Craig forced his face to remain blank. It was the second time Meriel had asked that question and he knew continued denial would not change what she already suspected to be true. “I had the chance to be laird once. For a month five years ago. I discovered then that such a tedious responsibility was not something I would ever desire.”
“Why is that a bad thing?”
Craig had never really thought about it. Everyone just assumed he would jump at the chance to become laird. And truth was, if the opportunity did arise, he probably would. McTiernay honor would demand it and he would never shame his brothers or clan, but it wasn’t until he had the responsibility temporarily thrust upon him did he realize just how glad he was that such a possibility was remote. For if it had not been for Crevan, quietly sitting by, assisting with the variety of odd questions and tedious decisions that seemed unending, he might have gone mad. Craig knew then that there was a vast difference between commanding a group of soldiers and that of being a laird, and he was one McTiernay who preferred to lead only warriors. But never did he intend for anyone else to know.
And yet one person had discovered his secret. Or at least suspected it. He glanced over at Meriel. How could an overly pampered daughter read his inner thoughts? The idea that she could was more than unsettling.
“I ask you to tell no one, not even my brother.”
“Crevan? He doesn’t know?”
Craig shook his head. “The possibility never came up before,” he replied, but he knew that even if it had he would still have said nothing. No matter how uncomfortable the idea of leading clansmen was to him, it had to be even more alarming to his brother. “Crevan’s the quiet type. He prefers to be in the background, which is . . . unfortunate.”
“How?”
“When I stood in for Conor and acted as laird for our clan it was actually Crevan who came up with most of the solutions to the problems that arose.”
“Then why not let Crevan pretend to be the next Schellden chieftain?”
“I won’t even pretend to do that to my brother. That awful month, he may have come up with the ideas, but not once did he ever step forward or handle the situation personally. He does not like . . . speaking to people.”
“So? It’s not like he would really become—” Craig’s jaw went rock hard and Meriel let her voice trail off as understanding dawned on her. She had known for years how men made her sister uncomfortable and had done all in her power to thwart their attention from Raelynd toward her. And similarly, Raelynd had protected her from the onerous duties of running a castle. Realizing Craig felt a similar protective bond toward Crevan, she sighed, voicing her thoughts aloud. “I guess it is good then that it doesn’t matter.”
Craig visibly relaxed at the reminder, for while lairdship was a title he never wanted, Crevan had to desire it less. If it ever became necessary, Craig would take the position himself rather than force his brother into a life of misery. But Craig was secretly glad that the likelihood of such a situation was somewhere between not likely and never. “Never tell him,” he pleaded quietly, but the force behind the softly spoken words was close to an order.
Meriel was surprised by the absolute seriousness behind the semirequest, but then upon reflection she realized that there were several small aspects of her own personality she kept completely private—even from Raelynd. And she suspected her sister did the same. Being identical twins, they had been forced to share much in their life. Some things needed to remain their own. “You have my word. I will say nothing, not even to my own sister.”
“Thank you,” Craig breathed with audible relief.
And in that moment an unforeseen connection formed between them, erected from a shared secret. She was not attracted to Craig physically as she sometimes found herself with other men. Oh, he was good looking, some might even think him extremely handsome, but Craig appealed to her in a way she would not have thought possible. He was the first Highland soldier with whom she actually felt comfortable just talking. Craig conveyed a calmness she had not expected after months of only observing the assertive aspects of his personality. She suspected he allowed only a few ever to see this side of him and she was quietly pleased that he allowed her to be one of them.
“You are far different than I believed,” she stated, giving voice to her thoughts. “Whenever I saw you before, you were on duty barking orders or in the Hall with the men joking, being the center of attention.”
Craig shrugged, not denying her assessment. “Speaking isn’t hard. It’s this—one-on-one conversation—that’s difficult. All that other stuff just makes real talking easier to avoid.”
“I know what you mean. I do not banter like you, but in my own way I also avoid conversations. And yet, with you, I find talking to be near effortless.”
Craig chuckled in agreement and glanced to his right. Meriel looked identical to her sister. Their outward beauty was obvious to anyone who saw them, but never had he thought to appreciate Meriel beyond her appearance.
He liked women, always had, believing them to be capable of strength, bravery, and intelligence. He just never had found those admirable qualities in a female with whom he wanted to spend a significant amount of time. If he ever did decide to get married, he hoped it would be with someone with whom he could carry on a conversation. Something very similar to the one he was having with Meriel. It was unexpected and he wasn’t quite ready to give it up. Not yet. And he sought for something else to say. “Now it is my turn to ask a question. Why is it you cannot ride while your sister does so with ease?”
“Aren’t I as good as my sister?” Meriel replied with undisguised mirth. “I will point out that we have been riding for nearly two hours and not only am I still on top of my horse, the animal is still aimed in the right direction. Both are miracles.”
Craig broke out into laughter, catching the attention of all but Raelynd and Crevan, who were riding up ahead, either unable to hear his boisterous cackles or uncaring.
“Make another comment about my riding and I will publicly challenge you to a weaving contest—as in tapestries.” The comment ended Craig’s laughter and caused him to look at her with a crooked brow. “Riding to me is how weaving would be to you. Unnecessary, unnatural, and exceedingly painful.”
Craig rolled his eyes and said playfully, “I concede!” Then leaning closer, he whispered, “If you’re in too much pain tonight, find me and I will give you something to help.”
Embarrassed, Meriel swallowed and said, “I think it is time I rejoin my sister.”
Craig pointed in front of them. “You’re too late.”
He was right. She was too late for Raelynd was urging her horse up alongside Crevan.
“I wonder what she wants to say to him,” Meriel whispered, opting to stay with Craig.
Craig grimaced. “Whatever it is, it cannot be good,” he answered, mirroring Meriel’s thoughts.
Raelynd listened to her sister and her supposed-groom-to-be converse. She couldn’t make out most of the words, but the tone and Meriel’s periodic laughter indicated they enjoyed each other’s company. Good, Raelynd thought. Hopefully you will engage his company often during the next month. Craig was nice enough but Raelynd had wanted to spend time with him with only one purpose in mind—a kiss. And he had given her that. If it had not been for this ludicrous demand of her father’s, she and Craig would have parted company and on friendly terms. Instead, she was stuck with him—and his meddlesome brother—for another month.
Unlike Craig, whom fate had kept from her these past few months, his brother had been constantly around the castle, and as a result, she knew exactly what to expect from him for the next few weeks. Reproof.
Raelynd glared at Crevan’s back some more, wishing he could feel the sharp point of the evil stares she was giving him. She had been at it since they had started out in the hopes that he would look back and witness her scowls firsthand, but true to his contrary character, Crevan never snuck one peek. The man either somehow knew what sh
e was doing or couldn’t care less.
A reckless rabbit leaped in front of the group and Crevan instinctively tugged his reins to the right to keep his horse from rearing. The muscles in his back rippled with each quick movement as he gave commands to his mount. Like his brothers, Crevan was large, both in height and general physique, and possessed the McTiernay rich dark hair and bright blue eyes. But there the similarities ended. Something about how he held himself differentiated Crevan from not just his brothers but from every other man. He exuded a calm authority over those he engaged—a power Raelynd had always coveted but never mastered.
Nothing the man did was big. He never spoke loudly or asserted himself in a flamboyant manner. His brother Craig tended to play that role, which was probably why he had been the one who had captured her attention during the past few months. But this afternoon the driving force behind much of the departing activities had not been Craig—but his brother.
Crevan had been the one to enforce understanding of their current predicament and secure a reluctant agreement from her and her sister to become betrothed . . . at least for now. And it was he who had confronted Meriel about her luggage and placated her feelings by making only minor concessions, something close to a miracle. For Raelynd could not remember Meriel ever yielding to anyone about something she felt passionate. Crevan had also been the one to address questions coming from the servants. As Raelynd considered the events of the afternoon, she realized he had been behind most of today’s decisions. And though she would never admit it aloud, Raelynd admired him.
Her father usually barked orders and her whole life she had done the same. Whenever pushed, she pushed back. Craig admired her independent style, but not Crevan. He was repulsed by it and for some reason, his disapproval bothered her. Enormously.
Resigning to her initial impulse, Raelynd signaled her horse to move alongside Crevan’s. For the first time since they departed, he took his eyes off where they were headed and glanced at her. His blue eyes quickly darted over her form and then shifted to the back end of her horse where four overstuffed bags were attached to her mount’s flanks. Only two of the bags were the additional ones he agreed Meriel could bring. A single eyebrow rose.
“Say nothing,” Raelynd warned him, and then added under her breath, “She begged me.”
Crevan shot her a disarming half grin. It had been hard not to turn around while hearing Meriel ride only a few feet behind him. The woman was a nightmare on a horse. When she was in his peripheral view, he got a headache. But Raelynd was elegant and graceful, moving as one with the animal. “So, if Meriel was the one who was determined to bring two more bags, why are they not hooked to her saddle?”
Raelynd let go a short huff. “You know why.”
A rare grin transformed his normally hard face into one that was almost attractive. “You ride well. Why did your father not teach your sister?”
Raelynd blinked. A smile and now a compliment? Both were rare and to her recollection, the first Crevan had ever bestowed upon her. “How did you know my father taught me?”
Crevan jutted his chin toward her grip. “You hold the reins as he does.”
Raelynd looked down. “Oh,” she replied, and then feeling the compulsory need to protect her sister, continued, “Meriel can ride—”
“What she is doing is not riding,” Crevan countered. “She merely sits astride a large animal and if Craig wasn’t helping her, she would have fallen off by now.”
Raelynd could not deny Crevan’s criticism, for it was true. That and more. “It is just that she never really learned how to ride. When we were young and Father offered us lessons, she always became quite impossible and refused to participate.”
“Raelynd, impossible does not describe your sister,” Crevan grumbled, and Raelynd knew he was referring to his earlier confrontation with Meriel. Both individuals proved that not only were they equally stubborn, but also that while it was a rare thing for either of them to raise their voices, they were more than capable. But in the end, Crevan had definitively won, if not the argument, the outcome. All of Meriel’s trunks had remained behind.
Raelynd sighed, conceding. “I don’t know why she does not like horses. I find them peaceful. After my mother’s death, I would sneak out and ride to get away from everyone hovering over me, pretending like nothing had changed.”
Her voice trailed and suddenly, the headstrong woman who so cavalierly caused chaos in her home disappeared. Left behind was someone he had always suspected lurked underneath, but until today had never witnessed.
Crevan stole another peek at Raelynd, noticing her regal frame as she rode expertly along the rocky path. She was a natural horsewoman and watching her ride only confirmed what he already knew—Raelynd looked nothing like her sister.
Meriel was soft and sweet and had an aura of innocence around her. It had pulled at the protective side of his nature. Raelynd, on the other hand, was all fire and spirit. For months, he had watched her manage the Schellden household. On the surface life in and around the castle ran smoothly—for like riding, Raelynd naturally understood what needed to be done. Underneath, however, was turbulence. She just did not know how to inspire people and as a result, both she and those around her became frustrated, creating unnecessary tension.
On a handful of occasions, he had tried to advise her, but each time, Raelynd had spurned his input. Yet today, she had proven there was much more to her than what appeared and that she had promise of being a great Lady of the Castle. He doubted she herself even knew the depth of her true potential. A potential he should care nothing about. To the world, he and Meriel were a couple. And yet, it was not Meriel he had been thinking of the past few hours.
“Have you and your sister always shared a room?”
Raelynd nodded. “Always.”
“Unbelievable,” Crevan mumbled. If he and Craig were ever forced to share a room, blood would be spilled in less than a week. Curious, he asked, “How can you live with someone so different than you?”
Raelynd shuddered at the idea of sleeping alone. The concept had never occurred to her, but now that he had mentioned it, she wondered if he thought her immature for doing so. “Which are you? The messy or the clean one?”
Crevan glanced sideways and gave her a playful grimace indicating that she should know. “I’m the one who doesn’t appear half naked and weaponless when the laird decides to do a battle drill in the middle of the night.”
Raelynd laughed aloud at the memory of Craig hopping half undressed out into the courtyard. Of course Crevan was the orderly one. Everything he did was completely under control; consequently, she had assumed that everything about him was methodical . . . and well, boring. Never would she have guessed him to possess this droll personality he was showing her. Moreover, she would never have believed she could find Crevan McTiernay even remotely attractive. But she did.
Silence permeated the air and Raelynd sought to fill it to continue having a reason to ride beside him. “Why do you insist on calling me Raelynd?”
The question startled Crevan. “Because that is your name,” he answered honestly.
“Everyone else calls me Lyndee.”
“Not your father,” Crevan argued.
Raelynd frowned. She was christened after her father and as such, she always thought her name sounded masculine. “I prefer Lyndee.”
Crevan disagreed. Fact was he liked Raelynd. The name was unique and strong and had a fiery sound to it that reminded him of her father. And yet it was also soft and feminine, and anyone taking even a brief look at Raelynd knew one thing—she was very much a woman. One of the prettiest the Highlands had ever produced. And also one of the most difficult, he reminded himself. “Maybe, but Raelynd suits you better.”
Raelynd rode in silence waiting for him to continue his thought, but as usual, Crevan gave no indication he ever intended to expound on his simple response. The man’s terse communication style was completely aggravating. Gritting her teeth, she demanded an expla
nation. “And just why does it suit me better?”
Crevan shrugged. “It just does.”
She bristled beside him. “You’re impossible. Can you say more than three words about anything?”
“When necessary,” he answered, wondering why Raelynd would allow herself to get so agitated over something as unimportant as a short answer. “Why are you angry?” He sensed the tension rise in her further and before she could speak, asked her again, “Seriously, why do you allow my answers, short or long, to bother you?”
Raelynd blinked and the need to defend herself began to ebb as she considered what he was asking. Why did his short replies bother her? Partly because she wanted a full explanation, to truly understand his position and why he believed the way he did, but in part the reason was much deeper. Short answers made her feel insignificant, unworthy of more.
Being an identical twin, no one—not even their father—could tell her and Meriel apart if she and her sister really tried. Only their mother could differentiate who was who when they were growing up and since she had passed away, both Raelynd and Meriel had switched roles whenever a whim struck them. But when they wanted to appear as individuals, it had been Meriel who always stood out. Raelynd took care of the castle, but it was a responsibility that lacked praise or even appreciation. Meriel, on the other hand, consistently received both for her skills with a needle.
The question hovered unanswered and Crevan could feel the tension in Raelynd as she continued to mull inwardly. They were like two wary cats dancing around each other, using abrasiveness as a cloak for their intense awareness of the other. Something he had never felt with another person, and certainly not with a woman.
Raelynd was evolving into an enigma and part of him wanted to learn more, but the situation demanded he stay away. Instinct told him that spending any amount of time with Raelynd would make creating the illusion of wedded bliss with Meriel only that much harder. He debated whether he should move his mount forward to end their conversation.
Tempting the Highlander Page 6
