Tempting the Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  An enormous grin took over Conor’s face. “Aye. Wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  Schellden examined the four bodies sprawled in the hay of one of the larger stalls. None of them had heard his entry, enabling him to watch the singular commotion without notice. A giggling Raelynd was dancing all around Craig as both were attempting to tackle the other, while his other daughter, Meriel, rolled around in the hay with Crevan engaged in a similar leisure interest. He had expected them to be actively engaged—had even hoped to find them with lips locked—but a hay fight? That was something he had not anticipated. Worse, the lack of impropriety was going to make his plan all the more difficult to execute.

  Raelynd swung around Craig, who unceremoniously tossed her onto a mound of hay before flopping down beside her. She was about to stand up and attack again, when she froze. “Papa,” she spurted, spitting out a piece of straw. “What are you doing here?”

  Schellden crossed his arms and stared down at Raelynd and then Meriel, hoping his expression conveyed severe unhappiness. His daughters’ eyes darted everywhere but his gaze. Both McTiernays, now aware of his presence, did not feel similar shame and rose to their feet, looking at him with a bemused mixture of feigned innocence.

  Craig and Crevan McTiernay had trained under Schellden as young men several years ago. They had fought with him and his late commander last year at Bannockburn, the hard-won battle that resulted in deep losses. Earlier in the year, the brothers had agreed to assist him in guiding and training new recruits until a new commander could be decided upon.

  Fraternal twins, Craig and Crevan McTiernay possessed similar features, but in personality they were unmistakable individuals. An exceptional soldier, Craig’s booming and decisive voice grabbed the men’s attention and held it. Soldiers listened to him, respected him, and followed his lead without question. But off the field, his wit, quick mind, and merry disposition typically made him the entertainment for any gathering.

  Though just as commanding on the battlefield, Crevan interacted with those around him quite differently. Possessing an introspective personality, most believed his quiet demeanor due to his halted speech. But after years of knowing him, Schellden knew such assumptions were shortsighted and unwise. Crevan had accepted who he was long ago and his style of command did not reflect insecurity, but thought, consideration, and firm resolve. With one exception—Raelynd.

  With her, Crevan was discomposed . . . though he never let anyone see it. Raelynd was his opposite. She was vivacious and strong minded, but she too often walked without aim. That is unless angered by Crevan. Then she possessed unusual focus and determination.

  Schellden finally captured the mortified gazes of his daughters. “Both of you return to your rooms until I call for you.”

  Then, without pause, he turned to face Crevan and Craig. Two pairs of bright blue eyes returned his stare without qualm. Both men knew they had been caught in a potentially compromising situation, and yet neither spoke a word of apology. The McTiernay brothers were known throughout the Highlands for their ability to outthink their opponents and for their incredible obstinacy.

  I can be stubborn too, Schellden reasoned to himself. I have to be.

  After looking both men in their eyes, Schellden inhaled deeply and said, “Follow me. We have things to discuss.”

  Crevan glanced at his brother, who mirrored his grimace, and then pivoted to follow Schellden out of the stables and across the bailey. With each step, Crevan replayed the actions of the last half hour against what he knew of his neighbor.

  Rae Schellden loved his daughters. Too much in many ways, and Crevan had told him so on several occasions when Schellden refused to address Raelynd’s officious conduct with the servants. She and her sister were the man’s most precious gifts and since his wife passed away nine years ago, he had become even more protective and indulgent. The close bond between their two clans would have mattered little to Schellden if either Crevan or Craig had done anything wrong, but both women were still innocent and that was clear. Whatever Schellden had in mind, Crevan had no compulsion to capitulate based on what happened in the stables.

  Schellden shoved his hands against the large doors of the Great Hall and they swung open. The place was empty with one exception. Crevan nodded at his eldest brother, who was sitting relaxed in a chair across the room. Schellden moved to the chair next to Conor, but stopped before sitting. Crevan and Craig followed him inside, but did not join him at the table.

  Schellden’s jaw tightened with resolve. “When you leave this room, I intend to announce a double engagement. Raelynd will join with Craig and Crevan is to be with Meriel.”

  Crevan said nothing. Schellden was laird of one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands and he was accustomed to getting what he wanted. Countless times Crevan had seen him masterfully wield people, bending them to his decisions. Today, however, would not be one of those times. Not on the topic of marriage. The last thing he or his brother would be when they left Schellden lands in the morning was engaged—to anyone.

  Crevan glanced at Conor, who just shrugged his shoulders and said, “You are both grown men. You can make your own decisions and need no input or approval from me.”

  Shifting his gaze from his brother to Schellden, Crevan asked, “W-w-what is the true motivation behind this impromptu marriage decree? W-w-why do both your daughters need to suddenly be engaged and to us?”

  Schellden’s hazel eyes soberly returned the royal blue stare and with a serious tone that reeked of foreboding, replied, “Cyric is due to arrive tomorrow and he is not coming for a visit.”

  Crevan held the stare and after several seconds, exhaled the deep breath he had been holding. “So King Robert w-w-was being sincere last summer.”

  Craig swung around to glare at his brother. “Just what happened last summer and who is Cyric?”

  “Cyric is my nephew,” Schellden explained calmly, and yet the weight of his words conveyed that Cyric was much more than a nephew—he was a burden. “My only nephew and King Robert intends for him to be the next Schellden laird upon my death.”

  “But why?” Craig asked, mystified. “Why would the king desire an outsider to oversee one of his largest and wealthiest clans?”

  “Because the Schellden army is just that—large and critical to the king’s future needs. And he doesn’t consider Cyric an outsider. Though he was raised by his mother in the Lowlands, he is my brother’s son and therefore a Schellden and a Highlander by birth. The king thought it time to ensure the unity of this clan, and he is achieving that end with the only male heir. And in that, he is right.”

  Crevan moved over to the table and leaned back against its edge. “Remember Ian Lainge?” He directed the reminder to Craig, whose face suddenly transformed with understanding.

  Just before the Battle of Bannockburn, Ian, laird of one of the larger Lainge clans and armies, died unexpectedly with no presumptive male heir. His three daughters had quickly married into other clans for reasons of security and the Lainge lands ended up being divided amongst their new husbands. The split killed the strength, numbers, and leadership of the once strong and deadly Lainge army.

  With Schellden’s twin daughters unmarried and no definitive heir, the Schellden clan was similarly vulnerable. All knew Robert I’s desire to free Ireland from English rule, which meant more battles lay ahead. And while the king had not yet called upon the McTiernay or Schellden clans for support, it would eventually happen and the new ruler expected all of his clans and their armies to remain strong. That included securing their futures. And since neither Raelynd nor Meriel had found a man worthy for marriage, the king had selected one for them. Their cousin.

  “Cyric is not the solution,” Crevan replied quietly. He had met the man briefly while visiting court after the successful spurning of the English from Scotland’s soil. Looking at him, no one could doubt that Cyric had Schellden blood in his veins, but his height and build were the only Highlander traits he possessed.


  Schellden sighed and nodded in agreement. His younger brother, Abhainn, had left years ago to fight for Scotland’s freedom and soon afterward had met and fallen in love with a wealthy Lowland noblewoman. But his desire to follow Robert I on his campaigns caused Abhainn to be absent during much of his son’s childhood. Upon his return, Abhainn had found the lad weak and pampered due to excessive coddling by his mother. Shamed, Abhainn had avoided his son, only exacerbating the boy’s sensitive temperament—something Schellden had personally witnessed. “I have met Cyric briefly on several occasions, and while he is not unintelligent, he is soft.”

  “The w-word you w-want is pathetic,” Crevan mumbled under his breath, remembering his one encounter with the man. Robert I had gathered members of key clans together and Cyric had been included. Many Highlanders had wondered why since Cyric had never taken a step onto a battlefield. Crevan had the misfortune of sitting near him and had endured several hours of hearing the man complain and whine about everything from his uncomfortable, cramped accommodations to the coolness of the weather. The idea of such a useless person becoming his neighbor sent a shiver down Crevan’s spine.

  Schellden grimaced, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Crevan’s assessment. “Cyric intends to marry one of my daughters. All know that whoever marries Raelynd will be the next Schellden laird, but if she refuses and Cyric instead marries Meriel, he will have an excellent argument for inheriting my title, even if Raelynd eventually does wed.”

  “Neither of them seems very w-w-worried about the possibility,” Crevan surmised. “I assume that is because they don’t know about Cyric’s impending arrival.”

  “Why not?” Craig barked as he threw his hands up in the air and began to pace in frustration.

  “I don’t expect either w-w-would react w-well to the idea of being f-forced into marriage . . . or an engagement,” Crevan answered, making it clear that he fully understood what Schellden was intimating.

  “Aye, they wouldn’t,” Schellden confirmed. “But if they were both engaged to a very powerful ally, then no one—not even the king—would interfere.”

  Craig stopped his pacing and looked Schellden in the eye. “An engagement would change nothing if marriage did not follow. Even if Cyric were so easily fooled, upon learning the truth, the man would return and seek his rights.”

  “True, unless by the time the engagement was called off, Cyric was found to be unworthy of becoming a Highland laird,” Schellden countered, returning Craig’s stare. “King Robert is trying to ensure the longevity of this clan, not its ruin. If I can disgrace Cyric as a leader, he would not be able to return and reclaim his inheritance when he learned the marriages did not take place.”

  Crevan crossed his arms, but continued to lean up against the table. “You w-w-want time.”

  “Aye. Just a few weeks. Something only you and Craig are in a position to give me.”

  Craig shook his head. “No one would believe it!”

  “In that you are right,” Schellden agreed, “if Raelynd and Meriel remained here. All at Caireoch know them both too well. But if they left this afternoon, with you, under the guise of seeking Laurel’s help to prepare for their wedding, no one outside us four would know the truth. Once I prove my nephew’s incompetence, I promise to seek more appropriate suitors to address Robert’s concern.”

  Craig grumbled skepticism under his breath and resumed his pacing.

  “They w-w-won’t cooperate. Raelynd especially,” Crevan said evenly as he watched his brother march back and forth furiously, feeling the same agitation but holding it in. For years, Crevan had practiced emotional control and though people often thought him remote, even dull, it enabled him to think clearly in times of great stress. And right now, he needed to consider all the sides and ramifications to Rae Schellden’s request.

  If he and Craig were to agree to such a plan, Crevan could imagine the reaction of his clan, and one sister-in-law in particular. Disbelief. Unless they were convincing and steadfast in their claims, rumors would spread back to Cyric, who would most likely demand his rights given by Robert I.

  “They will cooperate,” Schellden refuted. “And they will do so without knowing why. I have indulged my daughters for years and as a result, they are fiercely independent. They are also inexperienced and don’t understand that they cannot just say no to the king. And they would try. The only solution is for them to leave, with you, and they won’t if they know the truth about Cyric.”

  Normally, Crevan would never entertain such a request, but the risk of Cyric as the next Schellden chieftain could be disastrous for not just Rae’s people, but that of many western Highland clans. Alliances would not easily transfer over to someone who had never lived in the Highlands nor followed their ways—even if Highland blood did run in Cyric’s veins. Still, Crevan was not about to sacrifice his life and future by actually marrying.

  Meriel was beautiful and sweet and while he was attracted to her on a superficial level, Crevan could never see himself desiring her beyond a few kisses. And falling in love with her—with anyone—was not something he could envision happening. The love he had seen between his parents and that his elder brothers had for their wives had never once afflicted him on any level. Craig had been smitten several times, but Crevan had never sparked with anyone. He doubted he could.

  “Just f-for a f-few weeks,” Crevan said.

  Schellden nodded. “A month at most.”

  Craig must have been thinking similarly. “I won’t get married, Schellden,” he stated, and there was no mistaking the seriousness behind his words.

  “Of course not!” Schellden snapped. “I’m not asking you to! You four just need to pretend to be engaged for a month and then devise a reason to abruptly end it. I’m asking for time, not a life promise, not even a handfast.”

  “And if things don’t go according to plan? What if Cyric is found to be capable?” Craig challenged.

  “Then he will marry Raelynd, or Meriel if he prefers. And you will have a foreigner as a partner and ally.”

  Craig returned Rae’s glare, his jaw rigid. “Just so you understand that is preferable to marriage.”

  Crevan glanced at Conor, who had refused to engage in the conversation. His eldest brother’s posture was relaxed as he sat outstretched in the chair with his hands cupped behind his head. But his knuckles were white. Something more was not being said, but what it was Crevan could not fathom and asking would be pointless.

  “W-w-we w-will do as you ask, but in a month, the f-farce is over. Raelynd and Meriel come home and our role is done,” Crevan stated for both himself and his brother, who he knew would lean on him for the final decision.

  Craig nodded and added, pointing at Schellden, “But you will have to deal with Laurel when she discovers the sham.”

  Conor shifted in the chair at the mention of his wife. Everyone present knew Laurel would not be pleased to learn that two women’s lives were being manipulated.

  “I will take care of Lady McTiernay as well as the king,” Schellden assured them.

  Crevan pushed himself off the table and stood upright. “O-o-ne last thing. If it becomes necessary, I w-w-will tell them about Cyric.”

  Schellden’s face deadened and a coldness took over his expression. Very few challenged him on a decision. “Only if necessary.”

  Crevan nodded and glanced at Conor, who was studying Schellden incredulously. Again, it felt as if a secret lay between the two beyond what had been discussed. Crevan knew he had been carefully guided to make his current decision. Rae Schellden was a master at covertly directing circumstances and people to achieve his goals, but not until today had Crevan become one of Schellden’s prey. The man had been honest with his reasons for wanting a false engagement, but Crevan suspected there was more. Much more.

  Unfortunately, after knowing the laird for several years, Crevan knew those reasons would not become apparent until Schellden wanted them to be.

  Chapter 2

  Cyric S
chellden winced as another thornbush scraped his leg and bit back a curse as the warm blood trickled down the cold skin of his calf. He disliked the bitter mountain wind and the perpetual dampness that seemed only to grow as their small group proceeded north. Most of his life, he had spent in the Lowlands near and around Ayr. Until now, the farthest he had ever ventured north was Strathaven. That trip had also been miserable and cold and had ended any compulsion to travel north again. Only a missive from the king offering Cyric a chance to gain the one coveted thing that had eluded him throughout his life could have persuaded him otherwise.

  One of the two Highlanders traveling with him waved a finger at the small gash on Cyric’s leg. “Do you need to stop?” he asked without any effort to hide his mockery.

  Cyric fought back a haughty snicker and said through gritted teeth, “I do not.”

  He knew both men held little respect for him. Few Highlanders did and Cyric was fully aware as to why. He was a Highlander by blood but disagreed with many of their customs, preferring the comfort his upbringing had allowed. Cold was not something to be endured but averted with solid walls, a roof, and a decent fire. Pain was not to be sought but avoided. The few times he had encountered any northern clansmen had only confirmed that his father’s people had little in common with him and this trip was proving to be no different.

  “How much farther?” Cyric inquired, and then quickly prepared himself for the scorn he knew the question would bring.

  The first time he had asked the distance to Schellden lands his face must have conveyed every emotion he was feeling about the length of their journey, and none of them were good. He was unused to traveling such distances and in uncomfortable conditions, so he thought it natural to stop often and address minor injuries or just rest from being on horseback for so many hours at a time. The two Highlanders who were assigned to be his guides had made clear their opinions—all derisive. If they had been people of importance, their stinging judgments might have carried some influence, but as they were merely soldiers, Cyric held their estimation of little value.