with gray, but his trimmed beard was reddish-brown. Daniel registered the man’s eyes widening as he took in the solitary, road-soiled, and kilted man before him. But the man quickly dropped into a bow, preventing Daniel from reading any more shock and horror on his face.
“Laird Kennedy, I presume,” Daniel said evenly. Let the man think what he wanted about him. He was the lord of this keep now.
“Aye, and you must be Daniel Sinclair, sent by King Robert the Bruce himself to serve as keeper of Loch Doon,” Kennedy said, loudly enough for all the servants who lined the yard to hear.
Good, Daniel thought with inward relief. At least the man who was being so publicly put down wasn’t challenging Daniel’s new authority. Not yet, anyway.
Kennedy looked over Daniel’s shoulder and dropped his voice. “Forgive me, my lord, but where are your men? Surely you have traveled with a retinue?”
This was an early opportunity for Daniel to assert his authority.
“Nay, Laird, I traveled alone. I do not need to fill Loch Doon with men who are already loyal to me to establish order.”
Another startled look crossed Kennedy’s face, but he refrained from commenting.
“I have been told much of your daughter’s beauty, Laird. Where is the lass I am to marry?”
Normally Daniel would have softened his words somewhat, but he was too tired to care at the moment.
He wasn’t too tired, however, to notice the tightening around Kennedy’s mouth.
“I will introduce you to Rona shortly, my lord. I’m sure you would rather have a tour of the castle first,” Kennedy replied.
Actually, Daniel would rather be back in the Highlands, but he held his tongue. It would take a while to get used to these Lowlanders’ soft, barely-Scottish accent. They sounded more English than Scottish, at least to his Highland ears. And a quick glance around those gathered revealed the fact that although some men and women wore the plaids of the Kennedys, Bruces, and other Lowland clans over their shoulders, none of the men wore kilts. Instead, they were dressed in English-cut breeches. Daniel barely managed to suppress a frown.
His mood lightened somewhat as Kennedy guided him around the castle. The curtain wall extended nearly to the small island’s shoreline, and the entire keep was bigger than Daniel had initially thought. There was a wooden barn off the yard that held milking cows, pigs, and chickens, but there were no stalls for horses.
“We don’t need horses here on the island,” Kennedy said in reply to Daniel’s unspoken question. “I’m sure you noticed the well-maintained docks in the village. There is a large stable nearby for the castle’s use.”
Daniel got a tour of the small but peaceful kirk, the armory, and the kitchen, which was attached to the main tower keep. The kitchen staff, like all the others he was introduced to, bobbed courteously, but sent curious glances at his kilt and general travel-worn appearance as he passed.
From the kitchen, Kennedy guided Daniel through the great hall, where the trestle tables and benches had been pushed to the side for the day. Finely woven tapestries lined the walls, and a fire roared in the large hearth on the back wall.
As the two men made their way up the winding stairs that led to the private chambers above, Daniel again tried to broach the subject of his unseen bride.
“I suppose Lady Rona waits to greet me in her chamber? Or perhaps she has prepared a bath for me.”
“Ah…I have instructed Agnes to ready a bath for you, my lord, though the water isn’t hot yet. We had so little notice of your arrival…”
So, perhaps his mystery bride was simply unprepared to be presented, Daniel thought, his dark mood returning. As much as he could appreciate the time and effort it could take a lady to get ready, his patience was wearing thin. Why was Kennedy being so evasive?
“This will be your chamber, my lord,” Kennedy said as he pushed a heavy wooden door open. “Once word came from King Robert that you would take over as keeper of Loch Doon, I vacated this chamber in favor of a smaller one abovestairs.”
The chamber was dim, and a fire was ready to be lit in a large brazier. Furs covered the window against the winter chill, but enough low light filled the room to reveal an enormous bed, an armoire, and a desk with a candle, pitcher, and bowl on it.
Daniel turned to the Laird, realizing that it was the first time they had been out of earshot of servants or household staff.
“Thank you for your gracious welcome, Laird Kennedy. I hope you know that I did not request this post, but now that it is mine, I plan to run a more…orderly keep.”
It took the remainder of his energy to refrain from openly stating that Kennedy had jeopardized Robert the Bruce’s ancestral home as well as cast doubt on his allegiance to his Scottish King by dealing with the English. Nevertheless, Kennedy seemed to pick up on the unspoken critique.
“I accept the King’s decision, because I am loyal to him,” Kennedy said tightly. “I welcome you to find a more…orderly way to run a Scottish castle in what has almost become English territory—and keep the castle in one piece, of course.”
So, perhaps Kennedy wasn’t as docile and conciliatory as Daniel had initially thought. Hell, what had the Bruce gotten him into?
Brushing the subject away with a wave of his hand, Daniel indicated for Kennedy to continue with the tour. They climbed the stairs higher, and Daniel was shown more private rooms for guests and other members of the family, plus a large study.
The stairs ended at a platform where archers could survey the entire curtain wall and the open loch waters that surrounded it. Daniel was again struck by not only the beauty of Loch Doon, but also its impenetrability as a stronghold. No wonder the Bruce wanted it safely kept in good hands.
As they made their way back down the winding stairs, Daniel paused in front of one door that Kennedy hadn’t opened.
“Another guest chamber?” he said, forcing Kennedy to stop and face him.
“Ah…nay. That is…that is my daughter’s chamber.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes at the suddenly fumbling Laird. Without waiting or knocking, Daniel pushed the heavy door open. Half-expecting to hear the startled shrieks of the mystery lady, instead he was greeted with a silent, dark, and cool room.
He rounded on Kennedy. “What is the meaning of this, Laird? Where is your daughter?”
Kennedy entwined his fingers in what looked like a desperate prayer. “Lady Rona…is not here.”
His patience had finally worn to nothing. “Well, where the hell is she?”
“I don’t know.”
HIGHLANDER’S RECKONING
CHAPTER FOUR
Rona knew she should have returned to Loch Doon hours ago. Night had already fallen, yet she couldn’t tear herself away from Bhreaca.
The peregrine falcon perched on her gauntleted wrist cocked her head, hearing something that Rona couldn’t. What Rona wouldn’t give to live in Bhreaca’s body, even for a day. All afternoon and evening, Rona had flown Bhreaca, sending her hunting for rabbits and pheasants and letting her stretch her wings.
Reluctantly, Rona eased the falcon into her mews, which provided protection and safety while she slept. Fionna, Ian’s white gyrfalcon, preened in the wooden mews built next to Bhreaca’s.
With one last stroke of her speckled chest feathers, Rona closed the door to the mews and sighed.
“It’s never long enough, is it?”
She turned at the warm sound of Ian’s voice behind her.
“Nay. I wish I could fly her all day. Or better yet, I wish I could fly with her!”
Ian chuckled, and they both turned from the mews, which were built against the small cottage Ian shared with Mairi.
As Rona entered the cottage behind Ian, Mairi’s dark-locked head lifted from the caldron of stew she was preparing.
“Shall I fix you a bowl, dear?” Mairi asked Rona.
Rona’s stomach rumbled and she took a deep inhalation of the warm, seasoned rabbit stew. “Though I’d like nothing more that to share Bhreaca’s catch with you, I have already overstayed.”
Ian frowned as he went to Mairi’s side. “You know you’re always welcome, Rona.”
“Of course!” Warmth suffused her at the couple’s kindness. “It’s not that. It’s…apparently Daniel Sinclair is supposed to arrive today.”
“The one who—” Mairi halted. She knew from previous conversations that the arranged marriage was a sore subject for Rona.
“Aye, that one,” she replied with a weak smile.
“And when you say he’s supposed to arrive today, you mean he probably already has?” Ian quirked a light brown brow at her, trying to keep his tone neutral.
“I’m going to catch hell for this,” Rona muttered, but that only brought a broad grin from Ian and a forced look of disapproval from Mairi.
Seeing her husband’s smile, Mairi swatted his shoulder. “Don’t encourage her, Ian,” she said, trying to sound stern. “You’d best be off, then, dear,” she said to Rona. “The birds will be here when you return.”
Instead of comforting her, Mairi’s words sent her heart sinking. She had tried to tell herself all day as she flew Bhreaca that nothing would change now that she was to be married. She could still sneak away to Ian and Mairi’s little cottage in the Galloway woods and fly Bhreaca alongside Ian and his gyrfalcon Fionna. She could still sit and chat with Mairi. She could still keep their secret.
But what if her new husband kept a closer eye on her than her father did? What if he wouldn’t let her travel alone through the forest to Ian and Mairi’s isolated cottage? Or worse, what if he found out that she not only knew how to train and keep falcons, but that she flew a peregrine falcon? And that Ian flew a snow-white gyrfalcon?
The fact that she knew how to hunt with a bird of prey wasn’t entirely incriminating. As the daughter of a Laird, it was conceivable that her family could keep a falconer on hand for when they wanted to go hunting.
But as a lady, she was only allowed to hunt with a sparrowhawk or a merlin, smaller birds that flew more for show than to put food on the table.
A peregrine falcon, on the other hand, was the sign of wealth and status. Such birds were normally reserved for princes. And flying a bird above one’s station was considered a felony and an act of rebellion against the social order. She could have one or both of her hands cut off for flying Bhreaca. And she didn’t even want to think about what would be done to Ian—gyrfalcons were reserved for kings.
But more damning was how she came to learn falconry—it was the secret she kept for Ian and Mairi. Even if, as the daughter of a Laird, she knew how to hunt with a falcon, she shouldn’t know how to train a bird, how to bring it from the wild and teach it to trust her. Even the most avid hunter of noble birth had his own falconer, someone trained in the art of working with a wild bird. A lady wouldn’t know such an art—nor would two peasants living humbly in the woods.
Rona’s fears and heartache must have been written all over her face, for Mairi approached and wrapped her arms around her. “Are you worrying again, dear?”
She nodded silently and tried to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat.
“We’ll be all right,” Ian said softly. “We’ve always gotten by.”
Rona straightened out of her embrace with Mairi, forcing a brave smile on her face. “I know you’re right. I just need reminding sometimes.”
After all, Ian’s family had been practicing falconry—illegally, according to the King of England’s laws—as a family tradition for generations. They didn’t seek wealth and prestige as noblemen’s falconers. Instead, they practiced the art as a way to put food on the table and to honor the powerful, awe-inspiring birds of prey they worked with.
“I just know so little about this Daniel Sinclair whom I am to marry. But you know that I’ll keep your secret, and mine.”
Ian and Mairi both nodded solemnly in response.
Rona hustled out the cottage door, looking back once at the warm light that spilled around Ian and Mairi as they stood in the doorway watching her go.
By the time she reached Loch Doon, it had been dark for hours. Luckily, all the extra activity around the village and castle in preparation for her soon-to-be-husband’s arrival meant that it was easy for her to find a boat to transport her back to the island. When she docked, the portcullis still stood open.
Clutching her cloak around her, she hurried under the portcullis and into the courtyard. It struck her that although there was still an air of tense anticipation hanging around the castle, the yard was quiet and empty. She could see that light still shone from several of the tower keep’s windows, though. Perhaps she wasn’t too late. Perhaps Daniel Sinclair hadn’t arrived today.
She eased open the large doors to the great hall. Instead of finding it filled with servants and people sitting down for the evening meal, the hall was nearly empty. Her eyes fell on her father, who stood nearby wringing his hands. But then her attention shifted as a shadowy figure crossed in front of the fire in the huge hearth.
“Rona!” Her father’s voice pierced the eerie quiet, but her attention was held on the stranger in front of the fire, whose head whipped up and toward her.
“Rona, where have you been? How dare you disappear like that, and on such an important day?” Her father rushed toward her, blocking her vision of the stranger. He wrapped his hands around her arms and shook her hard.
“Answer me, girl!” her father shouted, giving her another harsh shake.
“Laird Kennedy.”
The stranger’s voice boomed across the empty hall, and yet he hadn’t shouted. He merely spoke with complete authority.
“I would thank you to take your hands off my bride. Seeing as how I am the keeper of this castle and the lass’s future husband, I’ll handle this.”
Her father reluctantly stepped aside, but suddenly Rona preferred to face her father’s wrath that this stranger’s cool, commanding authority.
As the man approached, she got her first good look at him. He was garbed in a simple linen shirt, and though it was soiled and dirty, it couldn’t obscure his large, muscular frame. Over one broad shoulder was thrown a length of red plaid, which was fastened with a simple pin. The plaid was also wound around his trim hips in a kilt. She had only ever seen kilts on the rough Highlanders who occasionally passed through the village on their way to fight the English.
His lower legs were covered in woolen hose and tall leather boots, which looked just as soiled and worn as his shirt. Though he didn’t wear a great sword on his hip or strapped to his broad back the way the other Highland barbarians she had seen did, he had a long knife secured to his calf, making him look all the more fierce.
But what truly took her breath away was his handsome yet ominously stormy visage. His long, dark brown hair was pulled back loosely from his face. Dark stubble obscured his jawline, but she could see that it was firm and angular beneath his scruff. Frowning lips sat below his straight, strong nose, and his eyes—they looked almost black in the low light of the hall, but as he approached, she realized they were blue-gray like a squally sea.
“Leave us,” the man said flatly to her father, though his eyes never left her. In fact, she suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable under his hard, sharp gaze.
Without a word of protest, her father hurried toward the staircase leading to the chambers above.
Rona forced herself to straighten her spine under the man’s silent stare. She wouldn’t be made to quaver in her boots by some stranger, even if he was to be her husband. Never mind that his gaze made her feel silly and tongue-tied.
“I take it you must be Daniel Sinclair, third son to the Laird of a Highland clan,” she said levelly.
If her father had been there, he would have gone into a fit at her impertinence for drawing attention to the man’s lower rank. But she was no docile, sweet lady
; it was best he knew that from the beginning.
She was prepared for his frown to deepen, or even for him to berate her for her insolence. Instead his face remained flat and unreadable.
“And I take it you must be Rona Kennedy, daughter of a disgraced and disloyal Laird.”
She felt her eyes widen and her jaw slacken at the open insult he flung at both her and her father. Well, she had started it. But to openly call her father disloyal? Too late, she realized that her temper had reached the boiling point.
“How dare you come into our home and insult us in this manner! My father did what was necessary to keep Loch Doon in one piece! I’m sure a Highlander like you wouldn’t understand the finer points of diplomacy and negotiation required in the Lowlands during this tumultuous time.”
“You call Loch Doon your home, but I’ll remind you that it is Robert the Bruce’s ancestral land, and he built Loch Doon with his own two hands. I am the keeper of the castle now, and I serve the Bruce—not the English who threaten us.”
Daniel watched as a series of emotions flitted across the Kennedy lass’s face. Though he doubted she was aware of it, her thoughts and feelings were written clearly on her comely features.
Actually, she was more than comely. As Daniel had approached when she entered the hall, he took in her bright red hair, which rolled in loose waves down her back. It made her look wild, like some forest fairy. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks had a pink tinge from the cold outside. When he was standing right in front of her, he realized that a smattering of freckles crossed the bridge of her small, pert nose, making her look all the more impertinent. Her eyes blazed bright blue, a cold fire to match her flame-red hair.
Anger, outrage, and stubbornness all warred for dominance on her face. She nearly retorted again, but she forcefully swallowed her words and pressed her lips together.
That gave him another moment to strategize his approach to the lass. First she had evaded him by disappearing for the entire afternoon and evening. That had given him plenty to stew about. Though he and the rest of the castle had taken a quick and joyless evening meal in the great hall, he had been too distracted and annoyed to bathe or get settled in his new chamber. Instead, he had paced the empty hall with Kennedy hovering over him until she suddenly appeared.
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