Tempting the Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  “If you cannot decide, I will take it in one of my chests,” Meriel offered.

  Raelynd, who had been ignoring her sister’s sniffles and moans, glanced to the other side of the room and realized exactly what her sister was planning. “Meriel! You cannot take a chest! How will they bring it?”

  “That is not my problem. And I am not bringing one chest. I’m bringing them all.”

  Raelynd sighed. “I highly doubt it, but I look forward to hearing you try.”

  A loud thud echoed in the hallway. Raelynd went to see what had made the noise. Swinging the door open, two simple, six-sided, flat-lidded traveling chests that were propped up against the door fell down, nearly crushing her toes. No doubt placed there by the high and mighty Crevan McTiernay, she sarcastically thought, and then chided herself. For the silent comment had once again brought to mind the large dark-haired Highlander with snapping blue eyes. An image she did not wish to mentally conjure ever again.

  Raelynd hauled one of the chests inside and plopped it on her bed, recalling the seriousness of Crevan’s stance, words, and tone of voice. She had no choice but to do what he ordered and explanations as to why were not coming forthwith—yet. She had always needed to understand the decisions that happened around her, and instinctively sought to manage or at least influence them. But after her mother’s death, the need to control all things in her life had only grown. Today was the first time she could remember since that horrible day of feeling so powerless.

  Only one moment had given her hope. Just before they left, when Crevan had asked her to trust him and she had nodded—he had nodded back. It had not just been a gesture of acknowledgment, but one of gratitude. It was then she had realized that whatever was going on most likely had nothing to do with what happened in the stables or saving their honor, but something—if possible—far more important. When Crevan had mentioned the welfare of the clan, he had not been overplaying the situation to gain her and Meriel’s compliance. He had been honest.

  Meriel dropped the item she was holding and stared mystified at her sister. “Why are you no longer angry?”

  Raelynd was unsure how to respond. She couldn’t say, “Crevan winked at me.” It made no sense. But there it was. Crevan had winked at her and in that moment, the preoccupation of her thoughts changed from anger to curiosity.

  Crevan McTiernay, a man known for not communicating, had said more with a simple nod and wink than any other man could have—even his brother.

  Men considered her a decoration, something to be desired, and in truth, Raelynd had let them. For months, Crevan had been urging her to be more, but today he had demanded she rise beyond herself. And when she finally did—even though it was just a small head nod—he had acknowledged it. Raelynd never would have guessed his small recognition could make her feel so good. But it did. And she hoped to get that same burst of warmth again by quickly packing as requested.

  “I am still angry, but I am not in the mood to be lectured again because I packed too much,” Raelynd finally answered, pointing at the second travel case leaning against the door.

  Meriel wrinkled her nose and ignored the small carrier. “Well, Crevan can scold me as much as he wants, but I don’t care. I have never packed before and don’t intend to leave anything important behind.”

  Raelynd grimaced. Problem was, Meriel was correct. Their father had always shielded them as children, and if possible, became even more protective after their mother’s untimely death. Consequently, neither had ever left Schellden lands. When they were younger, they had pleaded to see more of the Highlands, but with the English’s constant—and often successful—attempts to seize Scottish lands and homes, their father had been adamantly against the idea. Now, with the taste of freedom less than two hours away, Raelynd could feel her nerves start to take hold.

  “You think everything you own is important.”

  Meriel threw a wad of colored thread into the nearest trunk. “That is because it is. You never know when you might need something.”

  “You could pack more in a chest if you would fold your dresses,” Raelynd advised as she watched her sister move to sit on top of the lid to get it closed.

  “No need,” Meriel replied as she clicked the lever to keep it closed. Then with more gravity, said, “I wonder what is going on with Father. Whatever it is, it has to be serious. I guess he trusts the McTiernays even more than I realized.”

  Deciding on the black-and-gold-trimmed gown, Raelynd folded the garment and grabbed the matching ribbons for her hair. “Much more,” she agreed, placing the items in the carrier. Hearing an annoying scraping sound behind her, Raelynd turned around and gasped.

  Meriel had decided to forgo using the smaller chests and had dragged her large oak trunk next to her bed, into which she was dumping everything that she had already packed. Raelynd stared in silence as her sister calmly and chaotically tossed items into the large container. She knew she should not have been so surprised. If anyone knew the truth about her twin sister’s penchant for hoarding things it was her.

  Meriel, whom the world saw as a sweet docile creature, was obsessed with weaving and stitching. She enjoyed anything involving a needle and very few could match her skill. Raelynd never tried. It was a tedious craft and required dedication to countless boring hours and cramped fingers. Then again, one only had to see Meriel’s masterpieces to know that her sister was a talented artist with whom very few could be compared.

  Raelynd strolled over to the large trunk, looking at the yarns, needles, and various items haphazardly thrown together. “Good Lord, Meriel. This mess is like your side of the room, cluttered, unkempt, and a complete disaster. It also contains not a stitch of anything personal, such as clothes or a hairbrush,” she added as she started rummaging around, pulling out what she deemed unnecessary items.

  “Leave my stuff alone, Lyndee,” Meriel ordered, and closed the lid, uncaring that she almost pinched the fingers of her nosy sister.

  Raelynd straightened and walked haughtily back to her side of the room. “Do you plan on personally dragging that chest to the McTiernay Castle? For I am fairly certain neither brother intends on hauling that heavy object with them.”

  Meriel, realizing her sister spoke the truth, looked to Rowena for support. “I cannot simply leave everything behind!” she wailed.

  Rowena, still shocked by the news, replied, “I don’t understand how you can be more concerned with leaving behind your precious tapestries than the prospect of marrying someone you don’t want to.”

  “But we aren’t getting married and if I leave something important behind, that will cause me to be miserable,” Meriel fretted. “Making us pack in such a short time frame is unfair and unreasonable.”

  Rowena nodded, agreeing with her cousin’s sentiments. Seeing that Raelynd was nearly complete with her packing, she said, “Unless we assist Meriel, she will never be ready to leave.”

  Raelynd put her hand up to halt her cousin from going to help her sister. “And just why is that our problem?” she asked. “Meriel’s situation is not of your making nor of mine. So why should we be the ones to fix it?”

  Pasting on a large grin, Raelynd went and sat on a pillowed bench underneath one of the three large windows that let an abundance of light into the room, regardless of the time of day. She unlatched the window and tilted it open, pleased to see Crevan and Craig below talking with one of the stable hands. “Oh, Crevan!” she yelled sweetly, and waited for him to look up. She smiled at his look of annoyance. “Meriel is having difficulty packing and since she is your intended . . . it is your problem.” Hearing his grunt of frustration, she gave him a coy wink and closed the window.

  Below Crevan raked his hand through his thick hair and rhetorically asked his brother, “Is this w-what w-we are to expect f-for the next month?”

  Craig shrugged. “You might as well go up and find out what Raelynd was talking about if we are going to leave on time. I don’t think she was jesting.”

  Crevan
scowled and pivoted toward the keep. No, he thought to himself, Raelynd was not one to make idle threats. Craig had best watch himself with her.

  Entering the room, he immediately spied Meriel sitting in the middle of a mess on the floor looking far from packed. Crevan sucked in his breath and redoubled his vow. Laird Schellden—friend and ally or not—had better find a way to discredit his nephew quickly, because if he didn’t, Crevan suspected he would be tempted to hand deliver Cyric his new bride.

  But just whom he chose to hand over—Meriel or Raelynd—changed with each passing minute.

  Chapter 4

  Crevan swung a leg over his horse and sat waiting as the rest of the group mounted and prepared to leave. Three others were coming with them, his eldest brother, Conor, and two McTiernay soldiers who had participated in the games. That made their group totaling seven—two of which were so accustomed to being constantly indulged that the normally easy day and a half ride was going to be anything but quick and painless. And Schellden’s departing words only confirmed the hunch.

  “You will be fine. Craig and Crevan will see to your safety,” Schellden repeated for the fifth time. No one who had ever fought with the man would dream that the fierce warrior could also be an overanxious father. Even Crevan had difficulty believing it, but then never had Raelynd or Meriel ever been out of their father’s protection.

  Knowing Schellden was emotionally vulnerable to his daughter’s pleas of staying at Caireoch Castle, Crevan waited for Meriel to tear up and Raelynd to begin her pleading, but neither woman acted as he would have thought. They simply said their good-byes and pasted on friendly smiles.

  Meriel’s horse shifted abruptly under her unsteady hand and Craig reached out to halt the animal’s movement. “You seem to have recovered from your packing ordeal,” he whispered with a hint of tease.

  She flashed him a genuine smile and then waited for Raelynd to finish hugging all she could of the small crowd that had gathered around them. “Good-bye, everyone!” Raelynd shouted out. “We’ll be back in a month, but not as we are now . . . as happy, delightful brides!” she added with an overabundance of cheer.

  Crevan studied Raelynd’s smile, trying to hide one of his own. Her mirth was genuine. She was practically sparkling with hidden enjoyment as she darted from person to person. The secret behind her pleasure he could not fathom, but whatever it was, Raelynd was getting enormous delight from it. Her whole life she had been coddled but that had not suppressed her independent spirit. Though he would never admit it aloud to anyone, her determination was the one aspect of her indomitable character he considered admirable. Of course, that was when he was not completely annoyed by it.

  “Congratulations!” a deep voice chimed.

  Crevan turned around just in time to see one of Schellden’s guards clap Craig on the back. “I hear in a month’s time, you will become the next in line to be our chieftain. No longer will it be just us soldiers looking to you for guidance, but a whole clan!”

  Crevan watched as the blood drained out of his brother’s face and suspected his own cheeks mirrored the same pasty color. The idea of marriage was not something either of them relished, but Crevan’s cause for sudden paleness was for a far different, far less honorable reason—envy.

  Commanding soldiers was interesting, even challenging, but nothing compared to leading a clan. Such opportunities were few and Crevan knew his chances of permanently holding such responsibility hovered around none. But for the next month, there would be many more comments about Craig’s becoming the next Schellden laird. And though in truth Craig was no closer to becoming a chieftain than he, just hearing the congratulatory words was jolting.

  Meriel urged her horse to follow her sister’s out of the only home she had ever known. A frisson of fear ran up her spine and it reminded her of Craig’s strange reaction to the warm wishes he had received just before leaving. True fear had momentarily registered on his face—something she had not thought possible. Others who had witnessed him suddenly go ashen assumed his reaction to be about his impending marriage. Meriel, however, suspected something else was behind the reaction. Craig had been congratulated several other times that afternoon and not once had the idea of marriage caused him discomfort. No, something else spawned Craig’s sudden uneasiness and with nothing better to do, Meriel allowed her mind to be preoccupied with the reasons why.

  Like any woman with decent eyesight, Meriel had enjoyed the intermittent glimpses of the McTiernay brothers working to rebuild and train the Schellden army along with a handful of other commanders. Not only were Craig and Crevan exceptionally good looking, they had a confidence that truly captivated one’s attention. It almost bordered on arrogance, but not quite. Their self-assurance was not born from an overactive ego, but from experience. Until today, Meriel could not recall ever seeing a moment of doubt coming from either of them.

  Craig especially.

  Like her sister, Raelynd, he had always seemed comfortable as a leader with all the men’s eyes on him, but if Meriel had to name the look on Craig’s face this afternoon, she would have called it panic. But why?

  After considerable effort, Meriel finally convinced her argumentative horse to move closer to her sister. “Lyndee, did you see Craig turn ashen back before we left?”

  “No,” Raelynd answered with complete honesty. Her attention had been solely focused on his aggravating brother Crevan. She had been so interested in trying to shock him with her amenable behavior that she could not remember even looking at Craig. Fact was, she hadn’t even really thought about him until Meriel said something.

  “How could you have missed it? He is your betrothed!”

  Raelynd rolled her eyes and suppressed the need to remind Meriel that she was not, nor would she ever be, betrothed to Craig. “Tell me, then. Just what was my future husband’s expression upon leaving?” Raelynd bid, knowing she had made her point upon hearing her sister’s huff.

  “Well, I don’t think Craig wants to become a laird,” Meriel announced quietly so that no one else could hear.

  Raelynd furrowed her brow and glanced at her sister. “That is ridiculous. Every soldier wants to lead, and every commander longs for the opportunity to become laird. And most lairds would relish the idea of leading an army the size of Father’s.”

  Meriel twitched her mouth and mumbled, “I’m not sure that Craig is like ‘every’ man.”

  Raelynd shrugged her shoulders, unconcerned. “It doesn’t matter whether he is or isn’t as the marriage is not going to take place.”

  “You are not understanding what I am saying, Lyndee,” Meriel protested.

  Raelynd turned to stare pointedly at her sister. “I understand perfectly. You do not think Craig wants to be a laird. I disagree. All men desire power. Especially someone like Craig McTiernay. More than that, it doesn’t matter who is right—you or I—as all of this is just a pretense for something that will never happen.”

  Meriel realized her discovery was of little importance to her sister and probably never would be. Still, the quandary continued to needle Meriel, for Lyndee was right. Most men did desire power, so why didn’t Craig?

  Yanking on her horse’s reins severely, the gentle mount whinnied but slowed, allowing Meriel to eventually fall back alongside Craig, who chose to ride in the rear of the small group.

  Craig watched as Meriel struggled with her mount, causing pain to both rider and animal. He wondered how a child of Rae Schellden could be so awkward on a horse. Didn’t her father ever teach her how to ride? But even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. Schellden, hard and demanding on his men, was dangerously soft when it came to his daughters. The answer was simple. Raelynd had wanted to learn to ride where as Meriel had declined.

  “The more you fight the horse, the harder Merry will be to handle,” Craig said gently. “Ease your grip. She won’t run away.”

  Meriel issued him a slight smile and then cautiously did as he instructed. Merry, feeling free from the constant
pressure of the bit, threw her head up and down several times, but Meriel, with Craig right beside her whispering reassurance, continued to relax her grasp. After a few seconds, Merry calmed and for the first time Meriel did not feel like she was going to fall. “I can’t believe that not holding on actually makes me feel more in control!” she laughed.

  Craig grinned, surprised by Meriel’s easy nature, which was so very different than her sister’s. Until the hay fight earlier that day, he had believed Meriel to be inordinately shy. But he had been mistaken. She was not timid, just mellow. Her personality did not seek to be noticed, but preferred to relax and let others receive attention.

  Now that she was able to focus on something besides not falling, Meriel considered how to broach her question. She finally opted to just ask openly what she had observed. “Which was the random thought that bothered you so much just before we left? The idea of being a laird or the thought of becoming a Schellden laird?”

  Craig twisted his mouth and forced his hand to loosen its grip on the reins. It was clear that his earlier attempt of outward indifference had failed. Discovering he had revealed his inner turmoil made him feel exposed and he wondered just how many other people witnessed his distress. “Neither,” came his terse reply, “especially since neither possibility is in my future.”

  Normally, Meriel would have been tempted to argue, but the stiffness in Craig’s frame she had witnessed back at her father’s castle suddenly reappeared. All McTiernays were enormous and Craig was no different. A body of his size and bulk abruptly becoming rigid prompted her to address the underlying uneasiness behind his sudden quiet reserve. “I do not believe anyone else saw your discomfort,” she guessed, hoping to lessen the tension growing within him. “And I won’t tell anyone. It’s your business. I am only surprised. Everyone knows you McTiernays are great leaders. I heard my father speaking favorably of your command over his soldiers several times.” She paused and waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, she could not resist asking him again, “So why don’t you want to be laird?”