Hearing Meriel talk before setting out on the journey, Crevan had inwardly cringed. He liked her, she was nice, but a future with her as his wife, even in name only for a year, was not one he was ready to accept. “Before we decide anything, Craig and I will ride out to your father’s and confirm the rumors, one way or another.”
With a look of relief, Craig had quickly agreed. “We will leave immediately and return with news.”
“And if what you learn is bad?” Meriel had prompted.
“Then we will do what we have to,” Raelynd had answered simply while staring unflinchingly into Crevan’s dark gaze. “We are strong and a year is not that long.”
Crevan knew that she was wrong. It would feel like an eternity. As he rode he considered all the possibilities and not a one that resulted in her with someone else was palatable for any length of time.
He knew Craig was thinking about the possibility of handfasting with Raelynd. His silence proved that. Normally one to fill the air with conversation, his brother had been unusually silent throughout the morning, lunch, and afternoon. Craig was only quiet for that long when in deep thought. It made Crevan wonder what he thought about. Was his brother eager to be positioned to become the next Schellden laird? He and Raelynd were cordial, even amicable, but Crevan knew that his brother did not love her. Did that weigh on Craig’s mind at all? Was he still attracted to Raelynd? He had been just a few weeks ago when this whole nightmare started.
The thoughts and questions kept racing through Crevan’s mind, tumbling out of control. It was unlike him, but he was not able to summon his normal emotional detachment to problem solving. “Are you sure?” he asked Craig without warning.
The cryptic question normally would have needed clarification, but as there was only one topic on either of their minds, explanation was not required. “Aye,” Craig answered.
“Becoming Schellden laird . . . is that w-what you w-want?” Crevan pressed.
Craig held his breath. He did not want to lie, but he refused to shift the weight of that responsibility to his brother. Furthermore, the expectation of his family to seize such an opportunity was enormous. To turn down the chance of becoming a laird—a privilege a fourth son was unlikely to ever have—would disappoint everyone. And to Craig, failure in the eyes of his brothers was a much heavier burden to carry. “It would be a great honor to lead such a powerful and well-respected clan,” he finally answered, hoping the half answer was enough to satisfy his brother.
Crevan said nothing and kept moving. “Stop up ahead?”
Craig nodded, knowing the clearing to which Crevan was referring. It was one they used often when journeying between the two clan headquarters. “The horses can drink their fill and I know I need some sleep,” Craig said somberly, hinting that his normal jubilant thoughts had been replaced with darker ones.
A flash of silver was all the warning they received before a heavy blade was being swung in their direction. Another quickly joined it and instinct took over as the brothers unsheathed their broadswords to deflect the unexpected attack.
“Halt!” came a piercing bark. “It’s the McTiernays.”
Crevan waited for the opposing blades to be resheathed before he slowly lowered his weapon. Only then did his eyes adjust enough to see that the attacker was one of Rae Schellden’s guards. “Callum, I didn’t know someone w-w-was on guard in this area.”
“There’s been a lot of company lately,” the Highlander grunted, and gestured to his three companions to continue their watch duty. “The laird aware you are coming?”
“It was not a planned visit,” Craig answered indirectly, sheathing his own sword. He was just about to dismount when Callum stopped him.
“I suggest riding on ahead for another half hour or so and making your camp down the river. There has been some animal activity here lately and it is not safe.”
Crevan studied the man to see if he was earnest. This clearing had strong currents and the rocky shoreline kept it from becoming a favorite among larger, predatory animals. Still, Callum’s desire for them to keep going was sincere.
“So what brings you both back so soon and without brides?” Callum asked, posing the one question Crevan hoped to avoid.
“Personal reasons,” Craig muttered for both of them.
Callum chuckled. “Let me guess. You want to know about our visiting Lowlander.”
The slight insult gave Crevan hope and he joined his brother on the ground, freeing his horse so it could wander to the water for a drink. “Aye.”
“And just what is your opinion of Schellden’s nephew?” Craig pushed.
Callum sighed and Crevan wished he could discern details of the guard’s other body movements, but the moonlight was too dim. “The man is a Lowlander and knows nothing of our customs and ways.”
Hope again began to rise within Crevan.
“But I will admit to being surprised by his skills with a blade,” Callum added. “And he did prevent our clans from going into battle with the McHenrys north of us.”
Crevan raised a brow, for the man he had briefly met did not seem capable of such a feat. “Cyric did that?”
“Aye. And gossip has that he also provided input about the war with Ireland and England. I was not there, but I understand his words were well received.”
Craig exhaled and Crevan felt his insides collapse. Still, participating in a couple of meetings without embarrassment was not enough to warrant the position of laird of such a large clan. The weak point enabled Crevan to still cling to his hope. “W-we w-will ride f-for ourselves and see.”
“I suggest you go to the training fields in the morning,” Callum hinted, pulling the reins on his horse in preparation to leave. “Cyric is usually out there at dawn for drills. I will be interested in your thoughts on our southern relative. Will you be long at Caireoch?”
“W-w-will there be a need?” came Crevan’s quick counter.
“I cannot say,” Callum replied, and although Crevan could not see the man smiling, his voice indicated that he did find some humor in the situation. Another hint to be prepared for the unexpected. “I’ll send word you are coming. And don’t forget, move downstream to camp,” Callum added, and then left without waiting for a reply.
Dawn peaked over the horizon and found both Craig and Crevan on the outskirts of the Schellden training fields. The area was wide open and there were few places to hide within hearing. Consequently, the brothers opted to remain farther back, where there was thick foliage to block their presence. They could not hear everything, but they would be able to see and remain out of sight.
They had risen hours previously after only a short nap, but sleep no longer plagued them. Adrenaline surged through their veins as they waited to see the man who held their futures in his hands. It was not often Crevan prayed for someone to perform poorly, especially if they were not an enemy, but deep down that is exactly what he hoped to see. A Lowlander fail miserably.
Pink clouds started to fill the horizon and Schellden’s men began to gather in the distant field in various groups. “Do you see him?” Craig asked, knowing Crevan had met him once before, though only briefly.
Crevan shook his head. But they did not have to wait long. When Cyric arrived, Craig did not need to ask if it was him. After spending recent months with Schellden and helping his commanders train dozens of new recruits, Craig recognized everyone on the field—except one.
Cyric looked like a Schellden. Tall and wide, the man handled his mount effortlessly, which was a surprise. Gossip had it that Cyric was unaccustomed to the prickly bushes of the Highlands and it made him a timid rider. But that was not an accurate description of the person who was joining the group practicing with broadswords and targes.
For a while, Cyric was content to just watch and Crevan was beginning to wonder if that was all he did, when Cyric stepped in to give instruction. The boy was young and was struggling with the switch between using the targe alone as a defensive shield and coupling it with the
broadsword in an attack. Crevan was unsure of what Cyric said, but the short exchanged worked, for there was immediate improvement.
Cyric stayed there offering several more tips before moving to those practicing close combat. The biodag was the one weapon everyone carried, whether a farmer, carpenter, baker, or soldier. The long stabbing knife typically was hung round the waist or attached to the belt and most soldiers carried more than one.
It was dangerous training and often men got injured, but too often the knife was key to winning a battle. Broadswords broke or if an unlucky strike took one unaware, it could knock the larger blade right out of the hand, but not a dirk.
“Look, sgian dubhs,” Craig whispered, pointing to what Cyric was having the men do.
Crevan nodded and continued to watch, frowning. The men were returning the small killing knife to their holsters placed high on the sleeve near the armpit. The small knife was used not as often in battle, but in unexpected times of defense. Cyric was training the men on not just how to use the miniature blade, but on how to rapidly draw it, and then quickly turn it in their hand so that it was ready for attack. It was brilliant as those fractions of a second could be the most lethal. A man wary of a situation could fold his arms, placing one hand on the sgian dubh so that he could pull it out in a flash if needed.
For the next two hours, Crevan studied the Lowlander as he made his rounds in weapon after weapon. The halberd, a combination of spear and ax on a long handle, was a difficult and unwieldy weapon for some, but Cyric looked not only graceful but deadly as he demonstrated how a foot soldier could effectively cut and thrust with it, killing a horseman. The Lochaber ax with its rounded edge and waved ends was also of no challenge. And Cyric’s ability to manipulate a spear with speed and accuracy was on par with old Olave’s skill at his peak. The only weapon they did not see Cyric use was the longbow, but Crevan assumed the man was not only familiar at shooting an arrow but quite proficient at it.
The Lowlander was impressive with weapons, but training was the ultimate responsibility of the commander, not the chieftain.
“I’ve seen enough,” Crevan muttered, and was about to leave when Craig grabbed his arm.
Crevan scanned the field to see what got Craig’s attention. A fight had broken out where they were using claymores, the heavy two-handed sword. The stance of the men was no longer one of challenge and seeking ways to distract and defeat as part of a training exercise, but of true battle. Such situations had to be resolved quickly before someone got seriously injured or even worse—killed.
Crevan could feel Craig rising and was about to join him in racing out to the fields in hopes of reaching the men in time to stop them when they suddenly saw Cyric on the scene. Within seconds, both men dropped their swords and a minute later headed toward opposite training areas. For the first time, Crevan regretted not being able to hear what was said. But one thing was clear. Cyric had stopped the fight and somehow convinced both men to move on with relatively little argument.
All morning he had been watching the Lowlander, but it was only in the last handful of minutes that Crevan become truly concerned. What he just witnessed was not a skilled fighter, but a leader. Those men did not capitulate because of who Cyric was, but of what he said. If the soldiers respected Cyric, then the prospect of Cyric being proved an unfit leader was very unlikely.
Crevan moved away from his lookout spot to retrieve his horse.
Craig joined him and mounted. “To Caireoch?”
“Aye,” Crevan said. “Schellden is probably w-waiting f-for us. I doubt Callum kept quiet about our arrival.”
“The old man should have a lot to say.”
Crevan grimaced. He was afraid of just the opposite—that Rae Schellden would have very little to say. For what they just witnessed was pretty self-explanatory. Cyric was obviously fit to lead or at least could be trained to do so. Question was, did Rae now want his nephew to inherit his title?
The doors to the Great Hall opened and two large, dark-haired Highlanders entered. Rae Schellden watched as the men walked toward him, both with stern, unhappy expressions. Normally, he found feigning emotion to achieve a strategic advantage to be fairly undemanding, but today the effort was quite difficult. It was also imperative that he was successful in giving the right impression, otherwise this month, his plans, and the future of his clan could be in jeopardy.
Conor and Laurel had only left the previous day to return and it was only fortune shining favorably down on Rae that made him send Callum out just in case the two brothers decided to make an impromptu visit. The young soldier did well in diverting attentions and reported that the two groups of McTiernays were unaware of the other as they passed each other in the night.
Rae waited until Craig and Crevan were within just a few steps before he said, “I assume you are here because of gossip about my nephew, Cyric.”
“W-w-we are,” Crevan answered impassively.
“I was going to send word today that circumstances have changed.”
Craig crossed his arms. “How so?”
Schellden leaned back and sipped the golden liquid in his mug contentedly. “I assume you first went to the training fields.”
“Aye.”
“Then you saw my nephew helping with some of the training,” Rae stated, gesturing to the bench and table in front of him.
Crevan narrowed his eyes and took the seat Rae pointed toward. “Quite impressive.”
“Aye,” Rae agreed, and waved his hand, getting the attention of Rowena, who he suspected was there less to help with preparing the Hall for the next meal and more to eavesdrop. He smothered a grin and signaled her to get two mugs and some ale, before continuing. “He is. Surprised me enormously. I don’t think my brother is aware of even half of his son’s talents. But then we fathers often find it difficult to see our children as they are.”
Craig swung his leg over the bench and sat down. “We could not hear him, but from the little we saw your nephew did not appear to be incompetent.”
“W-with w-weapons or as a leader,” Crevan added, deciding to not avoid the topic, but plainly put it out there to be discussed.
Rae exhaled and then put his drink on the table so that he could lean on his elbows. “You are right. He is competent or will be with a little more guidance. So as soon as you both release your claim, I will support Cyric when he chooses one of my daughters for a bride. The king is right. One of them must get married to secure this clan’s future.”
“Is that f-for the best?” Crevan posed. “F-for your daughters or your people?”
“You know that I desired my daughters to marry someone who understands the responsibilities of running a large Highland clan and someone whom my neighbors would trust and could maintain established alliances with. But you also are aware of their refusal to do so. No more. They will marry and from what I have seen, my nephew is good enough to be a husband to one of them,” Rae answered. “Besides, you both made it clear that if Cyric was found capable, he and my daughters would be my problem.”
Crevan issued him a measured, cool and apprising look. “Who leads this clan af-f-fects all those around.”
Rae studied the younger man appreciatively, but said nothing.
Craig reached up and grasped the liquid fortification Rowena was offering. He took several swallows. “What if someone else married or even handfasted with Raelynd or Meriel? Would you still name your nephew as the next Schellden laird?”
Rae leaned back and studied the table as if he were in deep thought. “Depending on whom, of course—no, probably not. My nephew is not familiar with our ways. He is often uncomfortable with Highland weather and mountainous lands, though I think he would grow comfortable with time. He is slowly gathering respect, but without being in a position of absolute authority through marriage to one of my daughters, I fear he may still be viewed as a Lowlander and not be accepted by all of the clan.”
Hearing that answer, Crevan immediately rose to his feet. “I suggest y
ou prepare to leave f-for McTiernay Castle f-for your daughters w-will be married in two days. I’m sure Raelynd w-w-will w-want you there.”
Rowena snuck out the back of the Great Hall and into the corridor that led to the buttery and kitchens. Moving quickly, she ignored the looks of servants and dashed into the courtyard. Stopping, she looked around, trying to decide where she could find Cyric at this time of day.
Since their last encounter, she had not seen him, not even in passing. At first, she had been relieved for she was not sure her heart could withstand another encounter. Her mind, though, was constantly drifting back to him, wondering what he was doing or wishing she could tell him about something that happened, knowing he would find it just as amusing. She missed his smile, his easy manners, and his laughter. But mostly she yearned to have him near. Cyric was the only man who ever engaged her in conversation of value and solicited her viewpoint. He teased her and appreciated her own sense of humor.
But then he had teased her on the one topic with which she could not cope. He had not actually said the word “love,” but in that instant, Rowena realized she feared him doing so.
Cyric had not been hers to love.
She had vowed to keep Raelynd and Meriel’s secret about their fictitious engagement. In doing so, she had doomed her own future.
At first, Cyric had been new, different, and even humorous. Then he had begun to fill up places in her heart that she had not even known were empty. Raelynd and Meriel had not wanted love and marriage, but deep down, she had. It had not occurred to her that she was, in fact, lonely until Cyric had arrived and they had grown to be friends. And then he had kissed her. He was everything a woman might want in a man and more than she dared hope to ever find.
Tempting the Highlander Page 27
